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elizaviento · 2 years ago

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Green on the Vine — Strawberry Wine (Part 12 of ?)

(Stardew Valley — Shane/Female Farmer/OC)

This chapter is rated mostly SFW — 3452 words. Just the tiniest bit of dirty talk.

Note: :)

(FYI: Additional chapters of Green on the Vine — Strawberry Wine can be found in the Stardew Valley Fic Masterpost link in my blog description. Or, you can click the #green on the vine strawberry wine tag in this post, within my blog, to access all additional chapters.)

*****

"Hey, man – your girlfriend just walked in," Sam said, rounding the corner as Shane slashed open the top of a cardboard box with his dulling boxcutter.

"What?" Shane pinched his brow as the younger man emerged through the gloom of the back stockroom.

"Yeah, she's talking to Morris, and she looks, I dunno, kinda pissed?"

Shane sighed, unsure if he wanted to address the girlfriend comment or wonder aloud why Morris would be talking to her. He decided on the former.

"She's not my girlfriend," he mumbled, retracting the blade of the boxcutter and shoving it in the back pocket of his uniform shorts. And, technically, she wasn't. At least, not yet. Payday loomed ahead, Friday seeming like years away instead of days, and he planned to buy the biggest, dumbest bouquet he could afford.

"Whatever you say, my man," Sam replied with a chuckle. "Anytime she's ever come here, it's to find you, so…" The younger man shrugged, a lopsided grin finishing the sentence for him. "Want me to go see what they're talking about?"

"No," Shane responded, pushing past Sam to crack the stockroom door just enough to catch sight of Kristen and Morris standing next to Claire's register. The cashier, as usual, stood glassy-eyed and nearly nodding off while the tense conversation unfolded mere feet away. Shane knew that Kristen had a hand in the store manager's transfer to Pelican Town several years prior, but the stance they displayed hinted at something a little more complicated.

"Think he's hitting on her?" Sam asked. Shane figured it was a lousy attempt at a joke, but the insinuation caused his hackles to rise, and he flushed, overwhelmed by an emotion he couldn't quite name but recognized as a mixture of protectiveness and jealousy.

"It's questionable if Morris is even human," Shane replied, eyeing the man as he loomed over Kristen. "I doubt he has the capacity to love anything other than Joja."

Sam snickered as he approached Shane and peered through the crack above his head. "I think she can take him. Wanna bet?"

Shane scoffed but couldn't deny that the mental image of the farmer socking his shitty boss in the jaw almost had him standing at half-mast. But just when he was about to turn down that hypothetical bet, his walkie-talkie crackled to life, startling him enough to slam the stockroom door closed as if he and Sam had been caught witnessing something untoward.

"Shane Davis, you're free to go to lunch. Oh, and you have a guest at the front of the store. Best not keep her waiting."

"She ain't your girlfriend, my ass," Sam laughed, clapping the shorter man on the shoulder. "Damn, can't believe Morris is actually letting you go to lunch, too."

"Yeah," Shane agreed. "Can you finish unpacking these while I'm gone?"

"No problemo, pal."

"For real this time," Shane amended, narrowing his eyes. "Morris will blame me if he comes back here and finds they aren't."

Sam nodded, well aware that their manager seemed to harbor some sort of a grudge against his co-worker. "Yeah, man. Promise."

Shane thanked him and cautiously exited the stockroom, peering left and right as if he would be ambushed by Morris or a bothersome customer at any second. Finding the coast clear, he made his way toward the front, hugging the outside wall until he reached the row of cash registers and cut across them toward Kristen from the side.

Stepping out into the noonday sunshine hand in hand with the farmer felt surreal on a level that Shane had never experienced but also more natural than he could have imagined. Despite his protests that he wasn't ashamed of the townsfolk knowing they were involved, he caught himself scanning the immediate vicinity for wandering eyes and whispering voices. Shame still had nothing to do with his misplaced caution. Well, at least not for himself.

Shifting his eyes to the side as they strolled, Shane attempted to absorb how Kristen's hair shone like fire in the sun and how her freckles darkened ever so slightly. The sway of her hips as she walked, the chiffon of her sundress swishing around her thighs with each step. The red tinge of her lipstick and how it reminded him of lip prints on a shot glass while fat snowflakes coated cobblestones under the moonlight.

"You look really pretty today," he said, glad that the statement sounded as normal as he rehearsed it in his mind.

"Oh… thank you."

She blushed – actually blushed – and Shane was suddenly teleported back to 7th grade, starry-eyed and cooing over the prettiest girl in class. A girl who would ultimately end up his girlfriend but would break his heart weeks later. A girl who would, despite teenage angst, remain his best friend. A girl who would honor that lifelong friendship by making him the godfather of her beloved daughter only months before she died.

When Shane opened the door to the Saloon — holding it open for Kristen so she could enter first — he was relieved that Emily's smiling face was the only one staring back at them. This early in the day, traffic was sparse regardless, but the lack of other patrons meant he could pretend they were all alone.

"Gus is pulling your pizza from the oven now!" Emily said, fetching a couple of glasses from below the bar. "Take a seat, and I'll bring it over soon!"

Kristen made way toward their usual spot, but Shane gently tugged her toward the corner booth instead, heart fluttering when she caught his eye and smirked.

"This is cozy," she remarked, settling in on his opposite side. The plastic bag she'd been carrying crinkled as she sat it beside her, and his imagination soared with what could be inside.

"Uh — yeah," he agreed as Emily approached, sat two glasses of water down in front of them, and left without a word. Shane's eyes briefly followed the waitress until she turned and shot him a knowing wink. "Thanks for ordering the food."

The farmer stared at him for several endless seconds before replying, "Thanks for letting me hold your hand on the walk over here." Her own hand landed on his bare knee under the table, inching slightly upward, nails lightly scraping through his leg hair. Shane flinched reflexively, unprepared and never expecting such a bold move in public. "Last night was so sexy."

Shane's eyes darted toward the bar and then around the remainder of the deserted Saloon, paranoia creeping up his spine like a slithering swamp creature no human had ever laid eyes on. When he found Emily casually slicing their pizza and loading a tray with the pan and plates, he relaxed, if only slightly.

"Kriss."

"Sorry," she said, retreating her hand. Shane found himself regretting such a prudish response when the warm print of her palm cooled almost instantly. He suppressed a shiver even as he noticed the burn again spreading across her cheeks. "I guess something about you makes me feral."

The confession shot a lightning bolt straight to Shane's dick, and he felt it twitch like the fingers of a reanimated corpse in a bad zombie flick. He was momentarily speechless, still astounded that a woman like her could find anything sexy about a guy like him.

"Babe, I'm barely keeping my shit together here," he said, attempting to soothe her silly insecurities. "I'm grateful for the pizza, but uh —" he took another cursory glance at their surroundings, calculating he had just enough time to utter the filth sitting on the tip of his tongue before Emily was in earshot, "— I'd be just as happy eating your pussy for lunch."

"Oh, fuck off," she giggled, covering her face as Emily slid the tray between them.

"One supreme pizza with extra cheese and peppers!" the waitress announced, shattering the sexual tension like she was wielding a sledgehammer.

The remainder of their time in the Saloon was spent with leisurely conversation not unlike what they'd usually shared, interspersed with Kristen bumping his foot under the table playfully, her hand finding its way back to his knee, and the occasional sexually suggestive remark that had Shane feeling slightly delirious. He couldn't recall the last time the buds of a full-fledged relationship had begun to bloom, petals unfurling slowly and then all at once, displaying proudly for all to see. Even while serotonin spiked his brain and giddiness bubbled in his chest, he knew he could just as easily fuck it all up – crush the sprouting bud under his heel and grind it into the dirt without even realizing, akin to stepping on an ant unfortunate enough to cross his path on his routine stroll to work.

"Hmm, you ready to go back?" Kristen asked. Her hand had finally sought his under the table, their fingers interlocked, merged in the invisible void between them.

"Not really. But I'm sure Morris will call me soon if I don't."

"You still coming over after?" she asked, peeking at him from below her lashes. Shane thought she looked so heart-achingly beautiful just then and wondered how he had ever managed to contain himself since he'd laid eyes on her in this very Saloon over two years ago.

"Yeah, babe." He felt breathless, as if his chest would cave in at any second, lungs deflated. He hated wondering what label to assign to her now. Hated wondering what label she'd assigned to him. They were two grown adults; it shouldn't be this complicated, right? All he knew for sure was that if he couldn't latch his mouth to the soft expanse of her inner thighs again soon, he'd implode. "Want me to bring anything?"

"Just yourself," she replied, releasing his hand so she could root around in a hidden pocket of her sundress. Shane scrambled when she tossed a wad of crinkled bills on the table, attempting to pull his worn leather wallet from the back of his shorts pocket. "Don't! I told you this was my treat. If you're up for it, you can take me out for a real date this Friday."

"Huh?" He was acutely aware of how moronic he sounded as the word left his mouth, still flustered from feeling like a freeloader.

"Harvey got me an appointment with that surgeon in Zuzu on Friday afternoon. Wanna come with? I'd rather someone drive me than take the bus."

"I have to work, Kriss," he answered, rubbing the back of his neck. For some reason, he felt ashamed. A deadbeat stock boy doesn't usually get days off when he has a little mouth to feed.

"You've been full-time at Joja for what, 3 years now? More? You have paid time off, Shane. Knowing Morris, he probably tries to guilt you into never taking it."

"Uh —" he floundered, realizing she was absolutely right and feeling even more imbecilic because of it.

"Don't worry. I'll make sure you get this Friday off."

"Kriss, you can't just run in and start fighting my battles," he said, harsher than he'd intended. Her brow furrowed, and her eyes squinted the way they did when she was about to challenge him. "I'll ask him. Whatever you said earlier might still have him ruffled enough to agree."

Her gaze pitched to the side as she wrapped her fingers around a loose curl that had escaped the braid flowing down her back. Unease blanketed Shane like a shroud, all too familiar with her visual cues of distress.

"Fine," she relented, albeit reluctantly. "But if he gives you shit, let me know, Okay? I mean it."

"Morris always gives me shit. Why are you so concerned about it now?"

His tone had shifted to sharp and accusatory while questions swirled in his mind. Why had she left Joja? And what the fuck was up with this sudden feud with Morris? She continuously dodged the subject, and Shane never felt the need to press because it wasn't his business. But now that she insisted on inserting herself in such an invasive manner, he felt he was owed an explanation.

"I'm sorry, you're right," she yielded with a dispirited sigh. "I'm just feeling protective of you, I guess. I don't like the way he treats you."

Shane sucked a ragged breath between his teeth, the hostility slithering between his ribs swarmed away by a kaleidoscope of butterflies pummeling their tissue paper wings against his rapidly beating heart.

"It's alright." He shuffled in the booth, fidgeting while his mind scrambled to come up with something more substantial to say. "I'll put in the time and let you know."

Figuring that was an acceptable middle ground, he stood and motioned for her to follow, boldly taking her hand as soon as she was by his side despite a smattering of townsfolk who had also wandered in for lunch. He was planning to formally ask her to be his on Friday anyway, so fuck it.

❦❧🍓❦❧

"Shane, we have a truck delivery scheduled on Friday. You can't request time off at the last minute," Morris chided as Shane stood on the opposite side of his desk with a PTO request slip in hand.

"I already asked Sam if he'll cover, and he said yes. What's the problem?"

Rolling his eyes, Morris snatched the slip from Shane's hand and scanned it quickly. "You didn't provide a reason for requesting time off. That's required per Joja policy."

"Uh. A friend needs a ride to the city for an appointment. She can't drive right now," Shane answered. Morris' obvious obstinance for the sake of it was already wearing on his patience.

"Ah, I see. Mrs. Jarret?"

"Who?" Shane asked. He was quickly transitioning from irritated to agitated.

"Oh," Morris scoffed, a smug expression replacing stern disappointment. "I guess you don't know your friend so well, after all, hmm? I meant Ms. Wynand."

"Okay…" Shane hedged, wondering where this little display was leading.

"I knew her rather well prior to my transfer. Perhaps she can tell you the tale sometime. Perhaps on Friday. Your time off request has been approved." With an exaggerated flourish, Morris signed his name to the slip, ripped off the carbon copy on the back, and handed it to Shane, a crooked grin splitting his face nearly in two. "Now get back to work."

The remainder of Shane's shift was spent scowling at cans of artificial green beans and bottles of yellow sports drink suspiciously resembling piss. One by one, he shoved them on the shelves, hardly aware of Sam skirting by occasionally with rock music blaring so loud through his headphones that he could be heard from a mile away. By 5 pm, Shane's jaw ached, and his head throbbed from grinding his teeth for hours on end, stewing over the cryptic bullshit hanging between Morris and his would-be girlfriend like a stationary pendulum. One tap and it would swing to and fro, shattering the illusion he'd caught himself in like shards of mirrored glass.

You're doing it again. You're trying to sabotage something good by assuming the worst. It's not like they fucked or something.

Determined not to let his sour mood ruin the rest of his evening, he clocked out, avoiding his co-workers, and briefly considered a stop at the Saloon for one beer. Maybe two.

You really want her to taste alcohol on your tongue when you kiss her? he thought, even as his feet itched to take the familiar path toward the Stardrop. Or would you rather get whiskey dick instead? Yeah, that'll be real fucking smooth…

Admitting to himself that he was, indeed, planning to take Kristen to bed as soon as he walked through the door, he recalculated his trajectory — a straight shot from the footbridge, through town, past the bus stop, and right into her arms.

Having something else to focus on, his previous doomsday broodings fell by the wayside, replaced by an old song he'd mainly heard through the crackling of FM radio as a teenager. The lyrics looped in his mind while visions of a girl with mocha skin and glossy raven hair pressed record on her tape deck, imprinting the song on a cassette tape that Shane would wear out over the years. A memory of that same girl donning a wedding dress, dancing to those lyrics with a handsome man on her arm and Shane smiling from the sidelines. Sometimes… sometimes, it didn't hurt to see them again, if only in his memories. Sometimes remembering them felt like coming home.

Uncharacteristically unburdened when he knocked on the farmer's front door, Shane inserted the key into the knob directly after. He figured Kristen would always chide him for knocking when he could enter at any moment, but that simply felt intrusive.

"Hi," she said, catching him off guard. She was standing just far enough from the door that it didn't smack her in the face when he opened it. He first noticed that she looked deathly pale, almost as pale as when he and Harvey had found her semi-unconscious in the kitchen just 4 days prior. Next was that both of her hands were tucked behind her back as if she were hiding something.

"Hey," he replied. Kristen took a measured step back, just enough to allow him room to close the door behind him and stand eye to eye, approximately a foot apart. "What's uh — is everything okay? You look sick."

Her eyes widened in response, her expression resembling a mix of panic-stricken and terrified, and Shane felt as if he were suddenly doused in pure adrenaline, fight or flight gripping him by the balls. Naturally, he was a fighter.

"Well, I do feel like I'm about to barf, so…" She trailed off into a giggle that sounded forced, as if someone were holding a loaded gun to her temple.

"Kriss, what the —"

Before he could finish, she flung one of her arms forward from behind her back, the soft crinkle of tissue paper reminding him of when Marnie stuffed gift baskets and bags with the useless garnish. Only now, it was delicately wrapped around a gigantic bouquet of flowers and thrust inches from his nose.

"I know this tradition is dumb and outdated," she began, voice wavering. Shane gently pressed the back of one hand against the bundle and slowly pushed it to the side so he could see her face, now splotched with red patches as a blush attempted to force its way to the surface. "But, I don't know. I think it's kind of sweet and romantic. I asked Pierre to bring his nicest one, but I didn't realize it would be so big. Sorry. But it's beautiful!"

She stopped babbling then, her eyes locked with his, still holding the bouquet toward him. Shane opened his mouth to reply but only gaped like a fish, literally stupefied.

"What's wrong? Do you hate it?" she asked, face crumpling the way Jas' did when she was two seconds from sobbing. "Oh god, it's too much, isn't it? This is pathetic."

Shane shook his head, still unable to articulate the barrage of emotions beating him senseless. He wanted to say so many things. He wanted to tell her that she was on the fringes of every thought that occupied his mind, no matter how fleeting. He wanted to tell her he never thought he could find true friendship again until she came crashing through his life like a wrecking ball. He wanted to tell her that the mere notion of losing her now or ever made his throat constrict like he'd swallowed a handful of wasps. But instead, he plucked the bouquet from her hand, tossed it on the tea table next to the door, and pulled her into a kiss. Tender yet yearning, his fingers tangled in her hair, pulling it loose from the braid as strands slipped between each digit. The farmer responded in kind, cupping the back of his neck with her good hand while the other settled on his hip.

"Does this mean you'll be my boyfriend?" she asked teasingly when the pair finally parted. The color had returned to her face, filling in between the dusting of freckles that he loved so much, relief softening her features until her eyes appeared almost doe-like.

Boyfriend.

Instead of recoiling from the juvenile term for a romantic partner, he rolled it around in his mouth like a piece of hard candy, allowing the sweetness to coat his tongue. Maybe it wasn't so bad after all.

"Yeah, babe," he answered, regarding her with adoration in his eyes. "I'll never understand why you chose me, but I'll be your boyfriend. I'll be whatever you want."

***** End Note: (:

#stardew valley #sdv #stardew valley shane #sdv shane #stardew valley shane x farmer #sdv shane x farmer #stardew valley fanficiton #sdv fanfiction #green on the vine strawberry wine

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sunspray-peak · 11 months ago

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Ch. 68: Do You Think You Did It?

SUNDAY - WINTER 28

One year. He’d made it one year in Stardew Valley.

The Achilles of yesteryear would never have anticipated this—hell, he had planned to drop in, clean up the property, hand it off to a realtor, and get on out of there before the Summer tourists could even lay down their towels on a beach he’d definitely never envisaged himself ever visiting. Badabing Badaboom.

But he had stayed. Why? Why was he here? Why was he still here in Stardew Valley after all this time?

A number of things. Who knows, does it matter? Achilles thought idly to himself as he watered the crocus.

No, it didn’t particularly matter, but he always loved a clear answer all the same.

Because you needed it. Because it had something to give you. Something to teach you.

And now… he wasn’t sure if he’d ever leave. He would travel, of course—he knew Shane would keep the farm well under control—hell, that was something, the Achilles of yesteryear would never have helped manage a farm. But Stardew Valley would always be a home.

Keep your mind and ears open. That’s what Emily had once said to him—reassuring words after a rather foul fortune. Some interesting things might just take root.

How much he had gained. How much he had let go. Would he ever be truly content? Perhaps, perhaps not. But he would try, a day at a time.

Achilles glanced up at the small, faded portrait of two root vegetables that he had greeted him the first time he’d stepped foot in the farmhouse. He had kept it in its place on the wall, though he had switched out the ratty sofas below it for something more modern long ago. Next to it now hung the photo Alex had gifted him for Winter Star. They looked a little strange together. He really ought to hire an interior designer.

There were real things he ought to be doing right now, but he allowed himself the grace to continue his leisurely stroll down memory lane and meandered over to the bedroom where a typewriter now sat gleaming atop his desk, out of its box, alongside several scattered binder-clipped piles of pages and half-filled mugs of tea.

But he made his way past this clutter, instead searching for something in his nightstand, a letter he had only half-remembered keeping. He had just located the envelope underneath a book of crosswords when he was interrupted by Alex bounding through the front door, fresh from his morning training.

“Weren’t you supposed to be cleaning?” he asked by way of greeting, peeking his head through the bedroom door as Voltaire pattered merrily across the floorboards to join him.

“Ha.” Achilles set the envelope back on the nightstand and picked up a pill bottle, giving it a silent shake. “Well perfect timing for you then, isn’t it? Here.” He tossed the empty bottle across the room, which Alex caught with one hand before retreating, all the while shaking his head in dismay, to the kitchen for the recycling bin.

Achilles’ parents were finally paying Stardew Valley a visit. Neither had seen the town in twenty some years, but Apolline and Perry were due to arrive in three hours for lunch and would be staying at the farmhouse for the next week, just in time to bare witness to the Spring planting he and Shane were already gearing themselves up for.

Strawberries and kale, green beans and potatoes, garlic and cauliflower; Shane had been eager to get a jumpstart on the season, and so the two had gone over the plans the day before, plotting out the various patches on Achilles’ obviously to-scale diagram, analyzing the best configurations for the scarecrows and sprinklers.

At Achilles’ insistence, they had reserved one small area down by the pond for the tulips he knew Evelyn loved and another area for leeks. Shane insisted it was a “stupid choice” and “waste of space” due to their low profitability—but Achilles couldn’t help himself. He still wanted to get on George’s good side, at least for Alex’s sake. Progress had been made, for sure—the old man made eye contact with him now—but a biweekly gift of his favorite vegetable could only help speed things along, right? Especially as their relationship was perhaps taking two steps back this week, for there was limited room at Strawberry Farms with Apolline and Perry’s arrival; and although Achilles had purchased an air mattress for himself, Alex had insisted he spend the next few nights with him instead.

“I’ll expand this bad boy next year, though,” Achilles had said the day before, slapping the frame of his front door after sharing the problem to a barely-listening Shane. “Add a guest room or two. Probably two, there’s just so much space to expand. Perhaps even a living room, or at the very least, a piano room. I had a Steinway back in Monstera, lovely thing, I should get back into playing… Of course, we’ll have to expand the closet, add another full bathroom. Oh goodness, and of course, we have to have a library! Combine it with an office, perhaps… well, I suppose we’ll be keeping Robin busy, that’s for sure.”

“You already have a living room,” Shane had grunted, nodding at the couches by the fireplace.

“Hmm, I think I’d call that more of a family room.”

“Fuckin’ hell.”

Achilles had placed an order at the Stardrop for several dishes due to be delivered at noon, but Alex had persuaded him to do at least a little bit of cooking himself to celebrate his parents’ arrival.

“Nothing better after travel than a home cooked meal!” he’d said, to which Achilles had darkly responded under his breath, “Yeah, yeah, I’d argue that depends on who’s cooking it…”

Alex padded back into the bedroom where Achilles still sat and took a seat by the desk.

“You nervous?” Achilles asked, turning away from the nightstand to pick up a sweater he’d left on the floor that morning. “If so, you can channel that energy into helping me clean.”

“Huh. Sucks for you, I’m not nervous.” But Alex joined in nevertheless, returning the books scattered about to their respective places on the shelves. “You know, I’ve been told I’m pretty good with parents.”

“That doesn’t surprise me at all—”

“Although I’ve never met famous people before—shut up, you don’t count. But you’re the one who keeps telling me how, like, nice your parents are, so I feel like I don’t need to worry, right?”

“That is true, they are very nice.”

“How’d they end up with you?”

But Achilles didn’t take the bait, only shooting Alex a resigned look before saying, “Mysteries of the genetic universe, I suppose. Some of us just turn out worse than our ancestors while some us are… better.”

There was a second delay before Alex seemed to catch the minor implication behind Achilles’ words. But after a beat, he bit his lip and turned slightly pink, hands fluttering about in search of nothing, before giving a jerky little nod and returning to the desk. In what seemed like a hurried attempt to transition topics, he picked up one of the stacks of typed papers on Achilles’ desk and asked, “Is this your new book?”

“Mmhm, that’s like… draft 4? Maybe?”

“Wowiee, so productive! It says ‘green’ on the cover, though—”

“Yeah, I got in the habit of using colors as a kid because of my dad. Probably thought it made me incredibly cool and unique or something—”

“Can I read it?”

“Oh. I mean… it’s not very good. Not yet, at least.” Achilles closed his closet door and walked over to join Alex, who reflexively slipped an arm around his waist. “But I suppose if you really want to…”

“Nauer, it’s ok. I’ll wait until you’re ready.” Alex gently set the pages back down and buried a kiss in Achilles’ hair.

“It took a bit, but I think I’ve finally come to terms with it. Finally forced my stubborn brain to listen to my stupid ass heart, you could say.” Achilles sighed and looked out the window. The temperature had been rising; the snow had mostly melted away now, revealing, amidst all the mud, the tiniest green shoots all across Achilles’ farm. Weeds, Shane had noted, but signs of life all the same.

Buds were beginning to appear alongside returning songbirds in the fruit trees they had planted. He could hear their whistles, the flutters of their wings among the branches. And the biting wind that had scored his home with creaks and murmurs in the weeks previous had slowed to a tickling breeze. Achilles had even caught sight of a few junimos the previous day, blue and green, bouncing across his land. Spring was coming.

He stepped backwards, leaning into the firm figure of Alex behind him, the touch of his hand on his shoulder, and sighed again. “Adult literature just isn’t for me right now.”

“But that’s okay, right?”

“Yeah,” he said, turning to meet Alex’s warm, steady gaze. “That’s okay.”

*****

Alex had manhandled him into preparing a salad (“it’s just cutting, you can even buy pre-peeled pomegranate seeds”) and some shrimp tartlets (“I’ll send you the recipe, it’s not hard”). He himself was baking a focaccia; the first sourdough having been a smashing success, Alex now considered himself something of an up and coming bread connoisseur.

“Scoot ya boot,” he said, giving Achilles’ ass a light tap to step aside as he bent to open the over door.

“Yes, chef!”

Alex rolled his eyes good-naturedly, sliding in his bread before straightening up to see Achilles, a pathetic little pout now on his lips, cry, “Help.”

His nose crinkling, Alex scrutinized the glass bowl between Achilles’ hands. “You don’t need help you dingus, you literally just blend those things together—”

“Um, that is just so rude, you’re supposed to listen, actually, when someone asks for help, instead of bullying them—”

Alex attempted to silence him with a kiss, but Achilles pushed him back with both hands, shouting, “Get away! This is a kitchen, Yoba, have you ever heard of germs? Cross-contamination?”

“Man, shut up, when the heck have you ever cared about germs, I found a week old bottle of lemonade on your desk…” The bread was in the oven, and Achilles was being, well, Achilles, so Alex decided it’d be best to step away from the chaos and observe from the fridge. “Sometimes I think it’s a little weird, you know.”

“What is? Wait, don’t talk right now, I’m about to blend.”

With a rather concerning amount of glee, Achilles gave a little hop before jabbing the “On” switch on the blender Alex had brought over from his own house. The mixture of cream cheese and onions and other various ingredients for which Achilles had painfully perused Pierre’s general store gave a start, and after a minute of rackety churning, he popped open the lid and shot Alex a thumbs up.

“I was just saying that sometimes I think it’s weird how… not weird it is. I was worried everything would get awkward, since we were, like, just friends first. But I don’t know.” Alex shrugged. “It just never really felt weird. Like I never had to force myself to touch you.”

Hearing those words, Achilles whipped around, the tail of his new apron smacking the handles of his drawers. “Excuse me?” He jabbed his silicon spoon towards Alex like a fencing foil before returning to his tartlets. “Well, I am so happy for you that you don’t feel like you had to force yourself to touch me—”

“—okay, you know that’s not what I meant—”

“—absolutely disgusting creature from the abyss, was expecting to have to poke it with a ten foot pole—”

Alex rushed forward, and, taking advantage of Achilles’ intense concentration (rather than eyeballing the job, he was carefully scooping out each tartlet’s cream cheese mixture with a measuring spoon), picked him up and dipped him to the floor, ignoring Achilles yelp as he laughed.

“No! No! The sauce—the sauce!” Achilles cried, flailing his arms before his screams dissolved into laughter as well.

“All I was saying,” Alex said, returning Achilles upright. “Was that it feels good to touch you. And to kiss you. And to call you my boyfriend. It’s easy.” He handed Achilles back his spoon and pecked him on the cheek. “And this isn’t even considered a sauce, man.” And with that, he smacked the back of Achilles’ head and walked away.

“I’m suing you for battery.” Achilles waved a fist at Alex’s retreating figure. “Expect the court summons in the mail in one week!”

*****

A quarter to noon, they returned to the bedroom to change out of their “chores clothes,” as Achilles put it. “Rich people things,” Alex had muttered under his breath.

“I will say, this part does kind of make me nervous,” Alex said, wriggling into a mustard jumper Emily had helped pick out for him the previous day. “What if your mom thinks I dress bad?”

“She thinks I dress bad, and she still loves me, it’ll be fine.” Achilles was sticking to all black today, but with the warming of the weather, had exchanged his sweaters for a loose button down and a blazer. “Anyway, she loves plaid—Emily probably knew that—and you look adorable. Like a wee bumblebee.”

He dodged the hoodie Alex hurled at him.

“Hey, now what’s this?” Alex was kneeling on the ground, the pale green envelope Achilles had been searching for earlier that morning in his hands.

“Nosy.”

“It fell off the nightstand, I swear— ‘To Achilles.’” To demonstrate his good faith, he handed it to its intended recipient. “You’ve got some secret love letter from Lewis you’re hiding from me?”

“Oh my god, it really is the same envelope isn’t it, I didn’t even realize—“ Achilles flipped it over and slipped his finger under the flap. “But no, it’s not a love letter from Lewis, if you can believe it. Here, you can read it if you want, it’s actually—“

There was a knock on the door.

*****

Apolline Desrosiers and Perry Robinson had taken a six hour flight across the Ferngill Republic, and a three hour taxi ride down from the nearest airport, and yet, Alex thought he had never seen two people look so… put together, after so much travel.

“That’s just the first class talking, don’t praise them,” Achilles said over his shoulder as he opened the screen door. “Hello, hello, hello!”

The rumors were true; on the surface, Achilles looked little like his mother, whose amber eyes and shimmering blonde hair ended in soft curls just below her shoulders. She was a tall woman, nearly as tall as Achilles himself, with a nude manicure, a pair of diamond studs, and an oversized, brown plaid blazer that Alex didn’t think Achilles would ever be caught dead wearing.

And yet, he could still see a bit of Achilles in her—he shared her athletic build, as well as her sharper features—and there was something familiar about the angle of her eyebrows. Eyebrows that were currently raised high on her forehead, for Apolline was nearly jumping with joy (an impressive feat, given the stilettos) fists bunched in front of her widely-grinning face as she embraced her son with a squeal.

No one had ever been this happy to see him in the past decade, that was for sure. Although, perhaps that was unfair—Alex had never strayed too far from home for any considerable length of time, and it’s not like George could do much jumping anyway.

Perry, in Alex’s opinion—though he never thought he was good at these things anyway—didn’t look much like Achilles either. Much rounder in face, significantly stockier, and quite a bit hairier (in addition to the scruffy beard, Alex couldn’t help but notice his forearms when the sleeves of his sweater rode up as he hugged his son), it was mostly just his paler complexion and dark hair (though Perry’s was streaked with grey) that had been passed down to Achilles.

Regardless of it all, what stuck out the most to Alex was that both of them looked kind.

Achilles stepped to the side to let his parents into the foyer, and in doing so, also revealed Alex who had been standing, frozen in thought, by the storage closet. He motioned for him to step forward. “I want to introduce you to—”

“Oh, you must be Alex, it is so wonderful to finally meet you, love!” Apolline rushed forward and embraced him tightly as if he were her own.

It took him a second to recover from the shock—she seemed to have unearthed within him a memory, with the faint scent of her floral perfume, the eagerness in which she held him—but with a little shake of his head, he pulled himself together and returned her hug.

“Great meeting you, Mrs. Desrosiers, ma’am!” Alex offered Perry his hand. “Mr. Robinson, sir!”

“Perry,” Achilles’ father said with a firm nod and an equally firm, callused grip.

Shaking aside their protests, Alex quickly gathered their luggage and carried it into the bedroom. When he returned, Achilles was already quite deep into the house tour, sharing the renovations he’d had Robin make in the kitchen. Unsure of what to do, Alex stood patiently by the door until Perry gestured for him to join them.

“—and that’s Voltaire. Cam basically forced him onto me—not too hard hard to believe, is it—but no regrets, he’s a very good boy, saved me a number of times this year…”

The ease with which Achilles spoke with them—there was no awkwardness, no hints of inauthenticity. There was respect—from both sides—but none of the heavy-handed deference George sometimes seemed to demand. The warmth, the intimacy, their relaxation. It was all palpable. Alex was in awe.

Even when they finally sat for lunch, their encouragement hadn’t dissipated one bit. They had complimented the food, calling out Alex’s shrimp tartlet recipe as “impeccably flavorful” and absolutelyshowering his focaccia with praise. They were equally generous with their curiosity and their laughter, and had seemed genuinely impressed after asking Alex about his pro-sports goals, for despite not having seen their son for over a year, Perry and Apolline had made sure to include Alex in their conversations.

And after lunch, it was Apolline who led him to the living room to chat as Achilles and Perry tackled the dishes.

“Achilles has told us so much about you,” she said, taking his hand in hers. “He’s had a bit of a rough year, hasn’t he, now? Perry and I are incredibly grateful for what you’ve done for him.”

“Oh!” Alex blushed under her gaze and had to look away. “Well, he’s really done a lot for me, too…”

What would it have been like to have grown up in a household like this one? Likely it had had its own challenges—both clearly had busy schedules, and the expectations to succeed must’ve been enormous, clearly—but while Achilles had clearly fallen victim to the suffocating pressure, he had always blamed himself and his surrounding society and peers rather than his parents, and had never shied away from sharing his privilege growing up in a home that was not only wealthy, but also very much filled with love.

As difficult as it was, at 2pm, he had to drag himself away. He had wanted to give Achilles some time alone with his parents regardless, but he also needed to head back to 1 River Road to help his grandparents prepare dinner—the Robinsons were joining them tonight. It’d been his own idea, and one that Evelyn had wholeheartedly supported—a way to “welcome Perry back to town!” before Lewis caught wind of the news and used it as an excuse to probably throw a celebration for Stardew’s “returning celebrity alumnus of the community.”

But he had had his own ulterior motives, too, in suggesting the dinner, which he had of course kept to himself. Perhaps George would take notice of Achilles’ dynamic with his parents. Perhaps some of it would rub off on him. His hopes weren’t high, but it couldn’t hurt, right?

“Thank you so much again for lunch, love, if was delicious.” Apolline enveloped him in another hug after he had tugged on his new sneakers. “We’ll see you tonight!”

Alex cheerily waved goodbye to Achilles and his parents, though his grin faded just a bit as he made the 15 minute trek back into Pelican Town, all the while wondering if, just perhaps, he could one day maybe be a part of a family like that, too.

*****

“Well, well, well!” Apolline had taken a seat back at the kitchen table and was pouring herself another cup of tea. “He seems like a very kind boy.” She turned to her husband, who was very closely examining one of the potted plants in Achilles’ kitchen. “Perry? What did you think of Alex?”

He jumped, nearly knocking over the crocus, before returning to the kitchen. “Alex? Oh yes, very nice young man. I knew his mother, you know.”

“Huh, did you really? Oh, actually, yes, I suppose that makes sense…”

“Not very well,” Perry clarified, fighting back a yawn. “A few years younger than me, she was a sweet girl. Clara, I think her name was. He looks like her.”

At this, Achilles furrowed his brow. Even without Alex’s Spirit’s Eve memory, he’d seen her pictures on the walls of 1 River Road. “Does he? People usually say the opposite.”

Perry shrugged and stifled another yawn. “Not the color of them, but still something about his eyes. Maybe his nose. It has been over a decade, I suppose I could be misremembering…”

Apolline waved him away with a flutter of her fingers. “Perry, why don’t you go to bed.”

“No, no, I’m all right, don’t wanna miss—”

“It’s all right. Take a shower, take a nap, we’ve got all week. Anyway, you’ll need all your energy in case George is in the mood to battle it out over something or another…” Achilles walked his dad to his bedroom and handed him one of the towels he’d purchased the day before. “Toothbrushes and shampoo and stuff are in the bathroom.”

Perry nodded his thanks as he unzipped his coat, setting it behind the desk chair. He took note of the typewriter, but only gave a small nod before saying, “Looks good.”

“Yeah, I… started something new. Don’t know where it’ll go, if anywhere, but I’m… feeling pretty good about it.”

Perry nodded. Gave the neatly stacked pile of manuscript drafts a light tap with his finger as Achilles continued to blabber.

“I’ll be teaching at the middle school in the new year, though. Well, substitute teaching, but still… Don’t worry, I’m… getting out of the house. Staying productive.”

Giving no sign, and yet every sign, that he had heard his son, Perry turned away from the desk and rested a hand on the back of the chair. “Seems like you’ve made a nice life out here. I’m proud of you.”

“Oh. Right.” Achilles swallowed. After a beat, he hurried to the closet as Perry swiftly transitioned back to George.

“Speaking of the old geezer, though… You, uh, need me to talk to him?” Perry’s eyes, the same brown as Achilles’, followed his son as he opened the closet door to point out the extra blankets. “You said he was saying some things… happy to, uh, have a chat with him, if you think it might help, he knew me and your grandpa pretty well…”

“Hmm?” Achilles paused, hand on the closet door. “Oh. No, dad, it’s ok. Alex and I, we’ve… he talked to him and he said it’s been getting better. But thanks.”

After showing his dad how to use the shower, Achilles returned to the kitchen where Apolline, still bright eyed and full of energy, had continued to sip her tea. She set down her phone when he entered and stood to pour her son his own cup before primly crossing her legs and bumping his knee with her toe. “So, tell me. Alex—do you think he’s the one?”

Achilles had instantly turned red and spluttered, though perhaps one could argue both reactions were from the piping hot tea on which he’d just burned his tongue. He took a second to recover before managing to choke out, “It’s been barely half a season.” But under her expectant gaze, he took another swallow, slow as he savored his response.

“I mean… I wouldn’t mind. I don’t know. I hope so.” He paused and gave his tea a little swirl, watched the last sugar crystals dissolve amongst the leaves. “I really like him, Mom.”

“I can tell, love. I like him, too.” She patted his knee. “We’ll cross our fingers, shall we?”

*****

Dinner had been a success.

It had started off on a high—Achilles had previously informed Perry and Apolline that the Mullners rarely drank, so they had gifted their hosts with a set of infused extra virgin olive oils and vinegars instead, and there were few things Evelyn loved more than that.

And from there, things had remained smooth. As to be expected, the Robinsons were pleasant guests, and under Apolline’s charm, even George, whom Alex had been watching closely throughout the night, seemed less combative than usual, even bestowing one of Achilles’ jokes a hacking chuckle by the end of the night.

Perry and Apolline had bid them farewell after dessert, and not long after Evelyn and George— who hadn’t stayed up for New Year’s in decades—retired to their bedroom, leaving Alex and Achilles alone for the first time since the morning.

They kept their voices low, like teenagers, sitting with legs tangled on the couch that the Mullners had finally decided to purchase this past Winter Star (“although now that Alex is spending so much dang time with that Achilles, we need it even less,” George had complained).

“I liked your parents,” Alex whispered, his face barely an inch away from Achilles’. It wasn’t a particularly large couch.

“And they liked you. Though no surprises there, of course.”

Those first four little words sent a thrill down Alex’s spine, joined by a glowing warmth that spread outwards from his heart. “They’re… very kind.”

“It truly is a wonder how they birthed me, huh?”

“No,” Alex scolded. He placed his forefinger lightly against Achilles’ forehead. “I was going to say they’re just like you.”

“Hmm. If that’s the case,” Achilles murmured, gently clasping the entirety of Alex’s hand in his and bringing it slowly to his lips, “Then they’ll be sure to love you, too.”

*****

A series of creaks seemingly from Evelyn and George’s room sent Alex, Achilles, and Dusty (who seemed to understand the stakes) turning off the living room lights and tiptoeing to the bedroom.

Alex was toweling off from his shower when Achilles gave a soft whistle from the bean bag.

“Now that is the body of a gold-medal Artemian with a multi-million dollar Toria sponsorship and the cover of Mod magazine. Did I only say body? Sorry, body and face. Like Helen of Troy. I’d launch a thousand ships for you, hmm.” Under his breath, he added for himself “Although I suppose you’re more of a Patroclus… kind of. Eh… a stretch…”

Alex laughed and flashed a quick pose. “What can I say? I want to look good for you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I bet you say that to all the girls… It’s pretty warm tonight, though, how about I make you an offer of $5 to not sleep with that on.” Achilles nodded at the t shirt Alex was holding between his hands.

“Creep.” But he laughed and pretended to throw the shirt at Achilles before folding it and placing it back in a drawer. “Also, you’re worth way more than $5, you cheapskate. Heck, I’m worth way more than $5…”

“Priceless, baby.” Achilles followed his lead, standing up from the bean bag and removing his blazer when his hand collided with something pointy jabbing the fabric. “Oh shit, I forgot, I must’ve put this in my pocket—” He withdrew the sheet of paper from this morning. “Lewis’ secret little love note to me.”

“El oh el. ‘Kay, so what is it actually?”

“It’s just the letter my grandpa wrote me when he left me the farm. What can I say, I was feeling a bit saccharine this morning, found myself suddenly thinking about this…”

“I don’t know what sack-a-rin means.”

“As cheesy as those Joja pizzas Shane keeps trying to bribe me with. Like overly sentimental. Come here, take a look for yourself.”

He unfolded the note, Alex peering over his shoulder.

Dear Achilles,

If you’re reading this, you must be in dire need of a change.

The same thing happened to me, long ago. I’d lost sight of what mattered most in life… real connections with other people and nature. So I dropped everything and moved to the place I truly belong.

I’ve enclosed the deed to that place… my pride and joy: Strawberry Farm. It’s located in Stardew Valley, on the southern coast. It’s the perfect place to start your new life.

This was my most precious gift of all, and now it’s yours. I know you’ll honor the family name, my boy.

Good luck.

Love, Grandpa

P.S. If Lewis is still alive say hi to the old guy for me, will ya?

Achilles sighed, tossing it to Alex who was still reading, and finished changing for bed.

“It was kind of him to put faith in me to honor the family name, I’m sure he’s real proud watching me outsource 90% of running the farm to my neighbor.” He looked out the window, up at the stars and heavens above. “Sorry grandpa, I failed ya.” He returned to the bed, turning back the sheets and casually adding, “Or do we think he’s in hell? I didn’t know the guy that well.”

A joke, clearly, but even so, it wasn’t hard to discern the faintest trace of bitterness in his words. Achilles had come a long way in the most recent weeks, but the feeling of failure was not something that disappeared overnight, or even over seasons.

“‘Honor the family name…’” Alex looked over at Achilles who was now making himself comfortable under the covers. “You would zero in on that part.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He joined Achilles in bed, lying his head above his shoulder as he raised the letter above them and gave it a flick. “Ash, he literally says right there that the things that matter most in life are real connections with other people and nature. I may have gotten like a C minus in English class, but I’m still pretty sure the family name part is like, the result. Not the main idea.”

“Let me see that.” Achilles snatched the letter back and gave it another read through. But rather agree with Alex’s analysis, he merely asked, “So what do you think I was supposed to do, then?”

“I don’t know if you were supposed to do anything except just, I dunno, live your life, a new life. Connect with nature. Connect with people.”

“Do you think I did that?”

“Do you think you did that?”

No response managed to escape the tightly wound, scrunchy little frown of Achilles’ lips. His eyes remained focus on the the letter, now gripped tightly between both his hands, but it was clear from his hard, frozen stare that rather than reading, he was thinking hard.

Did you do it, ya bastard?

Connect with nature, connect with people. Sure, he’d done it. That being said, there hadn’t been anything particularly special to doing any of it, in fact, it would’ve been difficult not to do it, given that there was very little else out here to do in Stardew Valley besides simply existing among nature and existing among people. It’d been easy.

“I mean…” He had found his voice again. “Yes. Yes, of course I did that, it would have been harder not to, all there is out here are trees and nosy ass neighbors—”

“Okay.” Alex gently tugged the letter from Achilles’ grasp and set it on his nightstand. He flicked off the lamp, and in the dark, they could hear the soft clink of Dusty’s tags as the dog padded to his bed in the corner. “Then you started your new life!”

Did you, though?

Achilles glanced over at Alex before his gaze drifted to the window behind, to the crack between the curtains where he could just barely make out the various swaying shadows of the bucolic valley he now called home. A deep inhale of the fresh, sweetly scented breeze drifting through quieted his thoughts and his self-doubts, and slowly made space for different sorts of sounds.

“You started your new life, and you honored your family name. Both of them, Robinson and Desrosiers. You did!” From beneath the covers, Alex squeezed his hand.

Yeah.

Yeah?

Yeah. I suppose I did.

But he had chosen to save the words inside his head, just a little something for himself, and after a minute, he felt Alex, impatient, rapidly tapping his chest with his pointer finger. “Hey, you are listening to me, right, you punk?”

Achilles couldn’t help but smile at the earnestness in his voice, and as he brought Alex’s fingers softly to his lips, he managed to murmur through his laugh, “Yeah, yeah, don’t worry. I’m listening.”

#llnks #sdv alex #alex sdv #sdv fanfiction #stardew valley fanfic #sdv fanfic #alex stardew #stardew valley oc

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brooklynislandgirl · 1 year ago

Note

"I love you, Beth." The confession comes with a certain sadness behind it, a guilt, wounds from barn doors open and Walkers killed still fresh. Sophia's death still too bitter to swallow, Shane's shoulders feel heavy, tired. Beth's back was to him, but still did he look toward her, brown eyes of his dark and cloudy. News of Lori and the baby heartbreaking yet so wonderful - an unfortunate happiness. What was had between Shane and Beth could all be over, finished before it properly started. But he had to tell her. "I didn't mean to hurt anybody. Not you, not Carol. But Sophia... she... the Geeks in the barn... I did what I had to. What it took to keep everybody safe. What it would take to keep you safe... Beth, I love you. I think I have since the moment I first met you. Remember that. No matter what else anyone tries to tell you. I love you." || From deputygonebye 💜

Confessions in the Dark || Accepting

She keeps her back to him because Shane needs her to be strong, and how could she give him that, when there's tears streaming down her face, maybe not for the first time since the world ended, but certainly the first time with him. For him. How many days had it been since Carl was shot? The boy is still too pale for her taste, still recovering from his trauma and surgery. How long had it been since Shane had gone for supplies, and had to witness Otis get killed right before his eyes. Yes he'd been a blessing but his ankle isn't in any better shape than her own had been the day he'd found her. He'd risked everything to get her to safety. She's made him let her wrap it for him. Made him take some of their carefully hoarded acetaminophen even if he thought it best saved for someone else. To watch him limp on it was terrible to say the least. And when he went away from camp? If Carl hadn't needed her and Hershel, she would never have strayed from his side. She witnessed the argument with Dale, she'd seen his face the second Glen mentioned the barn. And after…

Everything disintegrating into unfathomable madness. There's no moment to breath, no amount of normalcy to sound the depths therein, and every moment that goes by she feels a deeper and deeper ache in her chest. Maybe she should feel shame for that one moment, watching him run full tilt, shoulders forward that fear had been replaced by a streak of desire. That in the end, she'd had to stand with him and the others, where Rick was too paralysed to act. To do what had to be done.

She lifts her hands to her face, dashes away the dampness in a futile sort of defeat.

"I know."

Two words that are born on her lips, shaking wet wings that haven't really unfurled, and she doesn't know if he hears them. But she knows he means what he says. He's never been anything less than honest with her. When she asked about the tension between himself and Lori. He said it had been over before they'd even met, and heaven help her then, she had believed him. Just as she believes him now. And she has to live with the guilt of thinking, for just a moment, that Lori and Rick have their son, and that more than anything she's wanted before, couldn't they raise the one on the way? It is half his, after all. She knows how to do the mouth, even without an exam, and she knows just as Lori must, that the child isn't her husband's. But then, she trips over something Shane says. "Don' you dare go blamin' yaself for Sophia, Shane. Dat is on Rick from beginnin' to end."

She rubs at one of the blisters from digging, and finally turns. Oh, she wishes he hadn't said that. Means that sooner or later, he's going to leave her too. Whether he slips out of bed before the sun comes up thinking she's more valuable to the group than by his side, where they both know she belongs, or because one day maybe his aim won't be as fast, as true, as steady. "Nevah been real good a' lissenin' t' oddah people. Don' know if you noticed."

She puts one foot in front of the other. There aren't that many steps between them but it feels like miles in a way, before she stops short, all but toe-to-toe, chest-to-shoulders. She rises up as high as she can and to make up the remaining distance, her hands clasp each side of his cheeks, pulling him down to her. For a moment, she simply presses her brow to his. Breathes in as he exhales. Breathes out her typical cinnamon taste when he draws one in. She's told him about this before. She's told him it is a sacred ritual dating back to the first time people walked the islands of her birth. That by trading the breath of life they shared all the things that were important; life, love, connection, power, spirit. She calls it honi, or sharing ha.

But then her fingers tighten. Holds him in a way that he can't pull back easily, and she presses her lips to his.

#Mahalo!K <333 #Angel With A Shotgun|Shane Walsh #And Major Tom Will Sing Along|Shane and Beth #Recruiting New Meat|TWD au #Moonlight through the Pines|Georgia

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lunagb · 1 year ago

Text

A Plague of Sleet and Rot (ASoIaF x The Walking Dead fanfic)

BOOK 2 - A Road of Snow and Grime

CHAPTER 4: Only Sick

Masterlist

Relationships: Daryl Dixon x Carol, Rick Grimes x Lori Grimes, Carl Grimes & Sophia, and basically a friendship tag with Jon Snow & Everyone else [except Shane].

Summary: A month has passed since Jon Snow awakened on a highway outside of Atlanta and joined Rick Grimes and his fellow survivors. His memories of his death have returned and our alien world is beginning to make a bit of sense. Ever since the loss of the CDC, surviving in the apocalypse has been a daily struggle. The group is on thin ice. Supplies are dwindling. Hope is fading. The dead are walking. And their only chance for life may be a run-down farm, an old man and his daughters.

Chapter Summary: Jon rallies the others to deal with the barn walkers.

Time Frame: Farm Arc - TV Variant Adjacent

Featured Characters: Jon Snow, Ghost, Mormont's Raven, Rick Grimes, Carl Grimes, Lori Grimes, Daryl Dixon, Carol, Sophia, Dale, Glenn Rhee, Andrea, T-Dog, Edwin Jenner, Shane Walsh, Beth Greene, Maggie Greene, Hershel Greene

Warnings: gore, vivid descriptions of dead bodies, child mutilation

[Art above is a piece by Art.of.Azrael. You can support them here: https://linktr.ee/Art.of.Azrael ]

Any notes are appreciated!

The night fire spat red and orange embers twirling into the air. It cast every face gathered around the plastic table in a half-moon of orange light and shadows. Andrea, T-Dog, Jenner, Shane, Glenn and Dale. Dale sat opposite Jon, his back to the flames. A mask of shadows hid his entire face. Jon stood tall at the head of the plastic table, Ghost at his side. The light warmed his cheeks.

“There are walkers in the barn,” he said.

“Barn! Barn! Barn!” Bloodbeak cried, strutting along the table.

Jon rested his hand on Ghost’s head. “Beth showed them to me. The force is small, roughly twenty or so, quite manageable if we stick to a tight formation.”

“The fuck? Are they crazy?” Andrea asked.

“Aye, Beth appears to have lost her wits. I suspect the other two share her madness.”

“Whoa, hold on.” Glenn stood. “Hershel and Beth might be crazy, but Maggie isn’t.”

“Right. The woman who shot Carl is just fine upstairs,” Andrea said.

“That was an accident. She apologised.”

“It was stupid, that’s what it was.”

Glenn’s fists clenched.

Jon interjected. “It matters not who is or isn’t mad. The fact remains that the dead risk all our safety. Best we go remove them.”

Andrea huffed and dodged Glenn’s gaze. Glenn retreated to his chair, stiff as a board.

“Now, wait a second.” Dale stood. “We should at least talk to Hershel first. He’s our host and this is his land.”

“Host! Host! Host!” Bloodbeak cackled.

“Fuck that.” Shane got out of his chair and stood by Jon’s side, lifting his half-mask of shadows. “You think the kind of man who can look one of those rotting fuckers in the eyes and not see them for what they are will listen to reason? Fuck no. There ain’t nothin' to discuss with him.”

Jon grimaced at Shane’s presence at his side. The moment he showed support, doubt flickered across every face at the table.

T-Dog stood beside Dale. Shadows consumed his face. “What’s gonna happen when we kill them? He ain’t gonna take it well. We’re only here as guests.”

“Exactly,” Dale chimed in. “You heard him before. He doesn’t trust us yet. How do you think breaking open his barn and killing his walkers will affect that?”

“We’re not here as guests,” Jon said. “We’re eleven. They’re three. Hershel can’t make us leave.”

“You can’t be serious,” Dale exclaimed.

“That’s fucked up man,” T-Dog said.

“It’s fuckin’ true that’s what it is,” Shane said.

“Sweetheart, they’re right.” Andrea turned to approach Dale. The shadows retreated from her face. A stern frown hardened her round, freckled face. She took his hand into hers. “See reason. The walkers can’t stay and Hershel isn’t going to listen.”

Dale took a step back. “You can’t be serious… do you even hear what they're saying? They’re talking about taking this place, under the cover of night, like we’re a bunch of bandits.”

“This place is our only viable sanctuary from the dead,” Jon said. “If Hershel means to take it from us, we can’t allow it.”

“He’s right.” Andrea squeezed his hand.

“You gotta see reason, man,” Shane added.

Dale snatched his hand away from Andrea and pointed it at Shane. “Where do you get off talkin’ to me about reason? After what you did!”

“That ain’t got nothin’ to do with this!”

“The fuck it don’t!” T-Dog yelled.

Bloodbeak screeched. “Did! Did! Did!”

Jon stepped in front of Shane. “Listen.” He looked around the group. “You all know the threat the dead pose. How many have they taken from us already? Every moment we leave them locked up in that barn is a moment something could go wrong. I’ve seen the lock and chain that contains them. It is rusted and old. Surely none of you trust a single, rusted chain with our lives.”

Dale stood taller. T-Dog’s shoulders dropped. He fidgeted. Glenn buried his head in his hands. Jenner rose and joined Jon’s side. His blood-sodden bandage glistened orange-red in the light. Andrea held Dale’s hand again but Dale snatched it back.

“It’s held this long, hasn’t it?” he said.

“A miracle. By all rights, some sort of noise should have caught their attention. There’s enough of them to break down the doors with enough persistence.”

“You can’t possibly know-”

“We don’t hurt them,” Glenn interrupted. “No matter what happens, we don’t hurt Maggie or her family. Okay?”

“No harm will come to them. I assure you.”

Glenn joined Jon’s side. The light revealed a frown and down-cast eyes.

“I’m an old man too,” Dale said. “You plan on bullying me into doing what you want as well?”

“This is what Hershel and his family need. They can only live this lie for so long before it gets them and us killed.”

Dale scoffed. “You keep telling yourself that.”

Andrea shook her head and made her way to Jon’s side. Five bodies cast in light faced two cast in shadow. Dale faced away from them. The glow of the night fire revealed a scowl. His eyes flickered to Andrea. The scowl wavered.

Jon ignored the old man. He is beyond reason. And weak. I need strength to face the dead. “T-Dog, see reason. If we leave this place, people will die. Think of all the people we’ve lost so far. Amy, Jim, Donna, Morales, his wife and children, everyone at the quarry…” and Merle. “Jacqui.”

“Die!” Bloodbeak strutted right up to T-Dog. “Die! Die! Die!”

Jacqui’s name won out. T-Dog sighed and ran his hand over his face. “Sorry man…” He left Dale’s side and joined Jon’s.

Five faces cast in light became six.

Dale stood alone in the shadows. “Lord… you people are making a terrible mistake…”

“You keep tellin’ yourself that, old man,” Shane said.

Dale stiffened. “I’m telling Hershel!” He snapped on his heels and marched away.

Shane stepped to follow. Jon stopped him with a touch. “Leave him, Hershel will find out regardless. Everyone ready your blades, best we do this quickly!”

The group drew their weapons from their belts. Andrea, a knife in each hand. T-Dog, a hatchet. Glenn, a red-handled machete. Shane, a butcher’s cleaver. Jon drew Longclaw. Jenner spoke in a hushed, gurgled voice.

“Dale isn’t wrong. They’re not gonna take it well.”

“Aye, they won’t. Get ahead of Dale. Inform Rick of what we discovered and what we intend to do. There are three loaded guns and a crossbow in that house, keep them out of Hershel’s or his daughters’ hands.”

“Think Rick’ll side with us?”

“They’ll see reason.”

Jenner nodded and made for the house. He disappeared into night’s void, consumed by shadows.

Jon faced the others. “Make haste!”

“Haste!” echoed Bloodbeak.

Jon headed a charge across the field, Ghost at his heels. The others trailed behind him. Shane hurried to his side, grinning.

“Hershel will thank you for this one day,” he said. “But whatever happens next, we’ve got your back.”

Jon trusted Shane’s smile about as much as he trusted the moon to fall out of the sky.

“Back!” Boodbeak shot overhead; a feathered, black arrow flying across the night sky.

Ghost raced ahead; a white comet, shooting through night’s black grass.

The barn raced to meet them. It rose higher and higher until it obscured the dagger moon and cast them in a moonlight shadow. From afar, it looked like a shack. Up close, half a great hall. Night robbed it of any colour or texture, leaving only a looming, square, silhouette. As they arrived before its tall, twin doors, shouts boomed across the fields. Jon looked over his shoulder. Three lanterns bathed Hershel, Maggie, Beth, Rick, Daryl, Jenner and Lori in golden light. Rick held a rifle, Jenner a shotgun, and Daryl his crossbow. The Greenes held no weapons. They raced along the gravel path to the barn, their lanterns teetering, like three drunk fireflies. Someone shouted something but his voice failed to carry the distance.

Jon faced the others, his back to the barn’s high doors. Night’s shadows permitted the four nothing but vague silhouettes. Ghost bared his fangs at the barn. His hackles raised. Bloodbeak perched atop the peak of the barn’s roof. He muttered.

Jon shouted commands. “Form up! Shoulder to shoulder! Keep the dead at arm’s length and an eye out for those beside you. If the dead get past your arms, take three steps back and strike the head! There aren’t many. Let’s finish this swiftly!”

“Swift!” Bloodbeak screeched.

The group formed a straight line twenty paces from the barn’s doors, shoulder to shoulder, weapons raised. Hershel’s voice carried through the air, like a great, bellowing horn.

“STOOOOOOP! STOOOOOOP!”

“Stop!” the raven cackled.

Shrill, wails filled the air. The barn’s doors rattled, tugging the rusted chain. Jon stood before the others, Longclaw grasped in both hands, Ghost alert at his side. “Ready?!”

“Ready!” The other shouted as one.

Jon whipped around, charged the door and cleaved the chain. Longclaw ate through rusted steel. White sparks spat. The chain collapsed. The doors flew open. Corpses spilled out, tripping, scrambling, moaning, wailing and clawing for Jon. Jon robbed one of its head with a backhanded slash before hurrying to join the line. He nestled between Shane and Andrea. Ghost skulked the line’s flank eyeing the corpses with sharp, red eyes. The dead bumbled towards them. A rotten stench attacked Jon’s nose. His scarred hand throbbed. Fire blazed in his chest. The raven cackled.

Beth screamed and cried. Hershel begged and raged. A faint voice strained to shout. But Jon heard no words, only the wails of the dead.

“Hold!” He bellowed. The line stiffened around him. Blades raised as one.

The dead scrambled forward, reaching and screeching. When they were within arms reach, Jon bellowed again.

“Strike!”

Together, five blades met five rotten heads. Flesh squelched. Skulls shattered. Black blood sprayed. Rotten corpses collapsed. In an instant, new corpses replaced the old.

“Strike!”

Five blades moved as one. Five more corpses fell.

“Strike!”

They raised their blades. A corpse veiled in long hair, stiff like copper wire, lunged past T-Dog’s arms. Quick as a flash, T-Dog retreated three steps. The corpse chased, scrambling. T-Dog brought his hatchet down with both hands. The corpse’s head burst like a melon. It collapsed at his feet.

“Step back! One! Two! Three!”

With each count, they took a step back, aligning with T-Dog. A short distance separated them from the dead. They raised their blades.

“Strike!”

Five corpses spluttered and died as five blades collapsed their skulls. Only two corpses remained, stumbling and tripping over their fallen comrades, apathetic to their defeat. Jon stepped forward and decapitated them both with a two-handed slash. The dead wailed no more. Only Beth. Jon wiped a smear of rot from his brow then faced the Greene family, unashamed.

Beth sobbed on her knees. Hershel – kneeling beside her – glared at Jon with such malice that the very air soured. Maggie, Rick and Daryl stood behind them, holding lanterns. They stared at the corpses with hollow eyes. Jenner squeezed past them and began checking T-Dog over for bites. Lori supported Rick and his trembling leg, eyes fixed on the ground. Dale lingered at Rick’s flank, glaring at Jon.

“Look what he’s done!” Dale pointed at Beth.

Jon flicked black blood off of Longclaw and pointed it at the fallen corpses. “Look what we stopped.”

Dale’s rage flared like a flame stoked by the wind. Jon paid it little mind, only Rick’s mattered. Gold light and black shadows went to war on Rick’s face, muddling the features. But they did naught to hide the sadness. His eyes, drooped and hollowed, meandered back and forth between the fallen corpses and the wailing girl. Then, they found Jon.

“Why?” he asked.

Jon opened his mouth to answer but Shane’s voice spoke in his stead. “He stepped up, man! Did what needed to be done, for the greater good, while you sat around doing jack shit!”

Rick's eyes snapped to Shane as if noticing him for the first time. Suddenly, a breath of strength blew through Rick’s frail frame. He stood tall and broadened his shoulders, all while his eyes remained hollow and sullen. Lori stiffened and hugged his arm to her chest but Rick wrenched free.

“Greater good?” He threw down his rifle and marched towards Shane.

Shane cocked his head. “The hell’re you-”

Rick cracked Shane upside the head. His jaw spun and he hit the dirt like a sack of flour. Cursing, Shane made to stand but Rick stomped on his chest, slamming him back into the dirt. Quick like lightning, Rick whipped out his revolver and pointed it at Shane’s face. Shane’s eyes bulged. Slow and careful, he raised his hands, dropping his cleaver.

“Don’t you ever talk about the greater good. Not you.” Rick spoke in a low, hushed drawl.

Shane honed on the gun, eyes darting and twitching. “That- That thing ain’t loaded.”

Rick pointed the revolver at the dirt beside Shane’s head. Thunder cracked. The dirt exploded. Shane cried out and covered his face.

“Ain’t it?”

Beth’s sobbing ceased. Everyone stared at Rick and his gun, silent and still. Only the raven dared to cackle.

“Rick…” Jon lowered Longclaw. “Put down the gun.”

Rick’s eyes never left Shane. He pointed the gun at him again. “Whatever this is. Whatever you were tryin’ to do, won’t work. You ain’t the leader anymore. I am. Lori ain’t yours. She’s mine. Carl ain’t yours. He’s mine. And the baby? Mine too. I don’t give a shit who fathered it. It’s mine. You’ll never play any role in its life and you’ll never play a part in leadin’ these people again. Do I make myself clear?”

“The baby?” Shane uncovered his face and looked at Lori. His voice trembled. “Lori’s pregnant?”

Lori scowled at him, placed a hand on her belly and turned from him. The life drained from Shane’s face. He slumped and stared at the sky.

“You look at me.” Rick dug his heel in.

Shane grimaced and glared at Rick.

“You try to rape my wife again, I’ll kill you. Don’t talk to her. Don’t look at her. Don’t be near her. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal…”

Rick sheathed his revolver and turned his wrath on Jon and those beside him. “What the hell is this? What’d he say to get y’all to actin’ like this?”

Jon’s grip on Longclaw tightened but that’s as far as his own wrath showed. Ice snuffed the fire in his chest as he put on a Stark face. “Nothing. They acted under my orders. We did what needed to be done. They were housing these monsters, here, on our land, mere minutes walk from your injured son. Look at them all.” Jon pointed Longclaw at the corpses again. “What would have happened if they got out in the night? Ambushed us in our sleep? We’d have been slaughtered.”

Rick did not look. “These people believe that the walkers are only sick. That their family is only sick. You should have come to me. To Hershel. Like Dale and Jenner. So these people could say their goodbyes. Don’t they deserve that? After everything they’ve done for us?”

“The bodies are still here. Goodbyes are easier said to still corpses rather than moving ones.”

“Corpses?!” Hershel bellowed. He attacked Rick and Jon with a gaze of venom. “These people are sick! They’re alive!” Suddenly, all the venom and malice and hate drained from Hershel. His shoulders slumped. Tears streamed down his wrinkled cheeks. “My boys… my wife… they were alive. Alive. You monsters…”

Beth flung her skinny arms around her father and sobbed into his chest. Hershel squeezed her and buried his face in her golden hair.

Maggie crept forward, eyes hollow. “Dad… let’s go inside… okay?” She touched Hershel’s shoulders.

“No! I need to bury her. I need to-”

Beth gasped and screamed. A corpse lingered in the barn’s doorway. What once was a woman, skulked forward with careful, slow steps. Its head turned left then right then left then right, scanning the group. Ghost moved in front of Jon, fangs bared in a silent snarl. The walker’s eyes snapped to him at once. It froze and hunched.

“Variant…” Jenner murmured.

Hershel whispered. “Please…” He shouted. “Please! Not her! Don’t kill my wife! Oh god, please have mercy! Have mercy, god, oh please!”

“Please!” Beth echoed, staring at Jon with wide, teary eyes.

Jon whistled a short, sharp note and touched Ghost’s rear. The direwolf bolted for the variant. Wailing, the corpse broke out into a janky, disjointed sprint. Ghost tackled it to the ground, clamped his jaws around its head and tore it from its shoulders. Black blood erupted from the neck, matting Ghost’s muzzle. He tossed the head aside and it let out a gurgled shriek.

Hershel deflated. “Why…” Hershel hugged Beth to his chest, defeated.

“I’ll show you.” Jon made his way over to the shrieking head.

“Dammit, Jon. Stop.” Rick stepped to follow. His knee buckled and hit the dirt. Grunting, he struggled to stand.

While Lori rushed to help him back to his feet, no one else made a move. Jon snatched up the head by its hair, carried it to Hershel and held it level with the old man’s eyes. It fixed its yellow eyes on Hershel, wailed, snapped its jaws and gnashed its teeth. Beth screamed and scrambled away on all fours. Hershel’s eyes widened.

Rick choked. “Jon! Stop!”

“G-Get it away!” Hershel cried.

“No. You look. Does she look alive to you? She has no heart, no blood, nothing but a brain. Yet her eyes stare at you all the same.” Jon moved the head back and forth. The eyes tracked Hershel left and right. “Do you see love in these eyes? Do you see the woman you loved? The mother of your children?” The head gnashed its jaws. Its teeth sunk into its tongue. Black blood oozed from its mouth.

Fear, grief, horror; it all faded as Hershel’s eyes hollowed. Jon whipped the head away and dashed it across the hard, gravel ground. Fire blazed in his chest and arms. The skull smashed, like brittle pottery. All wailing, shrieking and snapping of jaws ceased as it lay on the gravel, split open and oozing black blood.

“Do you see now? The fool you have been?”

“Fool!” Bloodbeak flapped his wings.

Hershel stared past Jon, at the oozing head.

“Mama…” Beth whimpered.

Hershel’s eyes sharpened. Wrath darkened his face. Trembling, he struggled to his feet, fists clenched, upper lip curled. “You get out…”

“Hershel-” Rick began.

“You get out! Now! All of you! I won’t have you here you… you fucking monsters!”

Hershel snapped on his heels and marched back to the house. Maggie and Daryl parted to let him through. Beth eyed Jon the way a doe might eye a wolf before scrambling after her father. Stiff and tentative, Maggie approached Rick and Jon.

“I-I’ll talk to him. Make him see reason. Y’all…” she swallowed and straightened her back. “Y’all are right. They ain’t sick. Never were. They’re dead… all of them… this whole time. Fuck.” Tears welled in Maggie’s eyes. She scowled and scrubbed them. But they flowed all the same.

Glenn sheathed his machete and approached Maggie. She flung her arms around him and buried her face into his shoulder. Glenn’s arm bundled her. Sobs overtook Maggie.

“Take all the time you need,” Rick said, raspy, barely above a whisper. “Get some rest. Tomorrow, we can talk with your father together.”

Maggie nodded and allowed Glenn to lead her back to the house.

Jon approached Rick. “I should accompany you to these talks. I-”

“Stop.” Rick’s eyes drooped. “Ain’t you done enough tonight? Stay out here, away from Hershel and away from his daughters. Dig the graves. You owe them that much.”

“Graves are of little import. Hershel’s threatened our safety, again. I’m more experienced in negotiation than you. My place is at your side during these talks.”

“Your place is where I say it is,” Rick snapped. “I’m the leader, ain’t I? That’s what you keep sayin’. So, do what you’re fuckin’ told, Jon. Do I make myself clear?” As Rick’s voice rose, hot with wrath, a tremble shivered through his body. His legs betrayed him, forcing him to lean on Lori.

“Don’t push yourself. You’re still recoverin’,” Lori said.

Rick tried to fend her off, feeble like a man thirty namedays his senior. “I’m fine.”

“No, you ain’t. Come on, back to the house. Lord… your hand.”

Blood oozed from Rick’s knuckles. Rick glared at Shane, still sprawled out on the gravel. “It’ll heal.” He hobbled off, leaning on Lori, back towards the house. Dale followed them. Daryl and Jenner lingered. A quick nod from Jon sent them to follow too. Ice flowed through Jon’s veins as he watched them leave.

For all their strength, these people come from a land of summer, of wealth and luxury. I mustn’t forget that. They know nothing of true hardships, of winter and long nights. I can not be their shield against it, for it is already among them. But I can catch them as winter’s howl bowls them over. I must, for when the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives.

Ghost nuzzled Jon’s side. Jon scratched the direwolf’s ears as he faced the three who still remained. Night’s pitch veil hid all their faces. Andrea’s and T-Dog’s silhouettes stood tall and stiff, like shadow-garbed sentinels. Shane remained on his back, staring at the stars.

“This was right,” Andrea assured. “It was… it was.”

“That shit with the head, that’s evil shit, man.” T-Dog slid his hatchet’s handle beneath his belt. “Too far.”

“They needed to see these monsters for what they are,” Jon said. “Killing them showed only that they can fall, something that was plain, even to a madman’s eyes. The impossible screeching of a severed head can not be so easily dismissed as mere sickness.”

“Don’t make it any less evil.”

“Evil!” Bloodbeak cawed.

I know. But Jon did not say that out loud.

“Whatever it takes to wake them up is worth it,” Andrea said, knives still in hand. “We don’t have time to baby them.”

“Don’t have to be cruel neither,” T-Dog snapped. “Dale was right, this was a mistake. I mean, shit, look at who the first one was to jump on board was.” T-Dog pointed to Shane. Shane said naught nor did naught in response. “Fuckin’ pathetic.”

“In time, Hershel and Beth shall thank us,” Jon said.

“Thank! Thank!” Bloodbeak cawed.

“Exactly,” Andrea said.

T-Dog shook his head. “I ain’t fuckin’ arguin’ with you two. I’m too goddamn tired… I’ll see y’all in the mornin’, to bury them.”

Jon stepped in front of T-Dog as he made to leave. “You can’t.”

“Why?” T-Dog asked, curt and gruff. He loomed a head and half tall over Jon, face veiled in moonlight shadow.

“We must ensure the barn is truly empty. Lurkers may remain.”

T-Dog stared down at him, stiff and tall. “Fine. Then I sleep.”

“Then you sleep.”

“Sleep!” Bloodbeak echoed.

T-Dog readied his hatchet. Andrea, her knives. Jon loomed over Shane.

“Don’t,” Shane said at once. “I’m coming.” He shut his eyes, sighed then rolled onto his knees. After a moment of searching, he snatched his cleaver from the grass and stood.

Together, Jon and Shane lined up between Andrea and T-Dog. Ghost headed their advance through the barn’s towering entrance. Rot’s stench and night’s pitch made Ghost’s nose and Jon’s eyes useless. So, Jon relied on their hearing. Lurkers possessed more stealth than their roaming counterparts. But still, they lacked the wits for true stealth. While faint, their breathing gave them away each and every time if one had the sense to listen.

“Ghost, hunt,” Jon whispered, Longclaw ready.

Ghost’s ears pricked as they entered the tall, multi-levelled, wooden box. Head raised, Ghost slunk into the main aisle across rot-smeared straw and past two stalls. He paused beneath a ladder, the third and final stall to his right. A twitch fluttered his left ear and the direwolf crept through an open door to his left. Jon followed, flanked by the others and their rot-smeared blades. Bloodbeak swooped after them. Perched high among the rafters, he watched them creep, muttering to himself.

Through the door, darkness was at its strongest in a long, windowless room. The vague, shadowy outlines of sinks and counters lined the walls. Jugs topped the counters. Barrels littered the tiled floor, half of which lay turned over. Ghost crept between the barrels, swift like a salmon against the current. A long smear left a slick trail to the back of the room. At the end of the trail, two lurkers sat propped up against a wide, steel refrigerator built into the wall. Bloated, rotting and smeared with all sorts of rancid fluids, hardly even human. Their forms melded together, indistinguishable from any other living corpse. Only a cap and a tangle of filthy, curly hair afforded them an identity.

Ghost sat on his haunches before them at a distance of a dozen or so paces. Jon eyed Andrea. Her eyes met his at once. He pointed to her then the fat corpse with the cap, then to himself and the skinny corpse with the tangled curls. Andrea nodded and readied a knife, holding it by the blade. Jon raised Longclaw to his chest with a two-handed grip, poised to stab. Side by side, Jon and Andrea crept past Ghost to approach the dead. T-Dog trailed Andrea, Shane trailed Jon, hatchet and cleaver at the ready. They froze three or so paces from the lurkers. Andrea raised the knife level with her ear. Jon twisted his body and lowered Longclaw to above his hip. After a nod from Andrea, Jon nodded. Stepping forward, Andrea flung the knife. It tumbled hilt-over-blade and embedded square in the middle of the corpse’s forehead. Gurgling, the corpse slumped to the side. The one beside stirred. Two quick steps and a thrust of Longclaw stopped the monster. Longclaw passed through flesh and skull and the steel door behind with ease.

Both corpses lay dead and bleeding but no one relaxed. Ghost lifted his head. Side to side his head turned, slow and cautious. His ears stayed still. Jon trusted Ghost more than any man. But even so, he led a sweep through the barn. A silo room; room for tact and feed; a large room for housing vehicles; the three stalls and the second-story open space for housing mounds of straw. Ghost had the right of it. No other lurkers lingered.

After they’d combed through the straw mounds, Jon sheathed Longclaw. He approached T-Dog. “Sleep here tonight. It’s safer than out there.”

“I ain’t sleepin’ here. Not while it smells like death. I’m sleepin’ in my tent. See y’all in the mornin’ when the diggin’ starts. Lords knows it’ll be a day’s job.” T-Dog shouldered past Jon and made for the ladder.

“Death!” Bloodbeak cackled. He swooped and perched on Jon’s shoulder. “Death! Death! Death!”

Internally, Jon sighed. Outwardly, he kept a Stark’s face and turned to Andrea and Shane. “Best you two go with him. He can’t sleep alone, especially out there.”

“Yup. I’ll keep watch. Out of y’all’ sight.” Shane left.

Andrea nodded at Jon. “Sure but the same goes for you. I can’t let you sleep alone either.”

“I won’t. Once I’m finished here, I’ll join you.”

“What else is there to do?”

“Digging. I spied a few shovels in one of the backrooms.”

“That can wait ‘till morning. The dead ain’t going anywhere.”

“No, but I’ll be hard-pressed for sleep regardless. T-Dog had the right of it, digging that many graves will be take a full day of labour. Mayhaps two. Best to get an early start.”

“Then I’ll stay too. I killed them, same as you. Ain’t fair to leave all the work to you.”

“I need you in the camp.”

“T-Dog’ll be fine with Shane watchin’ over him. After that shit with Rick, fucker’s probably more hard-pressed for sleep than anyone. Besides, you can’t stay out here alone. It ain’t safe.”

“I’m not alone. Ghost and Bloodbeak will watch over me. And, someone needs to watch Shane.”

Andrea paused then nodded. “I’ll keep an eye on him. Ain’t exactly feeling sleepy myself.”

“You have my thanks.”

Andrea arched an eyebrow. “Is Bloodbeak the bird’s name?”

Jon’s heart weighed in his chest. “Aye… it is.”

Together, Jon and Andrea descended the ladder to an awaiting Ghost. They ruffled his shaggy, white fur each before going their separate ways. While Andrea followed Shane and T-Dog across the fields of grass, blackened by the night, Jon carried a shovel to the base of the hill. He stabbed the shovel’s rusted spade at the ground. Hard, compact dirt greeted him, rocking him to the core.

*** The rising sun peeked above the treeline, breathing warm red light into the world once again. Night’s shadows scattered, broken by daylight’s charge. Colour returned; A sky of reds and pinks, fields of greens and golds, a house of whites, vehicles of silvers and blacks and creams, tents of blues, and a barn of reds and whites. Jon shovelled brown earth, hard as stone into yet another pile.

Eight graves lined the base of the barn’s hill, spaced evenly, six feet deep. The work turned a set of lungs into blazing furnaces, searing each ragged breath. Turned a set of arms to ethereal spectres, numb and unfeeling. Turned a back to a stiff board, in risk of breaking. Floundered a heart, until it begged for respite.

All the pains of some other man.

The man Jon Snow, Bastard of Winterfell, Boy Commander of The Wall, knew no such pains, only duty, honour and the labour they demanded. His lungs knew nothing of furnaces or ragged breaths, only inhale and exhale and inhale and exhale. His arms knew nothing of spectres or unfeeling, only thrust and stab and thrust and stab. His back knew nothing of boards or breaking, only lift and dump and lift and dump. His heart knew nothing of floundering or respite, only a steady beat like a marching drum.

Somewhere, far off, black wings fluttered, red eyes stared, a hand grasped firm and a woman’s voice whispered.

“Get some rest. We’ll take it from here.”

His arms thrust but no impact greeted them and no stab followed. Again, they thrust and again, nothing. Jon found no shovel in his hands. The firm grasp guided him away from the grave to the hill. The staring red eyes and fluttering black wings followed. No. Not yet. I am not done, not even halfway. For all his mind’s complaining, his legs, stubborn and heedless, carried him from his work. Grass greeted his back, swaddling pain unfelt. Red skies and pink clouds replaced the brown of an undug grave. A black, winged silhouette of fluttering black feathers circled the red sky. A great, white mass with staring, red eyes lay on his chest. Sleep took him unawares in some cowardly ambush and robbed him of all sensation in one fell swoop. The cold embrace! Terror gripped him. But only until wolf dreams carried it away.

He found himself dreaming in his wolf’s body, as he so oft did. Something wasn’t right. His paws were too big, his legs too weak, and his body too small. A great weight tugged on his eyelids. He had to fight to keep them open. A desperate hunger hounded him, demanding flesh and blood and… milk. He was a pup again, dragging himself through endless, towering, thick grass. As he had the day the men their pups found him and his brothers all those moons ago. Perhaps he was in a memory, remembering. No. He couldn’t be. There had been no grass that day, only snow.

He dragged himself through a field of grey grass with a pup’s weak, uncomely front paws. Blazing white clouds meandered across a pitch sky. Some creature, jade-green with wings and scales stalked him, as small as him but surefooted. It peered through the blades of grass with sharp, bronze eyes. Whether it be prey or hunter, it kept a distance, only hissing or baring a mouth of black teeth, thin like twigs. He bore his fangs in a silent snarl but the creature didn’t flinch or cringe. It hissed and then spat a jet of yellow flames. The flames tickled his fur but did not burn nor even feel hot.

A great wind howled, billowing hot like fresh blood. Red lightning struck the earth. The earth shook. The skies thundered. Grey grass snapped to black. White clouds blazed red. But the sky remained black and starless. A man stood over him and the scaled stalker. Tall and broad of shoulder, the man loomed like a mountain made flesh. Beneath shot-cut, silver hair, purple eyes gazed down at him and only him. They saw naught of the stalker. Three great shadows stood behind the man, taller than the red clouds. They beat great wings that spanned the sky and breathed pillars of red flame that looped horizon to horizon. A top the man’s head, the man wore a circle of black, rippled metal set with fat, square, red stones. In his hands, he held another metal circle, this one bronze and set with tall metal fangs, long and sharp enough to drive fear into even the strongest wolves. The man tossed it at him, lazy and uninterested. It landed before his paws, the points of its teeth stood a deal taller than him. He had no use for the metal circles of men. The stalker thought different. It pounced on the circle and attacked with claws and twig-teeth. But did little more than dent and scratch the metal fangs. It screeched a complaint and spat a jet of yellow flames. The bronze teeth drooped, sagged and dribbled until they were a ring of gums. Three pairs of eyes, large like six moons upon the black, starless sky, gazed upon the stalker. As did the purple eyes of the man. He smiled.

The grass shrank, allowing his head to peek over. No. He grew. His legs lengthened, his body grew and his paws became surefooted. The scaled stalker grew with him and more. It grew and grew, taller, longer, and fatter until it was the size of a horse. It looked down on him with bronze eyes. Yellow and red flames flickered in the corners of its jaws like blazing, writhing snakes.

A great wind howled, billowing hot like fire. Gold lighting flashed. The earth shook. The skies thundered. Black grass snapped to crimson red. Red clouds blazed gold. But the sky remained black and starless. The man and his giant shadows vanished. A man-pup and a jawless dog with purple-white fur and gold eyes replaced them. The man-pup stood as tall as the man before, chest puffed and jaw tight, as if it thought itself a man grown. Pouty lips and a soft face marked it as a pup all the same. Curly, blonde hair curtained a set of deep green eyes that flared, wild and untameable. The man-pup tightened its grip on a long man-claw as tall as the man-pup itself, made of smoky metal, dark and rippled deep. The purple-white dog stared with golden eyes, unabashed. Dogs were meant to fear direwolves, to bow their heads and tuck their tails. But this dog sat on its haunches, head high, tail stiff and pointed at the sky. Dried blood matted its purple and white fur crimson around the gaping wound where a jaw ought to be. Fresh blood oozed from the wound and dribbled onto the severed head of a man at the dog’s feet. Tar caked the head’s long face and hair, veiling it black. The featureless, black face gawked, shocked and fearful; ambushed prey. The man-pup tossed the valyrian blade and kicked the head. Both rested at his paws. He had no use for man-claws when he had teeth and the tar spoiled any worthwhile flesh of the head. But in a flash, the scaled stranger snatched the head between its jaws. It spewed yellow-red flames until the tar dribbled molten from its jaws then devoured it. It left the valyrian blade, only gazing at it with fond eyes. The man-pup’s eyes flashed crimson red, speckled gold. It cackled and pointed right at him.

He grew again, as tall as the scaled stranger and then more; taller than any man; longer than any horse. Strength pumped through his veins that made him feel untouchable and unchangeable. But also alone and spiteful. The scaled stalker grew too, and grew, and grew, and grew until it lost form and became a jade-green shadow with wings that spanned the skies. Yellow, orange and red flames erupted where a mouth should be; long reaching tendrils that snaked from horizon to horizon like bands of molten metal. Two bronze eyes as large as moons bore into him. He bared his fangs. The scaled stalker roared.

A great wind howled, billowing with heat beyond heat. Blue lightning flashed. The earth shook. The skies thundered. Crimson grass snapped to silver-grey. Golden clouds blazed blue. But the sky remained black and starless. Some amalgamation of man, weasel and vulture replaced the man-pup and its jawless dog. The vulture-weasel-man laughed, his bald, spotted head glinted yellow, orange and red beneath the flames. In one, wrinkled, frail hand he held the head of a man-pup by its thick, red-brown hair. In the other, the vulture-weasel-man held a circle of bronze inscribed with old, powerful words forgotten by the likes of men. The vulture-weasel-man laughed at him again and then tossed both to his paws. The old words called for gods, kings and glory. The man-pup’s dead eyes called for mother, brothers and mercy. At his hip, the vulture-weasel-man reached for the wood hilt of a man-claw poking out of a long, leather pouch. But rather than a man-claw, the vulture-weasel-man drew a thin club bound in barbed steel thread. A stranger’s voice broke the silence with a laugh louder than thunder. The scaled roared and unleashed a torrent of orange-and-yellow flames shot through with veins of green. They consumed all; the sky; the clouds; the grass; the vulture-weasel-man. And just as it reached him, everything snapped to black.

Jon awoke with a start and a shout, human and unburnt, except for his hand. The old burn wounds ached as if fresh again. His heart raced as if admits a battle. Ghost stood alert at his side, red eyes wide, white fur on ends, fangs bared in a silent snarl at the sky, blue with white clouds. Jon left the embrace of the green grass to stand. Before him were twelve graves. Andrea and Glenn worked at a thirteenth, T-Dog and Maggie at a fourteenth. Or at least they would be if they weren’t all staring at him.

“You good?” Andrea asked.

Jon took a deep breath. His racing heart calmed. “Aye. Just a bad dream. Nothing more.” His burn scars throbbed.

“Had some too, man,” T-Dog said, glowering.

Jon opened and closed his scarred hand. “Is there another shovel? I must repay you for working in my stead.”

“Nah, but you can have mine. I need a break anyway.” Andrea left the thirteenth grave, handed Jon her shovel and lounged on a bed of green grass. She sighed and smiled.

Jon joined Glenn, knee-deep in the thirteenth grave. The sun blazed high above their heads, casting shallow, midday shadows. I’ve slept too long and missed too much. Jon tightened his cloak.

“Have Rick and Hershel had their talk yet?” He stabbed his shovel into the dirt.

Glenn nodded. “Rick talked him into letting us stay until Carl and Sophia heal.”

“And after?” Jon lifted a heaping mound of dirt.

Glenn gummed his lips.

“We leave,” T-Dog said.

“Those were his words?” Jon dumped the dirt onto a mound beside the grave.

“Yes but I can talk him down,” Maggie said. “He’s reasonable, really. He just needs some time is all.”

“No. He’s right,” T-Dog said. “There are other farms. If he wants us gone, we don’t gotta stay at this one.”

But are they as easy to defend, free of the dead and full of crops ready to harvest? The debate could wait.

Jon plunged his shovel. “What does Rick think of leaving?”

Glenn shrugged. “After the talk with Hershel, he hasn’t talked to anyone, just went straight back to sleep. I don’t know how many more transfusions he can take…”

Not good. “He’ll awaken stronger than ever. What of Beth? How does she fair?” Jon lifted a mound.

“Listen for yourself,” Maggie said.

Jon dumped the mound outside the grave and listened. A faint melody drifted across the farm. Far off, Jon saw Beth, knelt before the great oak, head bowed. Jenner sat at a short distance, watching the field beyond the fence behind her.

“She’s been singing all day, the same song over and over,” Glenn said. “If you try to talk to her she just sings over you. She won’t eat or drink. Her throat’s gonna go raw…”

“Girl’s lost her fucking mind,” Andrea muttered.

“Ain’t we all?” T-Dog asked.

“You see any of us acting like that?”

“She’s young.” Maggie bore a scowl into the bottom of the fourteenth grave. “She’ll come around.”

Lost wits were the least of Jon’s concerns. The girl could be dealt with. Jon stabbed the dirt. “What of Dale?”

Scowling, Andrea sat up and pointed to the camp. Atop the RV, Dale watched the woods without a weapon. “Been there ever since Beth sang over his attempt to comfort her. Only answers with fucking one-word answers, like a kid.”

As long as Dale stayed where he was, Jon rather he acts a child than the fool he’d been last night. “And where is Hershel?” Jon lifted a mound of dirt.

“Drinking on the porch,” Andrea said. “He’ll finish all the booze before the day’s done. Then our only disinfectant will be the stuff you and Jenner brought back for Carl. And half of that’s already been used.”

Jon dumped the dirt and squinted at the house. Sure enough, Hershel sat on the rickety stairs of the porch, surrounded by a dozen bottles, half were empty. The old man emptied a bottle down his gullet and then tossed it. It spun through the air in a high arch before shattering on the gravel. In an instant, another bottle replaced it in his hand. The truth will make him stronger, in time. Jon turned his attention back to digging.

“What of our supplies? Has a tally been counted?”

“Yeah, I did it this morning, after Rick and Hershel spoke.” A grin spread across Glenn’s face. “Our own supplies are lacking, like usual. Two days of food, three of water, one of fuel, no ammo, no medicine. But Hershel’s is better. There’s a month’s worth of wheat, onions and radishes in his silos. A well outside the fence will give us water forever so long as it rains. No fuel, but we’ve got horses now so it doesn’t really matter. And there’s plenty of medicine but best of all, he’s got ammo and guns. Fifty shotgun rounds. A dozen boxes of 38 calibre rounds. He’s got an old double barrel shotgun from like the fifties or something, a smith & weston and a hunting rifle not to mention the shotgun and revolver you and Jenner brought back.”

“Aye, good.” Jon spied the well, atop a hill a good distance beyond the fence. “We’ll need to fortify the well. If a roamer falls in we’ll be without drink until we find more or dig a new one.”

“Shit, yeah. Good call.”

Black flies swarmed at the base of the barn, droning a dull buzz.

“What of the dead? How many graves must we dig? Who can we burn?”

“Fifteen,” Maggie said. “Three were family. Our mom… well, Beth’s mom. And our brothers Jimmy and Billy. Six were neighbours; Mr and Mrs O’Donnel, Mr Grimshaw, Old Man Jack and his twin boys Luey and Huey. Four were friends; Wallace Jenkins, Danny Eve, Felicity Summers and Alex Culver. Two were farmhands Otis White and his girlfriend Patrica Roda. The other five are strangers. We can burn them.”

“We should bury them too,” T-Dog said. “These were people once. We have the time to dig graves now. Everyone deserves one, stranger or not.”

“We should burn them all. Graves are a waste of time,” Andrea said. “I ain’t digging anymore than I have to. Bury the family and friends, burn the strangers.”

“They’re all people,” T-Dog shovelled dirt onto a pile.

“They’re all dead. Burned or buried, they disappear all the same,” Andrea rested on the grass, hands behind her head.

“Burning makes more sense.” Glenn leaned on his shovel. “If we dig a grave for each of them, that’s another six graves we gotta dig but if we burn the others, that’s only one more. And frankly, we’ve got better ways to spend our time right now.”

“We’ll dig two more,” Jon said. “The fifteenth will be like the rest but the sixteenth we’ll make twice as deep and bury the strangers together.”

“A mass grave? …” Glenn asked.

“Five people’s hardly a mass grave,” Andrea said.

“They deserve to be buried,” Jon said. “But our time is precious. Let’s not spend more than we have to. Don’t forget we still have to re-fill the graves.”

Maggie shrugged. “Whatever, if you wanna dig twelve feet deep, do as you please. I ain’t diggin’ for strangers.”

“Me neither,” Andrea said.

“I will,” T-Dog said. “You too, right Glenn?”

Glenn sighed. “Yeah, sure.”

“I appreciate it,” Jon said. “Now, let’s get back to work.”

And so they did.

0 notes

littleharpethcrossfit · 2 years ago

Text

Sunday, 23 April, 2023.......... Warmup..........Deadlifts.......... 15 Minute AMRAP......Walk In The Park.

A beautiful sunny breezy day at the Barn, but CHILLY. My Granny would have called this a “Dogwood Winter”. Actually, since the Dogwoods are through blooming, it’s even late for “Dogwood Winter”.

Warmup #1:

Big Shane led us in a very thorough warmup with stretches and exercises.

Warmup #2:

Dana was our Demo Model.

Tabata’s

4 Rounds

Hollow Rocks

Plank Shoulder Taps

Cat-Cows

Strength

Deadlifts: 3 Reps E 2 M X 6 Sets

Warmup Lifts 10 Minutes and Then Do 75% All Across.

Set-Up For Each Rep

No Touch & Go

No Dropping

Shane=335 Ed/Bernie/Robert=315 Coach=235 Herb/Dyer/Manny/Sam=205 Average Dave=135 Alicia/Elisa/Cheri/Kayla=115 Linda=110 Rodney/Dana/Sue

Most of you appeared to make an effort to do these as programmed, but only MANNY did them positively perfect.

Metabolic Conditioner

15 Minute AMRAP

3 Ground To Overheads ( 135/95/65 )

5 Pull-Ups DH

10 Push-Ups HR

15 Perfect Air Squats

Score: Rounds and Fractions Plus Shane Rule !!

Sue=11 Ed/Average Dave=9 1/2 Robert=9 1/4 Alicia/Elisa=9 Cheri=8 1/2 Shane=8 3/4 Coach/Herb/Kayla=8 Bernie/Linda=7 1/4 Dyer=6 1/2 Rodney=5 Manny/Sam D=did it.

The only athlete that your Coach witnessed doing this WOD as prescribed without getting DOZENS of no reps was BERNIE. He was congratulated.

Cool-Down:

Run / Jog / Walk In The Arboretum 1.1 Mile Loop or

Row-Ski 2000m or

Bike ERG 4000m

At least half of you did this...nearly all of our girls.

Note:

There is an unsubstantiated rumor going around that the reason we have been seeing Sam D so often lately is that he is no longer a financial advisor, having been fired for sexual harassment, and since their family is now scraping by on Sharlo’s income, he had to quit his IronTribe membership and come to our Free LHCF box. All of that, although it sounds more believable than his real excuse, is absolutely false. The honestly real excuse is that it hasn’t rained much this Spring and the steep creeks that he would normally be paddling are experiencing water levels that are too low for his death-defying antics. If you would like to see less of Sam D at the Barn, pray for rain. It’s as simple as that.

Tuesday at 4 PM.

0 notes

phoenixblack89 · 4 years ago

Text

Fera Ingris

Chapter 1 - Dealing with Dixons

It's finally here people! Eekkk! It'll be up on A03 later when I turned my laptop on. Been teasing this for soooo long.

My wonderful tag list:

@lilythemadqueen @boondoctorwho @darylsgirl @autocon23 @browneyes528 @fandomsaremykryponite @writingdeadangel

"Yer take care of yourself lass, don't worry about us."

Phoenix sighed at the man on the other end of the phone, twisting the silver rosary he had given her for her birthday many years ago. The world had changed dramatically for them all since that day. Their history bloody and violent and God sent.

"Are ye listening lass?"

"Of course, I'm listening! It's you who isn't! I'm on the way to Atlanta now! As in I'm already in Georgia! I can't let you three rot in there when we've got things to do!"

"Lass, we can take care of ourselves. Connor wants to know if ye got our package?" He asked, she stifled a laugh at the noise of the pair fighting over the phone she could hear.

"Yea I got it. Haven't opened it yet though" she replied, the bike's engine growing colder under her. "What's in it? You guys shouldn't be sending anything. You're lucky Duffy and Dolly got it t' me before I left Boston."

"I know lass but ye need t' keep those safe fer us." She smiled hearing her other friend's voice, clearly having won the battle for the phone. "Look things are getting bad here. You're safe now but things are gettin' weird, we'd never forgive ourselves if anything happened to ye. I love ye too much"

"I love ya too, you idiot! I'm gonna get you all out. We have a mission! I've got a bag full of your stuff right here on my bike, your clothes, coats, guns."

"Aye. What?! No? Yea. Let me say goodbye a' least?" Phoenix knitted her eyebrows, hearing the man talking to someone else. A prison guard maybe. "Lass we have t' go. I'll call ye back when things settle aye?"

"Yea. Just tell me where you are at least?"

"Sorry lass I got to -"

The line suddenly died on her and she frowned, shaking the phone and seeing no signal. She ran her hand through her short dark red hair and started the bike up, speeding quickly towards Atlanta and her boys.

**********

The sun shined through the thin, flimsy material of the tent, shining directly down into the sleeping pairs eyes. The short, spiky, dyed haired young woman groaned and threw her arm over her face. She sat slowly and yawned. She'd had that dream for weeks, wondering what had happened to her friends.

Had the prison been overrun by the monsters that lurked in every corner? Were they dead? Or worse... Had they become one of those things?

She'd slept after her watch shift, which surprised the girl as she had been having a bad bout of insomnia for the last two weeks. Ever since...

No, she thought don't think about it.

She glanced at the young boy laid next to her and smiled. When Carl asked if he could sleep in her tent with her the night before she had been hesitant (mainly because Lori rarely let him out her sight) but Lori had said it was okay and she was not going to fight against the long-haired beauty.

Lori had also said it would be good for her, get her to trust others again. And honestly the boy reminded her so much of her old friend with his boundless energy and smiles.

A gentle tap to the roof of her tent set her senses on guard. She grabbed her long calf length boots and her Bowie knife and slowly pulled the zipper up. A sigh released from her throat as she squinted up at the crossbow welding man in front of her.

"We goin' hunting or what?" He snarled at her, obviously still mad at the woman from their disagreement yesterday. It wasn't her fault. He had spooked her...

Merle approached the dark red haired girl sat by the quarry lake silently. Something was up with her and he was determined to find out what. The sight in front of him worried him slightly, she was nervous and kept flicking her head around. Had she been bit? He was thankful the darkness of the twilight hid him somewhat as he watched. She hissed as she pulled the bloody bandage off her left hand, flexing it and hissing through her teeth. The soft sound of something hitting the surface of the water, made his heart thump. It wasn't raining so why did it sound like it was?

He came right behind her and watched as she rubbed at the wound, it oozed blood and yellowish white pus as she gritted her teeth. Infection was setting in. Daryl called out his name from camp and the girl spun and noticed him there.

"Ya shouldn't be down 'ere by herself girlie." He whispered, kneeling and gently taking her hand, examining the injury intently. "Now wha' we gonna do abou' yer hand? Yer can't take what I offered yer."

"Burn it again. Only thing we can do. Not like we can wander to nearest pharmacy, throw my hand on the counter and say fix it, is it?" She hissed as he prodded a sensitive spot, Merle chuckled slightly and helped her to her feet.

"Nah but China is headed t' the city tomorrow. I'ma go too. I know my meds and I'll get yer what yer need t' be right as rain again, Lil sis." He said with a smirk as they climbed back up the slope to the camp. Daryl and Shane spun round at their footsteps and Merle smirked. Officer ass-hat was on one about something.

"Phoenix! Where have you been?! We told you to stay in camp until you could fight!" Shane whisper-yelled in her face.

"Easy there officer. Girl just needed a second by 'erself... Gets a bit loud round here." Merle defended her, placing himself between the well musculared man and the girl who seemed to shrink into herself. "She's fine. I was a watchin' her."

"I bet you were Dixon." Lori said under her breath. Phoenix glanced at the woman with eyes narrowed. The majority of the camp thought the Dixons were rude, brash and shouldn't be there. Only Phoenix, Glenn, Andrea and Shane knew of the incident that had cemented the brothers in the camp's good graces, well in their good graces.

Phoenix sat down at the small fire infront of her tent and sighed, her ears picking up on raised voices coming from the Dixon tent. It sounded like Daryl was majorly pissed about something and Merle was defending himself.

Isn't any of your business she thought ignore them.

She gazed deep into the fire, the heat warming her frozen limbs nicely. She hated the cold, not that it was cold but she felt like she was sat on a box of ice in just her underwear. She had experienced working in much colder situations, hell the Irish rain was colder than this. The sweat on her brow made her eyes ache and she closed them, leaning her head back.

"Ahh!" She shrieked, jumping up and thrusting her knife backwards towards whatever had grabbed her shoulder. A deep grunt sounded and her hand was twisted, causing her to release her grip of the blade's handle.

"Ain't no need t' try t' gut me girl." Daryl growled, his gruff voice instantly calming the nervous woman. She sighed and held her hand out, Daryl raised his chin and regarded whether to return her knife or not for a moment. He relented at her raised eyebrow and dropped it into her left hand. She hissed in pain and clutched at her wrist. Quicker than she could pull away, he'd wrapped his hand around her wrist yanking her closer and pulling the bandage off her injury. He could see how raised and angry it look, grimacing slightly as it oozed at his poking. Tears of pain welled in her eyes as she grit her teeth, he grumbled under his breath and glanced over his shoulder at his older brother. Merle nodded and raised the half empty bottle of whiskey in a salute. "This why Merle is leavin' right?"

"Yea, told him he didn't have to." She whispered as he released her arm, her skin tingled at the lose of contact. Daryl ran his hand over his neck and bit his lip.

"Ye need meds. Ain't happy a' him, riskin' his neck fer someone like ya." He groaned under his breath. Her mood soured and she shoved him away. He stumbled for a second and threw her a glare. "What the hell is ya problem girl?"

"Someone like me Dixon? Huh? What exactly do you mean by that?!" She folded her arms across her chest. Daryl's eyes flickered downwards for a second to how her arms pushed her breasts higher and more together.

God she's gorgeous when she's mad he thought, his cock twitching in his jeans. He ducked his head and scoffed.

"Ya know what I mean, can't even hunt without hurtin' yaself."

"Go away Dixon." She turned on her heel and stormed off up the bank, and climbing up the RV ladder to take watch. Daryl sighed and slopped off back to his brother, who was laughing, finding the whole scene hilarious.

**********

Phoenix nodded up at the hunter and pulled on her boots and grabbed her bow. She followed Daryl over to his tent where his brother was preparing to go into the city. Merle gave her a once over as she approached, his eyes narrowed at the bow across her back and the stains on the bandage around her left hand.

"Mornin' Firebug." He drawled as the pair stopped. She nodded and heaved her backpack tighter to her shoulder beside her quiver of arrows. "Y'all gonna be alright t' hunt wit' tha' hand?" He questioned, giving his brother a glance. Daryl gave Merle a hooded lidded look and nodded his head up. "Don't wanna waste my time if ya gonna drop down dead on poor Darlena 'ere."

The girl smirked and shoved the older man's shoulder playfully before flipping him off, striding towards the treeline.

"You watch 'er baby brother. She's one of us now."

"Hmm" Daryl said, glancing at the girl as she waited just under the cover of the trees for him. Merle gave a low chuckle and Daryl glared at him. "Stop."

"Come on baby brother, don't be like that." Merle stood and patted him on the shoulder. "Ya been pining after 'er for weeks now. Just give her some of the ol' Dixon charm. If ya even have any!" He barked out a laugh as his brother scoffed and walked away, joining the girl and disappearing into the woods.

**********

A low whistle drew her attention and she glanced in the direction of it. Daryl raised his hand and pointed off towards the copse of trees in front of him. Keeping her body low to the ground and her steps feather light she approached him. Her eyes darting out at the small herd of deer in front of them, they'd finally found them after two days in the woods. She raised her hand and pointed to the smaller of the two bucks. Daryl nodded and gestured he was going to try and get around them so if they darted he could take a shot. She nodded and crouched lower, using the shrubs to hide her. Daryl wandered away silently as she waited for his signal.

A loud shriek pierced the air and the deer scattered. Daryl swore and took off after the smaller buck, Phoenix following him at a distance.

**********

They stopped by a small creak, Phoenix dipping her hand into it and running it over the back of her neck. She felt like she was on fire, yet icy cold at the same time. The infection in her hand had well and truly set in, she needed to be careful or she'd drop and not get back up.

"We go a littl' further then stop fer the night." Daryl mummered beside her, wiping his soaked red rag over the back of his neck and down his face. She nodded, eyes staring off into the stream. He watched her carefully, the way her hair at the back of her neck was slightly curly, the way her ears twitched as if she was a rabbit or a deer hearing a predator. He found her beautiful and mysterious. A riddle he wanted to solve. He couldn't help his attraction to her physique either, the woman was beautiful. Not perhaps every man's wet dream but he found her incredibly sexy.

He admired how she wore gothic, all black, metal studded and chained clothes despite the heat, her short dyed dark red hair, the regrowth hinting at sandy blond, spiked with sweat these days that cried out to be tugged as she was kissed, the slight thicker set of her thighs, buttocks and stomach, he much preferred a girl with a bit of weight than the skinny, almost starved look some of the women up at camp had; the ink he could spy under her clothes was calling out for him to discover exactly how many tattoos she had and why she'd chosen them. He had seen a glimpse of the tattoos on her by accident when he'd stumbled upon her at the lake having a quick swim and also when he'd found her in the woods. She kept herself well covered normally, she said she got sunburn easily. He could spy an interesting shaped scar across her collar bone when she wore lower cut shirts, not that she did very much now.

Not since he'd saved her in the woods a week or so ago.

He loved how well they worked as hunters together. She knew enough to track decently and was surprisingly quiet on her feet, despite the heavy metal covered, thick platform soled boots she chose to wear. They're only issue seemed to be that they butted heads constantly when not hunting, both taking verbal swipes at each other whenever they tried to have a conversation, sometimes she'd slap him on the arm; Merle finding it hilarious and entertaining to join in. Damn Merle, was his fault she got hurt in the first place. If he hadn't egged her on about her lack of hunting abilities, she wouldn't have been out in the woods by herself in the first place.

He sighed quietly as she raised to her feet and moved away, eyes scanning the forest floor for the deer's tracks, finding them and leading the way.

**********

Daryl grunted as he lowered himself down beside the girl, who was turning a stick through the weak fire in front of her. The night was silent except for the light wind. He silently settled down against the log and took out of one of the squirrel for the pair to eat. Daryl made quick work of gutting and skinning the small rodent and shoved it on a stick to slowly roast over the flames. The girl's eyes drifting upwards towards the stars. She looked so peaceful that he didn't want to disturb her.

"We gotta head back in the morning if we don't find the deer." She nodded and pulled her arms around her own shoulders, shivering slightly. "Come 'ere." He said, holding his arms open for her to settle beside him. Daryl usually hated touching others and being touched was a rarity for him but he'd made the exception for her while they hunted. It was simply for survival he told himself. If she got too cold she'd get sick and then the group wouldn't have a hunter when he and Merle left. And he'd feel that guilt all his life, the kids needed fresh meat so he was doing something for the group. Nothing to do with his stupid little crush. Nope, he was doing it for the group. She shuffled closer and wrapped an arm around his waist. Her head found his chest and she sighed, feeling the heat from Daryl seep into her cold bones. Daryl frowned, she felt hot yet she was shivering like crazy.

That damn hand.

He pulled her closer and ran his hand cautiously up and down her arm. She flinched at first then relaxed into his embrace.

"Ya alright?"

"Yea. Just cold." She whispered, her warm breath causing goose bumps across Daryl's chest. She blinked slowly, feeling sleep call her. The smell of Daryl's warm body lulling her, she had missed falling asleep in a man's arms. It was familiar and comforting. She felt safe, warm and protected despite the dead walking.

**********

The sharp whistle drew her attention to the left. She nocked her arrow and let it fly, hitting the deer in the hind leg causing it to run. The two hunters had caught up to the deer earlier and were driving it towards camp. Daryl was in the rear urging it forward, while she made it turn in the right direction when it veered too far to the left.

She spotted the steep banks that marked the outer edges of the quarry and smiled.

Almost home.

Taking another shot to steer the deer towards the lower bank she smiled. The group would eat well tonight. She stumbled and shot at the hind leg again. The deer in one last desperate burst of energy slipped out of her sight but it was very close to camp. Wouldn't take long for them to catch up.

**********

Phoenix paused and braced her arms on her knees, Daryl whistled in question, asking if she was alright as he walked by her. She held up a hand in reply. He grumbled and walked away. She could hear yells and the sounds of stomping as she neared the rocks that hid camp.

Daryl was knelt on the ground and looking over the deer.

"Think we could cut around the chewed up part?" He said looking up at Dale and the others. Phoenix's eyes narrowed as she spotted a new face amongst the men. The group of men didn't seem to notice her as she joined Daryl at his side, subconsciously seeking his protection from the stranger. Fear made her heart pound loudly in her ears as Daryl stood.

"I wouldn't risk that" Shane said quietly, Daryl sighed dejectedly frustrated he hadn't been able to feed the group more.

"That's a damn shame. We got us some squirrels... About a dozen or so. That'll have to do."

"Oh my god!" Amy gasped as the head of the walker suddenly began to gnash its teeth.

"Come on people! What the hell?!" Daryl exclaims as he releases a bolt through its undead head. "It's gotta be the brain! Don't y'all know nothin'?!"

Phoenix smirked, shouldering her bow as she followed Daryl back into camp. She gave a glance over her shoulder at the group behind her, noticing the exchange of looks between them.

"MERLE! MERLE! Get ya ugly ass out here! Got us some squirrel! Let's stew 'em up!" Daryl calls out, Phoenix swivelling her head to see where the elder Dixon was.

"Daryl, just slow up a bit. I need to talk to you." Shane called, his hands on his hips as the group avoids Daryl and Phoenix's eyes.

"About what?" Daryl queries, pausing his march around the camp. Phoenix, instinctively, taking Daryl's back with a bad feeling in her gut.

"DD... Hear him out." She whispers as Daryl narrows his eyes in suspicion. Daryl glances at her briefly before turning back to Shane.

"About Merle... There was a... There was a problem in Atlanta." The former officer sighs, his hand reaching out as if to pacify the man. Phoenix grits her teeth and reaches for the gun hidden behind her shirt slowly, sensing this was not going to end well.

"He dead? "

"We're not sure..."

OH shitttt Phoenix thought, slipping the brace of squirrels and her bow off her shoulder.

"He either is or he ain't!" Daryl stated, his voice raising in anger as his face grew more dark.

"No easy way to say this so I'll just say it." The newcomer said quietly, stepping into the discussion.

"Who are you?!" Daryl asked, confused slightly as to what this stranger had to do with his brother's disappearance.

"Rick Grimes."

"Rick Grimes?!" Daryl spat aggressively, his face a mask to the hurt and anger underneath. "You got summit ya want t' tell me?"

"Your brother was a danger to us all, so I... I handcuffed him on a roof, hooked him to a piece of metal... He's still there."

"What the fuck!?" Phoenix snarled as her eyes narrowed at the newcomer. Her stance widening, readying herself for a fight. Daryl began pacing, his eyes meeting hers, she gave a barely there nod in agreement with him.

"Hold on... Let me process this. You're sayin' you handcuffed my brother to a roof and you left him there!?" Daryl growled as he paced, the woman edging towards Shane, out of Daryl's path to Rick.

"Yeah."

Daryl growls loudly as he throws his rope of squirrels at Rick, who dodges them easily.

"Hey! Watch the knife!" T-Dog yells as Daryl pulls his knife. Shane dodges Phoenix and gets behind Daryl, quickly putting him into a chokehold. Phoenix steps up behind Shane, her own knife slipping into her grip, her gun giving a low click as she removed the safety and pointed it at the curls of Shane's hair.

"Okay... Okay..." Shane whispers, lowering Daryl and himself to the ground.

"You'd best let me go!" Daryl gasped, struggling to free himself.

"Do as he says!" Phoenix snarls, her Beretta a mere breath away from Shane's skull.

"Chokehold's illegal!" Daryl grunts, thrashing his legs. Phoenix lowers her gun to Shane's shoulder, ready to pull the trigger if needed.

"You can file a complaint!" Shane laughs weakly. "Come on man. We'll keep this up all day."

"Like shite we will. I'll shoot ya first mate!" The red head growled as Rick kneels in front of Daryl and Shane, his head tilting to the side.

"I'd like to have a calm discussion on this topic. Do you think we can manage that? Do you think we can manage that?"

Daryl grunts, ceasing to struggle, slapping his hand out to the side of him; silently signalling to the woman to stand down as Shane hums in question.

"Mmm...Yeah." Daryl replies.

Shane releases him quickly and steps away as the younger man raises himself to his feet. Shane's eyebrows raised as Phoenix pulls herself to her full height, him and Rick giving her a worried glance. She smirks and makes a show of putting her knife and gun back into their places. Rick turns to Daryl and rubs the back of his neck slowly.

"What I did was not on a whim. Your brother does not work or play well with others."

"It’s not Rick's fault!" T-Dog interrupted, the large man stepping closer. "I had the key... I dropped it!"

Phoenix scoffed, glaring at the man.

"Ya couldn't pick it up?!" Daryl questioned, his anger disappearing and being replaced by worry and anxiety.

"Well, I dropped it in a drain."

"If that’s supposed to make me feel better, it don't." Daryl snapped as he shook his head, pacing in a small circle. Phoenix joining him at his side and glaring daggers at T-Dog.

"Maybe this will... Look, I chained the door to the roof... So geeks couldn't get at him... With a big ass chain and padlock. Its got to count for something!"

"Hell with all y'all! Just tell me where he is... So that I can go get him." Daryl choked out, his voice cracking with tears as Phoenix gently placed a hand on his shoulder.

"So we can go get him." She declared, daring anyone to argue with her. Daryl gave her a tiny up nod at her and squeezed her hand on his shoulder lightly.

"He'll show you. Isn't that right?" Lori spoke up from the door of the RV, she looked to Rick quietly awaiting his reply.

"I'm going back." He stated quietly. Lori sighed and walked into the RV.

*********

Phoenix pulled on her long studded leather jacket and secured her axe into the specialised holster on her back. Daryl stood beside her silently, chewing his lip. The Brit have a slight wobble as she got lighter headed and Daryl's mind came to only one solution to a major issue between the pair.

"Hey."

"Hey DD. You ready to go get Merle?" She asked, bending to tie her boot laces. "Yea... Ya not comin' though."

"What!? You can't be serious DD! You need me with you so those picks don't leave you there as well!" She snapped back as he turned to walk away.

"Daryl!"

"Nah. Ya hurt. Too many geeks in the city fer ya axe. Stay here. Keep safe." He argued back, she growled in her throat and pushed by him. His hand wrapped around her arm in a bruising grip.

"Dixon..."

"Listen... Stay here. I don't... Just... Fuck." He hissed. "Merle will be pissed. Real pissed."

"He'll of been baked in the sun ya mean! He is gonna be stir fried from the heat! He's gonna need someone to calm him down. He ain't gonna hurt me DD... He wouldn't hurt me." She sighed, her head beginning to throb. "I have to Daryl. I owe him one!"

"Nah ya don't!"

"Yes I fucking do!"

"No. Ya stayin' here!"

"I'm going!" She yelled, hands on her hips.

"No!"

"Yes!"

"NO! And that's final!"

The pair continued to argue for several more minutes until Shane interrupted them, the pair literally chest to chest and needing to be pulled apart before fists began to fly. Phoenix huffed and stormed away into the woods as the man agreed with Daryl. Daryl glared after the fiery woman before stomping off to the truck, missing her turning back towards the camp and leaning against a tree with her arm crossed against her chest.

Phoenix glanced at the truck Daryl stood in. She wanted to wish them luck but knew Daryl was still angry with her. He looked in her direction and nodded his head, a small smile gracing the corner of his mouth. She sighed and walked towards him, he knelt down at the open shutter and tilted his head towards her. "Keep safe in the city DD." She whispered, gazing upwards into the man's sky blue eyes. He nodded and chewed his thumb. "Bring Merle back. Wouldn't be the same round here without that dickhead."

"Yea. Be quieter fer sure." He chuckled, smiling fondly at the girl. Phoenix reached up and pulled at Daryl, forcing him to brace himself against the ledge as she hugged him with one arm against her chest. Daryl slowly relaxed enough to enjoy her closeness and leaned his head on top of hers.

"Please come back." She whispered into his ear as he pulled back slightly, his eyes flitting around camp to make sure no one was witnessing the exchange. He nodded lightly into her neck, his arm coming to loosely hold her waist. He breathed in her soothing subtle scent and closed his eyes to help him memorise thee moment, just in case. He cleared his throat and pulled away, feeling a certain part of his anatomy starting to stir. She smiled weakly at him with teary eyes and walked away.

"Hey!"

Phoenix turned slightly, the breeze making her hair wave over her face softly. Thee sun shining behind her making her hair look like flames licking across the crown of her head. The bruises and cuts across her face hidden in the shadows of her face and hair. So beautiful Daryl thought, smiling slightly. His mind locking the sight into his memory as he stood and waved to her.

"Stay safe!" He called to her, she nodded and waved back. Her cheeks tinting pink at his loud show of concern as she smiled softly.

#the walking dead fanfiction #PhoenixBWrites #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl x oc #Fera Ingris #DarylDixon #daryl dixon x oc #the walking dead fanfic #daryl dixon fanfic #twd fanfiction

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istoletheluckyshorts · 4 years ago

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Stardew Valley theory(ies) part 1

Sebastian's biological father

A basic theory that I'm sure I'm not the first one to ask or to speculate about but I thought was interesting enough to talk about.

So the basic is that Sebastian 's biological father isn't around in the game, in his family all we have is his mother, his half sister and step father. He's one of the few characters in the game who we don't know about his true parentage on the father's side along with Penny in the game as well as one of the few that don't mention their existence at all (I looked through the quotes and came up empty on Seb's part but maybe I overlooked at something)

Which leads to players to speculate about him, and mainly, who he is/was.

So let's begin with the possibilities.

1- he's dead

That's probably the simplest way to go when it comes to certain characters that don't appear in a game, they either don't exist at all or are already dead when the player is there.

This could be one of the reasons behind Seb's mental state, similar to Shane, he has some lines that some of us find it worrisome, that could be the result of his state of grief or the denial of acceptance of his death, maybe that would be why he doesn't accept Demetrius as his father figure so easily, he's still attached to his father and doesn't really want to let go.

The few problems with this is that Robin also doesn't mention anything about a dead husband nor is there pictures or anything related to him in the house, not even in Seb's room, leading to the next possibility.

2- he left Robin and Sebastian

Wether was through a divorce or not, he left, that could explain why neither Robin or Sebastian mention him, why there isn't anything about him in the entire house and it gives another reasonable explanation for both Seb's mental state and his resentment towards Demetrius.

Picture this, you had a father who was pretty close to your mom, he leaves all of the sudden and leaves your mom in a state of heartbreak, some time later she falls for another man and gets married, you're afraid that the same thing that happened before happens again, you don't trust him and he seems to not want anything to do with you either (i haven't seen Demetrius mention Sebastian ONCE, I might be wrong, but there's that), why should you trust him? And that might be what runs into Sebastian's mind when it comes to Demetrius, this also explains why Seb is more attached to his mom than anyone else in his family, if you don't count the farmer and his kids when they get married.

That option leaves us with another question, do we know him? Is he someone we already know? Only way to find out is through looking at the suspects, your honor, may the first witness take that stand.

1- the Wizard

You might be thinking "Hey! Abby is already known to be his kid! Why would Sebastian be as well?" And you're right, that is the weakest of options, as the only evidence I have are the haircolor and the fact Seb is familiar with the monsters in the mines like the Wizard, but he could have gotten that knowledge from books rather than being told to, and hey, maybe Robin taught him that, who knows?

Anyway I just wanted to put my thoughts because people see him as a possible candidate, and I don't blame them, maybe he cheated on his wife twice but we don't know for sure.

Now to the real business

2- Krobus

This one is a cup that holds water better than the previous one.

It would explain why Seb likes void eggs, doesn't like to get out under the sun so much, his hair color that doesn't match anyone else (aside from Jas) and why Robin doesn't mention him, because is a forbidden union between a monster and a human, specially if we take into account that this is a small town, although canonically there's one outright homophobic person so maybe the rest is more accepting of that, unless Robin got pregnant really young.

Maybe is not Krobus specifically that it's the father but someone of the same species, maybe they could even be brothers, but there isn't much to say about this other than what I said above.

Now this one is my favorite, cause it might be the most likely to be true, in my opinion at least

3- Mr Qi

I should say that I haven't ran into him yet, I'm not that good in the skull mine, I tried installing a mod but I feared something could happen and thus I wouldn't be able to play with a friend of mine and so I almost never go there.

First of all there's the hair, it's a match! Connection to the mines? Got that checked out too.

And it fits with everything said about the supposed father of Sebastian, a mysterious individual that left the family in some way and doesn't get mentioned by anyone in said family.

However I personally haven't seen him and Robin or Sebastian interacting, and I might be completely wrong about this and Sebastian just has a absent biological father, but I'm okay with that scenario, doesn't play much in the game anyway, and there's almost no telling that CA planned for his father to be mentioned.

-in conclusion-

These theories don't hold that much water because of the little information we have about this figure, and we may never find a answer to this question or if we did it would most likely be something unexpected by us.

But like I said, I'm okay with that, and to be honest, I like to think that at some point Demetrius and Seb will get along, it might take years and we may not see it, but hey, what's so fun in being part of a Fandom without fanon content?

#Stardew Valley #SDV #sdv Sebastian #SDV theory #Stardew Valley Theory

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sdv-mostly-shane · 4 years ago

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Waves of Silk and Honey

Summary: Shane is interrupted from his normal bout self wallowing by a certain long-haired writer. He finds himself relaxing at every word that comes out of his mouth, and finds himself a little something more. Some slight suggestive content.

♡ this one goes out to a very special request- I hope you enjoy! Thank you for your ask. This was such a fun writing stretch for me, as I never thought to put these two together ♡

***very very *slight* spoiler for 1.5*** please keep scrolling if you want to go in completely blind.

Shane didn’t even know why he let himself get dragged to this new beach everyone was talking about. When the town was blabbing about a ‘resort’ that the farmer had built on an island they found, this was not what he expected.

It was cute, alright, but he hated the sun beating on his neck, he hated the way his shirt clung to his belly, and he hated that everyone was having fun, except for him. Shane watched Abby, Sebastian, and Sam at the waters edge, as he made his way to the closest shade, and sat down. As he drew his legs up to his chest and pushed his back harder against the cliff wall, he let himself sink into the dull greyness of his feelings, and he closed his eyes.

...

“Do you mind if I sit here? Its the best shaded area, and the close sea breeze helps clear my mind as I write. Would you be so kind?”

Shane’s eyes shot open at the sudden waking, but the soft, melodious voice soothed over his surprise. He looked up to see Elliot, pen and notebook in hand, and a gentle smile on his face.

“Mmph. Go ahead.” Shane really didn’t care either way, as long as he didn’t have to talk to him, but he did briefly think that he at least wouldn’t look so pathetically sad with someone sitting next to him.

“Oh, thank you,” Elliot sighed as he sat down, “what sweet relief to be in the shade. The sun is angry today... My skin is a bit too delicate, I'm afraid.” He turned to Shane with an embarrassed half smile.

Shane didn’t have to force out a reply, as Elliot immediately crossed his legs, opened his notebook, and started to write something down. If this is all he wanted to do, then maybe he could just close his eyes again ...

...

He drowsily peeked his eyes open sometime later to see Elliot looking at him, head resting in his palm. He normally would get embarrassed at this direct attention (as it was usually scorn or pity from the other villagers), but Elliots eyes were neither. Just clear, emotionless study.

“You must like being alone. The silence of solitude is something I searched for for many years before I moved here to The Valley-I need it for my writing, you see..... the sweet friction of pen and paper is the music of my soul. That's why I chose the beach as my home, so that I could have peace and quiet to do my work.... it doesn’t always work, however, so I thought maybe the change of scenery would help release this little block of mine that has plagued me all week.”

“So you went from one beach to another beach just to see the same thing?”

“It’s a little silly, isn’t it. You’re right, of course. No matter where we are, when we look outwards into the water, we are seeing the same rolling tides of the same sea. No matter which shore you are on, you are watching one ocean. It’s magic, in that way.” Elliot earnestly turned toward Shane, who’s eyes were already on him- “Breathe deeply,” Shane couldn’t stop himself-he filled his lungs with the salted air before he had even finished his sentence, “Do you notice it? That's the smell of the sea. Whenever I smell the sea, it reminds me of my youth. The ocean really impressed me as a child.”

Shane didn’t know how to answer him-which was probably better than his normal ‘f-off’ reply, to be honest-and instead just looked at the man. He had seen him occasionally at the saloon through the haze of amber on his tongue, remembering him sitting with one of the red headed girls, dressed in a coattail and tie, of all things. The very nature of posh, education, and sophistication poured out of him as languidly as the honey hued locks of hair flowed over his shoulders. Here, he could clearly see him, and met his eyes-he felt soothed, and remained quiet for a moment longer.

“Hmm... thank you, Shane.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“I know.”

Shane, puzzled, furrowed his brows in response to the mans gentle smile. He turned his gaze to the ocean and ventured another deep breath of the crisp air. He watched the waves pull in and out, in and out, in.. and out...

...

“Shane, I truly appreciate your kindness to me. You’re one of the few people who have sincerely listened to my musings without brushing me off. I know that I am kind of an 'oddball'. I hope you don't mind.”

Shane couldn’t help but let out a small laugh-“hah, that’s usually what people say about me.”

Shane glanced over quick enough to catch the mans gentle face transform into defined angles and squinted eyes as his grin grew into a beaming smile. “We’re not all that different, are we. Just as the ocean-different sanded beaches, but the same sea... that’s the first time I’ve ever seen you smile, Shane. I do hope you’ll bless me with its presence again soon.”

Shane didn’t feel embarrassed by his forwardness, a welcome change from the shallow small talk of the rest of the townsfolk. He enjoyed letting the mans richly colored words replace his own grey thoughts. There was no judgement in his tone, only warmth-Shane felt more at ease from his voice alone than he ever did from the ‘relaxing’ ocean in front of him.

Shane finally responded, “You like talking to me? I guess I believe you... maybe you’re just as weird as I am.” Shane turned his head fully to smile at him, and was caught off guard by the sudden blush on the mans cheeks; he raised an eyebrow and a smirk as the man quickly turned his head toward his page, suddenly interested in his writing again.

Shane was amused watching the pink flush travel up the mans cheekbones, up to the tip of his ears. He found his eyes trailing over his jaw, down his neck, and onto his bare shoulders. Gone was the stuffy jacket, and Shane could see his actual body shape for the first time. His shoulders were quite broad and surprisingly bulky, for someone who Shane thought was a bit frilly. He caught Elliot’s eyes peeking past his veil of hair, and Shane laughed to himself as he watched the mans eyes dart back to the page in front of him, his blush blooming further into a deep red. Was he... flustered?

Shane grinned to himself, bemused. Why would a man so effortless and, you know, actually beautiful, be so nervous of *him*? He half turned his attention back to the waves, not wanting to full on ogle the guy. The waves were dropping further into the shore, and Shane watched as the bubbles of the wet sand fizzled and popped.

“I came to the valley to find the ivory tower from which my talents could reign supreme. But what I really found was a dungeon of loneliness. I hope we can grow closer, Shane. I enjoy your company.” He gestured to his notebook with his feathered pen, “plus, your nearness has seemed to open up my mind to some new inspiration. In fact-before I lose this-“ he brought his book close to his chest, and resumed fervently writing.

Shane remained silent, watching the dancing of the wisps of duck feather dance in the sea breeze as the man wrote. He wondered what it must be like to know that you were smart and to know your purpose in the world. He turned his attention back to the sand, where little creatures were popping in and out, his eyes only returning to the man when he noticed two sturdy arms lift above his head, gathering the honey silks of hair into a messy knot atop his head. Shane could hardly stop himself from peeking over his shoulder to the flexing of the mans back-that too, much more bulky and defined than expected. He did sometimes see him fishing, while on his daily walk from Joja, which would explain the tight muscles stretching and contracting across his skin. Shane forced himself to turn his attention back to the little crabs that were scurrying and dodging the tide.

Elliot looked up with a small gasp, and pushed himself off the ground. He made his way a bit up to the shoreline, crouched down, and gingerly reached into his shorts pocket, pulling out a tiny speck of red. He turned toward Shane with a little wave, gesturing to him with the baby crab- “I thought he would like to see the new beach as well.”

Shane, witnessing the most precious display of his life in front of him, had his own turn to blush, now, thinking about how much more he wanted to get to know this burly, poetry-writing, beautiful man with a tiny crab in his pocket. For now, he just returned the mans wave with a smile, and let himself sink into the vibrant reds, pinks, and honey-hued golds that were floating around in his thoughts, as he closed his eyes.

#my headcannon is that elliot is actually SUP THICC #I mean have you seen THE NECC on that sprite???#hello????#thick Elliot forever #sdv shane #stardew shane #stardew valley #stardew elliott #sdv elliott #sdv shane x Elliot #Shane x Elliot #sdv fanfic #sdv requests

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rrickgrrimes8 · 4 years ago

Text

The Purpose ~ Jacey Grimes

Chapter One - Repercussions

masterlist ⚫ book 1 masterlist ⚫ book 2 masterlist ⚫ requests ⚫ request guidelines

"What did you want to do?" Jacey asked.

"What do you mean?" Addie answered the girl.

"Like when you grow up? Before all this happened?"

"I can't tell you," She blushed, "You'll laugh."

Jacey looked down at the beauty who had her head resting in her lap, "Why would I laugh, you dork?"

Addie smiled slightly, "You just would... it's embarrassing."

"Would it make you feel better if I tell you what I wanted to be?" Addie nodded her head at Jacey's compromise, "A cop."

"Like your dad?" Jacey grimaced at his mention, although she saw it coming.

"Yeah... he was so brave. Even if it led to him getting shot, that's still what I wanted to be."

"What? Brave?" Addie tilted her head, still blessing Jacey's eyes with her wide smile.

"Yeah, that and I guess I wanted to make him proud, I wanted to protect people like he did," She paused, frowning softly, "But I guess that's impossible with everything that's happened."

Addie beamed at the girl wanting more than anything to take her pain away, "You protect me... you'll always protect me." Jacey stayed silent, so completely happy with this moment. "And for what it's worth, I'm proud of you, and I'm sure he was too. I mean how could he not be," the dark-skinned girl admitted, "Look at you, you're a badass."

"Thank you, Addie. And I will protect you, I promise," the younger girl let herself fall back onto the grass, Addie remaining on her lap, "But I can't help but realise you've yet to say yours."

Addie groaned, lifting slightly to look her into her blue eyes, "I uh... I wanted to be in the navy."

"No shit, I did not expect that, but I can see it. You're quite the badass yourself," She paused, "Any reason why?"

"Uh yeah, my older brother was," Jacey felt the girls' mood suddenly change, "I always thought he was so cool... 'Fighting bad guys and living the dream,' he always used to say."

"Where is he now?" She inquired.

"God knows he was overseas when it happened so your guess is as good as mine. He's alive though I bet he is."

"What was his name?"

"Jaeden," She replied, "You would've liked him. He was so awesome. I remember once back before he joined my dad was out for the weekend some business trip or something. Jaeden decided to invite the entire block for a party at ours. I for one was extremely against it but he insisted. He said to me, 'Addie you gotta get your shit together and live or it's all gonna pass you by. I'm doing this for you, so you can have fun, so you can make a memory,'" she reminisced smiling softly, "It was actually a going away party but he just didn't have the heart to tell me."

"Your dad ever find out?" Jacey simpered.

Addie nodded, "Oh god you should've seen his face... he was so mad but Jaeden took the blame like he always did. I miss him."

"You're right," Jacey acknowledged after a few minutes, "I would've liked him."

Jacey was yet to move from her seat in the RV. In fact, she was yet to do anything at all. She hadn't eaten, hadn't slept and she certainly hadn't spoken. The funny thing to her was that she didn't feel angry at her father for stealing that opportunity away from her, she didn't feel the pain of Addie and Mitch's deaths or even most recently Jacqui's at least not to the extent she did days prior and despite what her group thought she was staying silent because everything was too much for her. She was staying silent because she simply felt nothing at all. Jacey was in a state of nothingness, oblivion hell even numbness whatever you'd like to call it. For days her feelings were everywhere, she screamed, cried, laughed. Christ, she even tried suicide and now she was completely and utterly exhausted. So exhausted in fact that she almost felt free without the weighing pressure of her feelings. Jacey wanted to say it scared her but she knew it would just be a lie, nothing scared her anymore. Not even the walkers that roamed past them every so often could scare her. She truly felt nothing at all.

"Baby you gotta get up okay?" Jacey heard someone tell her, "Or at least eat something please." The voice was pleading with her now and she pointed out to herself that they sounded so close to tears. She knew the voice belonged to her mother without even looking as she'd tried this same thing 5 times already, the sadness in her voice vaulting every time she did so.

"C'mon, Jace, talk to me. You can't ignore everyone forever," Lori huffed knowing well enough that her daughter did have it in her to ignore everyone forever, "Please, baby."

This time, however, Jacey did move. The young girl lifted her small fist at her mother bringing her middle finger up towards her. She apprehended that Lori had stomped away angrily and fed up, which almost brought a smile to her face - almost.

"Jesus, kid, you hell-bent on everyone hating ya?" This time she recognised the accented voice as no other than Shane Walsh. Jacey lifted her finger once more this time in his direction, "Oh you're doing it to me now, great." She imagined he would've rolled his eyes at this probably distracting himself with something with his shotgun. "You know she's only trying to help ya. You don't got to be such an ass about it," She could tell that Shane was tired with whatever she was doing but it didn't matter to her and she wouldn't stop because her bitch of a mother asked so politely.

Shane looked out of the RV window, spotting Carl, who was half-ass playing with Sophia and frowned. "You know you're breaking their hearts right, Jace? Carl hasn't smiled in days, your dad hardly saying a word. Do you even know what you were going to do?" He pressed, waiting but still knowing he wasn't going to get an answer, "Suicide, Jacey! Death... you would be gone. You would've left them all behind. Does that not bother you at all?"

Jacey waited a second before shifting her vision towards him, "No." Her words were sharp, not an ounce of regret coming from them. "No, it doesn't. Not at all," This time she laughed, a small one but it was clear what it was.

"Are you fucking kidding me, Jacey? What the hell is wrong with you?" Jacey was certain that the man was angry even though he wouldn't allow himself to show it.

"Too much," She smiled, "Too fucking much. A-and I knew that. I got that and I told dad. I told him and yet he still forced me to live... he took my choice away. I'm a sick person, Shane, I know and you can hate me, all of them can for all I care but that's not going to change the fact I don't give a fucking shit." The former police officer didn't say a word, too stunned at her upheaval.

"Rick should've left me there," Jacey added bitterly.

"It would've been wrong. You're just a kid. Leaving you there would never be the right thing to do no matter how much you begged," Shane brought his hand to his chin, "It would've been wrong."

Jacey chuckled fakely, "So's fucking a married woman but that never stopped you."

The RV fell silent and Shane was so glad that it was only them who occupied it right then, "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't bullshit a bullshitter, Walsh."

Now the man grew nervous, which wasn't necessarily a familiar feeling - had they been that obvious? Shane sat back into his chair, sighing as he did, "How did you know?"

"I didn't, not until just now," Shane deadpanned, "I just witnessed a little too many longing stares." Jacey laughed at his tough demeanour shattering as he once again looked out the window at her mother.

"You can't tell no one, alright?"

"Why? Thought you'd love to break my parent's marriage up," The strange girl brought her legs to her chest and observed how the man struggled to answer.

"You just can't, Jacey. Promise me you won't?" he said fearful, knowing the father and daughter were close.

"Yeah, yeah whatever Walsh wouldn't dream of it," Jacey swore, "But just know I have a habit of breaking promises."

"This isn't a joke, kid, don't say nothin'."

"Alright, jeez Walsh get off my back," She joked but Shane remained unimpressed, "As much as I'd like to hurt Rick, you don't deserve to get hurt in the process, neither does Carl."

"Thank you, kid," Shane smirked, "Now will you please go outside and catch some sun you're looking paler by the minute."

Jacey looked out of the window to the place they'd had stopped for a break and sighed, "Only if you join me." The officer nodded at her request and followed her out of the vehicle.

Lori was first to notice the pair. She was surprised and almost angry that he had done the thing she'd attempted to do the last few days. Rick was next but he could barely meet her eyes. A familiar feeling arose at the sight of his partner with his daughter, a feeling he first felt way back in camp when he held her back from fighting him. A feeling of jealousy. He didn't like it, god no he didn't. He hated feeling so envious of the man for having some sort of relationship with his daughter compared to the broken one they shared. Carl was last to see as he looked up from playing Sophia's checkerboard on the floor of the small clearing. He was furious with the girl, which wasn't something he could hide, not like he wanted to anyway. Carl hated how she abused the power she held over him. He hated how she would go from being his sister to being a stranger, someone hellbent on getting herself killed.

"Do I look tanner yet?" Jacey joked as they sat against some tires.

"Like a shining star," Shane chuckled adjusting his hat before taking it off completely preferring the feeling of the sun shining straight on his head. "Here take this," He handed over his cap to the girl, "Don't want you getting sunstroke after being holed up in there for days."

Jacey smiled at his almost fatherly actions and planted the black hat, that held the word 'police', on her head. "What are we doing now, by the way?" She inquired.

"Making our way to Fort Benning," Jacey scoffed, "What? It's our safest option."

"I don't know why yall keep lying to yourselves. Fort Benning is gone, so's the government. We saw that with our own eyes at the C.D.C."

"Where do you suggest then, princess?" Jacey said nothing, "See... anyways that's the plan we're going with so suck it up, alright?" She merely nodded before leaning further against the stray tire.

"You alright?" Jacey didn't respond though, not having it in her to find the words - was she okay? Was this what okay felt like?

"Are any of us?" That shut Shane up as he peered off, overlooking the group. "I should uh... I should probably go talk to Carl," the girl mumbled standing up and dusting off the dirt from her pants. She walked off before Shane could answer which he didn't care much about.

Jacey felt relatively nervous as she proceeded towards her family. She saw Rick look at her with hopeful eyes, which she avoided and grew closer to Carl. "Can I talk to you?" Jacey appealed.

Carl gazed up to his older sister, "No."

"No?"

"You heard me right," the boy muttered looking back to the game they were playing.

"C'mon Carl, don't make this harder than it needs to be," She challenged.

"I said no," Carl insisted not bothering to cast his eyes back to her as he spoke.

"Please," Jacey pleaded with the young boy and bit her lip as she saw his hands clench into a fist.

"What don't you understand about no?!" Carl snapped, "Why can't you leave me alone? Like we all know you want to," Jacey didn't reply confused, "Don't look at me like you don't know."

"I don't know what you mean, Carl. I want to be around y-"

"No, you don't! You made that clear enough," Carl halted, breathing heavily, "All you do is leave me, Jacey, and I don't want to talk to you, to let you try to explain yourself b-because I know I'll believe you." The girl looked to his brother motionless, "I'll believe you and you'll leave again! You'll break every promise you make to me so I'll save you the bother of even making them. Just leave me alone."

"I'm sorry," she undertook now looking into the boy's bloodshot eyes.

"No, you're not... If you were you wouldn't have left me when all of this started, you wouldn't have left me to go back to that girl and you wouldn't have tried to stay with Jacqui and that doctor," He cried standing up, ignoring the stares he got, "I wish you stayed at the C.D.C."

Carl marched off into the direction of one of the cars while Jacey wouldn't move an inch.

"Well, I wished I stayed there too!" She screamed back at him after getting over her initial shock. The teenager roughly pushed past her father, who had now moved in her way and entered one of the cars.

"Jacey come back here!" She heard a male voice shout to her. Jacey ignored him, of course, and took her seat in the same car Carl had just entered.

"Leave her, Rick, she needs time," Rick looked to his wife disapprovingly.

"She just tried to kill herself, Lori, and you want me to let her run off feeling God knows what," He choked, the reality of the statement settled in with the pair shortly after. Their daughter had tried to end her own life. "Hell if I'll leave her alone again," Rick tried to leave his wife but she held him back.

"Give her time, alright? Carl and her need to talk they can't do that with you around," Lori told him.

Carl refused to look at his sister as he continued to stare out of the front window. "Talk to me please," The older girl begged.

They stayed quiet for a long time until Carl spoke up, "I don't want to wake up tomorrow and you to be gone."

Jacey sighed, "You won't-"

"Don't. Please don't lie to me," He shuddered, "You're my best friend, Jacey. How do you expect me to be okay without you? How could you even dare to try and do what you did at the C.D.C.? Did you even think about me? About what would happen to me?"

"I thought I was doing you all a favour," she watched as her brother cried, unable to comfort him in any way.

"You're selfish Jace. That's all you are and I will never forgive you for that." Memories flashed to Addie's words, words that pained her to hear but it hurt more hearing them for her brother.

"I'm sorry."

#the walking dead fanfic #rick grimes #carl grimes #lori grimes #jacey grimes #Amandla Stenberg #Kaya Scodelario #the walking dead season 2 #normality is death #book two #fanfic #fanfiction #the walking dead fanfiction #rick grimes fanfic #the purpose #the purpose book

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skepticbeliever-bookclub · 4 years ago

Note

Hey, I was wondering if you guys some fics about opposite attract between Shane and Ryan? Thanks

that first, initial feeling - varnes | E, 21k, Complete

“You’re called the Treasure Chest,” Shane says blankly to the man behind the counter, who is looking at him with a completely neutral expression. His name tag suggests that he is called Ryan. “It’s -- literally every sex shop in the history of sex shops was called The Treasure Chest. I’m pretty sure it’s in the by-laws.”

“The by-laws ... for sex shops?” Ryan asks.

Shane fixes him with a look. He sells crystals, which means he’s a con man, which means he’s a deviant of at least some kind, which means he’s been to a sex shop and he knows exactly what Shane means. “Listen,” Shane says, and then nothing else, because Ryan The Counter Man pulls an arm behind his head to stretch and the sight of his surprisingly beefy arms short-circuits Shane’s brain.

The man blinks patiently at him. “I’m listening,” he says, encouragingly.

OR: An AU in which Ryan runs a crystals store, and Shane is beguiled by him anyway.

how big your heart can get (with a little water and sunshine) - abovetheruins | E, 18k, Complete

In which Ryan deals with a new neighbor, nosy employees who care a little too much about his love life, and flowers. Lots and lots of flowers.

Crystal Clear - punk_rock_yuppie | T, 6k, Complete

Shane’s first thought when he sees the guy is, you don’t belong here. His second thought is, arms.

Shane works at a wellness shop. Ryan is a customer.

flitting eyes, fast beating hearts - popkin16 | E, 12k, Complete

Paranormal investigator Ryan Bergara is forced to spend the night with his rival, professional nonbeliever Shane Madej.

Great. Just great.

Resuscitation, Sounding Heartbeats - Steeella | M, 17k, Complete

"Very funny," he said shakily, looking nervously at the pair. Shane was now avoiding his gaze, not the usual emotion for someone who just pulled a wicked prank. "Yeah, that’s a good one. Now, we need to decide-"

"I’m not joking, Mr Bergara," Madame Alexandrina said. "Or should I say, Mr. Bergara-Madej."

And oh, fate was nasty. Because now the name that had chased Ryan’s nightmares and taunted him wherever he went was the second half of his own.

He really ought to have learned to read the terms and conditions.

Little Bit Magical - blacktofade | E, 19k, Complete

Shane is a demon in need of healing and Ryan just so happens to have magic that can heal him. When Ryan needs protection from someone trying to steal his soul, they strike a deal to save each other.

stay the night with the sinners - bodhirookes | E, 85k, Complete

“Enjoy recess?”

Ryan doesn’t recoil, even as his stomach does. “Yes.”

Shane Madej doesn’t back down at the cold, one-worded answer. On the contrary, it makes his grin widen until Ryan can see every single one of his big, pointed teeth.

“I’m sure the City of Angels really does it for you, Bergmeister. Lots of innocent, impressionable souls. It’s like an all-you-can-eat buffet out there.”

“Sounds like it’s more your speed. And don’t call me that—I’ll light you up with Holy Fire before you even have the time to take it back.”

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Shane cooes, stooping closer. Ryan hates him, hates the icy-hot cavity that forms in his gut at the sight of his unruly hair and his black, black eyes. “L.A.’s big enough for the both of us, sweetheart. We can share.”

Or, Steven Lim, an angel, and Andrew Ilnyckyj, a demon, flee Heaven and Hell to be together, and Ryan Bergara, an angel, is forced to serve on the jury for their trial. He hates every single second of it, and Shane Madej, one of the oldest Greater demons around, is constantly there to remind him why Heaven and Hell should never be allowed to fraternize.

Why Don't You Get Up and Make Me? - Golden4278 | E, 33k, Complete

A woman’s body is found at the bottom of a staircase with multiple blows to the head. Her husband was the only witness. Straightforward murder case, right? Prosecutor Shane Madej thinks so. Maybe it’s not so simple. Ryan Bergara is a defense attorney seeking redemption after a recent fall from grace. He knows his client is innocent, but how far is he willing to go to prove it? Can Shane protect Ryan from the truth while maintaining his professionalism? And can the two rivals keep their hands off each other in the process?

Lost a fic? Check out our fic found tag, and if you still can’t find it, send us an ask!

#fic search #fic found #shyan #skeptic believer #sbbookclub #opposites attract #blueblossomsblog

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somedew-fictions · 4 years ago

Note

an imagine where drunk pam runs for mayor agains lewis and SOMEHOW wins

Lewis stands in awe, his jaw hanging agape as his eyes stare in terror at what is in front of him and the entire saloon.

Pam is standing on the bar, Gus behind her trying to coax her back to the floor. She has a sway in her step as she holds a half full glass above her head. “I’m tired of this phony!” she slurs, stumbling her way down the length of the bar towards where Shane stands. Even he is staring in horror as she makes her way towards him, ready to tip over and fall at any second. Nobody can tear their eyes away. “I know all of you are too! So that’s why I’ve decided- I’ve-”

Pam’s eyes go wide for a moment as she trips over her own feet, her body thrusting forward to the ground. Her arms flail, sending her drink to spill all over the bar, seats, and floor. Yet, she balances herself, avoiding near catastrophe.

Robin rushes forward to reach up and grab Pam’s arm, helping her down from the bar to the ground where she has less of a chance of hurting herself. Emily helps, grabbing a rag from behind the bar to begin wiping up the beer from the floor boards before Pam can slip again.

“I’ve decided to run for Mayor!” Pam announces as the two women behind her clean her trail of destruction. “You’re all welcome! It’s time this phony is no longer in charge!” Pam swings around to point at Lewis. “How long are you all going to elect that moustache as the head of our town?” Pam slams the fist she was pointing at Lewis down on the bar. “It’s time for change!” she slurs.

The saloon is silent, nobody able to fathom words for what is in front of them. Pam has had outbursts before, but this was new for even Gus. Before Pam can continue her charade, Demetrius comes forward to step in and help her home. When she doesn’t want to cooperate, Shane swallows his dignity and steps in, knowing Pam will be more perceptive of what he has to say as her only drinking buddy in town.

When Pam is finally gone, being escorted back to the trailer by Shane and Demetrius, all eyes remaining shift to Lewis. His jaw still hangs agape, his brain unable to draw a straight line between the events that just occurred in front of him. It started with him talking about how elections for Mayor were starting the following week, and how he assumed nothing new would come up like how they occurred in the proceeding years, and suddenly Pam seemed to erupt in rage.

Marnie is the one who finally convinces Lewis to leave the saloon, nobody saying anything. Everyone silently agrees to leave the events of the night suspended midair, and to hopefully forget about them in the morning, as Lewis tries to do, going straight to bed as soon as he drops Marnie back home at her ranch.

Yet, everyone seemed to agree to forget about what had happened except for Pam. In the morning she is in town square, a beer in hand as she stands next to the bulletin board and talks to every person walking in and out of the general store about her apparent new campaign for Mayor of Pelican Town.

“Pam~!” Lewis exclaims in shock, being able to hear her yelling as soon as he steps out of his house. He rounds the corner and enters town square to see her talking to Pierre, who looks very irritated that Pam is yelling outside of his shop next to Caroline who holds a look of curiosity and concern.

Lewis’s yell has caught Pam’s attention, her neck snapping towards his direction to give him a chance to say something before she opens her mouth again.

“Pam,” he repeats, hurrying forward in long strides. “You can’t be out here causing a disruption in front of the clinic and general store.”

“I’m not causing a disruption,” Pam furrows her eyebrows together. “I’m informing the people of this town about how I will make a better mayor than YOU!” she jabs one of her fingers towards him with her can of beer still in hand. Lewis takes a step back.

“You can run for mayor all you want, but you can’t do it here,” Lewis assures her, trying not to look bothered. “Town square is a peaceful area for all the residents of Pelican Town to use, and I need to ask you to campaign somewhere else or at least quieter...” he pauses, glancing at Pierre and Caroline. He bites his tongue before tacking on: “please.”

Pam’s face twists, terrifying Lewis enough to make him take another step back in fear she is about to explode; and she is.

“Are you telling me to be quiet because I’m a woman? Am I not acting lady-like enough for you, Lewis?!” Pam exclaims loud enough for several people passing by in town square to stop and look over. Lewis’s face goes pale.

“Of course that is not what I am saying!” Lewis’s eyes widen in terror. “Pam, that’s not what I’m saying! I’m just saying you can’t be screaming in town square...” Lewis looks at Pierre and Caroline, seeing both of them holding back sudden laughter.

“Oh? I think it is,” Pam growls, her face growing red. “This is why you need to get out of office, Lewis! You’re scum!” she shakes her head at him disapprovingly. “I’ll leave, but you better know I’m going to win this election!” Pam shoots a glare towards Pierre specifically before storming past back to her trailer, leaving Lewis as pale as a ghost about what everyone in town square just witnessed.

Surely enough, Pam spent the rest of the week telling everyone in town Lewis is a misogynist, old, and no longer fit for being mayor of the town. When voting rolled around, some voted for her because they believed her about Lewis being an awful person, they thought it was time for Lewis’s ego to be popped for a year, or they just thought it would be funny to see him lose.

Surely enough, Pam’s name is called out when they were declaring the winner of the election. Lewis stands there in utter shock, paler than anyone has ever seen him. Marnie stands at his side, trying to console him, but all Lewis can hear is Pam screaming in victory, already running around town square like a mad-woman, fisting a beer in each hand and claiming that drinks are on her all night at the saloon.

Luckily for the well being of the town, everyone realizes Pam is unfit to be a functional mayor because it progressed her already awful drinking problem to become even worse. Her title was revoked faster than it was given, and Lewis was restored as Mayor, and everyone realized it was probably for the best.

Yet no one could deny it was hilarious to see him lose.

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elizaviento · 2 years ago

Text

Green on the Vine — Strawberry Wine (Part 1 of ?)

(Stardew Valley — Shane x Female Farmer/OC)

Notes: This is my first attempt at Stardew fic. Shane is my beloved and I want so much to do him proper justice. Please enjoy.

P.S. Stardew Valley is a lovely game with rich lore. However, I'm using it as a framework for this tale. Sticking strictly to game canon just isn't possible, but I shall sprinkle in various Easter eggs along the way.

Summary: Stardew Valley beckoned Kristen Wynand. The mountains, the ridges, the cliffs, the beaches. A simple existence — a soothing balm to blur the myriad of mistakes etched upon her soul. A place to slow down, reflect, take pride in something other than a corner office with a view of concrete pillars piercing the horizon. A place to finally belong without the pressure of perfection and the expectation of more, more, more.

Shane Davis despised the Valley. Because the Valley despised him. Work, sleep, drink — such was life for a man thrust into the responsibility of fatherhood completely unprepared. He'd learned long ago that trust was fragile, shattered far too easily. If kindness was considered weakness, he was indestructible.

Amid the monotony of small town life, the two forge an unlikely friendship. But is friendship all they desire?

This chapter is rated NSFW lite — 2942 words. Mentions of animal death, blood, and injury.

*****

It was 5:32 pm on a random Wednesday during the dead of summer when Shane pulled open the door of the Stardrop Saloon, his feet propelling him toward the same spot he'd frequented for the last three years. The path from the Joja Mart to that exact spot at the end of the bar was well-worn, and each step was etched in his muscle memory, not unlike riding a bike.

"Hi, Shane!"

Emily's bubbly demeanor instantly assaulted him, and he weakly threw a hand up in greeting, as usual. The routine was comfortable.

Taking a cursory glance at his surroundings, he noticed one extra body hunched over the bar directly in front of the cash register. At the far left, Pam tipped her half-empty mug toward him, color already rising in her cheeks, before she shrugged, just as shocked to see this early patron as he was.

Annoyingly, worry settled in his gut as he narrowed his eyes at the filthy woman before him and forced his legs to take a slight detour from their intended destination.

"What are you doing here," he asked lightheartedly, taking a seat next to the farmer. The perspective from this area of the bar seemed somewhat warped, and he felt oddly vulnerable with his back facing the door.

"One of my hens died," she replied, voice thick and raspy. It was only then that Shane noticed a ting of pink coated under and around her fingernails, mixed with the dark hue of what he assumed to be soil.

"What?"

He'd heard exactly what she'd said, but his brain struggled to catch up as the aroma of sweat filtered through his nostrils. Thick and cloying but not unpleasant.

"The peppers were ready to harvest, so I was late checking on them. I made it over to the coop after noon, but I could hear them clucking and scratching. It felt… off ."

Shane already knew the ending before she exhaled a shaky breath in pause. The white-knuckled grip she had on the mug in her calloused hands made him anxious for some reason as if it would shatter in her palms.

"All I found was a pile of blood-soaked feathers toward the far end of the enclosure. I don't know what happened, Shane. I thought I'd counted them all before I shut the coop door for the night."

It was a fox, of course. He'd witnessed the same scenario at least twice on the ranch.

"Hole in the fence?" he asked, staring awkwardly at his own hands. Several weeks prior, he'd pointed out a weak spot when he'd been by the farm to drop off some extra fodder at Marnie's request.

"Yes."

Her reply came out as an exaggerated hiss, and he could practically taste its venom. He knew better than to casually toss an 'I told you so' at a moment like this, even if it sat at the tip of his tongue like a well-rehearsed mantra.

Behind the bar, Emily feigned busyness, but Shane knew her ears were well in tune with the conversation. Gus had strolled in from the back just in time to catch Shane's stern eye and furrowed his brow in question. Tactful and discreet, Emily swiftly pulled the chef aside and whispered to him earnestly.

"It was Sassy," the farmer spoke up again, swiping a grimy finger across her already dirt-caked face, leaving a moist streak in its wake.

"Oh."

Shane wasn't exactly at a loss for words. He had plenty threatening to spew from his chest like sour vomit. His first instinct was to berate her for being so careless. The subsequent was to ask if she'd bothered to repair the breach in the fence before she came to the Saloon to sulk. But he held back, knowing these reactionary responses would earn him a swift slap to the face. He didn't even want to be an asshole, but old habits die hard, and the phrase 'defense mechanism' buzzed brightly in his mind's eye like an antique neon sign — a handy revelation from his therapist.

"Sassafras was the first chick I got from Marine that first Spring, remember?"

Of course, he remembered, but he only nodded in response. In his peripheral vision, Gus had fired up the grill and tossed a 12-ounce sirloin on the sizzling surface. Pops and cracks of searing flesh and fat became the backdrop to sparse sniffles from the woeful farmer.

"You waved at me from the counter when I was in the kitchen, and I flipped you off."

"Ah, the good old days," the farmer quipped, her sudden shift from weepy to snickering catching Shane off guard.

Over two years had passed since that day. It wasn't the first time they'd interacted, but it was among several that Shane regretted the most. Initially, his interest in Pelican Town's newest inhabitant was zero. Even with the buzz of gossip surrounding her arrival, he couldn't be bothered, and he was even less impressed when he'd finally laid eyes on her. Cute — yes. He'd begrudgingly admitted that to himself, but otherwise, she was entirely unremarkable, just like everyone else.

She'll fit right in , he'd thought as he scowled over the rim of his rapidly emptying mug of ale the first time she'd entered the Stardrop on a Friday night carrying a basket of fresh vegetables. He'd been right.

"Hey there, Krissy," Gus said, pulling Shane from his brooding memories. The farmer shifted her pitiful gaze toward Gus' smiling face as he held out a styrofoam to-go box toward her. "Made your favorite. Medium rare."

"Gus, I didn't order —"

"Hush now," the chef retorted. "It's on the house. Consider it a little kickback for all the top-quality produce you've supplied." The man's mustached smile grew wider as the farmer took the to-go box from his large hands and thanked him.

"I think you might know me too well," she supplied as she rose from the wobbly stool in preparation to depart. Several of the town's residents had begun to filter in through the front door, and the clamor of chatter slowly filled the atmosphere of the Saloon. Wednesdays were never known to be busy, but the few regulars would puzzle over the farmer's disheveled state in the form of not-so-subtle whispers and sidelong glances.

"Go on," Gus replied, playfully shooing her away. "We'll see you on Friday night, as usual."

Emily was already bustling around the occupied tables, taking orders from Willy and Clint before crossing the room to take care of Leah. As she passed, she placed a reassuring hand on the farmer's shoulder and smiled.

Unconsciously, Shane turned on his own worn stool, his eyes following Kristen as she grinned back at the blue-haired waitress, the weariness already lifting and the worry lines in her forehead smoothing in turn. Catching his gaze briefly, she mumbled, "See ya, Shane." And then she was gone.

❦❧🍓❦❧

Sweat-soaked strands of auburn hair plastered themselves to the farmer's neck and forehead as she struggled with the rusted wire cutters. She'd gotten up at 5 am — an hour earlier than usual — to avoid such sweltering heat. She should have known better.

Glancing at her watch, she cursed under her breath. It was just shy of 7 am, and she knew Shane would be leaving the ranch soon to make it to his shift on time. The urge to call him was overwhelming, but her pride burned hotter, flushing up from her chest when she recalled his expression at the Saloon the previous day. It must have taken every ounce of willpower to keep his mouth shut after confessing to her stupidity. She wasn't sure what she'd expected at the time. An ounce of sympathy? A tiny scrap of comfort from a friend?

He told you to repair the fence weeks ago. This is your own damn fault.

Plump tears of self-pity and mourning for her beloved hen welled behind her eyes and rolled down her sunburnt cheeks at the first blink. There was no use attempting to hold them back. She'd lost the will to fight them long ago.

Instead, she transferred the wire cutters to the opposite hand, flexing her right to work out the kinks. She'd placed an order for hardwood fencing with Robin over the phone the day prior before she began her walk of shame to the Saloon. In the meantime, chicken wire would have to suffice.

Crouching low, she balanced on her haunches as she molded the wire around the hole, snipping along the edges awkwardly with her non-dominant hand. The steadily rising sun kissed the dew-covered grass, sparkling across the droplets like brilliant diamonds. The sight would have been serene to witness while sipping a cup of black coffee on her front porch. But now, it only obscured her vision further as a bead of salty sweat rolled from her scalp and stung her swollen eyes.

The subsequent chain of events remained hazy in the farmer's memory when she was asked about them, even years later. What she could recall, with some semblance of clarity, was squinting against blinding rays just as her sweat-slicked palm slid down the grip of the wire cutters, shoving the business end directly into the center of the palm of her opposite hand. Her bottom made contact with the ground next as she lost balance, sprawling comically across the dirt like a top-heavy toddler.

The pain didn't register for quite a while. Instead, pressure and overwhelming nausea flooded her senses as her breaths came in short, rapid gasps, and her vision wavered. Sweat continued to sting her eyes as she mentally processed the situation in a matter of seconds.

Something's wrong. Look at it. Look.

NO DON'T NO NO —

Her chest heaved, and she involuntarily flexed her right hand. More pressure, and her stomach rolled violently, causing her to retch. What felt like hours passed as unadulterated panic seized the farmer, her mind frantically screaming for her to take action while she stared directly at a wisp of cloud floating lazily by on the lightest of breezes. Cold sweat coated every inch of her body, causing her to shiver as shock began to sit in.

Eventually, the swimmy sensation faded enough for her to turn her head to the side. The motion was sloppy as if she were 4 glasses deep into a bottle of aged strawberry wine, and her cheek made contact with the warm dirt below. Gritty, it smelled like pure earth as her breath fanned the fine particles across her outstretched shoulder where it clung.

The hilt of the wire cutters was tilted at an angle, jutting awkwardly from her palm. She flexed her right hand again, and they jumped, the snipping end scraping jaggedly through the inner meat of her palm. This time, she retched and vomited, the sick pooling near her head as she coughed and gasped, her body once again betraying her.

Your phone's in your pocket. Call someone. Call anyone.

Self-preservation is a powerful thing. The farmer recalled the story of a teenager who had survived a plane crash and practically crawled her way through the jungle with a festering leg. Yet here she was, with technology at her fingertips — a literal lifeline to summon help — and she was too busy barfing over the sight of her injured hand.

You wore overalls today. The pocket is loose. Just reach in with your left hand and grab it.

It took a few deep, measured breaths to wrangle the nausea long enough to will herself to move, and even then, it felt as if she were wading through viscous sludge. The effort was intense and maddening, and the pain that had, so far, remained at bay thanks to a heady dose of adrenaline began to lick at her nerve endings like tiny fork-tongued demons straight from the depths of hell.

A strangled moan escaped her lips as her fingers closed around the smooth rectangle stuffed deep in her pocket. The sun continued to rise, unforgiving rays showering her face and blinding her once again as she turned it back toward the shy.

You're being dramatic. It can't be that bad.

That was probably true, but it wasn't the wound that sent a chill down her spine and panic to constrict her throat as if she'd swallowed a handful of bees. It was the blood. The looming threat of it clouded her senses and coated her tongue in ash. As soon as the tool was removed from her palm, all hell would break loose.

Trembling, the farmer hovered the cell phone in front of her face, blocking the sun enough for her pupils to adjust. Facial recognition unlocked the device, and she shakily tapped the phone icon, followed by the most recent number in her call history.

"Hello?" a gruff voice asked after several static-laden rings. It sounded small and miles away, and the farmer flushed as she fumbled to put the call on speaker.

"Shane —" Her voice came out as a raspy croak, and she coughed once, spittle speckling across the contact photo — an adorably round hen in mid-stride.

"What is it, Kriss?" His tone was clipped and soaked with annoyance. She had the urge to laugh, as she always did when his frustration with her was evident. "I'm running late for work. Jas turned my alarm off because she wanted me to take her to the park instead."

This time she did laugh, dry and breathy. And, for a split second, she considered lying. The last thing she wanted was to place another burden on this man's already sagging shoulders.

"Yeah, yeah. Ha, ha," Shane mocked. He sounded slightly winded, and the farmer wondered if he'd actually been running before he answered her call. "You sound funny. What's wrong?"

Something clutched her heart just then and twisted her stomach into a knot. Coupled with the nausea, it caused her to sigh deeply and cough again, dry and fruitless. Briefly, she recalled the days when she hardly knew this man. His exoskeleton so rough and impenetrable, disdain coloring every expression he gave her when she dared to approach him. Now, though, he could tell just by her voice that something was amiss.

"I need help," she finally relented. "Can you stop by the clinic on your way to Joja and ask Harvey to come to the farm?"

"What — why?" He sounded concerned now, and the knot twisted tighter in her belly. It stole her breath, and she closed her eyes for a moment, composing herself. "Kriss, what the hell?"

"Sorry," she replied, turning her face to take another look at the rusted tool protruding from her right palm. "I don't want to make you late. Maybe you can just call Harvey instead?"

"Why the fuck are you like this?" he asked. "Just tell me what's wrong."

Again, she laughed. The absurdity of the situation wasn't lost on her. She wasn't a teenage girl crawling through a dense jungle in search of rescue after a plane crash. She was a grown woman, too afraid to inconvenience those around her. Even the thought of asking Harvey to travel all the way to the farm made her cringe.

"I stabbed myself in the hand with wire cutters. It's — I think I need stitches or something."

The effort to keep her tone nonchalant was immense. Openly admitting to another moronic act in less than 24 hours was nothing short of humiliating.

"Fuck me," Shane groaned. His breathing had suddenly sped up, and she could faintly hear the soles of his shoes thumping pavement. He'd made it to the town square. "Okay, just… I dunno, wrap it up as best you can."

"Yeah, sure," she said, forcing herself upright. The tool jostled with her movements, and she doubled over to prevent a fresh wave of vomit.

"I'm almost at the clinic now, but I gotta call Morris."

"Shane, no —"

But he cut off her pathetic attempt to protest with, "Shut up. We'll be there soon."

Three beeps blared from the speaker, signifying he'd ended the call. She stared blankly at the phone's screen for several seconds, her mind performing a hard reboot in preparation for what would come next.

❦❧🍓❦❧

The rash decision of yanking the wire cutters from the meat of her palm before she'd reached the farmhouse was the third moronic thing Kristen had done in such a short snippet of time. She wasn't sure why she felt the need to torture herself, but the fleeting glimpse of a pearly white strand embedded within the wound left her breathless. Less than a second later, blood welled and pooled into her palm, obscuring it from her view forever, but not nearly enough for the screeching in her mind to reach a devastating crescendo.

Fat droplets of crimson dripped down her forearm, slicing through the grime like an errant river. More fell to the dirt with nearly audible plops , leaving a macabre trail for Shane and Harvey to come upon later.

Studying the human body's inner workings in an academic setting was child's play compared to laying eyes on one's own tendon, no matter how brief. That sight — stark and bright in contrast with the muddy hue of mangled flesh surrounding it — would haunt her periodically throughout life, making her shiver in disgust. But now, it only served to spike the panic she'd held at bay to an unsustainable degree, smudging her vision around the edges like charcoal on construction paper.

The farmhouse's front porch came into view, along with the silhouette of her mangy cat — a blessed oasis she shuffled toward before it was swallowed whole by the gaping maw of oblivion.

*****

Feedback is always appreciated. Although I'm well versed in writing fic, I always feel apprehensive when diving into a new fandom. ♥️

#stardew valley #stardew valley shane #sdv shane #sdv shane x farmer #fanfiction #green on the vine strawberry wine

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welcometophu · 3 years ago

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The Meaning of Home, Chapter 2

The Meaning of Home Chapter 2

Tags for all Welcome to PHU novels will be available at the PHU tag list on Pillowfort. This list is under construction as of Sept. 5, 2021.

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Pawel spends much of Monday lounging around the house. He gets up to help get Conor and Emma on the bus, so his dad can leave on time for work. After meeting the bus in his pajamas, he walks back to Dad’s house and lies down on the couch. He doesn’t really need a blanket, but he pulls it up to his nose anyway for the comfort factor and spends the day dozing and streaming old movies on his dad’s TV.

He never makes it as far as thinking about cooking anything for dinner, so he treats Dad and Conor to a night out. It eats up more time than he’d like, and it means Conor needs to scramble to finish the last of his homework once they’re home, but it’s nice to spend an hour letting someone else do the cooking.

Later that evening, after Conor goes to bed, Pawel and Dad spend the next couple of hours finally talking through everything that’s happened. Pawel doesn’t want to leave things out, but there are a few things he avoids for Dad’s safety, like the government involvement, and one thing he just doesn’t know how to explain.

He hasn’t seen Chelsea in a while. She’s relearning how to work within the world without draining souls to stay alive. He highly doubts she’s planning on stopping by his father’s for a visit, and even if she did, Dad never got to meet her as anything other than one of Pawel’s friends a decade ago.

Yeah. That is a complicated mess that he has no desire to go into detail about.

They go to bed late, but Pawel still wakes early on Tuesday to get his own kid on the bus. He figures it’s the least he can do, letting Dad get to work on time on a regular basis again.

Alone in the house again, Pawel feels refreshed and awake.

And bored.

He puts the phone on speaker as he putters around the kitchen, pressing to dial the number for Pels. She picks up after two rings, her voice gravelly and low. “What? Did we burn your house down?”

“I’m assuming you would have called me, rather than the other way around, if you burned my house down. Since you’re the one staying there.” Pawel rifles through his father’s cabinets until he finds a slow cooker. It’s dusty, but he’s pretty sure it’ll be functional. There should be enough ingredients for chili around.

He looks into a cabinet, and nearly bare shelves stare back at him.

Okay, maybe not.

“What?” Pels asks again. “You woke me up. Are you looking for my mom? I thought you had her number.”

Pawel finds tomatoes and beans, and starts emptying them into the slow cooker. “I do. I thought she’d be at work, so I called you instead.”

“It’s too early and—Dad, Dad, no, I’ll talk to him. Give me back my phone.”

“Hello, Ammon.” Pawel might not be able to hear Pels’s father, but he’s well aware by now that the ghost can hear him.

“He’s leaving, and I’m not putting this on speaker,” Pels mutters. “I thought he was going to start spending more time with Mom now, after the whole unbinding ceremony last weekend, but apparently she told him not to follow her to work.”

“Can she see him now?” That would be an interesting development. Pawel sets the empty can on the counter and reaches for a pad of sticky notes so he can scribble a reminder to himself to look into more detailed information about the ritual that the Burlington community performed for Pels and her mother in order to remove the bindings from their Talents.

“I think so. I mean, I’m pretty sure she can, but we’re not really talking about it. But seriously. Did you call for a reason? Cheyenne’s got these final projects to finish up since she left school a couple weeks early, so she’s not bothering me. Dad wasn’t bothering me. I was sleeping.” Pels grumbles under her breath.

“I just wanted to see how things were going.” Pawel peels off the sticky note and tapes it to the fridge, where he might see it later. Another search of the cabinets turns up chili powder and a few other seasonings. “Now that you’ve had a chance to settle into the house.”

“We’re fine. We’re figuring out how to be a family again without Peter.” Pels hesitates. “I’m learning how to see the world a whole different way now that I can see everything my Talent lets me see. Shane and Jess and I are talking a lot, and I’m going to figure this Mage thing out. So… thanks. For everything. Including letting us stay in your house while you’re gone.”

Pawel shakes some cocoa powder into the slow cooker, before adding a handful of dried onion. “Someone’s got to water the plants.”

“The plants were already dead when we got here.”

He laughs at Pels’s dry words. She’s not wrong. Pawel was gone for a month; everything went to hell, while his son went to stay with his dad.

Which, yeah. That brings him right back around to where he is now.

Pawel stares at the slow cooker. “If you need anything, you’ve got my number.”

“I’ll tell Mom to check in with you periodically. Oh and—” Pels hesitates before asking, “Cheyenne wants to know if it’s okay if she uses your backyard to practice flying?”

Pawel thinks of the time they used Alaric’s dragon to summon a Shadow in that same backyard. “That would not be the strangest thing the neighbors could have witnessed. But she should try not to break anything, including herself.”

“I think we can do that. Gotta go. Dad says there’s someone at the door.”

The line goes abruptly silent, and Pawel looks down at the screen of his phone as the connection is lost. “Okay, then.” He gives the vegetarian chili a quick stir, then puts the lid on, plugs it in, and switches the appliance on to cook on low. “That’s set, at least.”

He feels a little better, knowing that his home is in good hands, or at least, it’s not burning down. It sat empty for a month before; having someone live there for the summer should be better.

As long as none of the newly powered Mages set the place on fire.

Fire.

That reminds him.

Pawel checks one more time to ensure that the slow cooker is on and set to low, then heads back to the living room to dig out his laptop. He starts it up and finds the tab he’d left open for the outdoor music festivals, with a list of dates.

That’s what he thought: the festival that Rory and Thorne’s band, Phoenix Rising, is touring with will be in Buffalo this weekend.

Pawel buys four tickets. He figures Dad will come with them, and Conor will want to bring a friend. Probably Alan. And if Dad doesn’t want to go, Alan’s mom, Emily, might join them instead. He’s not worried if the tickets don’t all get used; he just wants options.

Conor will be pleased by the surprise, anyway.

He closes the laptop and looks back to the kitchen.

How the hell does his dad live like that, anyway? And what has Conor been eating?

No, he saw the answer to that this morning. Toaster pastries and cereal, and Pawel’s pretty sure that the last of the eggs were finished off as well.

Fine.

If Pawel’s going to be here all summer, squeezed into his dad’s small space, the least he can do is lay in supplies.

Pawel spends the day scouring the cabinets, making a long list of everything from prepared garlic and ginger for easy seasoning, to pantry staples like pasta, to critical items like various forms of protein for the freezer. His dad has a standing freezer in the garage, and even that seems woefully empty.

He loses time going through the sites online for each local grocery store, poring over the ads to determine which store will have the best value for this shopping trip. He types up the list to rearrange it by food type, so that as soon as Conor’s home they can head out and maybe they’ll be organized enough to get the trip done quickly.

“Dad!” The door bangs open. “What’s for dinner? I’m starving and something smells really good.”

“It’s not dinner time.” Pawel folds up the printout of the list and shoves it in his pocket. “We’re going shopping. Grab a snack.” His own stomach growls and he’s not sure how he made it from early morning to half past three without a meal. “I think I saw a box of granola bars.”

Conor lifts the lid to the slow cooker, inhaling deeply, while Pawel finds the last two granola bars. He tosses one to his son.

“Let’s get some food.”

“Can we get meat for the chili? That looked like it was all beans,” Conor grumbles. He buckles his belt, then directs Pawel to the grocery store.

Pawel already knows how to get there, but he’s not going to tell Conor that. Not when Conor seems comfortable in this place and is enjoying showing off that comfort level. He stays silent while Conor points out the entrance to the parking lot, then finds them a space close to the door.

Conor grabs a cart from the corral and pushes it into the store. “Emma’s Papa picks her up after school, so she doesn’t have to take the bus. She said they’re doing stuff today, so she couldn’t come over. I thought we could work on our—Emma!!”

Pawel catches the cart, stopping it from rolling when Conor takes off into the produce section. Emma’s answering shout is sharp and loud as Conor skids to a stop near a display laden with peaches. Pawel pushes the cart there, half an ear listening to the kids talking as if they weren’t together a half hour ago in school.

“Dad!” Conor waves at him, so Pawel picks up the pace.

He’s not sure who Emma is with. She stands next to an almost empty cart, except for a bag of peaches sitting in the seat. There doesn’t seem to be any sign of an adult.

“Emma’s shopping.”

Emma rolls her eyes, pushing braids back over her shoulder. “Obviously,” she says quietly. “Jennie had to pee. He’ll be back soon. She forgot to go before we left school.”

“Does your Papa have two carts? We can help you,” Conor offers. “You and me can do one cart, and Dad can do ours, and your Papa can do the other one.”

“You can call me Leo. I don’t think your dad would like it if you started calling me Papa like the rest of the kids.”

Pawel knows that voice.

He hasn’t heard the voice in a very long time, but there are certain phrases still etched in the deep recesses of his memory.

He exhales, and very deliberately makes himself look at the man who has joined him.

He looks good. Older, yeah. It’s been more than ten years since Leo graduated and left town for college. Apparently he’s back now, and from the police uniform, this would be Emma’s foster father that works for Pawel’s dad. He has the name ‘L. Papa’ embroidered on his uniform, just above the pocket, and his badge is still visible. Leo stands with one hand on the handle of the cart and reaches without looking to take a package of donuts out of the hands of the small girl sitting in the basket of the cart.

When he smiles, Pawel’s heart twists.

“I was glad to hear you reappeared,” Leo says quietly. His voice is a warm, low tenor, as careful and even as Pawel remembers.

“You’re fostering a Weather Witch.” It’s maybe not the best reply. Pawel refuses to wince when Conor snickers.

“I told you he’s single-minded sometimes,” Conor whispers loudly to Emma. “He’ll help find your parents. I know your Papa’s a police officer, but Dad’s a Mage.”

Emma’s brown eyes are furrowed and dark. Her lips purse, but she doesn’t say anything.

Leo takes two sheets of paper from his pocket, then hands one to Emma. “You know which cereals the boys like best. Pick one for yourself and Jennie that they won’t eat before you get a chance. Since you’re the one with me, you get to pick the pasta. I know it says twenty boxes of mac & cheese, but we only need ten. We’ll be shopping again next week.”

Emma takes the list and reads it over solemnly. “Nevaeh said we need more tuna, but it’s not on the list. I’ll get that, too. C’mon, Conor. There were some cookies on sale. Help me pick out ones that the boys won’t eat before we can.”

“Popcorn,” Conor replies. “Remember, we used the last of it last weekend? Did that get on your list?”

They roll away with the almost-empty cart before Pawel can protest.

The small girl in Leo’s cart has the box of donuts in her hands again. She opens the plastic carefully and takes one out.

“Jennie,” Leo says softly.

“I need sugar to sparkle,” she whispers around a mouthful of chocolate cream.

Speechless feels so strange. Pawel can’t remember the last time his tongue has been this tangled. “I—” He tries to break his own silence, and fails miserably.

“Things get chaotic with five kids in the house,” Leo says. When he smiles again, his pale green eyes crinkle around the corners with tiny lines that definitely weren’t there before. They match the faint hints of salt in his dark hair. “Conor’s got a lot of energy. He probably keeps you on your toes.”

“Dad says I’ve been cursed with a kid that’s just like I was,” Pawel says. He pushes his hand through his hair, trying to figure out how to recover his balance. “He didn’t tell me you were one of Emma’s foster fathers. Just that she had two of them. Foster fathers. And two missing parents.”

Meeting his ex-boyfriend shouldn’t be this unsettling.

Pawel blames it on the fact that he’s probably still in a sleep deficit—two weeks is not enough time to catch up on missing sleep for several months.

“There’s a local teacher who works with a group that finds placements for Talented kids who need Talented families to stay with.” Leo has the second page of his list in his hand, and he refers to it while picking out produce.

Right. Shopping.

Pawel looks at his own list and tries to focus on that to give himself a little distance and wrangle his brain back into working order. Salad. They definitely need things for salad. And fresh vegetables for roasting wouldn’t be bad.

“Alice asked Colt if he knew anyone who might be able to take on kids about four years ago, and when he said we would, she put us in touch with Lucy and Rowan, and that’s how we got Matt, our first foster kid.”

Leo’s voice rolls over Pawel, dropping tidbits of information that he struggles to grab onto.

“Matt’s not bad,” Jennie says around a mouthful of donut. “Sometimes.”

Pawel latches onto the names, his fingers closing around a broccoli crown and holding it a little too tightly. He fumbles with the plastic bag. “Lucy and Rowan? And… Colt?” He had to have heard those wrong.

He manages to get the bag open and shoves two broccoli crowns into it, dropping them in the basket of his cart.

Leo is silent.

When Pawel looks at him, Leo stands with his fingers wrapped around the handle of the cart, his grip tight. “Colt Harrison,” he says. “My husband. You—”

“Dated him in high school, yeah.” Pawel finishes Leo’s sentence for him.

That’s… too much information. Pawel is struggling to assimilate it.

“Dad did not mention that,” he mutters.

“This doesn’t have to be weird.” Leo grabs the container of donuts and moves it to another area of the cart. Jennie could still get to it, but she pouts instead, slouching down in one corner of the basket, her lower lip sticking out and flecked with chocolate. “Colt and I met when he was interning at the law office where he works now. We’ve been married about three years. We didn’t even know each other back in high school.”

“It doesn’t have to be weird,” Pawel echoes. He’s right, of course. It shouldn’t be weird. It’s not weird at all. People meet. They fall in love. They get married. They have kids. Sometimes there’s a small world effect and it turns out that they may have already been connected beforehand.

That’s all Pawel is in this; an ancient history connection.

“Your dad talks about you all the time,” Leo says. He pulls a napkin from his pocket and cleans Jennie’s fingers. “Try not to touch anything else,” he admonishes gently before tucking the dirty napkin back in his pocket.

He’s so careful with her. Pawel remembers when Leo used to take care of his younger siblings. It only makes sense that he’d be good with kids now. As big and scruffy and rough looking as he is, he’s gentle, too.

“I need to—” Pawel holds up the list, showing just how long it is. “Dad’s cupboards are empty. I’m not sure what he and Conor have been eating, and I get the feeling that it’s takeout so I really don’t want to know. I need to stock up.”

“So do we. Matt’s eleven and Clan, and Duke’s fourteen. We go through a lot of food in our house.” Leo heads toward the back of the store. “Come on. We’ll catch up with the kids if we get moving.”

Pawel exhales and trails behind Leo. Jennie peeks around him, her thumb in her mouth as she looks at Pawel. Small brown brows furrow deeply before she turns away and curls up.

Her snores are adorable little rasps of sound. He can’t think how she’s sleeping through the rattle and squeak of the cart she rides in. Still, she’s silent as they work their way through the aisles, collecting items from their respective lists.

They turn down one aisle and spot Conor and Emma from a distance. Conor has sparks around his hand while Emma reaches for something falling from the shelves.

Pawel coughs, and Conor turns to give him an innocent look.

Wait. That reminds him.

“You’re taking in Talented kids,” Pawel says slowly. “So you or Colt must be—”

“We both are,” Leo says, glancing at him sideways. “I grew up Clan. Colt’s Emergent, but that’s his story to tell. I heard about you being a Mage from your dad. He’s proud of everything you’ve done at PHU.”

Pawel waves that away. “Youngest dean. Newest department. Only real expert on Talent as a whole because I’m the only person who’s bothered to go down the rabbit hole far enough to study it formally.”

“It’s still impressive.” Leo huffs.

“I just… I never knew.” Pawel thinks back and tries to catalog Leo’s family based on what he knows of Clan. He didn’t interview them for his thesis; they weren’t on his radar as a large Clan community. They grew up as a part of the town.

“You weren’t meant to.” Leo dips into his pocket and hands the napkin back to Jennie, who has somehow woken from her nap and polished off a second donut while they weren’t paying attention. “That was before the Emergence. We took a lot of care to be able to live here without anyone knowing.”

“But your community—”

“Widespread and buried within this town and the surrounding ones. We never really wanted to withdraw from the rest of the world. Which is what makes us good candidates for fostering. We don’t have those same prejudices that some might have.” Leo drops a hand to the top of Jennie’s head, and she looks up at him, smiling brightly.

There are, indeed, sparkles all around her, the air shimmering with her contentment and happiness.

“Conor wants me to help find Emma’s parents,” Pawel says quietly. “At the same time, I’m not sure if he really wants me to get involved, after everything that happened this last year. What do you—”

“I think they’re dead,” Leo says quietly. His hand still rests atop Jennie’s head, but his gaze is fixed on Emma. “I can tell you what little we know, but everything points to them being dead. The question is what happened to their bodies.”

Unfortunately, Pawel’s had experience with issues like that and can think of at least one scenario.

Which might mean they’re not dead.

They also might not be prepared to be parents anymore, either.

Leo pitches his voice louder. “You should come over for dinner some night.”

Both Conor and Emma turn to look at them. Emma grips the side of the cart, stepping up and holding on while Conor gives it a good push before jumping up himself. It sends them racing towards Leo and Pawel, until Pawel puts up a hand, throwing out a gentle cushion of magic to stop them before they crash.

“Yes!” Conor yells. “Dinner!”

“You could come over and meet everyone. If you want to.” Emma’s gaze drifts away, like she really doesn’t care about the answer.

“They’re like my second family. Third, maybe, because of Alan, but my second one here,” Conor insists. “And Emma’s dads are really nice.”

“They aren’t my dads.”

“I’m sure Colt would love to see you, too,” Leo adds.

Thanks for the gut punch.

“He says yes,” Conor says quickly. “Right dad? You say yes.”

What else is he supposed to do?

“Yes.” Pawel fishes out his phone, unlocking it and staring down. He doesn’t resist when Leo slips it from his fingers, opening up his text app and sending something.

Leo places the phone back in Pawel’s hands. “The first number is mine, the second is Colt’s. In case you don’t still have them.”

“I fried my phone and lost everything,” Pawel admits. “Back when I Emerged. So. Thank you.”

“It’s good to see you.” Leo’s touch is heavy and warm where he claps his hand against Pawel’s shoulder, then squeezes.

Pawel could hug him, but he thinks that might be awkward. He’s never had this situation. He has three exes—two of them he hasn’t seen since they broke up, and the other one is Chelsea. Which is just complicated.

“Yeah, you too.” He watches as Leo walks away, Emma pushing the second cart beside him. Pawel wonders just how distracted Leo must feel since Jennie looks like she’s grabbing her third donut.

Or maybe that’s just how it is. Maybe he spoils his kids with plenty of sugar.

It’s not like Pawel knows anything about how Leo’s life is now.

Conor tugs sharply at Pawel’s shirt. “Dad. When are we going to dinner over at Emma’s house?”

Pawel looks down at his phone, at the new conversation sitting there. All it says is, this is Pawel.

He locks his phone and shoves it in his pocket. “I don’t know yet, but not tonight. Let’s go find that meat you wanted for the chili. Chicken might be good. We could sauté it up quickly and add it so it’ll get a couple hours in the slow cooker with the rest. Or we could cook it up with spices and add it afterwards.”

“You’re just saying that because chicken is healthy,” Conor grumbles. “I got more toaster pastries. Dziadziu lets me eat them.”

“I let you eat them, too, just possibly not in the same quantities,” Pawel protests. It’s not an argument he’s going to have right now, anyway.

He’s going to focus on finishing up the shopping, and finishing cooking dinner.

He’s going to focus on anything other than the fact that somehow both of the boys he dated in high school grew up to meet each other and end up married.

Yeah, he’s going to do his damnedest to focus on anything but that.

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