#bring your rifle if you go camping alone.

[sergioguymanproust]

You have to want to enjoy life regardless of your present situation. It has to be like a burning fire ,nothing can distract you or make you change your attitude. You came alone into this world and that’s exactly how you will leave. Pin this pic to your the closest wall to your bed. So that you can see it when you go to bed and when you awake every morning ,let it be a reminder of your burning desire. Look we live in a world full of chaos, and bouts of darkness and light.So you must see the possibilities and the go for the light .Nobody will give you what you desire most without a compromise, so you must choose to love yourself, love your job,love your life and the rest will follow.Keep your expectations low,remember we as species are under the same wants ,needs and stresses ,so be patient and realistic about others ,don’t try to manipulate them ,take care of your soul first ,enjoy your existence,learn to be alone ,this is key .Take good care of yourself. Words by Sergio GuymanProust.

[pretty-red-garnet]

Brothers

Daryl Dixon x fem! Reader • Quarry • Fluff

This took so long and I am not happy with it at all. I am so sorry to the anon who requested this! I don’t know what’s gotten into me, I just could not figure out what to write for this request. Again, so sorry. I hope to get back into writing more soon!

Part 2

     Chaos. Everything was complete chaos. Gunshots, groans of walkers, the kids screaming in panic, Shane shouting orders. A rifle thrown in your hands, fingers trembling as you took shots, walkers falling to the ground. Lori, Carol, and the two kids were hustled into the RV, and you stood guard by the door.

     Rick and the group came back from Atlanta suddenly, yelling and shouting and putting more guns in more people hands. Your eyes kept flicking to your brother, Shane, as he took down geeks. Everything was going so fast and your head was spinning.

     And then, silence. It was eerie, how so much panic and chaos could turn quiet so shortly. The once bustling camp enjoying a fish fry now was now nearly half the size. The earth beneath your feet was covered in blood, some red and fresh from the people, some was almost back, the walker blood.

     Andrea dropped down to her sister and let out a cry, and that's when you finally turned away, opening the door to the RV and letting them know it was clear. A hand dropped to your shoulder and you flinched, the tips of your fingers brushed the knife at your waist before you realized.

     "You good?" Shane asks, and you give him a jerky nod. He pats your shoulder once more and parts from you. You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding and survey the camp.

     There's bodies everywhere, both human and undead. You can't stand looking at it, you can't stand Andrea's cries as the background noise. You turn on your heel and begin walking away, towards the woods. Maybe it wasn't safest, but you needed a breather away from everything. They were beginning to stab the brains of the dead, and you couldn't watch them put down the people you once considered friends.

     You sit heavily on a overturned tree, the rifle you swung on your back makes a metallic noise when it hits the wood. You sigh, bringing your elbows to rest on your knees as you bury your face in your hands.

     You're only alone for a moment before you hear footsteps and you shoot your head up, heart racing and eyes glancing about before you spot Daryl. You huff out a breath and take your eyes off him, hastily brushing a stray tear from your cheek.

     "You're getting sloppy, heard you from a mile away," you tease, your voice teary. Daryl scoffs and plunks himself down on the trunk beside you.

     "Didn't wanna scare you." You nod, because you knew he had purposely made himself known. You'd been hunting with the archer enough times to know he was never sloppy.

     "Did my brother send you?" You ask, still staring down at your shoes out of embarrassment that he'd seen you like this. All teary eyed and pathetic looking.

     "Nah, too busy starin' at Lori and Rick," he says. It's your turn to scoff now. "You alright?"

     "Yeah," you answer, risking a little glance at the man beside you. He was biting his lip in a way that made you believe he was worried, so you force a little smile. He doesn't look convinced.

     "No Merle?" You ask. Daryl shakes his head, breaking his gaze from yours. "I'm sorry." Daryl throws you a little glare out the corner of his eye, but it lacks any sort of real anger. "I am."

     "Sure," he says, sarcastically. You narrow your eyes and bump his shoulder with yours.

     "Ok, I know me and him weren't exactly besties," your emphasis on the word makes Daryl give you an exasperated look. You just smile. "But I can still be sorry, I know how much you care about him." Daryl hums. "Besides, I don't think anything will take down that man. I'm sure he's fine."

     "Yeah, probably," he says with a huff of air escaping his lips. You're both quiet for a moment, and Daryl eyes you worriedly. "You sure you're alright?"

     "Yeah," you say with a shrug. "Just... worried. About everything."

     "I get that." You get silent again, and Daryl starts to bite and pick at the skin on his thumb. "But you don't gotta be."

     "I don't?" You ask, brows pulled forward and looking at Daryl intently. "Why's that?" Daryl shrugs and decides that the ground is more interesting than looking at you.

     "'Cause I'll always look out for you," he answers, quietly. You smile and place your hand on Daryl's shoulder in a gentle manner. He flinches just a bit before turning his blue eyes to you. He has a soft expression on his face, the one that's reserved for only you

     "Thank you," you say, in a sincere and soft way Daryl's never heard directed at him before. He nods, shakily. "I'll always look out for you, too."

     "I know," he answers, standing up. "Come on, ain't safe out here."

     You aren't completely sure when the unlikely friendship of you and Daryl began. A cop and a loud, brash redneck wasn't exactly an expected duo. Although, you do know a much different Daryl than most. A much kinder, softer version of himself, one he keeps locked behind a very tall, very solid wall.

     You're sure the only reason Daryl has shown this side of himself to you was because you're the only one to treat him like a person, not like some ticking time bomb. Not like some untamed animal or uncontrollable being, just a person. You had shown him a kindness he wasn't used to, and even after a few attempts at keeping you at arms length, you're closer than ever with the man.

You’d admit that maybe your feelings for the man weren’t completely platonic. But that’s to be expected considering you spend so much time with him. He’d taught you some hunting tips, so you hunted with him most days. All that time together, it wasn’t a complete surprise that a little crush would form.

Daryl leads you back to your tent, avoiding the mess of the dead loved ones. It seems most have agreed major cleanup can wait until morning, and have returned to their reserved tents. Dale stayed on watch, mostly for Andrea's sake, just incase she wouldn't be strong enough to take out Amy, you assume.

Daryl lingers at the opening of your tent. You have a unsure, nervous look to you. Your hands wring and fumble with themselves, and your bottom lip in firmly in place between your teeth. He's not fond of your anxious presence.

"I don't want to be alone," you whisper. You grimace, eyes screwing shut briefly before they open again. "Sorry, that makes me sound so pathetic." You let out a breath of air that's supposed to resemble a laugh, but it falls short. "I'll be ok, I'm not even really alone anyway. Shane's tent is right next to mine—"

"Wanna stay with me?" Daryl asks, before he can even think. The words just escape him, embarrass him, and he's about to take it back before you answer.

"Would you mind?" Daryl wants to say absolutely not, of course he doesn't, but what comes out is a grunt and a shake of his head accompanied by a shrug. Daryl turns towards his tent and juts his chin at it.

"Come on." You follow behind him to his tent. His and Merle's are beside each other, both farther from everyone else's tents. They have their own small fire pit and some tree stumps for chairs. Not far behind is a string of cans, a perimeter for the campsite.

Daryl leads you into his tent, holding the flap open for you to climb in behind him. It's small inside, some clothes and spare bolts for his crossbow laying about. A thick blanket is splayed out to act as a barrier from the hard ground. It's Daryl's turn to be nervous and fumbling, watching you take in the small space.

"Cozy," you say with a smile, laying down on the blanket. Daryl hesitates, sitting near the closed entrance and as far as possible from you. You frown. "Lay down. There's room for both of us." You pat the spot on the blanket beside you.

Daryl's eyes flick from yours to the space beside you. He eventually obeys after seeing your unrelenting gaze and lays down beside you, kicking off his boots and keeping them close.

You watch as Daryl does so. His muscles are tense, even as he lays down. He's stiff as a board, arms crossed on his chest as he stares up at the ceiling of the tent. He's ridged, and you feel the tension radiate off his body in waves.

"Am I making you nervous?" You ask, a teasing tone to your voice. It’s mostly to cover up your own anxiety over being so close to him. Daryl scoffs and turns his face away from you.

"Yeah, right." You laugh softly, and Daryl feels a smile twitch at his own lips at the sound. "Just ain't used to sharin' the covers, better not be a blanket hog."

"I'm not, I promise."

It gets quiet, both just laying beside each other, sleep not catching up with either. The gears in your head spin at a million miles a minute, and Daryl glances at you every few minutes, his own thoughts racing, until finally, you speak.

"Do you ever think..." you pause, and Daryl watches you carefully. "That you just aren't good enough? No matter what you do?" Daryl's brows furrow. Where did that come from?

"Plenty," he replies. "Have I ever thought you weren't good enough? Nah, never." Daryl adjusts so his arm is resting behind his head, he keeps his gaze straight to the ceiling even as he feels your eyes burn into him. "Where's this comin' from?"

"I don't know." You shrug. "Been thinking about it a lot lately. About if something happens and I can't save Shane, or Carl. You." Daryl's heart flips.

     "Took out a lot of walkers today," Daryl says. "I think you'd be right there if anyone needs your help."

     "I'm not strong enough."

     "Stop," Daryl snaps, he whips his eyes to yours.

     "I'm not. I'm not my brother, and I'm not like you or Rick. I'm not strong, I'm not meant for this." Your voice grows weaker as you go on.

     "You're a cop, you helped people, right? You took out, what? Ten walkers all on your own? I saw you." You let out a humorless laugh, tears spring at your eyes.

     "The only reason I became a cop was because Shane did," you admit. "I felt like I had to follow him, to do something."

     "Don't matter." Daryl's brows furrow. He isn't sure where this is all coming from. Sure, he'd seen you seemed to always be behind Shane, following whatever he said to do. It bugged him a little, how he always bosses you around. He didn't think it ever bothered you.

     "It does matter," you say with a scoff and sit up. Daryl follows, slowly sitting up next to you. "I was never meant for it. I could barely even take statements sometimes without wanting to cry."

     "Just means you care 'bout people." You shrug.

     "It means I'm weak." Daryl shakes his head and nudges you with his elbow.

     "Ain't weak. And you ain't pathetic, neither." You hang your head.

     "I wish I was like Shane, he's strong, he helps people."

     "Yeah, well I like you just like this," Daryl admits, even as he feels his face heat up.

     "Yeah?" You finally smile, shyly, turning your head just slightly to peek at Daryl. Daryl clears his throat and lays down, turning his back to you.

     "Ain't saying it again. Go to sleep." You laugh, actually laugh, and lay down.

     "I like you just how you are too, Daryl," you mumble, before sleep finally overtakes you.

Everyone is up early the next morning, you suspect nobody really slept. You had kept waking up every hour, and Daryl was still up staring at the ceiling when you'd glance at him. Footsteps and movement around the camp began right when the sun came up, and you and Daryl followed right after.

Everyone is bustling around now, burning the walkers and burying the dead, as Glenn had insisted. It isn't long before panic shouting is heard from Jacqui.

"Jim got bit! Jim's bit!"

Even more panic, angry shouting from Daryl, and arguing ensues. Daryl wants to kill Jim right then and there— which earned him quite the glare form you— thankfully it quieted him down a little. Rick wants to head to the CDC for a potential cure, and your brother is adamant Fort Benning would be the best bet. You were little ways away from their discussion, chatting with Carl.

"Y/N, what do you think?" Shane asks, suddenly. You sigh and take a few steps closer, away from Carl. You were hoping they would just figure it out and leave you out of it.

"Well," you begin, and Shane's slight narrow of his eyes doesn't go unnoticed. He wants you to go along with him. "I'm sure if there's a cure, Fort Benning would know. They are military, must have doctors."

Daryl scoffs, and you glance to him in surprise. He holds your gaze, but you can't place his expression. Your brows knit in confusion.

"There you have it, Rick," Shane says cockily, breaking you from your trance. You look away from Daryl.

You walk away, leaving the boys to argue further. You honestly don't care where you end up. From the looks of the city, there's nowhere safe, not the CDC, and not Fort Benning. It doesn't matter to you where they decide to go.

"Hey," Shane says, approaching you where you're taking down your tent. You drop the pole you're holding and stand up straight. Shane has a pissed off look on his face.

"CDC then?" You ask. His expression darkens.

"You could've had my back a little," he whispers angrily, getting closer to you. You turn away to hide your rolling eyes. You return to your task.

"I don't care where we go, Shane. It's all the same to me." He grabs your upper arm, not tight enough to hurt, but it's enough to pull your attention back to him.

"Yeah, as long as you get to follow your boyfriend, right?" You narrow your eyes, reeling away from Shane slightly out of shock. His face is close to yours. "Saw you come out of Dixon's tent this morning."

"So what, Shane," you say, yanking your arm from his grasp. "You aren't my father." He exhales heavily through his nose.

"Stay the hell away from that guy," Shane demands, his finger coming up to point at your face. You set your jaw, a fist balls at your side, and you smack his hand away from you. And then, for maybe the first time ever, you don't just do whatever your big brother tells you to.

"Leave me the fuck alone, Shane."

You drop down heavily into the truck's car seat. Daryl glimpses at you from the drivers seat, and he looks at you questionably. You don't say anything, instead glaring out the passenger window so viscously, Daryl's surprised it doesn't shatter.

"You ain't goin' with Shane?" He asks. You scoff.

"No," you answer, shortly. Daryl shrugs, mumbling an 'ok' and starting the engine. He takes off towards the CDC, and you continue your angered glare.

"So, you got your own opinion on this whole thing, or do you always just follow along with whatever your brother says?" Daryl suddenly asks, making you whip your eyes to him. He's staring straight to the road, and you scoff loudly.

"Oh, that's really something coming from you," you say sarcastically, letting out a sharp laugh. "You followed your brother around like a lost puppy, but I'm the one always going along with my brother? Bullshit."

You regret bringing up Merle as soon as you finished your sentence, but anger is clouding your judgment. Your frustration at Shane mixed with Daryl's unwarranted comment is just about too much to handle.

     Although you feel a twinge of guilt, Daryl's comment was ridiculous coming from him. He always would follow his brother around, do whatever he said to do. He never even seemed to care whenever Merle went on racist, sexist, something just plain mean tangents, even if Daryl never agreed or joined.

     But still, Merle was his brother, no matter how awful, that you understood more than anything. Shane was one to ruffle a few feathers too, and you understand better than anyone how oppressive it can be to forever be in the shadow of an older brother. Never getting your own opinion, or word in, forever just following along.

     "You're right," Daryl says. You turn your head to him quickly in surprise. He doesn't face you, his eyes looking at the road in front of him. "I've always gone along with Merle, no matter how shitty he was, or what trouble I'd get in."

     "You're right, too," you admit with a loud sigh, your anger fizzling at Daryl’s sincere tone. "I've never really done, hell, even said what I've wanted. I always just followed what Shane's doing."

“Think it’s about damn time we do what we wanna do,” Daryl says, after a few moments pause.

“Yeah, yeah you’re right!” You exclaim, smiling brightly. “Screw Shane!” Daryl laughs, and you turn your head to fully look at him.

He’s biting at the skin on his thumb, and he gives you a small, crooked grin when he notices your eyes on him. The sun cascading through the window of the truck makes him glow, and you can’t help but think that he looks just beautiful. His bright blue eyes sparking, how his light brown hair looks almost blonde in the yellow light. You’d never noticed just how handsome he is.

“The hell you starin’ at?” He asks suddenly. Your face flushes violently at being caught ogling, and you whip your face towards the window.

“Nothing,” you fumble out, he just hums an unconvinced noise of acknowledgment.

You bite your lip harshly to stop the grin that threatens to split your lips. You sneakily take another glimpse at Daryl, taking in his calm expression, the way his eyes narrow to block out the brightness from the sun.

Maybe it was just a crush, or maybe you’re head over heels in love with him. It doesn’t matter now. All you know is that Daryl understands you like no one ever has, and you aren’t letting that go any time soon.

[ragingbookdragon]

A Saving Grace

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 2K Warnings: Explicit Language, Violence

**********************************************************************

Ever since she had arrived, there had been no complaints from her, even spending so much time around a group of men. Any time someone had asked something of her, it was a quick “Yes sir, I’ll get it done.” With no issue in her tone, and she did, in fact, get it all done with a degree one could only call perfection.

No one seemed to understand her though. She walked with an air of grace, a sun-bright smile lighting up her face, enthusiasm in her voice when she spoke. She kept everyone on the edge of their seats when she talked to them, attention rapt as if they looked away, they’d miss the world. And she was kind. Oh, so kind, and they knew when she played with the young children in the village, helped the elder women carry their laundry and baskets of food. The smile never left her face, the joy never left her voice, the grace never left her soul.

An Angel, they decided she was. The group’s mascot, a beautiful Angel with deadly precision and skill.

Quite a contrast from her call-sign she’d come in with.

Whore.

Their mouths had dropped, eyes wide, disbelief written across their faces, what type of person, let alone a beautiful woman such as herself, would allow anyone to call her Whore. She hadn’t told them. Just that it was what she chose.

Despite going through the SEAL program, she had no real-world combat experience, only the training she’d received at SEAL boot-camp. Simon was inclined to not bring her along, but she insisted.

I won’t get in the way. I’ll provide backup and follow your lead, Lieutenant.

The compound erupted into chaos whenever the alarm sounded, and Simon had cursed their luck as bullets whizzed by. He shouted orders through the comms, go left, go right, stay center, open fire, suppressing fire.

She’d gone left, into a double open ended steel container that had been converted into a lookout. The shock from the carbine caused an ache in her shoulder but she paid it no mind, taking out enemies where she could see them, one even getting too close into Ghost’s blindside. He dropped five feet from the Lieutenant and the man’s head cocked up towards her, and even at this distance, she could see his eyes widen in what she registered as shock. He’d only ever called her by her rank, Ensign. Never regarded her with the term she gave herself. Call him a gentleman, but he knew better than to say something like that, even if it was her call-sign.

Whore! Left!

She turned too late; the carbine knocked from her grip by the man who had at least two heads on her. Her hands went to her sidearm but his were already winding around her throat, lifting her against the metal of the container, a choking gasp escaping what little room was left before all air cut off. The man’s eyes were wild, nothing there, but she saw herself in their reflection, a cornered and caged animal who’s only chance was fight. Rage welled inside her, not fear, only the red-hot, iron rage bubbled through the adrenaline, and she let her arms go slack, no longer digging her fingers into his hands, she gripped the K-Bar in its sheath, yanked it and sunk it into his neck. Those eyes went wide, the craziness of them disappearing in favor of shock before they hazed, and they both dropped.

Her lungs burned, eyes watering as she sucked in air, careful to avoid too much in the situation she needed to not be lightheaded. A noise came from the side, and she pulled her Eagle from its holster, pointing it towards the boot scuff and her eyes met Ghost’s.

Can you move?

Yes sir.

Scrambling, she grabbed her rifle, and nodded.

Ready.

***

She sat on the bench, scratching at the sheet of paper, filling out the report that some of the squad had left behind, a promise to do it another time. A gentle clinking sounded next to her, and she looked over, watching as Ghost sat beside her, a glass in front of him, a bottle of Kentucky between them.

“Pour us a round, yeah?” he murmured, and she obliged, pouring each of them a decent amount; he watched as she picked her glass up first, taking a big sip but not swallowing for a few moments. His eyes met the darkened bruises on her neck. “Feel alright after today’s injuries?”

She swallowed and set the glass down. “Fine. Sergeant Mac—Uh, Soap, gave me some pain cream for them.” A small smile crossed her lips. “I had some in my pack, but I think he was trying to be kind and extend a branch, so who am I to turn it away.”

“Yeah, Soap’s good like that. Hard head, good heart.”

Her smile only grew wider, but it fell as she glanced up as he folded the balaclava above the bridge of his nose and took a sip of his bourbon. Ghost had a scar that started from the edge of his ear down to his lip, almost like someone had scratched him and torn his upper lip in two. The healing was mangled, something she recognized as self-stitching scars.

“Believe it or not, I got this from a cougar.”

She blinked, shock etching her features that turned into confusion then to thought and she quipped, “That’s why they say not to tease older women.”

For the first time since she’d met the Lieutenant, he snorted, a smile etching his features as he muttered, “Good one.”

“Where did it happen?”

“Took a trip to Brazil one day. My luck I ran into one in the wild.”

“Uh huh. Kinda surprised you survived that one.”

“I’m a hard man to kill.”

They fell into an easy silence, both sipping their liquors and she glanced down at the report she had been writing. “Everyone wants to know why, y’know.” She felt his eyes on her. “Why my call-sign is ‘Whore.’ No one knows me here, though I didn’t really expect a bunch of hardened soldiers to know the most prominent models of the times.”

Ghost watched her take her phone out, tap the screen a few times before she laid it down in front of him, allowing him to look over; what he saw surprised him.

Two Time Grand Winner of Miss Universe and Miss Earth Ditches Crown for a Uniform and Rifle As She Enlists In USN!

He took the device, scrolling down the article.

Winner and Model (Y/N) (L/N) (28) tossed her crown and dress aside for a uniform and rank earlier this year as she seemingly dropped from the existence in the runways and stages in May of last year. Little comment has been given from her family, though her tough and endearing, multi-billionaire father (F/N) (L/N) has stated this was not a plan she thought well through. When asked for a comment, a representative from the United States Navy declined, saying that Miss (Y/N) was a part of a greater force and her whereabouts would not be disclosed for her and team’s safety. So far, no one has managed to find where she is but perhaps one day, she’ll return to the spotlight and reclaim her crowns.

Ghost handed her back the phone, and now everything about her, her speech, her mannerisms, the way she carried herself, all made sense. They’d been interacting with a woman who’d grown up in the spotlight ever since she could walk.

No emotion came from her face as she spoke.

“When I was at SEAL training, one of the instructors kind of…took me under his wing. He eventually told me that his wife was a fan of the pageants and knew who I was when he’d mentioned me. Though she knew I couldn’t be coddled, she did ask for him to watch out for me.” She simply gazed at the table. “The others didn’t appreciate the small kindness his gave me at times, simple words of encouragement or a pat on the back. They nicknamed me the ‘The Captain’s Whore.’ I heard it from them, under their breaths as I walked by. But I paid it no mind. I’ve been called far worse from people I loved.”

She stood from the bench and poured herself a hefty amount of the Kentucky into her glass before walking towards one of the windows. “When we graduated, they asked us for call-signs. What did we want to be recognized as?” He saw a smile come across her face, a proud one. “Three guesses on what emotion they all felt when I chose ‘Whore’ as mine.”

Ghost watched her. “Why did you?”

“So they’d have to say it to my face and not behind me back,” she answered, matter-of-factly. “As damning of a word as that can be, I took it from them. I took the power they had in that word, and I made it mine. They’d have to call me something they thought would hurt me, but I saw it in their eyes every time they said it, that I had come out on top. And I did. I was the best in my class. I suspect that’s why Captain Price commissioned me for the 141.”

She turned, a sardonic almost pitied look in her eyes, and Ghost saw the drunken haze starting to crawl into them. “Ironically, I’ve never even had sex with anyone.” Downing the glass in one swig she set it on the windowsill and turned to stare out at the night, watching the few soldiers still outside moving equipment around. “I wasn’t scared today. This was my first real firefight, but I wasn’t scared. Not even when the enemy had me by the throat. I wasn’t afraid. I was angry. Enraged. There was no fear, only intense hatred, and belligerent rage.”

Her breathing calmed. “I should be horrified at myself. I killed people today. I took the lives of men and women who were husbands and wives, who had children and spouses, mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, aunts and uncles and cousins, and yet, I don’t feel sadness or regret. I did my job, I took out enemies who were trying to kill myself and my squad-mates. I fought to protect people I cared for. But no matter how righteous my actions were or for what saving grace they were, I should be in tears, and yet…I have none left.”

Ghost saw the reflection of her face in the glass, saw the same dead-eyed yet so filled with pain expression he saw when he looked at himself sometimes.

“He beat all of them out of me years ago,” she simply added, and said no more, silently picking up the glass and setting it back next to his. “I’ll take my leave for this evening, if that’s alright with you, Lieutenant.”

“Simon,” he murmured, and she met his gaze. “Call me Simon.” He stood from the table, gathering both glasses and the bottle in one hand and she had to crane her neck a little to meet his gaze. “And from now on, you’re call-sign is going to change. I’m not calling you something you’re not.”

“You can’t just change my call-sign, sir. That’s not how that works.” He paid it no mind but only stopped when heard, “Oh fine, what are you going to change my call-sign to?”

“Seraph. The highest of them all.”

“Wait, like the angels?” he nodded. “…Why?”

Simon glanced back at her and selfishly blamed the liquor loosening his lips as he murmured, “You. You’re a beautiful and fiercely protective woman with a burning devotion. Can’t think of a better fitting name than Seraph.”

Something flickered in her expression, an ache, a deep, deep ache he knew so well, and she simply dropped her gaze to the floor. “Thank you, Simon.”

“Get some rest, Ensign, we’ve a big day tomorrow.”

[reashot]

Jaune Hunting Season. (Feat. Wolf Faunus Ruby.)

Papa Arc: Wake up Son we're going hunting!

Jaune: But dad I don't want to go hunting!

Papa Arc: Son. I'll pretend I didn't hear you. There is nothing more noble and honorable than shooting a defenseless animal with a high powered rifle.

Jaune: Dad killing animals is wrong and barbaric.

Papa Arc: What wrong is you not getting your butt inside my car right this instance.

Jaune: No dad I won't do it.

Papa Arc: Oh I see. As a father I need to respect my children's wishes... Sike! *snatch & tie Jaune up like a hog* You're going on a hunting trip with me boy and that's final. Besides we hardly bond together lately.

Jaune: That's because of stuffs like this dad! Why can't we just bond over board game or something boring like that?

Papa Arc does not listen to what his son have to say and just place Jaune in his car. And before they know it they already in their hunting gears.

Papa Arc: Okay Jaune we will meet up here later this afternoon. For now go ahead and find something to shoot. I'll be right here setting up camp. And be careful around this part I set up trap around this area since yesterday. If you found one caught in my trap go ahead and put it out off its misery.

Jaune: Okay dad. I'll be going... (Finally I'm out of there.)

With a rifle in hand. He walks into the wood, not to hunt but to mostly get away from his dad's venal attempt in trying to turn him into a man.

??? : *howling in pain*

Jaune: What was that?

He said despite knowing that there's only one animal that can make that kind of sound and they are in pain. With haste Jaune runs as fast as he can to the direction of the sound.

Wolf Ruby: *snarl. Yelping in pain* 🐺

Jaune sees a small wolf Faunus girl having her leg been caught inside a bear trap.

Jaune: Oh poor girl. Here let me help you out...

Ruby: Get away from me human!!! *clawing Jaune's eyes out*

Jaune: I-it's okay girl. I'm trying to help you out.

Ruby: No! You're lying. All humans are liar and murderer! Human is the reason my mom is dead!!!

Jaune: I'm sorry about your mother. But I'm not like that. I'm trying to help you. Look see. I'm dropping my gun and I swear I will not harm you. I just need you to allow me to touch you for a second so I can get your leg out from the bear trap.

Ruby: *growl* Fine! But no funny business mister.

Jaune: Okay here goes... *gently removes Ruby's leg from the bear trap*

Ruby: Ahh!!!

Jaune: Shh.... *Rub Ruby's head* there you go... Good girl, good girl...

Ruby: 🤯

Sometimes later....

Papa Arc: There you are son! Where have you been?

Jaune: Dad, you don't mind if I bring a friend home right?

Ruby: *Hugging Jaune's arm* Hello mister Jaune's dad. My name is Ruby and I already Marked your son as my mate. 💕

Papa Arc: I see.... Ruby would you mind if we have some time alone together? You know seeing that we will be in-law after all.

Ruby: I see no problem with that. Lead on Jaune's dad.

The two walks into the secluded area of the forest...

Papa Arc: So Ruby. You and my son, huh. How did you two met?

Ruby: Oh it's nothing to talk about really. Jaune saved me from a trap laid by a human then he used his semblance to heal me. He was so patient with me and so kind that I can't help but want him to be my mate... 😊

Papa Arc: I see interesting... By the way was your mother's name Summer Rose?

Ruby: Yeah, Summer Rose was my mom. Why did you ask?

Papa Arc: Because... *points his gun* I killed your mother.

Ruby: W-what?

*bang!*

[strangerquinns]

Deadly Reunion| Chapter 25

Eddie Munson x female!reader // a stranger things apocalypse au

summary: You and Eddie have been best friends since childhood. But when the outbreak happened five years ago, you were torn from one another in the chaos. but now you’re left alone, after your group was killed by another radical crew, leaving you to seek out what was once home. // zombie apocalypse Hawkins set in 1993

warnings: angst + adult themes w/ descriptions of violence, blood, torture + other zombie apocalypse related issues (no use of y/n)

word count: 4.7k+

chapter warning: extreme violence + blood (the war has begun)

⪻ previous chapter | next chapter ⪼ | stranger things masterlist |chapter one

You gripped tightly to your shotgun, nozzle turned toward the gun, even with your fingers beginning to ache. Truthfully your fingers were starting to go numb more from the cold than anything else. One of the negative points of Hopper’s plan of attack was that it happened at night. And with the dropping temperatures lately at night due to winter slowly approaching – the cold was not your friend at the moment.

So far the group that you were with couldn’t be more than a few miles from the Camp. The sun was setting down casting Hawkins into darkness. An eeriness was settling amongst you all and it wasn’t easy to ignore. Everyone moved in silence, walking through the thick of Hawkins Forest as you all traveled north toward the mall. In a sense, some of you were marching toward your death, which just made everything feel even heavier.

You couldn’t help but look over to Eddie as he walked beside you. His body was stiff and ridged as he walked in rhythm beside you. He’d pulled the bandana up over his nose - his dark eyes being the only thing you could see of his face. Your gaze slowly moved down along his body before going back to his profile. It was like you were trying to commit every detail you could of him to memory.

Your deepest fear of this mission was of you possibly getting hurt or anything like that. Bad things have happened to you before, it wouldn’t be anything new. You could handle that.

But the thought of losing Eddie, of never seeing him again, because of this. That terrified you. That caused a ball to form at the back of your throat and choke you as your eyes burned from oncoming tears. Losing Eddie – that wasn’t something you could handle. It was also something you already knew deep down you wouldn’t survive despite everything else you’d gone through.

You turned your gaze away from him and tightened the grip on your shotgun even more.

“I can taste your anxiety from here, sweetheart,” Eddie spoke, his voice low so his words would only be heard between the two of you.

“I can’t help it.” You sighed heavily, “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing for you to be sorry about,” Eddie paused for a moment, “In honesty, I’m in the same boat.”

You looked up at him again, “I just wish I could fast forward all of this and know how we’re going to come out in the end.”

“I know,” Eddie reached over and gently placed a hand on your shoulder. His soft touch brings a bit of comfort, “I know.”

A silence fell between the two of you once more, Eddie’s hand dropping from your shoulder and returning back to his side.

The silence between you both didn’t last long.

Slowly the others in front of you began to slow before you all came to a stop. The sun was nearly fully set causing you to see shadows and outlines of everything around only really you. No one spoke, if anything, and looked around confused for a moment.

Hopper stood at the front of the group with one of his hands held up – a signal for silence.

But as the seconds passed the confusion slipped away as the growling and snarling seemed to be coming closer and closer.

“Fuck,” You cursed, words barely audible as you checked your rifle. Making sure it was loaded and the safety was off.

“Pack sounds small,” Eddie spoke to you, his eyes shooting up toward the front where Hopper stood.

You watched as the men seemed to silently communicate with one another before Eddie turned back to you.

“Find cover, try and pick off as many as you can, understand?” Eddie asked.

You nodded your head quickly, “Where are you going?”

Eddie sighed heavily, reaching a hand to caress your face, “Baby, please…now go!”

Eddie’s voice rose a little higher as he gave you a gentle push, the people around you falling into formation as the sounds of many shuffling feet seemed to be cornering you as they drew closer. The snarls caused your heart to leap into your throat and turn your blood to ice. Eddie took a few steps away from you seemingly toward the pack.

“Fuck” You cursed again before turning quickly on your heels and moving toward a fallen log, ducking behind it quickly.

You moved quickly as you fell into position, your eyes scanning through the soft darkness as the rest of the sun began to set. Being in darkness didn’t really work in your favor. But you didn’t have time to dwell on that more as you saw the first come through the bushes.

It opened its decaying mouth and a louder growl could be heard as it moved slowly. Not yet activated to hunt for prey. Your stomach churned at the sight of its grey skin, the thick darkened veins seeming to protrude from beneath it. The clothes hanging off its body were dirty, tattered, and covered in blood. You could see signs of where skin once used to be.

But the remnants of a human were long gone.

You looked down at the barrel of your shotgun, making sure your aim was correct, before firing off the shot. The sound echoed through the forest and the growls echoed back. The sounds of their footsteps grew quicker as the pack zeroed in on the noise.

The Flayed moved through the forest quickly but Eddie and the rest of the group were ready. Off to your left, you could hear another firing off shots as well. But you didn’t stop to see exactly who it was. Instead, your focus was still down the barrel of your shot gone as you rang off shots, making sure it was a Flayed before pulling the trigger.

The darkness overcoming the forest was making it harder to find who was who – especially with the group wearing head to toe black. You knelt down behind the cover of the log you were using, moving through your pack to reload your gun. The shake in your hands didn’t go unnoticed by you as you reloaded the shotgun. You felt the bile from the pit of your stomach move up your throat with every snarl, scream, and gunshot that you heard.

Was anyone hurt? Was Eddie ok? Was Eddie ok?

That thought rang through your mind the most.

You went to move up from behind the log to start again and cover whoever would need it the most. But as you came back up from the log, a Flayed was right there waiting for you. Its blackened mouth opened wide, ready to sink its decaying teeth into your flesh, and lunged for you. A scream of surprise passed through your lips as you stumbled backward. Though Flayed were nearly walking skeletons there was something about them that made them feel heavy. You landed at an awkward angle as your back hit the dirt beneath you.

Its teeth chomped and bit at the air in front of your face, your hands against its chest being the only thing stopping it. With every bit of strength you had, you pushed and pushed, trying to move it from on top of you. Your efforts weren’t for loss as you used the momentum of your pushing and flipped the Flayed over, straddling its body. Its hand reached up toward you, grabbing at your clothing, as you fumbled for the knife in your waist. The cool metal met your shaking hand before you gripped it, brought it up, and struck the blade down into its skull. The skull collapsed from the pressure and the body beneath you stopped moving.

With the chaos around you, you didn’t have time to sit and dwell on what had happened. Didn’t have time to process and come to terms with the fact that, for what felt like the thousandth time, you had a brush with death. You stood quickly and slipped your knife back down into the holster you had at your waist, before reaching down for your gun. Looking around quickly and frantically – you saw that most of the Flayed were gone.

But you couldn’t see Eddie.

Where is Eddie? Where is Eddie?

You swallowed down the want and need to call out for him. The last thing you wanted to do was distract him but also bring attention back to yourself. You strapped the shotgun over your back, the leather strap across your chest, as you moved over the log. You passed by the bodies of mostly Flayed but saw a few of your own had fallen. No one that you recognized fully – but it still hurt. Hurt to know those people would never return home to those they loved. Those who were expecting them back through those gate doors.

You reached down and grabbed a Flayed that was hunched over someone's body, eating from their torso, taking your knife, and bringing it into the back of its head. A gag came from you as you threw the body down – seeing the fresh blood of the victim mix with the black tar of the Flayed. You hesitated for a moment when your eyes went to the person's face.

Wide blue eyes stared back at you with a fearful expression overtaking their face. Speckled blood mixed with the freckles that kissed along their face. Their short red hair was matted with dark blood. You closed your eyes for a moment as you turned to look away taking a few deep breaths through your nose.

Vicky, fuck.

This was going to kill Robin. You thought Nancy was hard but this…

Why her? Why her?

You said a silent prayer for the girl, before moving along, having to push down the emotion as you walked away.

A few more Flayed tried to come at you, the pack thinning over time, making it easier to take them down. By the end of it, you were covered in sticky, vile tar-like blood of the Flayed along with dirt and other forest floor debris. Your eyes caught movement and saw that those that had spread out were centering back together. You saw Hopper – covered in the same mess that you were – with a few more familiar faces.

A bit of relief moved through when you saw that Lucas came out ok, along with Max and Argyle. But your eyes were scanning around for one person. The familiar frizzy curls were not being spotted amongst those that came back.

But as you stood there with your heart in your throat and on the brink of a panic attack, you felt a hand drop down onto your shoulder. The sudden pressure caused you to jump and turn around quickly with your knife in hand. But your body froze as you turned around. You fully expected to see a stay Flayed behind you, but instead, large moon eyes stared down at you behind the fringe of dark curls.

“Oh, thank fuck,” You sighed heavily in relief, your entire body relaxing, before launching into his arms.

Eddie reached out and grabbed you, his hand caressing the back of your head, as he pulled you in closer.

“I’ve got you; I’ve got you,” Eddie whispered, his face tucked into the curve of your neck causing his voice to be muffled.

A small, whimpering cry left your lips and you clung to him a little tighter. The two of you stood there for a beat more before stepping back.

“Are you ok? Did you get bitten? Scratched?” Eddie questioned, his eyes looking over you quickly.

“No, no.” You shook your head, “You?”

“No.” Eddie let out a shaky breath, “Went farther south to make sure there weren’t stragglers of the pack. When I didn’t see you at the log, but saw a Flayed, I got scared.”

“It came at me out of nowhere.” You shook your head, your breath still slightly labored as your adrenaline came down. “I-I saw Vicky…one of them got her.”

Eddie closed his eyes and cursed under his breath, “That’s something sadly we’re gonna have to face when we get back.”

His voice was heavy with sadness as he spoke, his brows pulling together as he spoke.

You knew Eddie was having the same thoughts that you were having before.

This was going to hurt Robin.

That is if you ever saw Robin again.

You didn’t let that thought linger for too much, you pressed it down and away before it could even grow roots.

“Is everyone accounted for?” Hopper’s voice spoke up, bringing everyone’s attention back to him. “Those of us that made it through?”

“I believe so, Chief,” a gentleman you’d recognized from before.

Hopper nodded, “We have lost a few, and we will come back for them, but first we must continue on with what we are out here to do.”

There were a few murmurs, but essentially, everyone fell back into line and continued through the forest.

When you finally came upon the forest line that seemed to circle around the back of the old midwestern mall that was once upon a time Starcourt Mall, you thought you’d feel something. But instead, you felt nothing. It was like your mind fully turned off knowing what you were all about to face.

The parking lot leading up toward the mall was nothing now but cracked and broken concrete with nature taking back what it once was. The gate was up from when it was once the FEMA center for Hawkins and other surrounding towns. Leftover vehicles were scattered at random points with some of the tents still propped up. All were useless with the damage from over the years. But it was eerie to see where people once thought they’d be safe be nothing but a ghost town.

“Government set up the emergency center here so families could try and find each other,” Eddie explained to you, “And it worked for a little but at least that what Wayne used to tell me, till a few people that were sick turned in the middle of the night and started attacking people.”

“Shit,” You cursed out, shaking your head, “Wayne was here?”

Eddie nodded his head, “A lot of people at the Lab were. That is how the Lab started and became the new shelter. People saw what not to do and did something else, made the Lab stronger so it could host people.” He shrugged “But eventually what was once safe, can’t stay like that forever, this world doesn’t allow it for too long.”

You looked over to where Hopper stood where he was using binoculars as he looked toward the mall and spoke to a few of the other men.

“You always speak of Wayne, but I never asked what happened.” You spoke, staring up at him as he leaned against a tree slightly. He nervously began to fiddle with the leather bracelet around his wrist.

Eddie slowly nodded his head but kept his head down as he spoke, making it hard to get a read on him. “It’s not easy to talk about him, ya know?”

Eddie’s eyes rose to meet with yours, his face sullen and eyes holding a deep sadness.

“At least he did something not many of us get to do nowadays.”

“What’s that?” You asked, brows pulling together in slight confusion.

“Die of old age.” He smirked slightly. “One night we were sitting at the firepit drinking and talking with Gareth. The next morning, I went in to wake him up for breakfast, but he was already gone.”

You nodded your head, a little bit of happiness to know that he’d gone peacefully. Something that wasn’t fortune for a lot of people nowadays. If humans didn’t kill you, then it was the Flayed.

“He’s buried out in the forest with the others,” Eddie explained.

“Sarah?” You questioned.

“Sarah.” Eddie nodded. “When this is all done with, when you’re ready, I’ll take you over to visit.”

You smiled slightly, “I would like that.”

Hopper whistled slightly which caught Eddie’s attention. His dark eyes looked over toward the former Chief past your shoulder before giving a slit nod.

“I’ll be right back, sweetheart,” Eddie spoke before bending down pressing a kiss to your cheek, and walking past you.

You turned and looked back to watch Eddie walk the few feet toward Hopper. Their voices were low murmurs from where you stood, so you weren’t able to make out what they were saying. But a  serious look quickly slipped over Eddie’s face like a mask.

As you stood there in the cold fall night, your eyes scanned over the mall once more. You weren’t sure what you were expecting when it came to Starcourt being used as a shelter.

But with the last encounter you had with this group you were expecting something more. With the time passing all you could see were a few men on top of the roof for patrol and a couple out the main entrance. The fence was pulled to block off the back part of the mall where most of the building was falling apart and collapsed.

“We’re starting,” Eddie spoke, causing you to jump slightly since you didn’t notice coming back.

“There are guards on the roof and out front.”

“We know. That’s about to be taken care of.” Eddie’s face was hardened and his voice was void of any emotion. It was a little scary to you, but you also understood. You were sure that you were mirroring him.

The low static sound of a walkie could be heard before a voice came through, you recognized that it was Enzo.

Hopper replied back, and seconds later, a shot rang out.

You jumped from the sudden noise that cut through the quiet night but watched as a body dropped on the roof. As another rang out, it didn’t take long for the others to react.

It was starting.

The other on the roof dropped after a few shots, but gunfire was being returned.

“Who is shooting?” You spoke with worry.

“Robin,” Eddie smirked “She’s the best sniper we have. Let’s go.”

Eddie grabbed your hand and started pulling you toward the right side of the mall where the building was fenced off and falling apart. The plan was for once the two groups got to the mall – they were to split off into smaller groups and work their way through the mall and the areas they were assigned. Once their area was swept and cleared, they moved on to the next.

The operative was to kill any radical you saw.

No one came out of this alive.

You moved in the slightly crouched position as you moved quickly across the parking lot toward the entrance that was left unwatched. Eddie was the first to open the door, giving it a sweep, before entering. You followed through second with Max, Argyle, and one of the militiamen – John – behind you. Eddie pressed his back against the wall, the rest of you following suit, and moved through the back hallway of the mall slowly – your footsteps barely making noise. When you came upon a corner, Eddie took a peek around the back, before looking back to you.

“One at the double doors,” Eddie whispered.

“I got him.” You answered back, speaking just as low, slipping your knife out, flexing your fingers around the handle. “We do this with as little noise as possible, save your ammo and only use it when needed.”

Your eyes were focused on Max as you spoke. The redhead nodded her head, understanding what you were saying. Over the last few weeks of training, you’d come to admire the younger girl. She reminded you a lot of yourself.

You felt protective of her.

After a few deep breaths, you moved to creep around the corner, moving down into a crouched position and moving slowly so your steps were nearly silent. The man that was standing at the double doors had his back facing you, his rifle in his arms as he stood facing the doors.

The closer you got, the more hurried your steps became, till you were right on him. The man didn’t even notice you till it was too late. You placed your hand over his mouth and drove your knife into his neck before quickly pulling it out. His body fell back against you like dead weight, something you were expecting, his warm blood spraying against the dirtied white wall beside you both.

When you took a step back, he fell to the floor with a heavy thud. You stared down into his eyes as he reached to grab his throat. Blood slowly poured from between his chapped lips as he choked to watch a breath. But his body stopped moving and he lay stiff on the ground, his blood turning the hallway floor red at your feet.

“Clear,” You spoke, your eyes never leaving his face.

You wanted it committed to memory, adding it to the list of those that had wronged you.

You might not know the exact person that murdered your mother. But to you – every single one of them did.

“Holy fuck, dude,” Argyle spoke as he came around, spotting the bloody body at your feet.

“Got something on your face,” Max pointed to your cheek, where blood had sprayed slightly onto your cheek.

You reached up to slightly swipe it away, uncaring, and more so smearing the blood across your cheek.

“Let’s go.” You spoke before turning quickly, stepping over the body as if it were nothing, and continuing on.

The others followed behind you and through the doors after checking to make sure no one was there. You were already in the mall coming through that way. It was a small corridor where the mall offices would be along with security and a single set of bathrooms. The echo of gunshots and yelling could be heard as you all slowly crept from behind the doors. You all used the shadows as your cover as you moved forward.

“Alright, everyone knows their points and positions.” Eddie spoke, “Make sure to have your partners 6 and don’t venture off alone, are we clear?”

Everyone nodded their heads before moving.

You and Eddie moved slowly to the right, while the other three moved to the left. You looked over your shoulder and watched as Max left with the other two men – knowing she was in good hands – but still feeling scared for her.

But your mind couldn’t be like that.

Not now, when you were finally able to give out the revenge you always wanted to.

You and Eddie had moved and ducked behind where a few stone walls were stationed outside of storefronts. The sound of gunfire only grew and became more intense the more you two moved forward. You weren’t able to tell what was being initial gunshots and return gunshots. Eddie quickly equipped his gun with the silencer, before checking his ammo. He nodded his head forward, causing your eyes to follow his eyesight, and see two men standing along the second floor.

Eddie took aim, before sending one shot, hitting one directly. His body fell quickly causing the other to become more alert. You and Eddie ducked down as he panicked and shot at random – obviously unsure of where the shot came from. But once he stopped, Eddie acted quickly and took position again.

“Three down,” Eddie spoke low beneath his breath before moving forward again.

As the two of you moved through your sections you felt for a moment that things were going too well and too easily.

There was something at the back of your mind that was making your senses more alert.

You kicked the chest of the woman in front of you as she tried to come at you again a grunt of pain as you felt a pain shoot up your leg. But you ignored it as you brought your hands close to your chest as you moved for a punch. It landed, but the second she blocked easily. You groaned louder as a ringing seemed to sound through your head as she slammed her forehead against yours.

“You fuckin’ bitch!” You screamed, the anger and pain only fueling you more, as you hit her.

Her head was knocked back as the familiar crunch of her nose sounded, but you didn’t wait for her to steady herself. Instead, you came to her again with another and another. She collapsed to the ground, grabbing at her face, as she moaned in pain.

Her red hair was no longer pulled back tightly in the ponytail that she had before. Her shirt was now covered in a mixture of not only her blood, but you were sure yours as well. The forming bruises of both new and old littered along her arms and a few on her face. But you didn’t feel bad for her. Why should you? No one felt mercy or bad for your mother. Your friends.

Why should you?

“What is your name?” You asked, even hearing your own voice caused a shiver to move through you.

You didn’t sound like yourself.

“Fuck you,” She cursed, blood pouring down from her nose and into her mouth. The anger swimming in her green eyes caused them to darken as she stared back at you.

You reached for your gun and looked down at her, before pointing it at her head, “I asked you what your name is.”

She hesitated for a moment, before speaking. “Carol. Carol Perkins.”

“Carol,” You nodded your head slowly, “Whose the man in charge around here?”

Her brows pulled together, “H-Henry.”

“Tall blonde man with the scary eyes?” You questioned.

“I-I guess,” Carol spoke, her eyes moving around for a moment, before looking back at you.

“Don’t think of escaping, it’s not gonna happen.” You spoke with a curt tone, causing her body to stiffen. “Do you know a girl named Wendy?”

Carol slowly nodded her head. “She’s one of Henry’s girls.”

You froze for a moment, before hardening your gaze at her. “Excuse me.”

“O-One of Henry’s girls.” Carol spit the blood in her mouth off to the side, “He likes to take sometimes.”

That made your stomach churn with disgust.

Carol took your moment of hesitance as a sign, moving to try and come to you again. But you saw her before she even fully stood back up from the soiled carpet beneath you both.

A single shot ran out, causing her head to fall back, before she slumped to the ground.

Her blood began to add to the stains as blood seeped from the bullet hole in the middle of her forehead.

You exit the storefront that you had come into, and where you came across Carol.

The closer the two of you got to the main part of the mall, the more toward the front where you expected everyone to be, and the more people the two of you came across.

You were able to hold your own, the two of you taking down anyone that you came across and even making it to where you met up with another group.

But then chaos erupted, and you ducked into a storefront for cover, getting separated from the group. You thought you were safe – till you came across Carol.

“Head north! Head north.” You heard a voice echoing from the hallway that you were coming up on.

As you moved forward, you raised your arms up so that your gun was forward. Your steps were slow and fluid – not wanting to alert them just in case it was friendly. You pressed your back tight against the column you’d come upon and tried to slow your breaths down. Your heart was pounding in your chest to where you thought it was going to come out of your chest.

Movement caught your eye from your left causing you to look over, and that’s when you saw her again.

“Wendy” You whispered, watching as she darted down another hallway with the echo of bullets coming from the other end.

Without a second thought, you moved to follow after her.

So I cut the "war" chapter into two cause I couldn't bring myself to have you read a 10K chapter. If people hadn't already cause I have been horrible with updates, people would've jumped ship! But I hope you enjoyed this chapter - if you did please let me know. I have also started uploading this onto AO3 (@everwrites) so if you could show support there I appreciate it. This is and will continue to be further ahead than AO3. I am so sorry for the nearly month-long update this took to make. I work retail in management and this is the time of year when my brain shuts down due to work & family. If I am honest, I hate this time of year - holidays aren't for me. So I will update you quickly. I appreciate your patience with those that have stuck around. I have noticed notes dropping which I get cause I'm a nut and haven't been as consistent as I planned to be if you enjoyed please reblog + like it helps also, check out my little eoy 2023 thing i did if you want rec's & stuff

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Harley D. Dixon 26

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📖Chapter List.

Author's Note.

We. Are. Back!!

It's been almost six months!! 😶 Motivation comes and goes, but I'm very happy to be posting again. Like I said in a comment on Ao3, this book is too special to me to ever abandon. Thank you for your patience!! 💙

When Rick kicks the stool out from under Jim's feet, there's a simple crunch sound, and then he's dead.

I watch from afar as his body dangles from the rafters like a doll filled with sand, wondering why I thought it would be louder. It feels like I can breathe again. As if I've had a noose of my own wrapped around my throat until this very moment. Jim's dead. He ain't a threat. Just dead and dangling. Silence pours out across the farm. It feels strangely comforting; a hug from somebody you thought you didn't like.

I know Dale would disagree. I don't gotta ask to know he didn't want this.

If he weren't under six feet of dirt and bugs right now, I think I'd tell him I'm sorry.

Not just for Jim having to die, but also for being angry. He knew it never did nobody any good to be angry. If I hadn't told Carl to leave that muddy walker alone, wanting it to suffer and pay for some crime weren't even its fault, then maybe Dale would still be here.

I kinda realize in this moment that I don't care if dead people don't gotta see bad things. Because Dale ain't get to see the good things anymore, either. Like books and soup. Hugs, jokes. The baby, once it's born. Neither does Momma or Sophia or Shane.

It's like Jim said. I should be dead by now. On account of all laws of nature and chance, I should be long dead.

But obviously, I ain't.

And I'd be a stupid, silly, brainless little girl to not think that makes me at least a little bit lucky.

As I fiddle with the metal buckle of my overalls, Dad and Rick carry Jim outta the shed, their hands hooked around the dead man's armpits and ankles. Carol's probably thinking something like, He's with his loved ones now. But I ain't Carol, and I don't believe in heaven, so all I'm thinking is, I hope it didn't hurt. I've never had my neck snapped before, so I wouldn't know. They shuffle over to the pile of wood and walker bodies, tossing him on top, dusting their hands off on their pants. They's gonna burn him. No graves for them that ain't family.

Good. We have enough of those, anyway.

Dad and Rick turn away from the pile, their faces largely blank.

Before they can see me, I stand from my spot near the fence and scurry away, because I know I'm not meant to be watching.

That morning, everybody gets busy doing something. Whether it's bringing supplies into the house or cleaning a grimy rifle, nobody's twiddling they thumbs. There's something about putting work into a thing that needs it that clears the mind, I guess. Stops us from thinking about Jim, anyhow. Me, I help out by going around with a basket of fresh fruit, handing them out to anybody who wants some.

The first people I swing by are Rick and T. They've begun reinforcing the fences together, using old metal sheets and planks of wood to barricade any weak points they find. They gratefully take a juicy pear each, leaning against their handiwork to bite into the sweet flesh, groaning at the taste. Something nice happens in my chest when I see them smile. It's like looking at a puppy. You just can't be sad.

"Wow, this is good," T-Dog nods, turning the fruit over in his hand. "Thanks, Harley."

Rick doesn't say nothin', but I'm just glad to see him enjoying himself. Even for just a moment.

I head over to Patricia and Carol next, who are scrubbing at some laundry over by the trees. I earn myself two more smiles when they take a couple peaches, leaving them to their own devices and making my way through everyone else. Herschel, keeping Maggie company as she hangs up some wet clothes over a line in the sun. Jacqui and Lori, tidying up camp a bit, preparing lunch. Jimmy, polishing guns.

When I give a pear to Dad, who's fixing some of his crossbow bolts, he kisses my cheek as thanks.

And Beth. I don't forget her. She sits in the bay window of her bedroom, nibbling away at a green apple.

I know eating a good piece of fruit ain't never stopped nobody from wanting to kill themselves, but everything counts.

I've only got a peach, apple, and a pear left tumbling around in my basket when I approach Glenn and Andrea. They're stood around the hood of Dale's RV, frowning into the rubber tubes and gears like there's a jigsaw puzzle in there, muttering to each other.

"You gotta tap it three times," I think he's saying, pointing at something, "And—"

"— And give her a twist," Andrea sighs, throwing her hands up. "I know, I know."

Glenn notices me out the corner of his eye. He doesn't light up exactly, but the tension leaves his shoulders. "Oh. Hey, Harley."

"Hey." I give a little smile, holding out the basket. "Y'all want some fruit?"

"Ugh. Yes, please."

They each pick one out, leaving me with the apple. I toss the basket onto the nearby folding chair and bite into its waxy skin, the sugary juices leaking down my chin. It's sweet as candy. Well, from what I remember candy tastin' like, anyway. It's delicious.

Andrea seems to agree. "God. Remind me to always become stranded on a farm with an orchard."

Glenn bites a chunk out of his peach as he takes the screwdriver from the blonde, scooting around her to stand in front of the exposed engine. "Here. Let me have a go... Dale told me that in these old vehicles, the points get corroded."

I wipe my sticky chin, watching as he pokes around with the small tool.

Dale knew everything there was to know about this RV. Whenever it broke down, he didn't even need to check beneath the hood before he knew exactly what was wrong with it. Hell, even I've picked up on its quirks by now, and I know jack about vehicles. There's all sorts of screws and bolts and duck tape crammed into the poor thing's inner workings, but it just refuses to die. Like a stubborn old mule. 

A bit like Dale. No matter how many times ya put that old man down, he'd come back ten times stronger.

"I let him down," Glenn suddenly sighs, and it's easy to know who he's talking about.

I glance over his shoulder, through the front windshield. Dale's ridiculous amount of souvenir air fresheners still hang from the mirror. Oklahoma. Illinois. Missouri. Kansas. That ain't even half of 'em. We used to tease him about them, but he always just laughed us off and recited some philosophical quote from a dead guy about how memories feed the soul, or whatever.

Nobody ever understood it when he said stuff like that, but I still know we all miss it.

"He was proud of you," Andrea tells him; then me, "Both of you."

I sheepishly look away, picking at the stem of my apple. No, he weren't. But that's nice of her to say.

"That's easy for you to say." Glenn shakes his head. "You had his back."

She doesn't know what to say for a moment.

"Well... All I know is that there's no way he didn't know how much we all cared for him, even in the end. He was too smart for that."

I got no doubts about that. He knew everything. Knew everything about the RV, about poetry, about us. He was just one of them types of people. I only wish I hadn't argued with him that day, but I argue with Dad all the time, and he still loves me. So, can't all be bad.

Glenn pulls back from the engine with a resolute, "Welp... That should do it."

When Andrea climbs inside and twists the key into the ignition, I'm proven right. This old RV just refuses to die.

"Well done, Glenn," I smile over the noise of the engine. "You did it."

He turns to me with a smile of his own, looking proud of himself.

After that, he and Dad leave the farm to search for a hearing aid. 

Maggie hands them a list of houses they can try their luck in, and then we exchange the usual goodbye hugs and kisses before waving them off. There ain't no use in sitting around, wondering if they're going to get bitten and die because of me, so I leave to find something I can distract myself with instead. Luckily, Rick and T-Dog are more than happy to let me help them out with the fences.

If we're gonna get serious about staying here at the farm, we're gonna have to make some upgrades.

I obidiently tail them as they work, lugging around a bucket filled with rusty nails to pass to them.

"You know, Harley," Rick grunts as he hammers a scrap of metal to the wooden posts, "Carl still ain't stopped chewin' my ear off about all those things you taught him the other day. If I have to hear the word 'mushroom' one more time... I'll go crazy."

I pluck a nail from the pile and hand it to T-Dog.

Just to be annoying, I say, "Mushroom, mushroom, mushroom."

"Hey. Watch it." He scolds me, but not very well. He's smiling. "Anyway. You two ain't on good terms right now, are you?"

I raise a brow. "How'd ya know?"

"Well, I figured you'd be playin' with him right now if you were. And to be honest, he's been in a bit of a mood lately."

I huff a little, silently cursing Rick's parents for making him like this. "We squabbled. That's all."

He hums thoughtfully.

"Whenever I argued with my sisters," T-Dog tells us, "They'd start messin' with me. They'd hide my Xbox controller. Eat my snacks."

Rick chuckles. "They sound nice."

"Yeah, you could say that," He chuckles along with him. "A real pair of peaches."

"Well, Carl ain't done any of that," I suppose, adjusting the bucket in my grasp, "But he did call me a stupid baby."

Rick turns to look at me. "What?"

"He snitched on me about the shed and called me a stupid baby. Then I told him I hated his guts."

As I stand there, he fixes at me with a funny, What am I going to do with you?, sort of look, until he returns his attention to the work at hand. "Well, he was right to 'snitch' on you, but I'll have a talk with him when I can. It's not okay to name-call."

"I think it's 'cause he's gonna be a brother soon." I think aloud. "He said he's gotta protect me."

T-Dog argues, "You got all of us here to protect you. Boy's got nothing to stress about."

"I know. He just likes bein' somebody's keeper."

Hammering the last nail into the metal, Rick gives the thing a bit of a shake to test its strength, pleased to see it won't budge.

"Okay, I think this one's good." He decides. "Let's move onto the next one."

As we gradually make our way down the fence line, we continue chatting away about other useless things. The weather, future plans for the farm. Something we don't talk about, though, is the baby inside Lori's belly. I don't think Rick wants to think about it, let alone talk about it. He must be mulling over all the hundreds of things that could go wrong. As the leader, that's his special talent.

By the time we reach the area around the barn, I'm not listening to the conversation anymore. It's difficult to concentrate on making out their voices for such a long time, so I just tune myself out, absentmindedly gazing past the two of them, into the field.

That's when I notice something off about the burning pile.

It's still sitting there, a boring bunch of wood and junk, but the problem is I can't seem to spot Jim's body on it.

I know they didn't move it to some other place, and it's definitely not been lit on fire yet, so it can't be that.

When Rick holds out his hand for me to pass him another nail, I leave him hanging. He frowns down at me in concern; confusion. I think he says my name, but then he follows my gaze, followed suit by T-Dog. I can tell the exact moment they catch on.

"Okay," T-Dog levels with nobody in particular, holding up his hands, "That's creepy as shit."

"Stay here," Rick wearily tells us, before jogging away to investigate.

I don't need to be told twice. Clutching the bucket to my stomach like it's a teddy bear, I huddle closer to T, letting him step in front of me as if a chupacabra is gonna pop out from under the debris and gobble us all up. We watch Rick approach the burn pile, creeping up on it, concerned he might wake it up. He peeps this way and that, the hammer held tight in his grasp, ready to strike.

Was Jim bit, I find myself wondering, Was he bit, and we just didn't notice?

No. No, that can't be right. If he was bit, he would've turned long before we had the chance to hang him.

Rick flinches backward. He gawks at his own two feet. I think he might've crossed paths with a snake, or even that chupacabra, but then a hand shoots out from behind the burn pile and we learn the thing tryna bite him ain't an animal. It's got black hair and a grubby red shirt, a pair of milky eyeballs. It's Jim. He crawls after Rick like he's tryna avenge his own death, his neck still swollen and wrong.

Once he's absorbed his own shock, Rick brings the hammer down on Jim's skull, but he's fresh, so it's not mushy like it is usually. He has to bludgeon him two, three, four more times before the bone cracks open like an egg, wet brains dribbling down his face.

We all catch our breaths. I don't think any of us were prepared to watch Jim die twice today.

"Where was the bite?" T-Dog calls out, sounding like he's about to barf all over himself.

Rick kneels to check under Jim's shirt, flip him over, roll up his pant legs, because of course he does. There has to be a bite.

But when he stands, he calls back, "I can't see one."

There's a gaping pause between us all.

"Well, it ain't on his ass cheek, is it?"

Rick raises a brow as he steps over the body. "You wanna go check, be my guest."

"Nah, thank you, man." He answers drily, eyeing the blood dripping from the head of the hammer. "Well, what the Hell happened?"

Instead of telling us he doesn't know, or offering up a theory, Rick just sighs. He tosses the hammer into the little wagon we've been pulling along with us, rubbing at the faint wrinkles on his forehead. I remain hiding behind T-Dog. I know there's no snake or chupacabra to be heard of, and now, not even a Jim. But I don't like the danger in the air. The danger of something being wrong and not knowing what it is.

Rick lowers his hand, gaze landing on me. He keeps it there for a moment.

To be a walker, you gotta get bit. I can't see one. Everyone knows that.

"Come on," He eventually mutters, reaching to take the heavy bucket from me. "Let's get back to the house."

"Rick, what's wrong?" I whine as he grabs my hand. "We ain't workin' on the fence no more? Why?"

T-Dog snatches up the handle of the wagon and hurries after us.

"Don't worry about it, honey," He soothes, giving my fingers a squeeze. "The grownups will handle it, okay?"

Rick says this, just like he always has, but all he does when we get back to camp is eat lunch and talk to Maggie about our progress on the fence. I decide it's not a big deal. I trust him. Maybe he's just waiting until me and Carl aren't around to talk with the other adults about it. Maybe Jim did somehow get bit while he was in the shed. Maybe it really was on his ass cheek. I won't pretend to know.

In any case, I dig into my scrambled eggs and buttered bread without giving it much more thought.

After lunch, the three of us go back to working on the fence, anyway.

"Hope you enjoyed the apple."

With her forehead resting against the window, Beth gazes down at the farm, like some lonely angel peering down at another world. The afternoon sun gently contours the subtle curves of her girlish face, which isn't looking nearly as dreadfully pale as it did before.

"I did," She answers sweetly, smiling as I come to sit next to her on the thin cushions. "Thanks, by the way."

I give a shrug. "Yer sister says peach and pear season's just about up, so all we's got for a while is apples, anyway."

She surprises me by giggling at me, a pretty tinkling sound that suits her. "That shouldn't be a problem for you, right?"

My cheeks go warm. "Huh?"

"I saw you," She explains, a fondness in her eyes. "Chowin' down on that apple just before."

"When I was wit' Glenn and Andrea?"

She nods. "You were smiling. It was nice."

I contemplate calling her a stalker, but all that comes outta my mouth is an amused scoff, rolling my eyes and turning to look out the window. I understand why she likes it up here. I can see the whole farm. People milling about camp, chickens pecking at the ground. And off in the distance, the herd of black cows dotting the paddocks like little beetles, munching on bales of hay. And quiet. Precious quiet.

I glance at the distant treeline, thinking about the recent whispers of the horde. I brush it off quick as I can.

I steal a glance at Beth, instead.

That little smile is still pulling at her lips, a lively glint in the soft green of her eyes.

For some reason - mainly my talent for speaking without thinking - I ask her suddenly, "Do you still wanna die?"

She stiffens ever so slightly, and I only have a few short moments to feel awful about it before she meets my eyes.

"I just mean," I continue, wishing I ever knew the right thing to say. I think back to when Carl was in my exact position, asking nicely for me to not do what Beth did. He also threatened to smack me in the face, but I don't imagine that would go over too well with Beth. Neither would shouting at her like Dad. So, I just do something stupid, another one of my talents, and I improvise. "I been worried about you. Not, like, pity or nothin', but... I know how you feel. And after Dale... I realized that just 'cause people die, it don't mean I gotta die, too. It ain't a reason to wanna die. It's a reason to wanna live. 'Cause I'm just glad I ever knew Dale and Sophia and everyone else that died at all."

I feel encouraged by her glassy expression to keep talking. Not that I could stop myself if I tried.

"So that makes us lucky, y'know. Yer Momma's dead. My Momma's dead. But we loved 'em, and you can keep lovin' other people, but not if you're in a grave somewhere. Besides, it would just pass it on to them that would miss us. Not worth it, if ya ask me."

When I finish my word puke, she pins me with a tense, watery look that makes my insides cramp up.

"Maggie told me," She says, "That if I decided to keep living, that I'd find moments where I'd know I made the right decision."

She takes a deep breath, chuckling afterward.

"I think this is one of those moments," She decides.

"It is?"

I feel a weird sense of pride. I know me and my stupid apple and bad advice didn't singlehandedly solve anythin', but I was able to make her realize she don't got nothin' to regret by surviving her own mind, and that's more than enough for me.

I nod, trying not to smile, because this is supposed to be a serious moment. "Good. That's... good."

Her chuckles turn into laughter. "Why you so awkward all the darn time, Harley?"

Then I'm being wrapped up in a hug. I hate hugs. But this one ain't too terrible.

When we part, I ask her, "Are we friends?"

She seems to find that funny. "'Course."

"Well, my Dad and Glenn are gonna be gone for a few more hours," I tell her, "So, we should play something 'til then."

Beth warns me that she's seventeen years old, so she might not be able to play the same way me and Carl play, but that's okay. We don't have to play pretend or anything. We can do something she likes. Apparently, that's painting our nails. I have to try not to pull a face, but I guess I end up pulling one anyway, because she bursts into giggles and pulls me to my feet. I'm not the biggest fan of girly things. It's just not what I grew up with. I'm used to scuffing my nails while climbing trees and playing in the dirt, not painting them. But I'll give it a go.

"What's your favorite color?" She asks me, setting me down on her bed and rummaging through her desk.

"Yellow," I chirp.

"Actually," She lilts, pulling out a little bottle of yellow polish, squinting at the label. "It's Electric Spring Citrus."

I scoot over to make room for her on the bed, presenting my nails to her.

The afternoon slips away easily after that.

Nighttime paints over the orange sky.

Me and Beth have migrated downstairs by the time the sun has disappeared beneath the farm, lured in by the domestic commotion of dinner being prepared. It's soup again. I recognise the smell by now. While we wait to be served by Maggie and Patricia, the rest of us gather around the coffee table, ribbing each other as we break the rules of a card game Jacqui suggests. Carl keeps cheating by lying about what cards he has, but he's too dumb to realize he'll have to show them to us at some point. I laugh hysterically when he loses.

"You weren't listenin' to the rules, was ya?" I enjoy taunting him as he goes red. "Typical!"

He complains, "Shut up, Harley!"

"Okay, okay," Lori placates, doing a very bad job of hiding her smile behind her fan of cards. "Settle down."

I almost don't think about Dad and Glenn or Dale or Sophia or Shane or Momma for the whole game. By my standards, that makes for a good time. Carl continues losing miserably, whining even more miserably-er, while Jacqui beats us over and over again.

I'm reminded of the night we had our first dinner together - The one where Patricia made everyone feel super uncomfortable, and then I almost died. It's hard to believe this is the same house and the same people. Probably because it's filled with laughter.

We continue playing even through dinner.

When I lose for the fifth time, I take my bowl of soup and retire to one of the sofas, settling in next to Rick and quietly sipping at the warm broth. He sends me a bit of a look as if to ask me if I'm okay, probably reading my face in that weird way he got, noticing I'm thinking about Dad and Glenn. I reply with a simple nod. He doesn't seem satisfied with that response, but he can't do nothin' about it.

It's too noisy in here for him to talk to me, and neither of us know a single lick of sign language.

So, he just gives me a thumbs up and hopes it gets the point across. They'll be okay.

Eventually, even Herschel gets roped into playing.

"Hey, I actually happen to know a thing or two about this," He tells us, before proceeding to eviscerate Jacqui at her own game.

We all go awww, as she throws down her cards.

"Darn..." She sighs. "You weren't lyin', old man."

"As Jesus as my witness," He holds up a hand, "I never lie."

Lori asks, "Where'd you learn to get this good?"

"I used to spend a lot of my time in bars, young lady." He explains. "I got more than enough practice finessing card games."

"Well, I'd say it paid off."

He raises his fluffy white brows. "They used to call me Great-Hand Greene back in the day, you know."

Everybody in the room can't help but laugh.

"Now, Daddy," Maggie exclaims, "That's a lie!"

Great-Hand Greene calmly enlightens her, "It surely isn't."

This is the moment headlights turn into the driveway. Everyone turns to look. My heart squeezes. Dad and Glenn. The two lights come to a sudden stop, watching us like two eyeballs through the dark. The sound of doors slamming. I place my bowl on the coffee table and hurry out of the lounge room, followed by some other footsteps. But when I reach the foyer, the door bursts open without my doing.

Dad first, then Glenn. Both of my lungs deflating in relief, and then both of them knotting right back up again.

"That horde's headed this way," Dad wastes no time in announcing, "And it ain't stopping for nothin'."

Everybody freezes. A horde? The horde? Headed our way? Right now?

Rick pushes past everyone. "You saw it?"

"Trust me, man." He jokes dryly, shaking his head. "You can't miss this thing anymore."

"There were hundreds of them," Glenn agrees, frantic. His hair is suckered to his forehead with sweat, even though the season's turned. "We were over by Mallory Road when we caught wind of them; got us stuck for a couple hours until we could slip past."

"Not that it matters now," Dad snides.

Maggie asks, "Were you able to get the hearin' aid?"

He gives a nod, but nobody's paying attention. "Bits and pieces."

"Patricia," Herschel orders, our card game long forgotten, "Kill the lights."

We follow Rick out onto the porch. The night welcomes us with a cold gust of wind. At first, I can't see much of anythin', but then the lights blink out one by one and my stomach drops into the floorboards. On the other side of the field, leaking out from between the trees, are bodies, bodies, and bodies, so many it's not worth trying to count. They make the group on the highway look like a couple of stragglers.

As the masses of feet stumble up the driveway, I'm hit with the feeling that our fences aren't going to save us.

"I'll get the guns." Andrea mutters, and I think that feeling has hit everyone else, too.

Rick runs off in the direction of the cars. It's where we've kept our bags of emergency supplies for a time like this. Does that mean we're gonna leave? Or are we gonna fight? Is it even possible? I didn't even get to finish my soup. That feels important, somehow.

"Maybe they're just passing." Somebody stupidly guesses. "Like that herd on the highway."

"Should we go back inside?"

"Not unless there's a tunnel downstairs I don't know about." Dad drawls, gazing out. "Horde this size will rip the house down."

I worry up at him, "Daddy, I don't want it to rip the house down."

He shushes me, putting a strong hand on the nape of my neck, squeezing reassuringly. I let it calm me. I feel a fool for panicking, but if there were ever a time to panic, it would be now. I cling to him as Andrea dumps the bag of guns on the floor. She passes them out to everyone that got two thumbs and a brain. Maggie, Glenn, Dad, Rick. Jimmy. Even Herschel. Nobody is being left out of this fight.

Not even me and Carl. A gun is pushed each of our hands. You know how to use it, I remind myself.

"This the plan, then?" Dad confirms with everyone, because it's crazy. "We take 'em all on?"

Andrea passes me a loaded mag. I don't have to count the bullets inside to know it's not enough.

"We have guns. We have cars."

"We kill as many as we can." She's on board. "We'll use the cars to lead the rest of them off the farm."

"The burn pile," Glenn adds, "There's a bunch of kerosine and matches down there. We could lure them into the barn, set it on fire."

Rick climbs back onto the porch. "Bags are all packed. If things start to get hairy, we can leave."

"We're not leaving." Herschel argues.

"Herschel—"

"This is my farm." His voice booms as he pumps a pair of fat bullets into his shotgun's chamber, fire in his eyes. "I'll die here."

"Alright." Dad lilts over the droning rumble of death incoming, looking around for objections. "It's as good a night as any."

I get herded into Maggie's car. Dad gives my face a kiss and slams the door shut. I bump the mag up into the chamber. I know how to use it. I do. Two more slams. Glenn at the wheel, Maggie in the passenger seat. I've shot two walkers before, when I was out in the woods with Shane. I just have to do it again. And after that, again and again until they're all gone. Glenn stomps on the gas. The car screeches forward, ripping through the grass, barrelling into the night. I don't even bother buckling myself in. That's not how I would die tonight.

"You got enough ammo back there, honey?" Maggie fusses, digging through the glovebox and throwing me a spare.

"Thanks." I catch the cardboard box, trying not to shiver as Glenn rolls down all the windows. Groans and wind flood the car.

He shouts, "Start shooting!"

Just like that, gunshots erupt from all possible angles.

I grip my pistol tight, aim it out the window. You're gonna hold it like this, Shane's voice tells me, Firm. Confident. You're the one in control, here. I'm in control. My home's bein' invaded by the dead, and a horde this size might rip the house down, but I'm in control. The car spins. I lurch. It's hard to aim like this, but I gotta try. I line my eye up with the wobbling sight. I breathe in and out.

I squeeze. BANG. 

I can't even tell what I hit, or if I hit anything at all, but it don't matter. I squeeze again. BANG.

Glenn weaves us in and out, around, through the horde, never getting too close, never veering too far.

In the other car, T-Dog, Andrea, and Carl. They swerve around us, shooting down every dead bastard they can hit.

I squeeze. BANG.

BANG, and again, BANG, and again, BANG.

The jaw of a nearby walker explodes off its meaty hinges. It swings around. It trips. It slumps. I've killed it.

"How we doing back there, Harley?" Glenn calls out. "You okay?"

"I— I'm fine!" I shout back, pulling my body back into my seat to reload.

I peel open the box of ammo. A curse falls from my tongue when the little bullets go tumbling onto my feet, rolling under the seats. I quickly snatch them up, shoving them into the mag. On the other side of the car door, fireworks of gunpowder and bullets, squealing tires and breaking bones, a blazing Hellfire lighting up the sky. Orange and roaring. I notice it, then. Dad. Rick. That must be them. They've set the barn on fire. It's cracking and falling to pieces, a burning church. The walkers fight to get inside like it's the last Sunday on Earth.

An important beam succumbs to the flames, snapping in half like a broken twig, bringing the rest down with it.

I hear wood breaking, and then there are chickens running lose across the field, screaming, flapping.

I squeeze and I squeeze and I squeeze. BANG.

A rotten old man crumples to the ground. BANG.

A lady's shoulder bursts open, a pop of bone and muscle. BANG.

A girl with one of the poor birds in her mouth, choking on feathers, dead. BANG.

For every one we kill, five more are there within a heartbeat to replace it. Glenn's foot falters on the pedal, and we come to a crawl, and then a stop, unable to do much but watch as the farm is consumed. This is a losing battle. There's no other type.

Herschel said we weren't leaving tonight, but that can't be true. I guess he is a liar, after all.

"We gotta go," Maggie's shaking her head, the tears in her eyes collecting like little pearls. "We're not gonna win this. We gotta go."

As if only to prove her point, the barn collapses once and for all. I almost feel like crying.

"I'm sorry, Maggie." Glenn says weakly.

Yeah. Me, too. I gaze out at the oak tree, still standing bravely; the little wooden crosses clueless beneath it.

As Glenn drives us back into the chaos, my pistol stays in my lap. I don't got any bullets left, anyway. I just sit there, watching everything pan by. Mine and Dad's camping spot, tucked away in the distant trees, just how we liked it. The crumbled fireplace where I talked to Dale for the last time. The shed. The swing outside it me and Carl used to play on. The orchard. The patch of dirt where Sophia died.

I wish I had the power to know when things were gonna end. That way, I could've savoured my last day.

It's not as cool as the superpower's them people in Carl's comics got, but it's the one I'd want.

It was silly. Working on the fences today with Rick and T-Dog made me think we were gonna be okay.

When I look up, we're approaching the house. Jacqui's sitting on the porch steps all by herself, staring out at us.

Glenn pulls us in close, getting out and hovering around the hood of the car, waving her over. "Come on! We gotta go!"

I crawl across the seats and shove open the door. "Jacqui? Come on!"

She's not coming. Why is she not coming? The door is open. We can all leave together. When I call out her name again, she convulses ever so slightly, as if she's got a bad cough but doesn't wanna let it out. I feel my face fall all at once. Her arm gives out, slumping from her neck, into her lap. I notice the blood first, all ten gallons of it, and then the bite. Her muscles spasm again. Oh. No, no, no.

"Jacqui?" I call out uselessly, but Glenn's already back in the driver's seat and Jacqui's already dying.

"C-Close your door, Harley," He orders, slamming his own.

She's dying. We can't stay here. I know both these things, but it still takes everything in me to pull the door shut.

After that, the deaths just keep coming. We drive past Patricia as the horde pull her into their mouths, Jimmy as he stumbles from the RV, clutching at his open throat. There's nothing we can do for any of them, but we manage to reach Carol just in time. She climbs into the seat next to me, and we ask her if she's seen anybody else, but she hasn't; she hasn't seen anybody.

Turning my face to the open window, I let the wind dry my tears, seein' as my Daddy ain't here to do it for me.

The faces of the horde pass by, a sea of rats on a burning ship.

I want to go collect my things. I want to pet the cows one last time. I want to do everything we won't get to.

My body lurches all on its own, then.

A face in the crowd. It's different from the rest. I'm not good with faces or names, something my teachers used to grumble over, but I'm good with this one. That one walker, tucked in with the rest of them, wearing the Police cap. It's Shane Walsh, dead and walking.

How? How is that possible? Why are the tears back tenfold, now?

Lit by the moon and the flames, I see his broken cheekbones for the first time since that day, the way they're bulbous like apples, mishappen like clay. Everything about him is wrong. His nose is broke. Clothes all mussed up. Ribs pouring. His eyes are glossed over. He don't seem to mind his broken body, or the fire, or the smoke. He just wants what all other walkers want. To bite into something. It's him, but not.

I almost want him to look at me. I clutch my locket, wanting our eyes to meet just to make him prove it.

This just can't be true. He didn't get bit. He got shot and beaten, but he didn't get bit.

As if I've willed him to do it, he looks my way.

"Carol," I croak, watching as he noses at the air like the animal Dad always said he was, "You got any bullets left?"

I feel something being placed in my hand. It feels just like the locket, but colder. I shakily load it into the chamber; lift the gun. I believe in you, His voice is back. Now line your eye up with the sight. I stare down the barrel, carefully placing his face on top of the sights. I only have this one bullet. I can't miss. Not only because I need to put him down, but because I think I want to make him proud.

Breathe, I take a deep breath, In and out. 

Damn it. These fuckin' tears, they're messing up my aim. I smack them away and line up my shot again.

And squeeze.

BANG.

All the air rushes outta my lungs as his body hits the ground, disappearing amongst the horde.

I lower the gun.

Carol's already looking at me before I glance her way.

When we peel onto the highway, I can still see the flames burning over the tops of the trees, like some old religious painting.

Maggie breaks the silence. "What if nobody else made it?"

Nobody answers. I preferred it when the only noise in the car was the gentle humming of the engine, but I can't blame her for asking. We got no idea who else made it out alive. The four of us are all alone out here. Ain't no phone number we can just dial to ask if they're alright.

"They made it," Glenn eventually just decides, staring out at his high beams on the dark road. "They had to."

"Well, how are we going to find them?" Carol asks innocently, petting my hair as I lay my head in her lap. "They could be anywhere."

Maggie sighs. "We could circle back to that place I found y'all on the highway?"

"No," Mumbles Glenn. I can see his finger tapping against the wheel. "No, the horde came from that direction."

That's where our ideas run dry.

"Glenn?" I whine, clutching at my temple. He glances at me in the mirror, concern in his eyes. "My head. The ringing. Hurts."

He makes a troubled sound. "It must've been all those gunshots... I'm sorry."

Carol suggests, "Maybe we should just stop somewhere for the night."

There's a pause between them, but it's a short one, because it doesn't take much for Glenn to agree. He's musing to himself about how we can't drive all night. It would be a better use of gas to drive in the daylight. But really, we all know it's because he's a big softie.

He pulls us into a little nook on the side of the highway, killing the engine and turning on the ceiling light.

"I'm sorry," He says again, as if he put the ringing inside my head himself. "Maybe there's something in the supplies?"

Maggie unzippers the bag at her feet, pushing around the stuff inside it, shaking her head. "Just some water. Thirsty?"

I shake my head.

"I think we should all get some sleep." Says Carol, her voice a whisper.

Yeah. A good sleep sounds really good right about now. I think we've earnt it. Georgia will still be here when we wake up.

"Okay." He reaches up to press the ceiling button that turns on the moon, its dim white light spilling across the console in the dark. We all loosen slightly, completely exhausted. "We can just pick up again tomorrow. I'm sure the others are doing the same thing."

"Goodnight," Maggie tries to smile, reaching around her seat to stroke my shoulder.

"Goodnight," I mumble, echoed by Glenn and Carol, and then it's silent.

I close my eyes.

No eggs and buttered bread for breakfast today. Just a stale granola bar I gotta split with Carol, and a sip of water I gotta split with all three of them. After we take turns peein' in the bushes outside, we're back on the road again, and we're on it all day.

I don't know where we're going. I don't think Glenn knows, either.

I'm starting to think we might be driving all night, too, by the time we run into the others. That's right, the others. Herschel's shitty old pick-up truck is parked in a swath of brown leaves on the side of the road, right next to Dad's truck and bike, and another grey car.

When Glenn pulls on the brake, I think we're all crying happy tears, but I'm too busy crying happy tears to notice.

I climb out, grinning, running into my Dad's arms.

"Harley," He sighs in relief as he picks me up, squeezes me tight. "I knew they'd take good care of ya."

"I knew you'd take good care of you," I giggle, hooking my chin over his shoulder.

"How did you guys find each other?" Glenn marvels.

"Well, when I saw their little Toyota goin' the speed limit," He nods behind him, "Figured there just had to be a cop at the wheel."

As chuckles break out between the group, he places me back on the ground.

Maggie asks, "Where's the rest of us?"

"We're the only ones that made it so far," Rick answers, and it's now I notice just how much smaller we are now; barely ten. We're just as alone as we were when it was just me, Glenn, Maggie, and Carol. No shelter, no food, no direction. Feathers in the wind.

"Where's Andrea?"

Lori shakes her head. "She was with us at the farm, but we got separated."

"Did you see Jacqui?"

Jacqui. Poor Jacqui. Maggie, Glenn, and I share a look without even meaning to.

"It was awful, Dad," I mutter, the memory caught in my throat, "We found 'er by the house, but we had to leave her behind."

Glenn explains, "She was bit."

"They got Patricia, too." Beth says. "Took her right in front of me. I was holdin' onto her, Daddy, but they just..."

"We saw Jimmy, too." Maggie sighs as Herschel wraps her little sister in a hug. "He was in the RV. It got overrun."

"But, you guys definitely saw Andrea?"

"There— There were walkers everywhere," Lori seems sorry to say, "But, yeah. We saw her."

"Well, we have to go back for her."

Rick argues, "We don't even know if she's still there."

"She ain't." Dad butts in. "She's either somewhere else or she's dead."

"So, we're not even gonna look for her?"

"No. We gotta keep moving." Rick agrees. "There's walkers all over the place."

Maggie scoffs, "That's an understatement if I ever heard one."

"I say we head East." Dad suggests, pointing vaguely in the direction of the sinking sun, cresting through the fog. "Head East, and stay off any main roads like this one. Bigger the road, the more walkers we gon' run into. The more assholes like this one."

He lifts his hands from where he's been resting them on my back, swinging the crossbow off his shoulder.

"I got him." He grumbles, sending a bolt through the stray walker's nose.

"Well, I hate to tell you guys," T-Dog scratches at his head, "But we been riding red for the past hour."

"We can't all fit into two cars."

Rick decides, "We'll have to make a run for some gas in the morning."

"Spend the night here?" Beth hisses, shivering lightly. "I'm freezin'."

"We'll build a fire." He gestures at my Dad. "You can go out lookin' for firewood, but stay close."

He raises a greasy brow. "I only got so many arrows, man. We can't just sit here with our asses hangin' out."

"Watch your mouth," He snips.

Glenn raises his hands at the group. "Everyone just stop panicking, and listen to Rick."

"Look, Glenn and I can go make a run right now," Maggie placates, "Try and scrounge up some gas so we can get back on the road."

"No." He shuts her down. "We stay together. God forbid something happens and people get stranded without a car."

That other side of Rick is back - Someone I might as well start callin' Second Rick; Scary Rick - and everyone can tell. It's the same one that was outside the shed, telling us with no room for argument that he was going to execute Jim. He's tense. He's a rubber band pulled tight, his eyes darting from face to face, just waiting for a flash of disagreement from somebody for him to pounce on.

I make sure he don't find one on my face. I'm not keen on upsettin' him.

Glenn's a little braver than me, though, because he says incredulously, "Rick, we're stranded now."

He shakes his head. Not listening. Not accepting it. Just, No, no, no. 

"I know it looks bad," He reasons, even though we don't need to be told. "We've all been through Hell and worse. But we found each other. I wasn't sure. I really wasn't, but..." He scans our faces again, a little less coldly this time, taking us all in. "But we did it. We're together, and that's all that matters. We'll find shelter someplace. It's gotta be out there somewhere. It's gotta be."

But we had shelter already, I feel like shouting at him, I don't want another one.

"Rick, look around, okay?" Glenn's voice raises. "There's walkers everywhere. They're— They're migrating or something."

"There's gotta be a place not just where we hole up," Rick doubles down without care for what he's saying, smacking his knuckles into his palm. "But that we can fortify. Hunker down. Pull something together for ourselves. Build a life for each other."

That's what we tried to do at the farm. He should know that. He was the one fixing the fences with me.

"I know it's out there," He says angrily, as if that place he's talkin' about is hiding just to spite him. "We just have to find it."

I muster up the courage to voice my thoughts.

"But, Rick," I say, "How many those places we already been?"

He shakes his head again. "We fooled ourselves into thinking they were safe. We won't make that mistake again."

At the quarry, our mistake was being too close to the city. That was way back in the beginning when nobody had died yet, and we thought we just had to wait it out until the army came. But they didn't. And after that, our second mistake was trusting Jenner. We wanted answers, but we almost lost everything trying to get 'em. Then, the farm. I guess that was a mistake, too, now. You never know 'til after.

I don't say anything to that. It's cold, and I'm hungry, and I don't want to argue any more.

He's pleased with my silence. "Okay... We make camp tonight here; get back on the road at the break of day."

Carol murmurs something.

Whatever it was, Beth agrees with her. "What if walkers come through, or another group like Jim's?"

"Speaking of Jim," T-Dog fixes Rick with a look. "We ever gonna talk about him?"

Lori's confused. "What do you mean? What could possibly be left to talk about?"

"We saw him turn," He's happy to reveal to everyone. "Thing is, though, he wasn't bit."

"How is that possible?"

"Shane, too." I blurt. "I— I saw him when the farm went down."

Lori turns her gawking expression onto her husband. "What the Hell is going on?"

He's not looking at any of us. He's glaring at some ordinary pebble on the ground, brooding, hesitating.

Then, "We're all infected."

What?

It's so vague and profound that nobody knows what to make of it.

My Dad does us all a favor and squints at him. "How you mean?"

"At the CDC," He confesses, his voice a hoarse whisper that I can only just make out, "Jenner told me. Whatever it is, we all carry it."

We all carry—? The germs that make the dead ones come back? We all carry them?

He's been lyin' to us this whole time. The CDC, that was months ago.

Sometimes, lying ain't just sayin' something. It's not sayin' something. Daddy taught me that the night I told him I'd had a good day at school, and then come dinnertime, I let it slip that Ethan, the boy that sat behind me in class, had actually punched me in the belly that day at lunch. He got so mad. He ripped off my shirt. There was a purple blotch on my pale skin. Then he taught me how to punch boys back.

That's what Rick's done. He's hidden a purple blotch from us, and now we should be angry.

Carol steps forward, her silver brows pinched. "And you never said anything?"

I consider my body. I don't feel sick. Not like I did when we thought I was bitten.

Rick lamely asks, "Would it have made a difference?"

Yes, I think, but he already knows that.

Glenn accuses him, "You knew. You knew this whole time."

So, that's why Jim and Shane woke back up. You don't gotta get bit. You just gotta die and come back with enough to be able to bite.

That means even if you jumped off a bridge and all your bones were broken and you died, you would still come back.

My—

My Momma would'a still come back.

"How could I have known for sure, huh? Until we found Jim, I had no proof Jenner was even tellin' the truth. You saw how crazy that mother f—"

Glenn cuts him off. "That is not your call. Okay?"

"When Daryl found out about the walkers in the barn," Lori adds, "He told everyone as soon as he had the chance."

Rick don't care. "Well... I thought it best if people didn't know."

Glenn and Dad look right at me. Like they've both thought the same thing I have. They're the only ones here that know what happened to my Momma. I remember telling Glenn about it at the CDC. Momma. We were outta the city when it happened. It was the night the world ended twice. First when we got the call, and again when our neighbours tried to eat us. It's a lot of people's worst ever night. It's mine.

I won't ever know for sure, but I'd be kidding myself if I thought the rules didn't apply to my Momma.

At least we know that if any of us were to die, the others would make sure we didn't turn. Survivor's honor, or whatever it's called.

The silence goes on for so long that he just gives us one last look over, turns, and walks away. Nobody cares where.

Dad crouches; looks up at me. "You okay, baby?"

"Yeah," My voice wobbles, but I'm telling the truth. "I just... Don't wanna think about it."

Glenn clears his throat. "Well, it looks like we don't have much of a choice about this. We need to set up camp."

As everyone slowly breaks off to do their part, Dad takes my hand and leads me over to his motorcycle. "Got somethin' for ya."

Oh, right. The hearing aid; bits and pieces.

I'd almost forgotten.

"I hope it ain't complicated," I tell him, fiddling with my craggled ear. "Maggie said Herschel don't know about this stuff."

"We'll figure it out." He promises, before squeezing my hand and letting it go. "I ain't even sure if they work."

He opens the saddlebag, taking out a wrinkled plastic bag. He reaches in and pulls out what looks like an unusually shaped piece of skin-colored plastic with a rubber bulb on the end. And two other hearing aids, one brown and one purple, the type I'd recognise.

He stuffs the bag away and tucks some hair behind my good ear, making room to stick the first one in.

"I think it goes like that." He leans in closer, messing around with something on the back of it. "How do I—...?"

Something clicks.

All of a sudden, there are birds in the trees.

My eyes go wide, jaw dropping, gawking out at the forest like I've never seen one before.

A grin sneaks its way onto my face.

"The birds," I muse quietly, taking in the sounds of their distant chirps. "I can hear 'em, Dad."

It's not perfect. It's not as crisp as it was before. I think the batteries are low. But I don't care. It's still one of my favorite sounds.

He's smiling faintly up at me. "Good."

"Dad, your voice!"

"My voice?"

"I forgot what it's s'posed to sound like," I giggle. "It's so loud. And annoying."

He snorts, giving my butt a smack for being silly. "Well now when ya tire of my naggin', you can just pull that thing out."

As quickly as it had come to life, it makes a crackling noise, a sudden beep, and then there are no more birds.

I pluck the aid out my ear, giving it a bittersweet look. It didn't last forever, but it was nice while it did.

He mumbles something; then, louder, "We'll find some more batteries soon. Sorry, baby."

"Don't be sorry." I say. "It was perfect."

After packing them back into the saddlebag, we leave to collect firewood together. I imagine the sounds of the birds around us.

Night comes. We can't stop it.

I pretend we're camping.

We're not stranded. No, we just decided to go on a camping trip together because we thought it would be fun. That's why we're all huddled around a campfire in the dark, instead of sleeping in our beds at the farm. I'm curled up against Dad's stomach, which is better than a bed, I think. Beth's cuddled into her Dad's side, too, staring into the flames while Maggie and Glenn whisper to each other beside them.

I wish we had a deck of cards. I wish any of us would wanna play.

We got nothing but a wall of stone to protect us from the forest on the other side, but I pretend that away, too.

I just focus on the sound of an owl hooting somewhere off in the trees. I bet it ain't scared. Owls; they know the night.

Tomorrow, we're gonna have cheap steak and ketchup for breakfast, and then Merle's gonna let me sit on his shoulders just like always.

"We're not safe with him," Carol suddenly mutters, and that's not something I can pretend away. I'm back here, now, and we're stranded. No steak. No ketchup. No Merle. "Keeping something like that from us. Why do we need him? He's just gonna pull us all down."

Maybe I don't wanna be camping, anyway. It's good enough right here, surrounded by the people I care about.

"Nah." Dad's voice is a rumble in my lower back. "Rick's done alright by me and mine."

I cuddle further into him, shuddering lightly as he rubs my cold arms. His leather vest don't make a great blanket.

"You're his henchman." She reminds him. "And I'm a burden."

He scoffs. "And Harley?"

"You both deserve better," She says softly, her face pensive in the orange light.

It don't matter what we deserve, I told Shane when he said the same thing.

Unamused, Dad pries, "What do you want?"

"A man of honor."

"Rick has honor."

They leave it at that. I think they wish we had a deck of cards, too.

The owl hoots again.

Then, a branch breaks.

CRACK.

I straighten.

"What was that?" Beth murmurs worriedly. "Was it a walker?"

We all stare off into the dark, ready to fight whatever might come out of it.

"Could be anythin'," Dad mumbles as he stands, readying his bow. "Could be a racoon. Could be a possum. Could be the Easter bunny."

Carol hugs herself. "We need to leave. I mean, what are we waiting for?"

"Which way?" Glenn asks.

Maggie points at the thin trees behind T-Dog. "It came from over there."

"That's back from where we came."

"Yeah."

"The last thing we need is for everyone to be running off in the dark." Rick scolds us, reminding us he's here. The light from the fire washes him in flame, the dried blood on his forehead glistening with sweat. "We don't have the vehicles. No one's travelling on foot."

"Don't panic," Herschel soothes us all calmly, still clutching his shotgun.

Maggie argues, "I'm— I'm not sittin' here, waitin' for another herd to blow through. We need to move. Now."

"No one is goin' anywhere," Rick snarls.

"Do something!"

"I am doin' somethin'!" He retorts. If he really was that rubber band, this is the part where he would snap in two. "I am keepin' this group together. Alive! I've been doing that all along, no matter what. I didn't ask for this. I shot my best friend for you people, for Christ's sakes! For you Daryl, and you, Harley. I was the one that took care of Jim. Me! Everything! Everything has been on me!"

I know I said we were supposed to be angry with him. But, actually, I think we're just scared.

Lori's holding Carl's head to her chest. Dad stands in front of me, as if he doesn't want me to see. T-Dog, Glenn, Maggie; all with their mouths sealed shut, not sure where to look, or what to say. Is this really the same Rick that comforted me at dinner?

"Maybe you people are better off without me." He shrugs, taunting us. "Sure. Go ahead."

I've never had to be a leader before. I did have to kill Shane, but Rick's done so much more for us. I'm not better off without him.

"I say there's a place for us out there, but maybe—" He's just rambling, now. "Maybe it's just another pipe dream. Maybe I'm— Maybe I'm fooling myself again. I'm just as much a sucker as Shane was. But, hey, why don't you go find out yourself?"

He sweeps his hand behind him, presenting us with the forest.

"Huh? Send me a postcard."

I can't hear the owl anymore. I think it flew away.

"Go on. There's the door. You think you can do better? Let's see how far you get."

I pull the leather of Dad's vest up to my face, shyly peeping over the top of it; breathing shakily. I don't want to see how far I can get. I want to stay right here with my people, whether we're starving or not; freezing or not. I think everyone else does, too.

Or at the very least, they want to stay here where there's a warm fire and guns.

"No takers?" He lilts. "Fine. But get one thing straight. If you're staying—"

He pins every single one of us with a look.

"— This isn't a democracy, anymore."

That word Dale used. The one that means things is fair.

Then he sits right back down where he was before, like he didn't just threaten to abandon us all.

Slowly, everyone else sits back down too, because there's nothing else to do. We all heard him. We can't leave. When Dad settles in behind me again, I squirrel into his chest, his arms wrapping around me. There's no sound except for the branches crackling in the fire and the heartbeat beneath his shirt. I don't know where we go from here. But I do know Dad will keep me safe, and Rick will keep the group safe. He's worked himself raw and bloody to make sure we survive. The fish fry, the CDC, the highway, Shane, the fall of the farm. All of it.

We didn't survive all that bullshit just to fall apart now. There's still something out there for us.

We just have to find it.

Author's Notes.

I sincerely hope you enjoyed 😊

I'm sad to see the farm go, but we had a nice time while we were there.

Please leave a comment! I'm anxious to hear from you all after so long :)

[thenon-fictiondays]

Hirano to Kagiura light novel translation 3-2

Chapter 3: Present.

Part 2

Prev || Next

Having put on their sandals and passing through the entryway, they weave their way through the courtyard upon which the veranda looks out. The kids open the bag of fireworks, their chests puffed out in eager anticipation.

Watching them rifle through their stock of firework sets and peel off the tape seals, Kagiura is struck with the profound sense that summer has truly begun.

Up until last year, it had been the job of one of the adults to light the candles and place them around the courtyard, dripping a bit of wax on the ground to fix them in place.

This year, the task falls to Kagiura.

And what had been his job up until last year—filling buckets with water—had been left to one of the elementary-aged cousins. At one point, he’d been the one getting clapped on the shoulder and told, “it’s the most important job you can have when it comes to lighting fireworks,” by…wait, which uncle was it, again?

He lines up three mosquito-repellent incense sticks on the veranda and lights them.

His middle school-aged cousin, who had just arrived this morning, is taking no chances with bites in a long-sleeved shirt, long pants, and socks. He looks as if he’d come for a camping trip.

His older cousin, who’d had a bit of a rest after drinking a glass of beer, is sitting on the veranda supervising.

It’s nice to have Hirano here—a little strange, but Kagiura’s still glad. The earrings he’d given him just the night before shine brilliantly in his earlobes.

He had told everyone at breakfast that it was Hirano’s birthday, so they’d all sung happy birthday while eating their fish.

Kagiura’s aunt had run out to buy him a cake, so Hirano spent the whole time gratefully apologetic, but he’d seemed happy.

The air is thick with the white smoke rising with the burning gunpowder.

Every so often, a large bug comes close to the group, but after a while they stop caring about them, entranced by the beauty of the multicolored fireworks.

When one fades, they light the next.

The fidgety children had been jostling each other for a turn at the fireworks set, but somehow there were no collisions.

When they reach the end of their stash, they divide up the two types of sparklers and compete to see who can make the small, round fireballs last the longest.

“So pretty!”

Who was it who’d voiced that quiet exclamation of amazement?

And once the sparks fall to the ground, suddenly the world is bathed in darkness.

They submerge all the fireworks in the buckets, throw out the garbage, and blow out the candles.

“We can leave clean-up until tomorrow, since it’s dark now.”

The words had come out of Kagiura’s own mouth, but his voice was unrecognizable, almost as if it belonged to a complete stranger. His silhouette seemed to burn out with the light of the fireworks and melt into the night. But the traces yet remain. He wants to stay just like this, immersed in the faint heat coursing through him down to his fingertips.

“We didn’t light enough fireworks, did we?” At the sound of Hirano murmuring those few words, Kagiura is struck with the feeling that if he lets the moment end like this, he’ll regret it.

“Should we go buy a few more, then?”

Having crammed just their wallets into their pockets and told Kagiura’s aunt their destination, they stood in the entryway spraying each other with insect repellant.

“Akira-kuuun, it’s not safe at this time of night, so make sure you bring your cell phone with you!”

The voice at his back was perfectly clear, but Kagiura deliberately ignores it.

When he’s with his relatives, the time seems to go by slower if he leaves his phone alone, even when it’s done charging.

Stuffing his feet into his sandals, he steals a glance to the side at Hirano, who spreads both his hands with an expression of feigned ignorance. He’s not bringing his phone, either.

Like this, they have plausible deniability.

Kagiura’s gait is light with the feeling of being free from the strict curfew of the dorms.

The intermittent street lamps are dim, and the borders between the slim waterways and the road are dangerously indistinct.

The faint hums of bugs they couldn't hear during the day tickle their ears. It almost feels like the end of summer, even though there’s no sign of cooler weather.

But today is only August 1st, Hirano’s birthday.

Summer isn’t over just yet.

“Where are we going, Kagi-kun? A convenience store?”

Walking while engulfed in the warm night air conjures the illusion that they’re spending the summer the same as when they were little kids. 

Leading the way, a little ahead of Hirano, Kagiura slowly nods.

“Yup. That’s where we’re headed.”

No matter how many times he walks down the neighboring streets, the 24-hour supermarket is the closest to their house, and always has a good selection of products. The road to the convenience store is straight, but it takes 20 minutes to get there. If they walk slowly, they can have just a bit more alone time together.

“What should we do if they’re out of fireworks?”

Given the season, that’s not even a possibility, but the words came out of Kagiura’s mouth on their own.

“Buy some ice cream and call it a day?”

Buying snacks for the road is a daily occurrence for Kagiura, but this is the first time he’s heard Hirano suggest such a thing.

“It’s gonna melt by the time we get back home!”

“We can eat it while we walk. We’ll just buy enough for us two.”

“.....Oh, that’s what you meant.”

“What, did you wanna bring something back for your younger cousins?”

“Well, it’s just, my older cousins brought stuff back for me when I was a kid, so I thought maybe that’s what you were suggesting.” 

He doesn’t snack nearly as much when he’s at home, so he has a little extra pocket change and besides, his relatives had given him some spending money—these words are on the tip of his tongue, but Kagiura leaves it at that. Even if their pockets were light, he doubts Hirano would be swayed from the idea.

“Oh, really? Yeah, sounds like a plan.”

“You think so?”

They keep their voices quiet so they don’t echo down the night road, which makes it feel like their bodies are blending in with the darkness. As Kagiura listens to the voice of the person by his side, it feels like they’re on their way to a place much further than the convenience store, and he swallows.

“Ah…you know, your relatives are kinda like you. Even though I just met them, it doesn’t feel that way at all. To be honest, before we got here, I thought, ‘it’s gonna be super awkward if I don’t fit in with them’, but just like you said, I’m glad I came.”

“You’re fitting in just fine, Hirano-san. You’re really good with the younger kids, too.”

“Yeah, ‘cuz I usually live with a young person.”

“Hm? You don’t have younger brothers or sisters, right?”

“I’m talking about you, dumbass.”

“.....Do I really seem that much younger? Am I a handful?”

“You suck at waking yourself up even on days you have morning practice, you tell me you fall asleep in class all the time, and even though you suck at studying you probably wouldn’t even cram before a test if I don’t tell you to.”

Kagiura’s at a loss for words, and his eyes swim.

Hirano had hit the nail on the head, so he doesn’t even have a comeback.

Hirano’s eyes crinkle with affection at Kagiura’s reaction.

“Of course you’re a handful. But I also know that you’re kind, and you give everything your all. I bet this is the first time you’ve gotten a break from club practice all term. The basketball hoop in the courtyard’s obviously well-worn, too. When I heard from everyone that you put your all into practice even when you come home over breaks, I thought, “man, Kagi-kun’s serious about playing basketball,” and I was impressed all over again. Even on a regular basis, if you’ve been working that hard for your club, of course you can’t help but fall asleep in class.”

Kagiura’s body temperature gets one degree warmer for each kind word spoken in Hirano’s soft voice. His silhouette, nearly dissolved in the windless night air, distinctly sharpens, and hot blood swells all the way to his fingertips.

He’s endured days of sorrow and being so tired he wants to complain that ‘working hard for something I want to do is only right’. In this world where results are everything, he’s not doing this just so he’ll be praised for his efforts. He’s also banking on the idea that he can make up for his lack of study skills with things he’s good at.

That’s why, Kagiura’s a little uncertain if it’s okay to show openly how glad he is that Hirano understands his feelings enough to be able to validate him.

He’s always tried too hard to play it cool in front of him, hasn’t it?

But a certain memory flashes into his mind.

At the beginning of May, when he’d just started school, even when he’d uttered his disgraceful feelings of jealousy towards his teammate, Hirano had praised him, hadn’t he?

He knows all too well of the uncontrollable piteousness and impatience that had seemed to line up at the starting mark beside Kagiura’s teammate.

“Thanks, Hirano-san.”

They wait a bit at the traffic light, now running on the nighttime schedule, and cross at the crosswalk, where the traffic lanes increase and the sidewalks get wider. The line of stores facing the large street contains many famous chains.

When they come near the front of the video rental store, emitting dazzlingly bright light, Hirano says “once we’re inside, you’ll have to guide me,” with a laugh. There’s still quite a few cars passing by.

As they start walking side by side, Kagiura’s fingertips, throbbing with his pulse, most definitely brush against Hirano’s hand.

Sucking in a breath, he steals a glance to the side, where the brand new earrings shine in Hirano’s earlobes. The faint sparkle of blue that matches the gentle color of his eyes shines all the more brightly against the night road.

“Hirano-san, those earrings look amazing on you.”

Having chosen them himself, Kagiura is all the more proud, and he grins from ear to ear.

“That’s ‘cause you picked them out.”

He’s right.

The one who is by Hirano’s side the longest—not quite 24/7, but from the time they come home to their dorm until they head out the next day—is none other than Kagiura.

Of course he’s the right person to pick out the perfect pair for him.

*****

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Sorry for another tag so quickly lol but as always thank you to reading list members @jeizet, @jujupanic, @massyworld, @umbreonwolfy, and @acidsuzanne-blog 💗

[roxannarambles]

Rough Legends Arceus/Volo Headcanon Notes

While playing through Legends Arceus, while I was bored grinding out research tasks I amused myself with developing headcanons for the game.

These are for an OC in the player role/player is not Akari, though. (It's for my character June, who was a Bug Catcher while she was growing up, never did the gym circuit in her region, just liked bugs and casual pokemon battles and hanging out with her pokemon. She was attending her local junior college when she got snatched by the Void)

Headcanons focused on June & her "friendship" with Volo.

They chat about her work with Galaxy. She doesn't actually enjoy it much. She loves pokemon, sure, and the nature's pretty, but the survey work is tedious, lonely, boring, dirty, hazardous, etc. Pokemon research sounds fun in theory but not in practice-- not in ancient Hisui, anyway. The research tasks the Professor assigns her seem so arbitrary and weird, there are very few people in the Survey Corps who are brave or skilled enough to help her out so she usually works alone, she lacks all the conveniences of modern civilization, etc. Camping out for a week in the bogs and going to bed each night caked in mud and slime, not able to bathe 'til you get back to the village, so forth.

Volo comments, 'Well they must pay you handsomely at least?' No, the pay isn't that great, most money she makes is from stuff she picks up off the ground. But, well, at least they're housing and feeding her. It's something.

He calls her sky child.

She remembers her life from before she fell here. She doesn't know why she came to be here, and why that weird phone appeared along with her. She half-remembers a weird pokemon that she dreamed about while in the rift, but she can't remember what it said to her. It was probably just a dream, anyway.

The phone is weird. It has a map of the area, and icons light up sometimes, and she also gets texted mysterious messages. She thinks maybe she accidentally fell through a portal to another realm, but the presense of this phone makes her suspect it's more than that. Did a person intentionally create a portal and push her through it? And now they're ordering her around with this phone? They seem to want her to study the pokemon here.

She doesn't like being used.

The phone has a Notes app. She thought about using it to record her thoughts, but she's paranoid that whoever sent this phone could be spying, reading her notes. She doesn't know if writing on a paper journal is good idea either though, anyone here could find it. She's not sure who to trust here, they already seem so mistrustful of her, they'd likely rifle through her stuff. She wouldn't put it past them, anyway.

Eventually she asks Volo if he can get her a journal with a lock on it. If such a thing exists here. He seems very curious about her request, but doesn't push questions on her about it. A few days later, he appears, having procured her a leatherbound journal with a sturdy locked latch.

He keeps a copy of the key in secret.

Sometimes she camps out for many days in a row during her field work. It's often gruelling and lonesome. People from the Security Corps bring her meals sometimes and supplies to the campsite, but they are not always there-- they come and go. The pokemon professor drops by on occasion too but he's often busy with work back at the village. At night June sits in her tent and writes in her journal by the light of her phone. She can't even get attached to her pokemon, since her rearch forces her to constantly change her team. Supplies are precious, too, so she often can't afford to use tons of potions, and her pokemon faint a lot. They work as hard as she does, to the point of exhaustion, and she imagines they resent her for it.

"So how are things going with your Galaxy friends?"

She tells Volo about how most people in the village seem to act nice enough around her, or polite in the very least. But even after all of these weeks here, she can tell none of them trust her. She can see the looks they cast her, from the corner of her vision, the way they still whisper about her when they think she can't hear. Some are still openly mistrustful or hostile, like the Commander of the Security Corps, although most are a little more subtle. Either way, it's exhausting to deal with. She's worked herself to the bone for them, and they tell her, "you're a part of our family now, we have your back," but it's not true, she know it isn't true. And she's realized by now that no matter how hard she works, how many favors she grants, how many missions she fulfills, it's never going to be enough, is it? She'll always be a stranger here, always out of place.

Even the Pokemon Professor and Rei, the people who are friendliest to her in the village, she doesn't feel close to. They seem nice enough, but in the end they're just using her too, aren't they? To get their research done. So who's to say whether their kindness isn't conditional? It always seems conditional here, in this place. Maybe she's just paranoid, but it's hard to tell. It's hard not to resent them all. She feels scared and alone. She has no one here.

She tells all this to Volo. She's not sure why. Maybe because he seems like an impartial party. Maybe because he's the only one who doesn't look at her with the eyes of someone who's mistrustful. Maybe because he's just there and she has to tell somebody, she can't bear not truly talking to somebody anymore. He listens compassionately. Seems to understand. And tentatively, he tells her that if it pleases her to think it, he'd be happy to call her friend.

She's quiet for a while. So far, her rapport with the Gingko merchant over the weeks had been friendly, but she hadn't been sure whether it had qualified as friendship. He had been straightforward in the past that his motives were professional ones; being congenial with customers was just good business sense. Still, she had always liked to think perhaps it might become more than just being chummy with customers. He'd seemed like a genuinely nice person, and she'd always enjoyed their conversations.

She smiles and shyly thanks him, realizing she's maybe not entirely alone in this place. She's quiet a while, but soon says she wants to give him something. She digs through her satchel. She doesn't have much right now, but she pulls out a curious little fragment of stone, pretty and angular and red. She says she found it while exploring one of the space-time distortions that everyone else is too afraid to approach. He asks if she's sure she wants to give it to him. She says yes. He thanks her and promises he shall treasure it.

Later, he has a jewler turn it into a necklace. He makes sure to wear it all the time, usually beneath the folds of his clothing, so that one day June can 'accidentally' see it.

They run across each other at random times. He's always traveling, and so is she, but their paths always seem to cross eventually. They stop for a spell to chat whenever it happens.

He helps to teach her survival skills, sometimes, like cooking food out in the wild. She cannot always rely on the Survey Corps to bring her food, after all, especially when she's in a more far-flung area all alone. He tells her what fish are good for eating; Basculin are best, Magikarp are worst. He teaches her how to scale and gut and clean fish, how to cook them. He tells her that Sitrus berries are toxic when unrripe, how to find Razz berries, where to look for mushrooms. In turn, she brings him things she finds sometimes that are curious, old verses that Ursaluna dug up, shards of pottery, photos of ruins, strange pieces of colored glass.

One day, they see each other while out in the mirelands, and walk together for a time. He's on his way to gather caster ferns. She warns him not to head in that direction, an alpha has been patrolling there lately. He's never seen an alpha there before and has been to that spot dozens of times, hundreds by now, so he sort of just ignores her, insisting it will be fine, until they hear the cry echoing across the marsh and he stops.

"Er . . . perhaps . . . I will gather some other day."

She decides to catch the alpha so he doesn't have to do that. She's happy she can do something to help him out for once, since it always seems like he's the one helping her. She knows he only has Togepi, after all.

"So what have you been doing to pass the time here, June? When you finally have the chance to rest for a spell from all that survey work of yours, that is."

"Not much. Overthinking, mostly."

"I see . . ."

"What do you do to pass the time, when you're out traveling?"

"Probably much the same."

She looks to him, surprised. The comment had been dropped quietly, carelessly, and he seemed to quickly rebound.

"With all these mysteries to ponder, after all, I'd hardly have much chance to be bored!"

She isn't sure that's really what he'd meant, but she doesn't push it. He tells her he also reads quite a bit. They chat about books and he says he can loan her one of the ones he'd finished reading. He gives her a well-worn book, and when she opens it for a peek, a piece of paper slips out that he'd been using as a bookmark. When she picks it up, she sees there's a charcoal drawing of Togepi on it. It looks beautiful. She holds it up and asks Volo if he drew it.

He seems briefly distressed, but stifles the expression, admitting he did. She tells him he shouldn't be shy, it looks really good! He awkwardly thanks her, saying it was just idle scribbling, really.

When she reads the book later in her tent, she finds he's also left some notes scrawled in the margins. She suspects he's forgotten about them. She enjoys the book but finds his scribbled notes the most interesting part of the book.

When they meet again, they chat about the book she borrowed, discussing the story and characters. One day she asks him if he can teach her to draw. He seems in a rather laid-back mood and indulges her.

She tells him about the Arc phone, eventually. She usually doesn't whip it out in front of people, feeling reluctant to do that; she knows it's a strange piece of technology and it tends to make others uneasy of her, not to mention some might see it and think to steal it. But eventually she trusts Volo enough to show the device to him. It comes up in conversation when he finds her with her pokemon team, taking a group photo of them. (All Alpha Bug pokemon)

He's very curious about it. She shows him the map app, and how to use it. He picks up the basics quickly. He asks her how the technology works. She's not sure how to explain a tiny, pocket-sized computer to the people of this era. It doesn't help she has a poor understanding of how computers work, herself, even coming from an era with them. She gives a very stilted explanation of computer chips and computer code and how a ton of data can be crammed into a very small space. It's not a good explanation but he appreciates her trying. He asks what else her device can do. She shows him the camera app, they take a few photos and a selfie together. He's fascinated with it. What else can it do? There aren't a ton of apps on it, there's a clock, a notes app, a flashlight function . . . she switches the light on. Volo says that must be very handy. Does this device require fuel? She isn't sure. Normally phones do need an energy source, you need to plug them in to charge them, but there doesn't seem to be any charger for this phone. Not that she'd have a way to plug it in, if there were. She's been using this phone for weeks and it's yet to lose power, so she doesn't know if it's solar powered somehow or if it's some other energy source . . . she honestly doesn't know.

"So if you use this device for too long, it's possible that . . ."

"Yeah. It might die eventually, and then never work again. That's why I try not to use it too often."

She doesn't mention the weird text messages she gets on the phone, or the way icons light up on her map sometimes as objectives.

One time she comments Volo seems like a man with a lot of secrets.

"Who, me?" He holds his chin and acts as though he's thinking.

"Mmm, well. In my line of work, you get to know a lot of people. You must be good at small talk, getting to know your customers, and people do like to talk, so I end up hearing a lot of gossip . . . so I suppose I do know some secrets."

He asks June if she'd like to know any gossip and she says sure. He tells her that her Galaxy Commander, he sleeps with a Teddiursa plushie. She laughs. He asks now that she knows it, will she try and blackmail him? So that she could continue getting paid but no longer need to do this tedious survey work?

She says no. She'll have an easier time dealing with the jerk, just knowing the information now. She's not the sort to blackmail, anyway. Volo tells her that she's a good person. June isn't so sure.

He procures for her a bigger bag, like the ones the Gingko Guild use. It's much roomier than the tiny satchel. It's well worth the purchase.

During conversation with him June mentions one time that she gets cold easily and has been freezing her butt off lately during work. A few days later, Volo appears with a nice warm jacket and gloves for her, that fit her perfectly. She is very excited and grateful. He's always charged her for the things he gets her (although he sometimes offers a friendly discount) so she expects the same here. But when she asks how much she owes him, this time he says not to worry about it. She is flustered at first, saying they must have cost him a lot, is he sure . . . but he insists. It would not do him any good if his favorite customer died of hypothermia out in the wilds.

At the Coronet Highlands, there is a place called the Fabled Spring, a secret little alcove by a calm lake, with trees and soft grass and wildflowers. This is where Volo finds June laying there, staring out at the water, idly picking grass, looking very lost in thought.

"Fancy seeing you here."

She looks up in surprise. She asks what he's doing here and he responds he comes here for razz berries. He asks if he might join her, and she nods. He sits with her.

Conversation turns to the next Noble she's meant to face. She's nervous. He tells her he's sure she'll be fine, she handled the last one so well, after all.

She says it's getting harder each time. The last time, with the Arcanine, she got burned very, very badly, and she had to withdraw her first attempt. They had to carry her home. Back in Jubilife, they had a special medicine they used to help heal her, although it still took several days for her to recover.

"So you recovered fully?"

She did. It was a powerful medicine, made from an herb that was a pokemon. But she still remembers the pain of those burns. She returned and soothed the Noble on her second attempt. She's worried this next Noble will be even harder, though.

"Well . . . if it goes rough, all you need is more of Galaxy team's medicine and you'll be as right as rain again, right?"

Maybe. What if they run out of medicine though? She could tell it was precious to team Galaxy and rare, difficult for them to harvest and make. Or what if . . . something worse happens to her than just burns or a little paralysis. They are both quiet a while.

Volo eventually tells her he's sure everything will work out. He changes the subject so she won't dwell on her worries. Shares some leftover fish with her. She loves how it tastes. He has spices that Galaxy doesn't use. It's so much better than that potato mochi she's so tired of.

After she defeats the Electrode Noble, he asks her how it went. Surprisingly well. Easier than Arcanine. He acts pleased, told you it would be all right.

She's been thinking though, about the rift. Since the Commander keeps bringing it up. See, for now, Galaxy and June's goals are aligned. But they might not always be. And she knows this, and it troubles her. Galaxy wants to close the rift, eventually. But what if, in order for June to get home, she finds out she needs to leave the rift open? Or even . . . to widen it?

Could she do that? To leave everyone to that chaos and just bounce? Especially when she's the only one around here strong enough and brave enough to face frenzied Nobles?

Volo says it is an interesting conundrum she brings up. (She says she wouldn't use the word 'interesting' to describe it...) What would she do? he asks.

She doesn't know. It is a horrible thought, she doesn't think she can do it, just leave and screw everyone. Do that to a whole region, a whole group of people?? That'd be awful. But on the other hand. To not only never see her family ever again, but her entire world and timeline....to be stuck in what's to her, a backwater era that's super technologically primitive, among people she doesn't even like (well, except for you, you're pretty cool), to be forever displaced in time....it's....god, she doesn't know if she could face that either. She'd be out of place, out of time and a stranger her whole life, here.

After a span of silence she asks quietly,

"Would you blame me if I left?"

He murmurs a response so gently she almost doesn't hear.

"I wouldn't."

She gives him a bunch of colored fragments and stardust that she's collected.

"Take these, Volo, just . . . just in case."

He asks, what do you mean, June? She says, if things get bad, if worse comes to worst, you can sell these, maybe get out of the area altogether. You're a merchant, you must know how to get out of here in a hurry. So at least . . . you'd be safe . . .

"June--"

She explains she has a ton of money now, nobody ever wants to approach the rifts, and she collects the stuff there in droves. People are too afraid of the powerful pokemon there and of being sucked into the distortions. But she goes towards them, hoping the distortions will bring her home again. Picks up valuables while there. She still works for Galaxy but now not for the money. But because she needs them as allies for now. They are powerful. And she needs their help learning more about all these mysteries, so she can hopefully get home.

"It's just in case. Hopefully it never comes to that. And I may not even decide-- you know--"

"All right, June. I'll take them."

One hot day, June overworks herself to the point of nearly fainting. Volo finds her on the ground, dizzy and weak. He carries her to a safer place where pokemon are less likely to harass them, under the shade of a tree, gets her some food and water. Asks things such as when's the last time she's eaten, or bathed, or slept. She mumbles her answers. It's been days since she's slept any longer than ten minute stints, she was lost in areas with way too much pokemon activity to let her guard down.

"Days?!"

He starts to wash the grime from her face with a wet washcloth, chewing her out for letting the Galaxy people overwork her, and treating her for any less than she's worth (if those idiots realized how valuable an asset she really was, they should never do that, and she's worth her weight in gold), she has to take care of herself--

June starts to cry while being chewed out. Mostly from being overwhelmed from it all. He apologizes awkwardly, tries to comfort her, touching her face and telling her it will be okay. Dries her tears and washes her face, then wants to pull her hair back to help with her cooling down, has to brush her hair first but it's all snagged and caked with dried mud, he gets a comb from his bag and brushes it all out, carefully, so that it doesn't hurt her. Gets her to nap, eventually, convinces her he shall watch over while she sleeps. She is concerned he will be bored, he laughs, he's very much used to passing time. She tells him to look in her bag, she got a book she wanted to give to him next time she saw him.

He reads her diary while she sleeps.

She records her struggles. Her fears and confusion. How much she misses home, how estranged she is here. Her desperate attempts to figure things out, speculations. She hates the public bathhouse the town has, she hates the food, she hates the way everyone looks at her, she hates the cold, the mosquitoes, so many things. The weeks spent filthy in the bog before finally returning to town for a pathetic amount of research points. It's recorded here, so raw.

She talks about the townspeople she meets. Including the Gingko Guild trader named Volo. She analyzes him shrewdly, cautious about trusting anyone, including him. But he's caught her interest, enough to make note of it.

Her entries continie to talk about the professor and Rei a lot, the Commander, the 'stupid potato mochi resturuant jerk' (she hates the mochi too, just because it's all they ever eat), but she also writes about Volo. Mentions each time she comes across him.

He begins to show up in the diary more and more. She eventually says, 'He's the only one who's any fun to talk to, really,' saying that she finds his pure curiosity in investigating things to be refreshing, (as opposed to the Galaxy people, whose research is motivated by protection/safety but claims to be scientific; or the Pearl/Diamond clan's petty squabbles and nonsensical arguments) and his directness about his motivations refreshing too (he's a merchant, he's being friendly because it's good business). It stands in contrast to everyone else. The other Gingko guild folks are fine enough but not particularly engaged in talking with her, the way Volo is. And just not . . . hmm. The sort of person who's interesting, she supposes. He's engaging, intriguing. Still, June knows she musn't be too open with things when talking to him. She knows nothing about the charismatic merchant, nothing about anyone really, and she must be careful in this world.

"He never talks about his past. I often wonder why. I can tell he's carrying secrets, though. I try to ask him about his past, but he always deflects. Sometimes I think he's a criminal on the run from the law, and he's traveled to this region to avoid punishment. He could be a serial murderer, for all I know. Of course, he might simply not want to think about his past, perhaps something painful happened to him or his family. It could be many things, really. We all have our reasons for keeping secrets, I suppose . . . I won't try to push it, just see what he feels like sharing."

Volo begins to flip more hastily through the diary to directly hunt for mention of his name. He sees their interactions through her point of view now. He is pleased with the effectiveness of his infiltrations but also impressed with her attention to detail and her sharp observations and analyses and continued caution. Her descriptions of him stroke his ego and as the entries continue they grow more and more flattering, more and more detailed. He gets to the part where she is analyzing the comments he'd left in the margins of that novel.

June stirrs and he quickly puts the diary away.

When she recovers enough, she's embarassed she worked herself hard enough to get to that point, and is very apologetic to Volo. He tells her not to worry about it, it wasn't any trouble for him; she just had to promise him she'd take better care of herself in the future.

She is asked to quell the final Noble. She drags her feet getting around to it. She needs to earn a 5 Star Rank before they let her go there. She's earned plenty of research points for that but delays telling them, pretends she needs to get more research done.

She's trying to learn more. She's afraid once she quells the last one, the rift will close and she will never get home. She tells this to Volo. But she can't delay forever, she knows; sooner or later Team Galaxy will catch wise. The two settle on a plan; June will try to hunt for those plates and those verses with Ursaluna. And Volo will do what he can to find out more for her, too. They decide to meet up again in a week, choose a place and time.

Eventually, even with what info June turns up, it's not enough. And Volo has his own contacts, but they insist that they have nothing more to tell him. They are still no closer to understanding this mystery.

"In truth, June, it seems the best shot we have at learning more is for you to face this final Noble. Perhaps doing so will help us learn more about these strange frenzies. Perhaps the others are right and something may happen once you calm them all."

"Yeah . . . I was afraid you were going to say that."

He tells her that he's sorry he couldn't be of more help to her. She shakes her head, says it isn't his fault.

He tries to comfort her.

"Who knows, June. Perhaps nothing will happen when you calm the final one. Or something will, but the rift may not close, that's just pure speculation, something else could happen. Perhaps the Almighty will be pleased with your work and send you home!"

She chuckles.

"That's always possible. Although I dunno if I believe in Sinnoh."

"Oh? . . . I suppose an outsider has no real reason to. . ."

June apologizes and realizes it was probably a rude thing to say. He says that no, he's glad that she feels comfortable enough around him to be honest. She asks if he believes in Sinnoh. He says he knows it by a different name, but that he does indeed; he's studied it for most his life. 'What more proof do you need than this strange rift in the sky and the fact that you are here?' June explains her perspective. That portals to other realms are not beyond the realm of possibility. That she may not need the explanation of divine intervention for them. They simply may be an aspect of nature, the same way that the sky, the air, the trees, the sun are . . . and that strange lightning. Perhaps that is just a weird sort of weather. Odd that it strikes the Nobles, but uhm, maybe it's like a lightning rod and hits the strong ones, you know? Who knows. Point is. She doesn't know. But. It is possible that Sinnoh exists and brought her here. She really doesn't know. They are quiet and thoughtful a while.

He speaks again.

"Well. The only way for us to learn is to keep asking questions, to keep searching for answers, and to keep moving forward."

She agrees that is true, smiling faintly. He asks if she is ready. She nods.

When nothing seemed to change after quelling the final Noble, June was glad. The forboding hole in the sky frightened everyone but her. Where they saw fear, she saw hope that she might still return home. They returned to Jubilife and dined on bland, tasteless mochi that sat heavy in her stomach, while the Professor nattered on about pokedex work. There was a certain comfort in it.

The next morning, it all went to shit.

Even June was frightened at the sight of the blood-red sky, which made the rift look like an open wound. It seemed like armageddon. When they summoned her to a meeting, she wasn't too surprised what came next. Was she angry? Yes. But she wasn't surprised. Part of her had always hoped she had been wrong about the Commander, about all the people here, and that they wouldn't turn on her, so it still hurt when it happened, but it really didn't surprise her. That asshole had been looking for a scapegoat the day she landed here, and today she was the lamb chosen for the slaughter. They whispered and stared as she was led out of town like some kind of criminal.

For what it was worth, the professor and Rei tried to help her, sort of. They suggested she seek out the Diamond and Pearl clans. However, the clan's respective leaders could only offer sympathy. They explained they could not help June, lest they risk war with Team Galaxy. The professor and Rei likewise were unwilling to directly disobey their superiors and risk banishment themselves. There was a lot of hand-wringing and sad looks, but not much else. After everything she'd done for them, all the times they swore she was family now, that they had her back. Not a single person stepped up to help her in return, now that she really needed it most.

They sent her away into the wilderness, alone. She had her big backpack stuffed with everything she could carry, and her team of six bug alphas, pokemon who still hardly knew her at all, since she rarely had opportunity to even bond with them. She sat on the hill overlooking Gruelling Grove, under the blood-red sky, just staring out at the fields numbly and wondering what to do next, and trying not to give into the fear threatening to overtake her.

Eventually, a voice startled her from her dark thoughts, and she looked up, meeting with a familiar, friendly face. The corners of Volo's eyes crinkled and his face lit up with his usual sunny smile, even under the cast of the grim, terrifying sky.

"I've been looking for you everywhere, June," he said.

She had only cried once since she'd fallen through the rift, when Volo had found her dizzy and exhausted that one time, but not since then. She felt the tears begin to fall now, though. Volo spoke soothing words and helped pull her to her feet.

She pulled him into a hug, squeezing him fiercely, causing him to wheeze, sounding startled and flustered.

It had felt like an angel had come to save her.

He brought her to his humble campsite to shelter her. "It isn't much, but it's home, and you're welcome to it," he tells her cheerfully. They sit around a campfire; he makes what are essentially shish kebabs for dinner, chunks of vegetable and meat skewered and roasted over the fire. While they eat, he tells her excitedly about one of his contacts and how he's going to take her there to meet her tomorrow morning. This mysterious contact was now feeling much more cooperative, once Volo told her that June had quelled the last Noble and apparently met with her approval. He says that she is very wise on the myths passed down from the Celestica peoples of old, and she will surely be able to help them sort out this space-time mystery.

They share his tent that night. It's a snug fit, and June doesn't sleep much, her mind swimming with thoughts.

She never paid attention in school when they discussed ancient mythology. In hindsight she wished she had. Maybe if she did, she would have noticed sooner that something was amiss.

It wasn't until the two of them reached the top of Mount Coronet with all the plates, and he chose to reveal his true colors, that she learned the truth. She trusted him right up to the end.

When he told her how he bid Giratina to tear a hole in the sky, the one that she fell through, it felt like being run through with a knife.

After everything that happens on top of that mountain, when June returns and gives her report, she doesn't mention Volo tried to destroy the world and everyone in it. She just says they finished collecting the plates, and climbed to the top of the mountain to see if anything would happen. Giratina appeared there, and she battled it, but it escaped before she could catch it.

Technically, all of it was true. She just left out some important parts, is all.

Later, when she's alone doing her survey work, he finds her and grabs her roughly by the shoulder, hisses at her,

“You! What game are you trying to play here?!”

She asks what he means.

“Don't play dumb. I know you didn't tell your Galaxy fools about me. Why not? If you're hoping to use it as leverage, you can forget it, I won't be anyone's puppet--”

“That's-- that's not why I did it!”

“Then why?”

She confesses she's not exactly sure why.

“I guess I just . . . look, if I told them, I'm not sure exactly what they'd do, I don't know how you even punish someone for that kind of crime, but in the very least they'd do something, banish you from basically all of Hisui, probably. And that's what you deserve. But I also know if they did it, there'd be zero chance of you . . . getting better.”

He demands to know what that means.

“Becoming a better person? It . . . it sounds stupid when I say it outloud, I guess. I know the past few months you've spent just lying to my face and using me, but part of me still wants to believe that maybe a small piece of all that wasn't a lie. That there was a grain of truth to it, that the goodness I saw in you is still buried down in there and wasn't entirely made-up.”

She looks into his eyes, trying to find even a flicker of evidence for that. She's not sure. She can't trust her own judgment, anymore. He stares back for a time, then silently turns and skulks away without another word.

She does not see him again for a long time. When he reappears again it's to demand a rematch. She wins again, by a narrow margin. He rants and raves about how close he is to defeating her, fumes about Arceus having chosen her. They argue. As he storms away she yells after him, voice choked,

“I'm being used by Arceus like a puppet, I don't think that's something to envy!”

He stops.

His demeanor changes. Like flipping a switch.

Eventually, says,

“If you resent Arceus, why do you still scamper about and do their bidding?”

“. . . because I want to go home.”

He turns. Asks her if her world is as cruel and unforgiving a place as it is here. June argues she doesn't think the world is cruel and unforgiving, then amends, well, it can be sometimes. But it's also filled with good things, too.

“And why should such ugliness and horror exist alongside such beauty? Why should some prosper while others are left to dine on naught but dust?”

She . . . she doesn't know.

“That is why I want to meet them. So that I may ask. And . . . perhaps fix things.”

“Volo, I understand wanting to make things better, but I don't think the solution is to mass murder everyone on the planet and starting over from scratch! There are better ways . . .”

He remains silent for some time. Then he pulls on the cord about his neck, takes his necklace off. The one he made out of the comet shard she gave him. He gives it to her.

“I don't deserve to keep something accepted under false pretenses.”

Then he leaves. June stares after for some time, confused. Why was he even still wearing it? If he'd been wearing it only to manipulate her, why continue the act once she knew the truth? Did part of him actually care? Or was he still trying to manipulate her now?

He didn't seem to be. It seemed to be a good-bye, in fact. She had a feeling he didn't plan to see her again.

She finds Giratina one day, in a small, dark cave she stumbles across while exploring the coastlands. She's shocked that she can capture it in a pokeball. Gods shouldn't be so easy to subjugate, surely. Perhaps the Pearl cand Diamond clans were right to fear the contraptions. They were strangely chill about her capturing their sacred Palkia and Dialga in pokeballs, but she had promised it was a temporary thing, so perhaps it just went to show how much trust was finally placed in her now.

When she told the Professor about Giratina, he revealed something that surprised her. He said Volo had approached him not long ago and spoke to him. Told him that Giratina had been responsible for tearing the rift in space-time, but that once it battled June, it realized that it was no match for her. It chose to instead protect Hisui, and it was no longer a threat to them.

June should catch it. So that you may study it, he told him.

Perhaps that's why it had been so easy to capture. June was still shocked, though. Shocked that Volo had bothered to speak to the Professor at all. Why did he? Did he feel protective over Giratina and wanted to ensure its safety? Did he want to reassure Team Galaxy that they didn't need to worry-- a peace offering, of sorts? Did he do it for June?

She didn't know. The Professor told her the last thing he said was that it was probably the last time he'd see him; and then he wandered off. She's pretty sure he meant it. She hadn't seen him for a month now, not since he'd given her the necklace.

Later, June sent Giratina out of its ball, when she was alone out on the coastlands. She stared at it, calmly, and spoke to it.

“You spoke to him after you fled the mountain, didn't you? What did he plan on doing? Where did he go?”

The dragon stared back at her silently.

“Please. I . . . I'm worried about him.”

In truth, Hisui wasn't the same without him. She hated what he did, what he did to her, and it felt like twisting a knife whenever she thought of him, but she also missed him.

She was reminded of him constantly, and she spent hours upon hours going over the memories. Sometimes she searched her memories for hints of his subterfuge, wishing she'd noticed sooner, wishing it had been different. Sometimes she'd daydream of getting revenge. Sometimes she'd spend the time wondering if any of his friendship had been real, hoping at least something had been. Often she wondered what was going through his head, who he really was, what he was doing now.

She'd been alone with her thoughts for too long and they were driving her mad. She needed closure. She needed to know what became of him. And she needed something more than the daily life she was living now. Once he'd left she'd turned her obsessive focus to finishing the Pokedex, as Arceus seemed to demand of her. She hardly had spent time doing anything but that work. She was withdrawn with everyone else. She'd gotten closer to her main team of pokemon, that was about it. It was horrifically lonely and monotonous.

It took June time to realize Giratina had lowered to the ground, uncoiling its long body, almost in invitation. She blinked at it.

“Do you want me to, um, climb aboard?”

She was nervous, but when she approached, it remained still. She climbed onto its back, half-surprised to find it felt solid, despite it being a ghost. She settled onto one of its golden ribs, as though it were a saddle. Silently, the dragon raised up once more, and began to fly through the starry sky. It felt surreal.

He misses her and their "friendship," now that she's gone. It takes him by surprise. Why should he miss such a thing? It wasn't a real friendship on his side, of course, but it wasn't real on her side, either; since she had merely liked the lie, not the real him. He was certain she wouldn't have liked the real him. Certainly not after what he did. Naturally.

But he missed it, anyway, that beautiful lie he'd created with her. Perhaps because he hoped like she had liked at least a part of him. Perhaps because it was just nice to pretend.

He hated to admit it; he'd spent so very long in denial that he had cared about her at all, and it still churned his stomach to think about the ugly truth, but it was becoming impossible to deny.

Because he can't seem to stop thinking about her. And it's driving him a bit mad. He's lost now, no clue what he's going to do. He just keeps thinking of the way she once looked at him with such kindness and affection. And how it all transformed to anger and hurt and mistrust and pain instead. Like a lovely flower plucked and crushed.

It didn't matter.

It didn't matter.

It was too late. It wasn't as though she'd ever forgive him. It wasn't as though he wanted her forgiveness.

. . . perhaps he did. But he certainly didn't deserve it.

What was he? Some poor wretch who'd fallen from Arceus' grace. Even Giratina had turned its back on him, in the end. The one creature in all the realms he thought would understand him. He didn't blame it; he'd failed it, after all. He was not worthy to weild its power.

He hid from the world, tucked away deep in a corner of Hisui that others dared not tred. The days passed in a blur, and he barely thought to eat. He spent much time sleeping, but still found little rest, tormented by his dreams.

At first he assumes the Hoopa portal that abducts him is Arceus finally choosing to smite him from this mortal plane.

Giratina leads her to the cave Volo had been staying at. She picks through the refuse, it's disgusting there, a total mess, and his possessions are strewn all about, but she finds no one home. She grows more and more anxious as she searches. There is a fire still smoldering as if he'd been there recently; what's more, she eventually finds his pokemon team is left there. She asks Giratina what happened but the dragon either doesn't wish to speak or she cannot hear it.

The portal finds her too eventually. She's sucked into it in a much better position though. She has her backpack and her full pokemon team on her. When she's spat out on some grass somewhere, she is . . . unamused, though. It feels far too familiar. Powerful pokemon transporting her across time and space at their whimsy.

She wanders around, and eventually comes across Volo. He's disheveled, disoriented, and devoid of most possessions, save for a single pokeball, which has a Togepi. He won't say why he has it (it's the child of his Togekiss). He's shocked when she appears, and says it musn't be the afterlife after all. He asks why she's here, she explains she went searching for him, found his camp empty, Giratina led her there. Then a portal got her. He wants to know why she went searching for him at all, but their conversation is interrupted when they are discovered by some friendly locals. They're led back into town by them. They learn this place is an island called Pasio.

At first June is very, very excited. She thinks she's landed in her native time-line. However, once she gets a phone and contacts her family, she is shocked to learn a version of her already exists in this place. So close to home and yet so far.

In the meanwhile, Volo is amazed by the future and his changed situation and the gears in his head are quickly turning. He tries to lie to the people here and pretend to be nothing but a simple merchant from the past with an interest in myths and the research into sync stones. But June is having none of his bullshit. Once she figures out what he is up to, she goes right to Professor Bellis and the Prince and warns them what he tried to do in the past, and that he might try to do the same again. She doesn't want them to simply lock him up, though, so she asks if there might be some other solution. They thank June for the warning and decide to restrict Volo's access to certain things, such as learning about sync stone research. They also put June in charge of keeping an eye on him, so that he does not cause trouble.

When she delivers the news to Volo, he's shocked, at first, then tries to act innocent, saying he wasn't lying to anyone, he merely didn't see a reason to bring up the past; he'd hoped he could start fresh, turn over a new leaf. June gets very angry, and hurt, yelling,

"Are you KIDDING me? You're still trying to lie to me, even now?!"

This seems to get to him, and he stops trying to convince her his intentions were all purely innocent. She finishes explaining the deal to him, including the fact she's responsible for keeping him out of trouble, now. His mouth curves in a smile and he laughs, dry, bitter.

"So you are to be my warden."

Things don't go very well at first with this new arrangement, and he's not cooperative at all, keeps trying to get away with things, manipulate her, and they keep arguing over his obsessive goals. Tensions mount and they keep butting heads until an especially heated argument, June just snaps.

She barks an order to her Alpha Scizor; it immediately reaches out and grabs Volo around the neck with its massive claw. She screams at him,

“If you're so eager to meet Arceus, why don't I help send you to it?!”

Scizor lifts Volo up off the ground until his feet are dangling. Eyes wide, he looks down at her.

He looks terrified.

She hesitates and then sighs. She tells Scizor to put him down. It was only an empty threat because she was absolutely sick with anger, but seeing the genuine fear in his eyes made her immediately feel bad. She could never actually hurt him.

Maybe she was too good of a person for her own good.

Things change after that. Volo seems to realize June isn't going to be manipulated anymore. He grows more cooperative, more contemplative. (Other plot stuff happens that I only have vaguely defined, but one of them is he starts to become sort of friends with Jacq-- for real this time, not like at the start when he was putting on an act. He also is doing work while on this island, so is June, and he's battling trainers, sometimes, and learning more about the world and the future here.)

Their relationship gradually shifts, and they start to have conversations that are not purely antagonistic.

One day he tells June he read her diary, back in Hisui.

June is appalled but reigns in her anger and asks why he's telling her this. He explains he asked her to start telling her the truth.

"I did say that, didn't I . . . ugh. Okay, that's fair, I guess. But why did you feel the need to even do that to begin with?"

He explains that he thought perhaps Arceus had sent her to Hisui for some purpose, and he needed to figure out why, because perhaps she could be the key to him meeting it. He hoped to find more information there. She sees the cold logic in his choice, and then asks with some trepidation how much he actually read. He relays what he could recall reading, and then starts to ramble about his judgments of her, which were very harsh judgments at that (he thought she was weak, and soft, and pathetic, and she whined and complained about how everything was difficult, and he didn't understand why Arceus would choose her) and she gets understandably ticked off, face flushed in anger.

He cuts her off before she can yell at him, though, when he says reading her diary started to shift his thinking, though.

He says it made him realize just how much she was up against every single day. She had the deck stacked against her from the start. No one and nothing was kind to her in this place, and every gain she made was as hard-fought as possible, and yet . . . she kept going. The weight of the world on her shoulders, pressing down on her, but she didn't buckle. She bent but didn't break.

She awkwardly thanks him for acknowledging it.

One day they are having a relatively minor disagreement and she says,

"I could have just told them to lock you up, you know."

"I know."

"Would a 'thank you' kill you?"

He hesitantly explains no it would not, but he doesnt want to say something to her that he doesnt mean.

She is very unamused.

"So it's not that you can't say thank you, it's that you're incapable of feeling gratitude. Great."

He's quiet for a time.

"...possibly. I'm not sure."

One night he rushes to her room and shakes her awake.

"Hnnngh . . . Volo? What is it? What's wrong??"

He instantly loses nerve and apologizes for waking her, and says that it isn't important

"Wh-what??" She demands to know what it is, it must be important enough to charge into here like that, but he apologizes again and starts to leave and she grabs his wrist. His eyes widen.

She senses his uncertainty and speaks much more gently.

"No, w-wait, Volo, don't go. Tell me what it is." He looks to her.

"Please."

He hesitates a while, working himself up to it, face a little red and licking his dry lips. Finally says,

"Thank you."

She is confused. "What?" With difficulty, he repeats,

"Thank you."

"For what?"

After a bit, he tells her,

"For asking them to allow me to remain."

"Oh."

He explains it does not benefit her in the slightest, on the contrary, it inconveniences her at every turn. Even when he's made it clear he shall never feel indebted to her or help her in any way, she persists . . . she continues to help him. And he doesn't understand why, after everything he's done . . .

He seems to realize he's saying more than he meant to.

"I don't know why I'm here saying all this. I'll let you get back to sleep--"

"It's okay, really, I don't . . . mind you at all. You can come talk to me anytime. Even in the middle of the night."

He seems uncertain.

"Truly?"

"Yes. I mean, within reason, maybe knock on my door gently next time instead of giving me a heart attack, but yeah. Also, um, you . . . you are wearing pants, right?"

The room's still very dim but she can see that he's shirtless. He looks down at himself, considering the question and looking alarmed she might think that. He stammers,

"Yes, of course, I-- I was in bed, but I'm wearing pants--"

The incredible awkwardness in his voice makes her giggle a little. In relief, she says,

"Okay, good, just checking."

He is spellbound for a time by the feeling that goes shooting through his chest when she giggles. It is the first time he's heard her laugh in his presense since he'd pretended to be her friend.

When he returns to his bed, laying there, staring at the ceiling, he decides he'd do anything to be the reason for her to smile and laugh again.

[westernhar3]

The Coyotes Call (Charles Smith x Reader)

Charles x Reader - F/M explicit

The silence of the Heartlands was almost addicting, out here in the empty plains broken only by the rock formations and equally rocky hills. You hadn’t meant to stay away so long; you had travelled away from Clemens Point to find some kind of job. Anything would do just enough to bring in the cash that Dutch was begging for, yet somehow you hadn’t found anything apart from wanted posters and dust. Some how that summarised your life these days. You were pretty sure that the whole ordeal with the Grays and the Braithwaites was going to bite the lot of you on the ass. You couldn’t say that though, so you just leave for a job away from Rhodes. You lost track of the days between riding out to Valentine or to Emerald Ranch, your days were full of petty robberies and hunting. In all you were turning up a fair bit of cash but nothing life changing. So, you stay away and keeping moving to different camps.

For a while you though about setting up in Horseshoe Overlook but that place seemed haunted. No one had died there, no life lost but without the gang it seemed barren. There was nothing there but the ruins of an old wagon and a mass of bottles and cans; to you they appeared like ancient sacred markers now rotting away. So, you moved on and went back to the overflow. Here you settled tucked away from people and the elements, it was a good spot that seemed almost carved out for you.

Still, you did not know how much time has passed since you left but you guessed it had been a while. For some reason you were not too bothered by it, you missed the bustle but that was all you had joined after Micah and Charles. You had been running alone for a while and before that you were just another dance hall girl selling yourself just to make ends meet. This life was harder, but it never felt like you were being used.

You waited now on a hill, body pressed flat against the ground hidden away in the buffalo grass. In front of you sat your rifle it looked out into the expanse of the plains. Every now and again you moved your head to stare into the scope before moving away again and then back. You did this five times before setting your chin against your arm and just listening. All you could really hear was the soft chews of your horse and the bird song. At some point you had begun to zone out, the world washing away from around you as you tried your hardest not to drift away.

“Here you are -” the words fell into the air like the tolling of a bell, you hadn’t expected to be approached and it snapped something in you like a tripwire.

Moving quickly, you stood and turned, knife gripped tight to turn on the stranger in as much defence as the actions of a mountain lion. Quick and surefooted you move toward the stranger almost blindly; before you could cause any damage the face of the stranger came into focus his hand coming up to grip you tightly stopping your mid slash. He leant back slightly just away from the point of the knife and smiled. It was a beautiful and familiar smile the type you liked to think he only ever gave you.

“Charles,” you smile back at him lowering your knife and easing your body, you slipped the weapon back into your boot and stepped forward a little looking him over. “I was sent to look for you by Dutch,” he says that deep almost monotone voice sent shivers down your spine as he looked you over “it’s been almost two weeks y/n.”

Had it really been so long it felt like it had only been at most a week since you left. You pondered for a second looking at Taima and the way she moved over to your own horse and had begun to gently nip his shoulder.

“Has it really been that long?” “Yes. What have you been doing out here for so long?” “I was looking for a job and I guess I ended up living the life of a hunter and trapper,” this makes you laugh for a moment. A legal and somewhat safe way of life that was never an option before you had met Charles and he had kindly instructed you on how to hunt and track. “There are worst things I suppose.”

You smiled at him again, he had never really been one for words. As if words were too much for him to bother with, instead he stood a silent strong figure that stirred something within you. He was sent out often with Arthur to make even the bravest men speak, he was endowed with such a fierce look to him only intensified by his stillness. He reminded you of a wolf resting on a ledge just watching the world in preparation to strike. He was the opposite of Sean who never shut up or stayed still and was only terrifying when holding a fire bottle.

“So, you going to come back to -” “It’s late, I have some venison left and I like it here.” “Okay, just come back soon.”

Perhaps it was the way he moved, the way his muscles flexed under his body as he swung himself up into the saddle, but you couldn’t let him leave. You catch up with him but find yourself tripping slightly on the uneven ground. You take hold of the reigns to right yourself with one hand resting on his thigh fingers lightly touching the inside. You pull your hands away just as quickly as you had placed them on him bringing them up close to your chest as you both just stand looking at each other.

“You change your mind?” “No – I – Do you want to stay the night?”

He looks back at you with questioning eyes no words falling from his lips and yet he seemed to gesture for you to lead the way or at least you hoped that was the case. You felt for a moment like Orpheus as if looking back at Charles would cause him to disappear. Instead, you pick up the rifle swinging it over your shoulder and taking hold of the wooden horn on your saddle pull yourself up and begin riding toward the Overflow. You count the sound of hooves.

[navigatrixnarrations]

Sharpe’s Beacon, Chapter 10

I left it on a bit of a cliffhanger because it was getting long, and because it will force me to finish the next installment a lot more quickly than I did this one.

Word Count: 2043

The fire burnt down all the way down beneath the barest sliver of a moon. The night is clear and brilliant. Davy isn’t on watch tonight.  Sharpe ought to tell her to catch some kip, but he can’t quite bring himself to do so, not when the world is easier to face with her at his side. He hopes his presence makes her grief easier to bear. Sometime while they were sitting, without any conscious thought, Sharpe’s arm made its way ’round Day’s slender waist and he’d felt some of the tension go out of her whipcord-lean body. Still, her eyes occasionally dart to the hillsides, likely seeking any sign of the beacons used by the Frogs and traitor.

“I knew him, your Stevens. He made Sergeant before I did. He were a good man.”

Davy’s expression doesn’t change, but against his arm, her ribs expand with her inhale. He waits for her to respond, but she doesn’t, so he continues. “You wrote his mum a good letter. Why did you ball it up?”

“I thought I’d rather wait until I’ve caught the bastard who betrayed us to the Frogs, Sir. Let her know the traitor answered for killing her son.” She’s taken the same neutral tone she’d used when reporting to Nairn. There’s more to it, Sharpe knows there is, but he can’t press her to tell, not if he wants her to ever confide in him. And so he waits.

She stares at the worn toes of her boots. “And because, Sir, I was afraid of giving away too much. You knew immediately how I felt about him when you read it.”

“Only because I know you.” 

She lifts questioning eyes to meet his.

“She’s a grieving mother, Davy. She’ll be glad to know her son’s Lieutenant respected him and cared about him. Doubt she’d think there was more to it than that.”

“I’ll send it, then, when we’re back in camp.” She makes a wry face. “I’ll recopy it, first.” She tenses, all softness fleeing her face and body. In a single motion, Davy is on her feet, reaching for her rifle and pack. “Sir, a light, three hills over.” 

He follows her pointed finger. 

“There. It flickered a few times then was gone. I’ll go scout it out, Sir. I won’t engage, not unless I have to.”

“Davy, no!” Danger is an inescapable part of this life, but he’ll not send his Davy alone into a potential trap. 

Davy looks him in the eye. “Sir, I’m an exploring officer. Solo recon is my job.”

”No,” he growls. “You’re not going.” 

“But Sir…”

“I said no, and that’s an order.”

The muscle in her jaw clenches and her eyes narrow. “Yes, Sir.”

She’s a good soldier, she won’t disobey orders, won’t talk back, but she’s not happy about it. It’s a stark reminder that he needs to tread carefully with her lest she think he’s trying to use his rank to take advantage. He takes a gentler tone. “It’s the dead of night, Davy, barely a moon, and you would be walking into God only knows what. You’re no use to the mission if you get killed.”

“Wouldn’t be my first time scouting in the dark. Or my hundredth. Sir.” Her voice comes tight between gritted teeth. Sharpe’s heart twists at the anger that she is barely trying to conceal. 

She lost her man and her entire squad because of traitor scum, he reminds himself. She’s furious and she’s hurting and she feels guilty for not dying with them. “We’ll check the site come daylight. Get what info we can. We’ll catch the bastards, Davy, I give you my word. Not tonight, but we will.”

“We, Sir?” Unless he’s mistaken, he’s succeeded in allaying her anger at him.

“You. Me.” He takes her hand, slowly, still gauging her mood. “Us.” 

“Us,” she repeats. In his hand, her fingers intertwine with his, and his heart lightens. 

“Now go catch some kip. Hagman is on watch, and a better woodsman you’ll never find. If there are any more lights, he’ll spot them and report. You’ll sleep safe. Ready yourself for one of those early bloody mornings you’re so fond of.” 

“And you, Sir?”

“I hate early bloody mornings.”

Davy snorts. “I meant, don’t you want to get some sleep as well, Sir?” 

No, he thinks, I want to take you into the woods and shag you until the sun comes up. But he follows her back to the ashes of the Chosen Men’s campfire and settles himself beside her, among their sleeping fellows. 

Davy wakes shivering hours before dawn. The camp is quiet. Next to her, Sharpe is cocooned in his blanket. She gets up without disturbing him and goes for a piss and a change of rags. When she returns, he’s sitting up, his blond hair sticking out at all angles.

“Thought maybe you’d gone off looking for those lights, but you left your pack and blanket.” His voice is light; she doesn’t think he’s accusing her of disobeying his order, and so she sits beside him as close as she dares and drapes her blanket over her shoulders.

“I had to tend to myself, Sir.”

“You’re half frozen.” He starts to pass his blanket to her.

Davy lays a hand on his forearm, stopping him. “You’ll be cold, Sir.”

“I’m used to it.” 

“So am I, Sir.”

One of Sharpe’s wiry shoulders rises in a shrug inside his green jacket. Before she can catch herself, Davy smooths his hair with her fingers. An intimate gesture, touching a man’s hair is. She touched Stevens’s long dark hair every chance she got; she can hardly believe she’ll never get to run her fingers through it again. Never touched her bastard husband's hair once their entire marriage. No need to remember Sharpe touching her face earlier in the day, nor tucking a stray lock behind her ear a couple of nights before that. Of course she hasn’t been thinking of the way his hair felt while she bandaged his head moments after the Frogs massacred her squad. And now his keen marksman’s gaze is fixed on her and she needs to explain herself.

“Your hair was sticking up like a dandelion’s petals. Sir.” Blast, that was the opposite of helpful. She hopes Hagman, invisible in the shadows, didn’t see her petting her Major’s head as though he was a stray cat.

The corner of Sharpe’s mouth lifts in a cheeky half-grin. “Aye, that’s me, a delicate flower.” 

“A flower that can survive anywhere,” she counters.

When she was a girl, before the orphanage, her mum taught her to make wildflower crowns to sell. Dandelions were Davy’s favourites, even if nobody would buy them. She imagines lazing in a sunny peacetime field with Sharpe, making him a dandelion crown after shagging him senseless. Fanciful idiocy, she scolds herself. She’s got a traitor to catch, a war to fight. She can’t let her desires distract her from her duty. She can’t let her Major know the soppy thoughts she’s having about him. Surely he would lose all the respect he has for her if he knew. 

Sharpe snorts. “Is that my reputation, as you put it earlier?”

“Something like.”

“A dandelion.” He raises a teasing, sceptical brow.

“Yes, Sir. Your reputation is that you're a ruffian. Not a proper officer. Looked down on by snobs who haven’t got any of your skills and couldn’t survive any of the things you’ve been through.” 

He nods amiably and lays down on his back, drawing his blanket around him. “I am all those things, at that. And,” he adds with a pointed look, “you’re still shivering.”  He holds up the edge of his blanket so that she can get underneath, then covers them both with her blanket as well.

The men might talk if they saw, but Davy finds she doesn’t care. The night has turned bloody cold and soldiers often keep warm like this in the field. Indeed, Harris, Cooper, and Perkins are doing similar. Just because she’s a woman, it doesn’t mean anything untoward is happening.  She’s exhausted and Sharpe’s warmth next to her is lovely. She feels him give her hand a squeeze as she drifts off. It’s the second night in a row sleeping right beside him, her hand in his, and pox-arsed bother, she’s becoming accustomed to it, something she can ill afford when this assignment is by nature temporary. Still, this life has so few comforts. Even Nairn couldn’t blame her for taking advantage of this small bit of connection.

Sharpe wakes to find his arms full of Davy. In the night, they’d instinctively curled tight together, seeking each other's body heat. In her sleep, Davy melded herself to him, her leg resting on his thigh, her head nestled against his shoulder. The flat of his palm found the small of her back. One of her hands crept inside the collar of his shirt, coming to rest over his heart. Sharpe’s waking movements cause her to stir and grumble, burrowing closer against him still. As he suspected she would, she fits his breastbone as though she were born to. He stretches slightly, taking care not to jar her healing arm. He feels more than sees her awaken. She makes no effort to move away, and not merely, he hopes, because she’s enjoying this cosy little nest they’ve created beneath the frost-covered blankets. His heart pounds beneath her fingers. The movement of her hand from inside his shirt feels like a caress. In the pale light of a grey dawn, it would be all too easy to pretend that she’s his woman, driven into his arms by love or at the very least, by lust. It’s all too easy to imagine waking up with Davy every day, sharing their lives properly, and to ignore the many obstacles to such a thing.

From next to his shoulder, her voice, barely louder than a whisper, gravelly with sleep. “I thought you hated early bloody mornings, Sir.”

He turns his head just enough to murmur into her ear. “Depends on who I’m spending them with, Davy lass.”

She props herself up on her elbow and smiles at him, a smile that goes directly to the pit of his belly. “Sir, you’re a charming bastard.” She extricates herself from his arms, but lets her fingers trail off his hand until the last moment. 

No sooner has she disappeared into the undergrowth when Harper rises and builds up the fire. He clatters around with the tea things, and his verbal silence has a pointed quality to it. Sharpe ignores him.

“Two blankets, Sir.” Harper’s voice is conversational.

“Well, we can’t all be giants who don’t feel the cold.”

“And you kept your Davy lass snug and warm all through the night, did you, Sir?”

Bloody hell, of course he’d overheard Sharpe calling her that. “Not the way you’re thinking, Pat.” He hopes his Sergeant will drop it.

“Ah well, better luck next time, Sir.”

Sharpe glowers at him. Aye, he’d shagged Hélène while Harper were on watch, but that doesn’t mean he’d do the same with Davy. Davy isn’t shameless the way Hélène were; she’s reserved and she’s private and if such a thing were to happen between them, he wants it to be private. He wants it to be more than a quick fling. If she returns his feelings, which he can’t be certain of either. But she’d let him close and she’d held his hand and he doesn’t think he imagined the light in her eyes, the mischief in her smile, when she called him a charming bastard. 

When she returns from tending herself, she’s all business. Of course she wants to go see the site of those signal lights. They set off at a ground-eating trot, and he can see that she wants to run ahead. She’s holding herself back. They halt, a hillside over from their destination, and Sharpe looks through his spyglass at the blue-jacketed figure on horseback, making its way toward the summit. 

“Sir, may I?”

He passes Davy his spyglass. She looks though it and frowns. Under her breath, she mutters “Bloody hell, what can that bastard be doing here?” 

[sergioguymanproust]

They exist out there in the woods,the denying is over for hundreds of years we have been sharing the planet with them in North America the proof is carved and painted in caves .The first nomads that settled in these shores came to share the land with them ,but not everything was good and safe , nope, there are legends that speak of the carnage that ensued for hundreds of years, they being much stronger than us ,took the natives women abducted them ,eat human flesh and destroy and attack encampments.We know now that some settle in different states back then the land was without borders they travel ,migrated according to the seasons .Sasquatch,or Bigfoot as we often call them .Are as real as you and me .These days the push is to confirm their existence by examining DNA samples taken from hair samples ,then there’s the footprints casts and of course the sightings.But here comes the funny and disgusting fact that academia still refuses to believe in their existence,but wait it gets better the military do recognize their existence because they have secretly captured some of them and experimented with them but as it is known ,the government will come after you if you openly have declared seeing them In many National Parks if you report seeing them,they will simply say you confused them with a bear,black ,grizzly or even brown bears. Then if you persist ,the government agencies will step in and send their agents to ask you politely to forget everything and if you again insist on sharing your experience,they will threaten you and your family, this has been the case with hundreds of cases of regular citizens that just took a vacation in a National Park.There’s so much evidence that it is ridiculous to see how the government intervenes and hide the truth from all of us. Well ,if you decide to take a trip into the wilderness of Washington state ,Oregon ,and California, prepare yourself and never go alone !Record everything bring a rifle and every time you go out of your camping spot never go alone. Words by Sergio GuymanProust

[kitashousewife]

she looks just like a dream

an: to wrap up summer, i have wrote this submission for yuna's @134340am sundress szn collab! this was so much fun to write and i hope you all enjoy!

pairings: timeskip!osamu x fem!reader

warnings: fluff, friends to lovers, one bed trope, reader is in a dress and has on jewelry, osamu is very sweet and flustered, lowercase intentional

-

summer wouldn't be complete without your yearly trip to the coast. since you were young, a group of you would head to the beach for a few days, relaxing and spending time together before the weather turned cold. usually you, the miyas, and even suna and his family would join in on the fun.

of course, as you all got older, you kids would just go together for a few days during school break. now that you are all in college, or out of college, and doing your own thing; things are a little different.

when you tried to plan this year's trip, you got a lot of mixed responses. atsumu was going to be helping at a kid's volleyball camp, suna couldn't get work off, even kita wasn't able to move his schedule around. not wanting to break tradition, you convinced osamu to go with you.

just the two of you.

normally, this wouldn't be an issue. osamu is your best friend, and you have spent a lot of time alone together before. but the past few weeks have been tough. what you thought was just a very close friendship somehow shifted with the summer breeze, falling somewhere between friends, and more than friends.

well, to you anyway.

you haven't been able to muster up the courage to bring this up to osamu, leaving it all to hang in the air every time you're together. what was once a regular hug goodbye now made your heart pound in your chest, leaving you feeling breathless and blushy. but, this was probably all in your head.

right?

shutting the trunk of his car, osamu let out a sigh as you walked down the steps of your apartment.

"god, were only gone three days, did ya bring enough stuff? barely any room left," he huffs in fake annoyance, swinging the passenger door open for you before he gets in.

"it's always good to be prepared," you start, buckling your seatbelt. "it's better to have it and not need it, than to need it and not have it."

"yeah, whatever. are ya ready to head out, or do you have another 3 bags that we need to fit in?" osamu teases, poking your side.

you roll your eyes. "just drive, miya."

the drive is quick, but it felt much longer. stealing glances at osamu while he drove, feeling almost nervous when he would ask you about the most regular things. you couldn't wait to get to the hotel.

"ah yes, reservation for miya," the receptionist reads her monitor, and osamu smiles at her while the two of you wait.

"here you are, mr. miya. room 312, for three nights, one king size bed. the elevator is on your le-"

"hold on, one bed? my reservation confirmation says two," osamu interrupts, quickly pulling out his phone to double check.

your stomach flips.

"o-oh, i'm so sorry sir. let me just double check in my system," the receptionist stutters, typing away on her computer as she double checks the confirmation number osamu provides her.

"i'm really sorry you two, but it looks like that is all we have available. i'm terribly sorry. but here," she opens her desk drawer frantically, rifling through its contents. "take these. free dinners at the steakhouse next door on us. again, i am so sorry for this."

sensing her worry, osamu offers her a kind smile. "it's no big deal, right?" he looks over his shoulder at you, eyebrows raised. you swallow.

"y-yeah! it's no big deal at all. thank you so much for your help!"

it was a huge deal, actually. and not just to you.

taking his silence as confusion, the two of you ride the elevator without a word. really, though, osamu is quiet because he is freaking out.

truth be told, osamu has liked you for years. he's never shown it, the fear of being shut down and completely ruining your friendship kept him from ever mentioning it. he only agreed to come on this trip after hours of atsumu badgering to just do it! who knows what will happen.

"here we are," he mutters, swinging open the door to your shared hotel room. it really is gorgeous. large windows overlooking the beach, lots of room, and a luxurious-looking bathroom. the call of your name draws your attention back to osamu. "i'm really sorry about this, i knew the reservation was for two beds," he gives you an apologetic smile.

"it's no problem, really. it's okay. plus," you flop on the bed, giggling as you bounce. "we got a free dinner out of it."

he joins you on the bed, groaning as he stretches out his back. "you're right. can't complain, i guess."

his arm comes down to rest on your thigh, and your heart beats a little quicker. "s-should we use it tonight?"

tapping your leg twice, he sits up. "i think that's a great idea. i'll shower quickly and we can meet in the lobby in, say, 30 minutes?" you nod, and grab one of your bags to unpack. "sounds great to me."

osamu only suggested meeting in the lobby so that he could give his brother a call and calm his nerves.

"it's not that deep, 'samu," atsumu shouts into the other end, the faint sound of shoes squeaking on a court in the background. "i think this was the push ya needed."

"not helping, atsumu," osamu pinches the bridge of his nose, pacing back and forth. "i'm gonna offer to sleep on the floor."

atsumu groans. "don't be a baby. i think this will be good for ya, give ya a chance to tell her about yer crush," he laughs.

"god, why did i even call ya. whatever 'tsum. we're goin' out to dinner, so i'll text ya later." hanging up before atsumu can get any comments in, osamu sits in the lobby chair and runs his hand through his hair. should he keep going with the best friend role, or should he say something? maybe i'll wait, what if i say somethin' and our trip is ruined and

"are you ready to go, 'samu?" his head jerks up, and before he can stop himself, he lets out a small gasp.

there you are, wearing the prettiest sundress he's ever seen. a darling pastel, puffy sleeves, flowing daintily and resting on the tops of your thighs. feeling nervous under his gaze, you reach up and play with one of the necklaces you decided to wear.

'i-is it too much?" you pull at the hem of your dress, fidgeting with it.

"no!" he jumps up, walking up to you and stopping himself before he cups your face in his hands. lowering his voice, he tries again. "n-no. it's perfect. ya look beautiful," he smiles, eyes fixed on the soft movement of the fabric against your figure. grabbing your hand, he leads you out the door and towards the restaurant.

you try to make some small talk in hopes that your voice will drone out the loud thump of your heart against your chest. thankfully the walk is short, and there is a table ready. it's outside, mere steps from the beach., you smile.

"isn't this perfect! we can watch the sunset from here," you beam, staring towards the water.

osamu can't respond. he can't even think of any words to say. all he can think of is how gorgeous you look. the golden light shining against your skin, which seems to glow, making you look like a goddess. better yet, the dress you're wearing. the flow of the fabric, the delicate details, and the shape are turning his thoughts to mush. all that comes to mind is how breathtakingly beautiful you look right now.

"pretty," he breathes, staring at you. you turn to face him, head cocking to the side.

"pretty?" you ask. "oh, the view?" you nod towards the beach, and osamu watches the slow drag of the waves for a second.

"yes, you could say that." he smiles, but he's not looking at the scenery.

he's looking right at you.

your cheeks heat up, and you quickly avert your eyes to your menu. thankfully your server arrives, giving you a minute to collect your thoughts.

dinner continued on without a hitch after that, feeling completely normal. the two of you laughed together, sharing some stories from this past summer, even reminiscing on a few memories from past beach trips.

riding up the elevator, you lean your head against the wall and close your eyes. "it's too bad everyone else couldn't come,"

osamu nods, but can't stop staring at you in that dress. all he wants to do is to reach out and feel it, spin you around in it so that it flutters against you. he hums in response before the two of you walk towards your room.

flopping on the bed once more, you let out a dramatic sigh. "i am so full, i think i'm gonna change an-"

"n-no," osmau puts out his hand, just to cover his mouth with it. thankfully your eyes are fixed on the ceiling. you sit up and press the skirt of your dress down. "what?"

he coughs. "n-nothing, its just-" he closes his eyes and sighs. it's now or never.

"i think that dress looks amazing on you, truly. that dress was made for you, it should be thanking you for wearing it," he says, staring at your fingers as they play with the hem once more.

"t-thank you, 'samu," you almost whisper, eyes looking up to gaze into his. "you look handsome, too."

he sits on the bed, the weight of his strong body causes you to lean into him. he smiles, before he places a shaky hand on thigh and looks at you, leaning in slightly,

"i think yer beautiful" he whispers, face so close that his breath dances across your lips. you blush, your eyes trained on his lips.

"t-thank you," you breathe. he tilts his head slightly, noses touching for a second. "is this okay?"

leaning a little closer, you nod, brushing your lips against his.

"kiss me, 'samu."

bringing his hands up to your face, he cups it lightly and leans in. the first touch of your lips on his has you melting, lips molding to fit his in perfect unison. your hands wrap around his forearms, holding him in place as your kiss deepens.

pulling away, breathless, he chuckles before rubbing his thumb against your cheek in soothing circles. you lean into his touch and smile back at him.

"i've wanted to do that since the beach trip before our second year," he says, placing another sweet kiss on your lips. laying down, the two of you snuggle up to each other and you hum.

"really? even when i had that silly hairstyle?"

he pouts. "i thought it was cute," you laugh and poke his cheek.

"i'm glad someone did. if i knew that wearing this would get that reaction out of you, i would've worn it sooner," you say, gesturing to the sundress you still have on.

osamu sits up slightly, tracing his finger across one of the designs in the fabric. "you look like a dream, i couldn't help it."

you blush and osamu chuckles, pulling you closer.

he can't wait for the coming days of this trip. he especially can't wait for the responses he's going to get from the boys after the picture he just sent them of the two of you snuggled up on the bed.



[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 8,347 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: the Greene farm Warnings: Language, violence, gore, attempted sexual assault, discussions of trauma, typical TWD A/N: This is Part 1 of the new miniseries! This should be 2 or 3 parts total, and it's kind of intense and a bit dark at certain points so heed the warnings ya'll. Summary: Y/N is considered quiet, standoffish, and even a bit odd by the group, but Daryl knows how much she does around camp to care for everyone. After a traumatic incident while searching for Sophia, Daryl starts to discover why Y/N is the way she is.

Your name: submit What is this?

The group was all sitting around the low campfire, eating some breakfast. The two Greene girls came out with baskets in hand. Beth approached Rick and held hers out. “We have some more eggs for you all. Our hens lay more than we can eat,” she said.

Rick gratefully accepted them with an earnest look and a nod. “Thank you. That’s very kind.”

“And some potatoes,” Maggie offered. Lori grabbed her basket.

“Really, you all are being so kind. If there’s anything we can do to help around the place just let us know,” she said.

Beth was looking off into the distance at you sitting alone, away from the group, your back to the farmstead. “What’s wrong with her?” she asked, without really thinking.

“Beth!” Maggie scolded her.

“Well, I—I just mean she never eats with ya’ll. She seems like she’s always off on her own,” Beth explained, a little sheepish from her sister’s scolding.

The rest of the group was looking your direction now too, many of them asking the same questions in their minds.

“C’mon, now. That’s enough,” Maggie said. “Daddy needs help with the laundry.”

The group watched them head back to the farmhouse and Shane was the next one to break the silence. “It’s a fair question,” he said, chuckling to himself wryly, glancing back over his shoulder at you before leaning in to grab another helping of breakfast. “She hasn’t exactly meshed into the fabric of the group, has she?”

“Shane, give it a rest,” Lori said sternly.

“No offense meant but I don’t think I’ve ever heard her say more than two words at a time,” Andrea said. “You can’t pretend like there isn’t something… odd there.”

Dale hummed. “Not that it’s really our business, but she’s never said anything about what happened to her before we found her out by the quarry. I’ve tried to ask her about her family, what she used to do before all this,” he shrugged vaguely. “Never got a thing out of her. That’s her right if she doesn’t want to talk about it, but it does seem a little strange.”

“That’s all I’m sayin’,” Shane said. “Somethin’ weird with that girl,” he trailed off.

Daryl stood up, annoyed. “Ya’ll are a buncha busy body gossips. If ya’d open your damn eyes for two seconds you’d realize she does more for this group than most of ya combined,” he growled. “She gathered that wood burnin’ in your fire right there. Them mushrooms mixed in with your damn eggs, who the hell ya think found those? Ya think they just magically appeared along with that stuff you’re usin’ to make tea every night?” He tossed his empty plate down on the grass and scoffed. “People who don’t trust easily usually got a damn good reason. ’M outta here.”

Shane watched him go in slight amusement, but most of the others looked a little ashamed of themselves. Daryl was right, of course. You did do a lot for the group. You just kept to yourself. You didn’t make a big show of bringing back some meat or foraged food. You never complained when Rick or Shane asked you to do something. You took more than your fair share of the night watches. And the fact that no one knew anything about your past, the fact that you didn’t talk much, didn’t need any explanation to Daryl. Based on his own background, he could guess there was a reason you were the way you were.

A short time later, Daryl noticed you gathering up your pack and grabbing your pistol and recurve bow. He wandered over as you were snapping your knife into its sheath at your hip. “Ya headin’ out to search again?” he asked softly. You and him seemed to be the only ones who hadn’t completely given up hope of finding Sophia. You simply nodded once.

“Alright,” Daryl drawled. “What’s your plan?” Asking a question that wasn’t a simple yes or no was always a toss-up with you. Half the time he’d get a short answer, half the time he wouldn’t.

“North side of the ridge,” you said. Your voice was always quiet and measured. The archer usually wished most people would talk less, but with you he always hoped to hear more. The little that you said was purposeful and deliberate. There was no idle bullshit.

He nudged his nose up in a nod at you. “Alright. I’ll start by that creek and work along the south side. We can be close by in case either of us gets into trouble with walkers,” he said.

You simply nodded again and gave him a long thoughtful look. You did that a lot. Daryl had the feeling there was a lot going on behind your eyes, but you never spoke any of it. Surprisingly, he never felt nervous or uncomfortable when you looked at him like that. He just hoped someday maybe you’d open up a little bit more. The next moment you had turned and were heading toward the tree line already. Daryl scrambled to gather his gear and set off after you.

He could see your figure ahead, disappearing into the brush and soon he couldn’t see or hear you at all. He set out along the south side of the ridge as planned, picking his way along the creek, scrutinizing every inch of ground and hoping for a shoeprint.

Along the north side you were doing the same. You frequently knelt to examine some little scrape in the litter or soil and as you went you filled the little cloth bag you carried with edible and medicinal plants, berries, and fungi. The day wore on with no sign of the little girl and your frustration and fear grew even as the sun reached its apex in the sky and started to drift back down toward the western horizon.

You turned and started picking a new path back, heading toward the farm now rather than away. The deepening shadows made detecting print or trail more difficult but you kept your focus sharp on the ground as you moved, your bow slung over your shoulder next to your quiver.

You were becoming tired when you noticed an impression in the mud. You knelt, one knee of your jeans sinking into the damp soil. It was a boot print, but certainly not left by Sophia. You stared at the detail of the sole impression and your brow drew down low immediately. You have everyone’s shoe designs memorized. It wasn’t one you recognized. Your eyes drifted up and you could see a worn trail through the underbrush and more prints, heavy in the mud. There were at least three men who had left this trail, and they weren’t walkers. The path was straight ahead with no stagger and you could tell they were picking their way through the underbrush. You crouched and started to follow the trail. You needed to get eyes on these people. They were awfully close to the farm… Close enough, certainly, to see the smoke rising from the chimney and your fire circles.

You ghosted through the woods following the trail, moving as silently as you could. You’d been on the path for probably ten minutes when you could hear careless, noisy movement ahead. You must have caught up with them. Your heart hammering in your chest, you stayed low and crept closer. As you moved around a partially downed tree you could finally see the shapes of two men ahead. They were scruffy and filthy, clearly living on the move in the woods. You needed a closer look. You wanted to see what kinds of weapons they had on them. If you could scout out the group, you could determine whether something needed to be done about them or not.

As you tried to shift to another patch of concealing cover, you didn’t notice your bow catching on a low hanging dead branch. By the time you felt the resistance it was too late. The whole branch pulled loose with a loud snapping sound as it bent and cracked other dried branches and twigs on its way down. The two men you had been watching spun immediately and had weapons raised, rifles pointed in your direction. You were swearing under your breath and instantly on your feet aiming your pistol right back.

“Well, shit! What the hell do we have here?” one of the men asked, shifting a little to get a better look at you. “You alone out here, sweetheart?”

You fell an immediate swell of anger and dread rising up in your chest.

“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” the second man asked, grinning and revealing teeth that were tobacco stained and yellow.

“What’s a fine little thing like you doing out here by yourself? Don’t you know it’s dangerous? There are all kinds of monsters in these woods,” the first man said, looking you up and down thoroughly. His companion laughed.

Fuck. This was bad. Why had you pushed your luck and crept in so closely? Now you were outnumbered and you knew there was at least one other man somewhere that you didn’t have eyes on.

Your chest was heaving with anxious breaths from the rush of adrenaline. The first man stepped a bit closer again and you responded by taking a measured step back, your pistol aimed squarely at his chest. Now what? Should you make a run for it? Would they shoot you? Based on the animalistic looks in their eyes you knew things could go very bad, very quickly if you couldn’t get the fuck out of there. Your mind was whirring.

Suddenly, you heard a stick crack behind you and you turned instinctively to see a third man now rushing you. He landed a fist into your jaw and your vision went black as you fell to the ground, holding onto your pistol as tightly as you could. The pain radiating from your jaw into your head was overwhelming. You blinked, willing the darkness to clear, but it lingered as you suddenly felt rough hands on you, rolling you over and ripping both your bow and rifle from your back.

You struggled blindly and managed to get yourself onto your back again as the darkness in your eyes faded instead to the outlines of blurred shapes. You could make out the shape of the man standing over you and you instinctively raised your pistol and squeezed several rounds which sounded like cracks of thunder in the close woods. You missed, the scene still foggy, and you immediately squeezed again and discharged another round but the man leapt down on you with a wild yell, knocking your arm to the side and pinning it into the ground. His weight pressed down on you and you were vaguely aware of an acrid smell filling your nostrils, causing bile to rise up in your throat. He pried your pistol from your hand and tossed it away into the brush.

You writhed beneath him, struggling to get clear of his grasp but he was much bigger than you and soon there was another set of hands on you. You were rolled onto your stomach again and your arms were pulled back behind you and held painfully tight.

“We got ourselves a wild cat here, boys!” one of the men laughed. “Get her up,” he ordered. You were pulled roughly onto your feet, still trying to blink away the remaining fuzziness in your eyes and struggling against your captor.

The first man, who seemed to be the leader, paced over, watching you with a look of satisfaction on his face as you still tried to fight loose. His rifle was now dropped casually by his side. He grabbed your chin cruelly and pulled it up so you looked right into his eyes. His fingers dug into the tender spot on your jaw where the other man had hit you. “Ain’t you a pretty little thing,” he murmured silkily.

You yanked your face from his grasp and he chuckled, glancing back at the other man standing just behind him. “She’s a good one,” he said, a sick smirk on his face. He looked back at you and his eyes roamed perversely over your body. “This’ll be fun.”

He turned violent and grabbed the front of your light cotton shirt, ripping it harshly down off one shoulder, tearing the breezy plaid fabric easily and popping off the first three buttons. The man holding you only tightened his grip. Your throat constricted so tightly it was hard to breathe. You felt like your heart was beating so hard that it would surely burst. You could feel everyone’s eyes on your newly bared skin. Next the leader withdrew a knife and pressed the point into the center of your chest just above your bra. You cringed at the feeling of the biting cold metal pricking your skin.

He stepped close into you and moved the knife up to your throat, pressing it to the side of your neck and drawing it lightly across your skin just enough to cut you. You winced and shut your eyes, trying to keep as still as possible with that blade to your throat and you soon felt a rivulet of warmth rolling down toward your collarbone. You opened your eyes as the knife left your throat and he slipped it under your exposed bra strap, rotating it and lifted up until the fabric started to separate along the sharp edge. Finally, it gave and the strap hung loosely down. He sucked in a hiss of breath through his teeth, his eyes hungry and crazed. “This will be a lot easier on you if you just cooperate. Then again… I like a woman with some fight in her,” he snarled. “Your choice.” His companions let out more appreciative laughter as fear twisted your stomach.

You felt yourself going numb. Suddenly, you couldn’t feel any pain anymore. You couldn’t feel the man’s hands pinning your arms back. You couldn’t feel the blood that was now running down your chest. Your eyes drifted to the leader’s cold, blue blade and then unfocused so the scene simply became a haze. And you suddenly realized that they hadn’t taken your knife. It was still in its sheath on your hip…

A short distance away, Daryl had been thinking that it was probably about time to call it a day and head back when he heard a series of loud gunshots. His body went rigid and he turned frantically, staring off into the brush. He strained his hearing to its limit. They’d definitely come from your direction. Abandoning any other thought, he sprung into motion, racing through the woods as fast as he could in the direction he thought the blasts had come from.

Back in camp, everyone else had heard the shots too. Shane turned and looked at Rick, his gaze intense.

“Were those gun shots?” Lori asked, fear in her voice.

“Yeah,” Rick said, rising to his feet and rushing to grab his gun from the stash of weapons in the RV. “Shane, T, Glenn, let’s go! The rest of you stay here!”

Hershel stepped out onto the porch and watched the group of men racing across the pasture toward the trees. He had a bad feeling in his gut. Maggie and Beth came out, the slamming screen door punctuating the piercing silence that fell after the shots.

Daryl smashed through the brush carelessly, his eyes scanning the ground for a trail, any trail, something to follow. Finally, his eyes locked on boot prints that were surely yours. He vaguely registered that there were much larger impressions in the soil too, several different boots much larger than yours. And they certainly weren’t from walkers.

“Son of a bitch,” he cursed under his breath. He froze and scanned the thick greenery. He strained his hearing again, listening for some sound, anything, to give him an idea of what was happening. Please don’t let me be too late, he thought frantically. He took off again but more cautiously, following the tracks you had clearly also discovered. Probably what had led you right into something…

Rick and the others were well into the trees now but Shane stopped everyone. “Rick, what the hell are we doin’ man? We don’t have a clue where Y/N and Daryl are. We can’t just go blindly crashing through here or we’re gonna end up in a bad spot too.”

Rick’s eyes frantically whirred over the seemingly endless tree trunks.

“Wait—I saw Y/N’s map yesterday. She had the whole thing sectioned out into search areas,” Glenn said. “Most of them were already crossed off.”

“Well, which ones weren’t?” Shane urged, checking to make sure there was a round chambered in his gun.

“Uhh—” Glenn’s mind raced. “I think—I think by that ridge, straight north of here. But I can’t be sure,” he trailed off.

Rick rubbed a hand over his face. They all listened for any sound, but the woods were oppressively silent now. “Shit…” he cursed under his breath.

“It’s the best we got,” T gasped, out of breath from the frenetic dash from camp.

Rick nodded. “Alright. Then we head north. Keep your heads on a swivel and your eyes peeled for any sign of Y/N or Daryl.”

Daryl moved as swiftly along the trail as he could. Suddenly, he spotted something lying on top of the litter out of the corner of his eye. Your pistol. Daryl grabbed it and the muzzle was still warm. Clearly, you’d been the one to fire at least some of those shots. “Fuck. Fuck…” He tucked it into his waistband and moved more cautiously now. His heart was pounding and sweat was pouring down his forehead. His knuckles were white on his crossbow. He rounded a downed tree and froze when he saw a dark shape on the ground ahead. His heart dropped into his stomach. Please don’t let it be Y/N… He was almost paralyzed with fear but he forced himself to take another couple steps. As he rounded the brush and straightened up, he knew it wasn’t you but his apprehension didn’t evaporate. It was a large man, clearly dead, completely covered in blood. The hair on the back of Daryl’s neck suddenly stood on end and he spun around, his crossbow up to his eye, ready to fire. But he dropped it involuntarily as he took in the scene before him, his jaw dropping partially open and his eyes narrowing as he tried to figure out what the fuck he was seeing.

You were standing there in front of him trembling from head to toe, your hands out in front of you with your knife clutched in one like it was a lifeline. Daryl could easily see the shakiness in your hands. You were completely covered in blood. Your clothing and skin were soaked in it, like you’d bathed in a crimson river. There was thick splatter on your face, neck, and chest. Your eyes were wide and fixed and you didn’t show any awareness that he was there in front of you. Daryl registered that your shirt was torn down from one shoulder and your bra strap had been cut. He didn’t need an explanation to know what the fuck had happened and rage swelled in his chest, stoking an intense fire. His eyes drifted down to two more bodies lying at your feet, each with uncountable stab wounds and one with his throat cut, his clothing drenched. The metallic smell of blood was in the air and Daryl could almost taste it on his tongue.

Still you showed no awareness that he was there. You seemed frozen, catatonic. He now registered that you had slash wounds through the fabric of your sleeves and cuts on your arms. Defensive wounds where you had blocked a knife attack. There was a purposeful cut partially up the hem of your jeans at the bottom, clearly from one of the men… It was nearly impossible to tell if you were hurt anywhere else because there was just so much blood…

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he murmured. “Y/N?” He took a cautious step toward you. “Y/N? Can ya hear me?”

Nothing. No reaction at all.

Just then Daryl heard the noise of several people in the woods nearby and he planted himself between you and the sound, raising his crossbow. “Ya better get the fuck outta here unless ya want an arrow between the eyes!” he roared.

Rick straightened up. That was Daryl. “Daryl?!”

Daryl gulped. “…Rick?”

“Yeah, it’s me, Shane, Glenn, and T! We’re comin’ to you! Are you alright?”

Daryl glanced back at you again. You were still just standing there shaking. “‘M fine. Wasn’t me who fired…” Daryl swung his pack off his back and dug inside it.

The men crashed through the underbrush and came into view, taking in the scene. “Oh my God.” The words spilled from Glenn’s lips. They were all glancing from the bloody bodies on the ground to your blood-soaked figure.

“Jesus Christ,” Shane uttered, pacing closer and bending to look at the slash wound in the one corpse’s neck. Daryl finally laid hands on his poncho and yanked it out of his bag. He turned to look at you and began approaching cautiously. “Y/N? It’s Daryl. Can ya hear me?”

Nothing.

Rick was slack-jawed as he looked at the scene. “Daryl… be careful,” he cautioned, eyeing the knife still gripped in your fist.

Daryl glanced back at him. “She ain’t gonna do nothin’ to me,” he drawled.

“Do you see this?” Glenn asked him urgently indicating the bodies. “This is insane. You don’t know that! She looks completely out of it, like she doesn’t even know we’re here!”

Daryl’s jaw clenched and he turned back to look at you again. “Don’t ya fuckin’ see her? She’s terrified. Look at her clothes. They were tryin’ to rape her,” he growled. “They deserve what they got.”

Shane straightened up from examining the bodies, glancing furtively over at you. “Maybe but… on the force, we’d call this ‘overkill’,” he said, backing up and exchanging a glance with Rick.

Daryl ignored him. “Y/N? It’s alright. You’re safe. Nobody is gonna hurt ya. Just lemme take your knife, okay?” There was no recognition on your face, your eyes still wide and fixed, until Daryl’s hand gently closed over yours and started to open your hand around the handle of your knife. He could feel you shaking beneath his fingers. “S’alright,” he said softly as your eyes landed on his face and then locked with his. Your brow drew down low, casting a shadow over the vaguely confused look on your face. As Daryl gently took your knife, he could see there was a very deep gash in your palm. It was bleeding heavily. He guessed it was either another defensive wound from you putting your hands up to stop one of the men’s knives or otherwise your hand, slick with blood, had slipped down onto your own blade when you’d been fighting them. “Glenn, get some gauze out of my pack and bring it over here,” he said. He spoke calmly and softly. He glanced back over at Glenn when he didn’t move from his slack-jawed frozen position. “Glenn. Gauze.” Glenn snapped himself out of it and went to Daryl’s bag. The archer gulped and draped his poncho over you, covering your ripped shirt. “S’alright,” he murmured again.

You didn’t take your eyes off his face. He wasn’t even sure if you realized the others were there. Glenn walked forward and handed Daryl the small roll of sterile gauze before backing up slowly. The look in your eyes was haunted and dazed and it left all of them feeling empty and concerned.

Daryl opened your hand flat and your eyes drifted down to watch him wrap the bandage over the wound on your palm. You couldn’t feel it. You couldn’t really feel anything, except Daryl’s hands on yours.

Shane turned to Rick. “Rick, what the hell are we gonna do about this? We can’t just waltz her back into camp covered in blood. You don’t want the others seein’ this… Carl? Lori? Or Hershel. Look at her. She looks completely unstable. This might be enough for him to kick us out right now.” He looked back at you over his shoulder.

Rick sighed heavily. “So, we’ll get her cleaned up first.”

Daryl was keeping one ear on the conversation going on behind him. “She needs stitches on this hand,” he drawled. “And who knows how else she’s hurt. Can’t see a damn thing on her right now. And since ya’ll are more worried about yourselves than her, I’ll take care of it. Why don’t ya just get the hell outta here,” Daryl growled.

Glenn stepped forward. “We are worried about her. But you have to admit that this is—this is—” He didn’t even know what word to use. Daryl just stared at him. You were hugging your arms around yourself now, still shaking. Your eyes were downcast, staring unseeing at the ground.

“Listen, I don’t give a shit what ya do. I’m gettin’ her outta here and taken care of.” He hastily shouldered his pack and his crossbow.

“Just—Daryl,” Rick started, pinching the bridge of his nose, the situation weighing on him heavily. “Clean her up a bit before you take her to Hershel to be looked over.”

The archer eyed him through a narrow glare for a moment before he nodded. He turned back to you, your frame swallowed up in his poncho. “C’mon. Let’s get ya home,” he said gently. Your eyes snapped up to his face again and you allowed him to lead you back toward the farmstead.

He picked a path carefully and finally the two of you broke out from the edge of the forest. The others back in the camp were staring at the tree line, wracked with nerves. Lori straightened up as she recognized movement. “Dale—someone just stepped out.”

Dale, standing on the RV, raised his binoculars to his eyes. “Oh my,” slipped from his lips.

“What? Who is it?” Carol asked anxiously.

“I think it’s Y/N and Daryl,” Dale said. “I can’t quite tell properly, but I think something is wrong with Y/N.” He squinted into the binoculars again. “My God. Her jeans are covered in blood and it—it looks like there’s blood on her neck, her face…”

Carol pressed a hand over her mouth. “Is she hurt?” she asked anxiously. “Was she bit?”

Dale shook his head, lowering the binoculars again. “They’re too far. I can’t tell what’s going on.”

Daryl looked up to see everyone standing almost in a line watching the two of you as you started across the field. He gulped and then put a hand lightly on your back, nervous and unsure of how you would react to the contact. He guided you toward his camp which was closest and was set apart from everyone else’s.

“C’mon and sit down, alright. We’re just gonna clean ya up a bit and then take ya to Hershel.” The look in your eyes was worrying him immensely but you sat down on a round of wood pulled up near the fire ring. He anxiously chewed on his bottom lip, trying to figure out how he could reassure you. “Hey. S’alright. You’re safe.”

You met his blue eyes and he finally saw some sense of relief in them. His stomach flipped at the way they softened and he nodded. He took in the sight of you in his poncho again and realized you’d need something else to wear to go see Hershel that wasn’t half ripped off you. “I’m gonna, uhh—” he cleared his throat nervously. “I’ll put a clean shirt out on my cot for ya. Ya can change in in my tent and then we’ll just clean ya up a bit, alright?” He knew better than to wait for a response and climbed to his feet and disappeared into his tent to set the clothes out. He dug around in his duffel bag until he found one that was still folded tightly, definitely clean, and he set it out for you. You watched the handsome archer reemerge from inside his tent and nod his head toward it. “Alright. Go ahead. I’ll just be right out here.”

He watched you get up and disappear, zipping the door behind you. He paced in front of the fire circle, rubbing his thumb over his bottom lip thoughtfully as the image of you standing there in the woods, frozen, absolutely soaked in blood with your shirt half torn surged forward in his mind and he felt another sickening swell of anger. Jesus. Things could have gone so bad with those men… and they were fucking lucky they were already dead when he got there.

The soft rustling of the tent fabric interrupted his thoughts and you stepped out in his long-sleeved flannel, looking a bit dazed still but more grounded. He nudged his nose up in a nod. “C’mon and sit down,” he said, gesturing to the round of wood again. You sank down on it. Daryl grabbed a bucket of clean water that had been warming in the sun all day. He grabbed a cloth from inside his tent and caught sight of your bloody and torn shirt discarded on the floor, feeling another tight twist between his lungs, like someone had tugged a knot there.

You watched him kneel down in front of you and sink the cloth into the bucket of water, wringing it out before bringing it close to your face. He hesitated short of touching you. “S’this alright?” he drawled.

You gave him a questioning look but finally nodded, just one slight tip of your chin. You closed your eyes as the fabric came in contact with your cheek and Daryl started wiping away the blood. The cloth stained crimson quickly. He cleaned the splatters from across your forehead and your nose and the spots on the other side of your face. With the red stains gone, Daryl could see the shadow of a deep bruise along the side of your jaw. Without thinking he gently clasped your chin and turned your head so he could examine it, a heavy shadow falling over his blue eyes. He sunk the cloth back into the bucket of water and wrung it out again, this time pressing it to the side of your neck.

Despite how gentle he was being, you involuntarily sucked in a sharp hiss of air through your teeth as the cloth found the cut on the side of your neck from the leader’s knife. Your eyes blinked open through your wince.

“Sorry,” Daryl drawled, pulling back to look at the wound. “Jesus… Those assholes had a knife to your neck?” he asked. It was rhetorical and he didn’t expect an answer. He wiped at the blood spatter and you closed your eyes again, trying to breathe deeply and still the trembling you still felt wracking through you. Daryl could hear a shaky quality in your breathing. Soon, your face and neck were clean and Daryl turned his attention to your hands. Your eyes were still shut as he rinsed the cloth out again in the bucket. “Lemme see your hands,” he said softly. You found the deep gravel of his voice comforting.

Out of everyone in your group, you usually felt like Daryl was the only one who really saw you. You’d wanted to get to know him better, but held yourself back. He seemed to seek solitude like you did, and you didn’t want to force yourself into his world.

He took your hand, your palm resting against his, and he swept the cloth lightly over the back of it and down each finger. The sensation sent goosebumps rising on your skin and you glanced up at the concerned and intent expression on his face curiously. You couldn’t even remember the last time anyone had shown you so much attention and care. He took your other hand in his now, the one with gauze around it and the deep gash in your palm. He rubbed the blood from the back of each finger and then flipped it over in his hand. He frowned as he noticed that your blood had soaked through the bandage. “Probably need stitches on this one,” he murmured softly. The cloth tickled over the underside of each finger now, sweeping off the ends. “Alright. Push up them sleeves,” he said, dunking the cloth into the bucket again for what felt like the hundredth time.

“What?” He was startled by your voice and his eyes snapped up to look at you.

He straightened up, one of his eyebrows quirking down at the question. “Ya had a buncha cuts on your arms. We need to clean ‘em up and check ‘em. See if ya need stitches anywhere else.”

You shook your head.

He gave you a questioning look for a long moment and chewed on his bottom lip. “Alright. Ya can do it. I’ll just go tell Hershel you’re on your way in, alright?”

You stared at him for another long moment as he set the cloth on the edge of the bucket, whose water was now stained a dark pink. You glanced up as he climbed to his feet and nodded.

“Alright,” he said. “C’mon up when you’re done and we’ll get that hand taken care of.”

Daryl started over toward the farmhouse and as he approached Carol rushed up to him. “What happened?” she urged him. “Are you okay? Is Y/N?”

He stopped, his hand on one hip. He glanced back out toward the trees and saw the rest of the group making their way back toward camp across the field. “‘M fine,” he drawled. “Y/N ran into some men out there when we were searchin’.”

“Men? What men? What happened? Is she alright?”

Daryl chewed his bottom lip and shrugged vaguely. “I don’t know how to—how to answer that,” he said truthfully.

Confusion muddled Carol’s expression and she glanced in the direction of you over at Daryl’s camp. “Well, what happened?” she asked again.

Daryl looked at her seriously and shrugged vaguely. “Y/N killed ‘em. Didn’t have no choice.” He continued his path up to the house and bounded up the porch steps, knocking on the front door. Carol stared after him, a bit shocked. Maggie answered, looking worried.

“Were those gun shots earlier?” she asked.

Daryl nodded. “Mhm… Hey, can your dad take a look at Y/N?”

“Of course. What happened?” she asked, holding the screen door open so he could step inside.

Hershel was there in an instant. “Daryl. What happened? We heard those shots.”

“Y/N and I were out lookin’ for Sophia. There were some men. She—she ran into some trouble.”

Hershel took a deep breath and nodded. “Is she alright?”

“I think she needs stitches in her hand. She took a good hit to her jaw too. Might have a concussion. I dunno,” he said. He anxiously chewed on his bottom lip again. “I know she’s got some cuts on her arms, defensive wounds, but she wouldn’t let me look at ‘em. Got a cut on her neck.”

“Oh my God,” Maggie said, her hand flying up to her mouth.

“What happened to the men?” Hershel asked.

Daryl quit chewing the side of his thumbnail. “Dead,” he said, watching the old farmer’s reaction closely, but the man’s face was blank. He simply nodded.

“I’ll get my kit. Have her come on in.”

Daryl headed back onto the porch to see how you were doing and you were on your way over. His eyes caught on the dark splatters and stains of blood on your jeans and the slit at the bottom. His stomach twisted. Maybe he should have had you change clothes completely… You were trying to ignore the eyes on you as you made your way over to the house.

Andrea and Lori exchanged a look at the state of your clothes.

“Come on in here and sit down,” Hershel said kindly. “Let’s take a look at that hand.” You offered up your gauze-wrapped hand and Hershel laid it out on the table, unwrapping the already blood-soaked bandage and taking a look at the deep gash. “Pretty deep cut here. Definitely need stitches.” He grabbed a needle from his kit and pricked the end of each of your fingers. They all twitched in response. “You can feel that?” You nodded. “Good. Looks like we dodged any nerve damage. Much deeper and you would have needed major surgery for a cut tendon and who knows what else. Maggie, dear, would you get the sutures set up while I clean this off?”

Nerve damage. Cut tendon. Daryl shifted uncomfortably in his spot leaned up against the wall. You hardly seemed to react to the news at all.

Hershel swabbed at your hand and you shut your eyes against the bite of the alcohol. “Now, Daryl tells me you took a good hit to the jaw. I’m just gonna check it and make sure nothing is broken.” He palpated both sides of your face, across your cheekbones and up your jawline. “Just a bit swollen,” he said. “Did you lose sight when you were hit?” he asked you, grabbing a small pen light and checking the dilation response of each of your pupils. You gulped and nodded. “Do you remember your name?” he asked you. You nodded again. “I need you to answer my questions verbally. I’m interested in your answers but also your speech.”

“My name’s Y/N.”

“When is your birthday?” Hershel asked.

You stared at him. “No one here knows my birthday. How will you know if I’m right or not?”

A small smile grew on Hershel’s face. “I’d say your speech and cognition are fine. Probably a mild concussion though with your eyesight blacking out. You’ll need to take it easy the next few days, rest and fluids, and let me know if you develop any new symptoms like vomiting or nausea, confusion, a worsening headache. Understand?”

You nodded again. “Yes. I understand.”

“Sutures are ready,” Maggie said.

Hershel put on a pair of clean gloves and prepared. “I’m afraid I don’t have anything to numb you,” he said, propping your hand up on a towel so he could see it better.

“It’s alright. I would have told you to save it anyway,” you said. Daryl straightened up from his place against the wall and came to stand next to you. You could feel his eyes on your face.

“You’re one tough cookie,” Hershel said. “Let’s get this taken care of.” You hardly flinched as he passed the needle through…

Outside, Rick and the others were just arriving back at camp. Everyone gathered around and seemed to read on their faces that they were all unsettled.

“Rick,” Lori said, grabbing him into a hug. “What happened? We saw Daryl and Y/N come back. Her jeans were covered in blood.”

Rick looked down at her. “Nothing to worry about. It’s been taken care of.”

“Well, what was it?” Lori pressed him, her eyes still a bit wide and fearful.

Carol spoke up. “Daryl said she ran into some men and they’re—she killed them.”

Glenn and T were avoiding everyone’s eyes while Shane let out a frustrated sigh and paced away from the group, disagreeing with Rick still about the decision not to tell everyone you had clearly gone slasher on those assholes. Provoked or justified or not, Shane felt like that was something everyone should know. He’d gone far enough to describe you as a serial killer before Rick had stood him down. Rick nodded and looked at his wife and then at Andrea and Dale. “Y/N was attacked and she dealt with it. Hershel is gonna patch her up and there’s nothing to worry about.

“What if there are more of those men?” Carol asked fearfully.

“We only ever saw three different boot prints out there,” T reassured her. “But we’ll keep watch like we always do. We’ll be fine.”

Everyone still looked uneasy, but settled back into their tasks. Lori was about to go fetch some more water when Shane grabbed her arm and tugged her around the side of the SUV. She gave him a stern look and pulled her arm from his grasp.

“What?” she snapped at him, a bit unkindly.

“Rick ain’t tellin’ you everythin’,” he said.

Lori just stared Shane with a guarded expression. “I trust my husband. And you used to, too.”

“Yeah, well… What happened out there today? It should concern everyone.” His expression was dark and Lori felt her sense of unease grow.

Shane rubbed a hand over the stubble on his face. “Y/N just—” Shane let out a sigh that had the edge of a growl to it.

“What are you talking about?” Lori pressed him in an undertone. “Are we in danger?”

Shane straightened up and pressed his lips into a thin line briefly before meeting her eyes. “Honestly? I don’t know. But I’m not taking my eyes off that girl.”

Inside, Hershel tied off the final stitch and snipped the suture. “All done.” He applied a layer of antibacterial ointment and wrapped your hand in a fresh dressing. “Try to keep it dry. And I mean it,” he gave you a pointed look, “take it easy for a few days. Daryl, you hold her to that. Anything else you need me to look at? Your arms? Daryl said—” You shook your head no. “Alright.”

The archer straightened up as you climbed to your feet. “Thank you,” you murmured to Hershel.

Daryl held the door for you and you cringed at how everyone’s eyes were on you immediately as you stepped out onto the porch. You avoided them and started heading in the direction of your camp. Daryl was still in step beside you and you hazarded a glance in his direction.

He could read a question in your eyes. “I’ll keep ya company for a bit if that’s alright... Besides, ya should be restin’ and somebody needs to make sure ya take care of yourself.” You didn’t say anything, but that also wasn’t a refusal. Daryl could tell you were still reeling a bit, and he wanted to be there just in case.

You arrived at your separate camp area and watched as Daryl immediately went and stirred up the coals in the fire, adding more wood and soon having a nice blaze going. You headed for your tent and glanced back over your shoulder at him. “Just gonna change,” you said softly. He nodded and went about heating something for you to eat along with water for tea. He was sure you had collected more ingredients and remembered that your bag was still sitting at his camp. He jogged to grab it and brought it back along with your bloodied and torn shirt, not sure what else to do with it. When he got back, you were sitting by the fire in clean and comfortable clothes, his shirt resting over your lap. You held it out to him as he dropped your pack beside you.

“Thanks,” he murmured. The fabric was still warm from your body. “Dunno what ya wanna do with this,” he said, holding yours out in turn.

You stared at it for a long moment before your fingers closed on it and Daryl watched as you immediately tossed it into the fire. In a moment, it was only ashes and embers. He sank down beside you and felt you studying him. He turned and met your eyes and was surprised when you spoke. “You aren’t afraid of me now? Like the others?” you asked softly.

“Nah. Why would I be?”

Your striking eyes focused back on the crackling campfire and the embers dancing upward on the warm torrent of air. “You saw what I did. Why wouldn’t you be?”

Daryl peered at you curiously for a long moment. “Ya were only protectin’ yourself. Can’t say I wouldn’t have done worse if I’d been there,” he drawled, and you could hear anger in the tension in his voice.

“I blacked out,” you said suddenly.

“When they hit ya? Ya, yer gonna have a good bruise tomorrow.”

“That’s not what I mean.” You cradled your injured hand absently in the other. “The last thing I remember was the one starting to cut my jeans and then—then I was just covered in blood and they were all dead. And next thing I know you were taking my knife from me.” You shut your eyes for a moment. “I don’t remember anything else.”

Daryl considered the regretful expression on your face. “Don’t matter. Yer safe. That’s what counts. Those men? They had it comin’.”

You looked up at him in surprise and he simply nodded and then grabbed a mug and filled it with hot water for you. You accepted it and dug into your bag, pulling out the small sack of foraged herbs from the day. You dropped a few berries and leaves into your mug and cradled it with your uninjured hand.

It was nearly sunset and the quality of the light was cooling, oranges turning to reds and then fading into deep purples and inky blues. You allowed yourself to frequently study the archer as he shoved a bowl of reheated stew into your hands or added more wood to the fire. You felt surprisingly at ease with him there and he didn’t seem at all bothered by the passing of so much silence. Maybe the concussion just had you slightly numb, but you didn’t think so.

“You aren’t going to ask me?” you finally said.

Daryl looked over at you and he felt a stirring in his chest at the way the firelight was catching the shine and colors in your hair and the soft shape of your lips. “Ask ya what?”

“How I—Why I—” You didn’t even know how to phrase it really.

Daryl watched you struggled for a moment. “Ain’t none of my business. But if ya wanted to talk about it, I’ll listen. Not gonna lie and say I haven’t wondered about what came before ya were with the group.”

You had been on the verge of speaking it but suddenly lost your nerve and sipped at your tea again. Daryl watched you withdrawing again and rubbed a hand a bit nervously over the back of his neck. Darkness had fallen completely now. “Well, I’ll leave ya alone. Yer probably sick of me anyway,” he drawled. “Get some rest, alright?” Daryl had climbed to his feet and started to head in the direction of his own tent but your voice froze him.

“It’s not that I want to be alone all the time…” Daryl could hear the crackling of the fire in the silence that followed. “It’s just that alone usually feels safer.”

He glanced back at you, turning partially. “Ya. I know the feelin’,” he said gently, pacing back.

You looked up at him and something about your expression, your wide eyes, went straight to his core. “Stay,” you said quietly. “Please.” You chewed on your bottom lip for a moment. “Being with you feels safer…” you admitted, timidly.

Daryl felt an ache in his chest and nodded. He grabbed a seat beside you again and puzzled over this unprecedented turn of events.

You seemed to come to some decision suddenly and looked over at him intensely. He caught your eyes briefly and then watched as you pushed up your right sleeve. At first all he saw were the knife cuts, crimson against your skin, but you turned your forearm toward him in the firelight. “This is what I didn’t want you to see,” you said. You gulped. You’d never told anyone, never shown anyone, literally never talked about what had happened to you since you got out. You’d vowed that you would just move on, but the longer you suffered in silence the worse it seemed to get, until you felt like it would consume you. And then today, with those men, you’d just completely lost it. It had triggered something, a memory or maybe more like a nightmare, and when you came to you were bathed in blood and didn’t even recognize yourself, couldn’t believe what you’d done. Enough was enough. Maybe if you spoke it, admitted it, dealt with it in some way… maybe it’d get easier.

Daryl stared at a scar on your forearm. It looked like a brand and the skin was still slightly pink, showing that it wasn’t that old. It was four numbers. 1048.

[3pirouette]

MERRY STEGGYMAS!!

I am so excited (and nervous) and HAPPY to finally reveal and start posting my Steggymas gift!

MERRY STEGGYMAS, @roboticonography!!

While I’m sorry I couldn’t get the whole thing done, here’s the Prologue and Chapter 1. More to follow ASAP this Holiday Season. 

A Red, White, and Blue Christmas

By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette

Disclaimer: They're not mine.

Distribution: AO3 Anyone else please ask first :) 

Story Summary: White Christmas AU. Peggy is pulled from Project Rebirth, setting off a chain of events that leaves Steve and Bucky unharmed at the end of the War, but never having met her. Until, that is, their paths cross as professional performers. Steggy Secret Santa gift for Roboticonography

Story notes: Robot: I truly hope you like this. Your stories have given me hours and days and weeks of joy, and I hope this at least brings a smile to your face for this holiday season. 

I’ve wanted to Steggy this for at least a year now, and based on everything you said, my brain screamed this was the right decision and the right time to write this. White Christmas is one of my favorite holiday movies, and I see so much Steggy potential in it. If you haven’t watched it, Danny Kaye makes it 100% worth the watch alone. 

This is a fairly close retelling, with some scenes very close to the original, some very, very different, and of course the key things that make it Steggy making it Steggy. Some lines are flat out stolen and repurposed, because who can tell a Steggy story or a White Christmas story without some of our favorite quotes? There’s a lot… a LOT… of set up in the beginning of this. I hope you can get past some of the dryer parts to the fun stuff. 

I’m also still writing it. The amount of time it has taken has really surprised me, but I want to get it right. I’m going to post now, because that seems the right thing to me, but I can’t promise I won’t have to go back and make little edits if I messed something up that’s important later. 

Anyway, without further ado, here’s the beginning of my most ambitious Secret Santa fic ever. Merry Steggymas! 

~*~

Prologue: A New Arrangement of a Classic (The Variant)

Chapter Summary: A brief trip through the war in this universe and a look at how all of our favorite moments somehow were different. 

End Chapter A/N: I’m obsessed with this idea now. Peggy as a lounge singer is my new favorite thing. 

~*~

Steve couldn’t tear his eyes away from her across camp, the red of her lips and the curve of her pale stocking legs stood out in the sea of drab, green uniforms. She was the Agent who had punched Hodge that first day, who’d been about to take them through their first training exercises before she was swept away and replaced with Sargent Stott. She was talking intently with Erskine, and Steve’s eyes followed her lips until he almost dropped the rifle he was supposed to be cleaning. They turned, moving closer to the little group of men until he could hear their conversation. Steve averted his eyes, pretending to be lost in concentration as he listened. 

Erskine’s voice was deep and serious. “I wish you would stay. Your input would be invaluable. I find you to be a keen judge of character.”

“I do wish I could, doctor, but I’ve been recalled to London.” Steve looked up just in time to see her flash a blinding smile at the scientist. “You don’t need me to make the correct choice. I’d trust your judgement any day of the week.”

He’d been hoping to cross paths with her, to meet her, even though he had no idea what he’d say to her. He sighed, and focused back on his rifle. He wasn’t going to have time for pretty women if he made it into Erskine’s experiment, anyway. 

~*~

Steve let the rain pour around him, sketching in his notebook. The next show wasn’t for a few hours, and the quiet anxiety of the front seemed so much bleaker than the small towns he was used to on tour. He’d grown to miss the roaring crowds in the US. There was something about the excitement of the kids in the audience, the smiles on the faces that seemed so dour on the street, that made him feel like maybe, just maybe, he was making some sort of a difference even if it wasn’t out in the field. 

The squishing of boots moving toward him caught his attention. Howard Stark stopped before him, just as massive a character as he was the day he pulled the levers that made Steve larger than life. 

Stark smirked at him. “So, you want to be a dancing monkey all your life, or you want to see what you can really do?” 

~*~

Peggy let her hand slide over the microphone, eyes roaming the dingy club as the piano played next to her, barely in tune. 

As far as undercover jobs went, it certainly wasn’t the worst she’d ever had. It was away from the front, kept her warm and fed, and even if she didn’t get to keep the dresses and the stockings, it felt nice to feel fine clothes on her body again instead of the itchy, military wool. 

She’d pulled a lucky break with this assignment, and she’d been able to get quite a lot of information out of the generals and donors who thought the pretty English girl who could sing and would sit on their laps when she was done couldn’t understand German. 

She smiled as she started in on the chorus. One of these days, she’d get the piece of information that ended this war, and it would all be worth it. 

And when that was over, maybe she’d sing for fun. She was starting to like it. 

~*~

The Howling Commandos huddled around the fire for warmth, the snow falling around the small group of men. Dugan took a pull out of his flask. “So, what would you be doing tonight, if you were back home?” 

Bucky leaned against his friend, nearly pushing Steve off the log. “Stevie’d be singing at midnight mass.”

Heads swiveled towards him quickly, and Dugan didn’t let a second go by before he was asking questions. “Sing? No kidding. Why didn’t they have you singing in that USO show?”

Even in the firelight they could see Steve’s ears pink up in embarrassment. “They just wanted me to do a bunch of lifting and military skits. Never asked if I could sing.” Steve shrugged, clutching his metal coffee cup close. “Besides, everyone would much prefer the girls do the singing, I think.”

There was a small murmur of approval from the men, but it died as another bitter cold wind hit them, forcing them to huddle together. 

Bucky shivered and leaned closer to the fire, wishing the moment hadn’t turned so maudlin so fast. He smiled to himself and nudged his friend. “Why don’t you sing something for us. It is Christmas Eve, Stevie.”

The rest of his small team started talking over one another, calling out names of songs as their teeth chattered. Uncomfortable, Steve did the only thing he could think of, and let the little tidbit of knowledge slip on purpose. 

“Bucky can tap dance.” 

~*~

Peggy slipped into the dress shop, smiling brightly once she saw the face of her contact. She’d worked with the woman behind the counter, Rose, before. She was a good operative, and smart as a whip. Peggy knew the coded message would make it right to where it needed to be as fast as she needed it to get it there. 

“How can I help you today?” Rose asked in crisp German, though her name tag boasted Barbara in big letters. 

Peggy pretended to browse, running her hand over a soft red dress. “I’m looking for something for an important affair, that can be altered quickly.” She replied in English, letting her voice drift gently through the room. She didn’t know if there was anyone else there, and what’s she’d learned was going to change everything. 

Rose nodded, pulling out a notepad and setting her measuring tape around her neck. “Well, we have some lovely fabrics from London, but that will take two or three days to make.” She switched to English, too, her smile bright and genuine. 

Peggy let her hand linger on a blue dress, tapping her finger in a quick morse code that she knew Rose would recognize, the color of the dress under her fingers a code of its own. “I’d much prefer something quicker. By tonight if at all possible?” Urgent, the blue signaled. Highest closest, her fingers tapped out.  

Rose nodded, tapping her own morse code out with the pen on the notepad: message of urgency received. “We have a lovely silver number in from Paris, if we start now, I’m sure we can get it done by tonight. I believe the designer’s name is Phillips.”

“Yes,” Peggy smiled. “I’ve worn him before; I believe he’s just the designer for the job.” 

~*~

Chester Phillips paced in front of the 107th, every man, including the General, groggy from being woken by the messenger in the middle of the night. 

“We’ve got support coming in as we speak from London. Men, you’re to get to Zola before he gets on that train, do you hear me? And if he doesn’t give up Schmidt, our Agent on the inside is equipped with a tracking beacon, so in less than 24 hours, we’ve got him.”

Steve stifled a yawn. “Who’s the man on the inside?”

Phillips smiled. “Best damn spy you’ll ever meet.” He turned serious again. “Agent Carter’s been feeding us information for years, and today the 107th gets to help Carter end the war.” 

~*~

Steve picked ash from his hair as he watched the bustle around them, the palatial mansion filled with chatter as the Allied forces took it over.  “Did you see him?” Steve asked, nudging his friend at his side, sitting on the step to catch his breath. 

“No,” Bucky shook his head and rubbed his left arm. “I was hoping to shake Carter’s hand.”

“He gave us everything we needed to get in here and get Schmidt.” Steve looked around. “Plenty of people I don’t know, but…”

“But none of them look like spies.” Bucky finished for him, as tired and disappointed as Steve. He stood, setting his helmet back on his head. “I wonder what happened to that dame.”

Steve stood, reaching back to adjust his shield. “Dame?”

“Yeah,” Bucky nodded as they headed down the hallway. “I saw Phillips talking to some dame: long brown hair, bright red lips, sweet red dress. She was mad as hell at him.” He laughed. “Phillips grabbed her by the arm and hauled her out.”

Steve turned them towards what looked to be the laboratory where Phillips was still handing out orders. “I’m sure they’re holding her for questioning. Besides, unless I missed it, they weren’t giving out dresses this morning when I was suiting up. Let’s go, we’ve still got a lot of work to do.”

~*~

Peggy sat in the back of the Jeep, cuffed just out of reach of a handful of Hydra operatives that were handcuffed in place against a rail. As much as she hated to admit it, Phillips was right: as much as she wanted to help take down Schmidt, she still had ties to multiple high level Nazi officials. They’d play a catch and release, she could give the Axis some false information about her imprisonment, and continue to feed the Allies all the information they needed to truly end the war. 

Peggy tugged on her handcuffs and yelled a few expletives as another battalion of Hydra officers were marched past her by US forces. 

It was all coming together, and it would all be over soon.

~*~

The beer was flat and the piano was out of tune, but that didn’t matter. The war was over, officially, and they were all going home. Pinky sat next to a French officer he didn’t know at the piano, while Dugan and Morita led a group of men surrounding it in drunken songs of celebration. 

Steve watched, a soft smile on his face. They had done it, and they deserved every minute of happiness they could get out of tonight. He only turned away from them when Bucky bumped against him, sliding beer over. 

“Last time you had that look,” Bucky started, a smirk betraying the elation he felt inside despite his suspicious tone, “you asked me to follow you into a war.”

“Haven’t you heard?” Steve paused to take a big swig of his drink. “War’s over now, Bucky.”

Bucky couldn’t stop the smile that spread over his face. “Some fucking thing, that, huh? Thought I’d never live to see the day.”

“Buck—”

“No,” his warmth did turn serious now as he set his hand on Steve’s shoulder. “You saved my life. More than once, and you know it.” Steve looked down, uncomfortable under his friend’s gaze, but Bucky followed, dipping his head. “Steve, I won’t let you back out of this now. You saved my life. Literally.”

Steve grew quiet, and looked at his friend with tears in his eyes. “Well, I’m with ya ‘till the end of the line. You’re the only family I’ve got left… I wasn’t ready for it to be the end, yet.”

Bucky smiled, turning away and blinking the tears out of his own eyes. “Yeah. Yeah.” He took a drink of his beer, fighting to contain the racing emotions. “So, what were you planning on next, then?”

Steve smiled broadly, a glint on his eye. “You know, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.” 

~*~

Chapter 1: Rogers and Barnes

Chapter Summary: We meet our heroes after the war, as Christmas nears.

Chapter A/N: Because if you don’t think these two would make and AMAZING Vaudeville singing and dancing comedy team, what are you even doing?

~*~

Bucky looked up at the marquis in the fading Florida sun, shading his squinted eyes with his hand. “It’s been three years, and I still say we sound like a law firm.”

“You gonna take the bar?” Steve deadpanned, looking up at the sign over the theater. “Barnes and Rogers doesn’t have quite the same ring.”

“I know,” Bucky shrugged and turned back, looking out at the bustling street as people moved around to get home for the night. “And I know they come to see you mostly anyway.”

 “That was only at first.” Steve tugged at Bucky’s sleeve to get him to stop looking at the sign and moved forward, knocking on the door. “Your autograph line is longer than mine, now. After a two-year run on Broadway the audience knows who the more talented one in the act is. They’re disappointed when I don’t put on the costume.”

Bucky sucked his teeth at him, disapproving of his assessment. “They still come to see you. You should get the suit back out.”

“No.” His refusal was flat as he nodded at the guard who opened the door for them. 

“You’d get more dates that way.” Bucky followed Steve into the theater, nodding at the guard as they passed. “You might get A date that way. You want to tell me why you passed on Doris again?”

“You mean the chorus girl that could barely string a sentence together?” Steve led them through the audience and to the stage door, past where the crew was dismantling their set for transport.  “I’m happy with the way things are, Bucky. I don’t need a new dame in my life every night.”

Bucky jogged to pass him, pushing the door Steve was trying to open closed to get his attention. “Just once I’d like to see you go on a date. Enjoy yourself.”

“Buck—" Steve sighed, stepping back and crossing his arms over his chest. “Come on.”

“Come on, what?” Bucky matched his stance, blocking the way to their dressing room with his body. “I know you. You’re lonely. You’re getting to be miserable to be around.”

Bucky’s observation was met with silence, only the muted sounds of hammers and the dimmed voices of the men working filled it. 

“You’ve been throwing everything with a little mascara and a skirt on at me for weeks now, Buck!” Steve finally retorted; his voice low but sharp. “I’m no good at the dating thing. You’ve seen it first-hand. I get it, why don’t you?” He sighed, defeated, when Bucky didn’t move a muscle and didn’t look away. “Can’t you just let me be? I’m happy enough with things the way they are.” Steve pushed past him, opening the door and moving through the tight hallway to their dressing room. 

Bucky cursed loudly, slamming the door closed behind him as he followed Steve farther backstage. “But you’re unhappy, Steve!”

“That’s where you’re wrong!” Steve didn’t even turn, just tossed the words over his shoulder without a care. “I’m plenty happy. I’m healthy. I have a job I love, that’s done quite well for the both of us if I do say so myself, and it has a good future.” He paused, turning at the door to their dressing room. “I don’t hassle you about taking out every chorus girl and ticket girl you can get your hands on while we’re out touring. Why do you need to try to make me do the same?”

“You know why?” Bucky stepped up to him, stopped and looked at the inadequate privacy of the hallway, and pushed their dressing room door open, shoving Steve through it before he slid in and closed the door behind him. “You want to know why?” he asked again, voice low and ranting. 

“Yes! Please!” Steve threw up his hands, leaning forward. “I’m going insane here with these girls you’re throwing at me.”

Bucky pressed his lips together, letting out a harsh breath through his nose before he continued. “Fine. Fine. You know what? Ever since that first big show on Broadway where we got to be producers, where we got to pick our own numbers and be the ones making the decisions, you’ve become obsessed. Every minute of every day you’re thinking about this show, or the next show, or the next song you’re gonna put in or the next dance routine that you’re going to have me do. You know I haven’t gotten a bit of rest for the last two years? Not one, Steve, because there you are, busting in my door in the middle of the night, shoving sheet music in my face while I’m trying to sleep.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “That was once.”

“Twice!” Bucky stood tall, pacing away and back again, “And that’s two times too many, Steve.”

Steve leaned back on his empty dressing table, kicking his toe against their packed trunks. “So, the answer is women?” He sighed, voice raising. “I like my work, Bucky. Where’s the crime in that?”

Bucky growled in frustration. “I’m glad you like it, Steve. I like it to. But I like it. I know when to stop. I know when to step away. I haven’t had one minute to myself in two years, Steve! I want to take a break. Take a vacation. Maybe use some of this money we’ve managed to make to do something fun we used to dream about, yeah? I can’t do that with you being stuck in show mode all day every day!”

Steve tossed his hands to the side, frustrated. “What do you want me to do about it?”

“What…” Bucky laughed. “What do I want you to do about it?” He laughed again, running his hands down his face in disbelief. “I want you to meet a girl, Steve. I want you to have flowers and dates and long legs and bright red lips on your mind, not duets and set changes!” He laughed again, almost maniacal. “I want you to get married, pop out six kids, and even if you only spend ten minutes a day with each one, just ten, that’s still a whole hour to myself that I get that I didn’t have before.” 

Bucky paced away, pulling the last of his things off his dressing table and stacking them in his trunk, not looking at Steve as he continued, slowly calming down. “I want you to be happy, buddy, and you ain’t.  You can pretend all day long, up and down the East Coast, but ya ain’t happy. Not fully.”

Steve sighed, letting his ire fall as he turned away to his own dressing table, opening the drawer and pulling out the last few things in there. He waited until his heart wasn’t pounding in his chest anymore to talk. “You really think I’m going to find happiness with the rocket scientists you’ve been trying to set me up with?” Steve clicked his tongue behind his teeth. “Last girl could barely put a sentence together if she didn’t read it off a page.” 

“No!” Bucky bit the word out, rolling his eyes at Steve. “But you need to get out there. Have a date or two. They’re a good place to start. Nice girls who aren’t expecting much, you know?” 

Steve put the handkerchief he had in his hand into his trunk and stopped, leaning on his hands. “The kinda girls we meet in this business are young. Ambitious. They want me to help their career or set them up in a house somewhere to be arm candy, Buck.” Steve sighed, running a hand though his hair and staring up at himself in the mirror. “They won’t get it when I wake up screaming a night because I’m remembering what I saw when we liberated that camp, or when I get the shakes because a car backfires in the street.”

Bucky stopped what he was doing, and looked at his friend, his own dour expression on his face. “The only people who get that are the ones who were there, Steve.”

Steve nodded and turned away, the heat of the argument dead after the somber turn it took. 

They descended into silence again as they finished packing up the dressing room, checking each inch for combs and last pages of sheet music that might get inadvertently left behind. Steve finally locked his trunk and stopped, leaning on it as he watched Bucky try to shove a last, nearly forgotten pair of shoes into his. “I’m not saying you’re wrong.”

“You can’t because I’m not,” Bucky mumbled through gritted teeth as he shoved a coat aside to make way for the shoes. 

Steve winced, knowing he’d be the one to steam the wrinkles out of that once they started the show back up again. “Partly.” He waited until Bucky turned to continue. “But I want…” Steve sighed, looking away. 

“You want a nice girl who wants to settle down, have a family, maybe a little white picket fence in the suburbs somewhere and a dog that you’ll have to walk every night. Am I right?”

Steve scratched his chin, looking away. “I hadn’t really thought about the dog.”

Bucky threw a soft punch at his arm. “You hadn’t thought of the dog my ass. You know that’s what you want.”

Steve almost smiled, “I know you know that’s what I want.”

Bucky laughed, moving around to stand next to him, nudging him with his shoulder. “You know I know because it’s all you talked about since you liked Betty Carpenter in the fifth grade.” 

Steve chucked. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess.”

“You know.” Bucky sighed, eyes flitting over the empty dressing room instead of at his friend. “I know you’re never going to be happy going around with girls like I am. I like the excitement of meeting new people, Steve. I like finding a new face in every town to get to know and to get the thrill of new possibilities every few weeks. I know you’re not like that. But I’m trying to help the only way I know how.”

“I know.” Steve nudged him back with his shoulder, then turned back to his trunk, lifting it easily. “One day, the right girl’s gonna come along. If she’ll have me, we’ll get started on that house in the suburbs and those six kids for you, ok?” He sighed, stopping as he reached the door. “An hour a day gonna be enough?”

Bucky smirked, lifting his own trunk with somewhat less ease. “Well, I’ll get a few more minutes to myself when you’re walking the dog, won’t I?” 

Steve led them down the hall to where the crew was starting to pile up the set pieces by the big double doors that led to the loading dock. “Not if I make a chore for the kids.”

Bucky groaned as they set down their trunks. “You would do that to me, wouldn’t you?” He sat heavily on the trunk as Steve waved their production manager over. “I’m gonna need at least three more kids, then.”

“Talk to my imaginary future wife,” Steve mumbled at him, standing up tall as their production manager approached. “How’s load out going, Will?”

“On time, Mr. Rogers.” The young man held up his clipboard and flipped through a few pages. “Cast has all signed out, all extremely happy with the time off and Christmas bonuses you’ve given them—”

“Just because we don’t have any other family to spend the holidays with doesn’t mean they should have to suffer,” Bucky commented gently, Steve nodding in agreement. 

Will smiled. “Well, we are all very grateful.” He picked up his clipboard and slipped an envelope off of it. “Your train tickets for tonight arrived just a little while ago, and I’ll make sure your trunks get right to the station.”

“Thanks again,” Steve replied, taking the tickets and looking them over. “How’s the set coming?” He handed them over to Bucky. 

Will took a quick look around. “Almost done, that’ll make it on time, too.”

“Good!” Bucky stood, flicking the envelope with the tickets in it before safely tucking it in his pocket. “We’ve got to head out- we’re checking out an act.”

“I almost forgot,” Steve mumbled. 

“I didn’t know we were looking for a new act for the review,” Will looked slightly concerned, eyes twitching back and forth between the two men. 

“Nah,” Bucky replied, clapping the young man on the shoulder. “It’s a sister act, we’re going to give them some pointers for an old Army buddy.”

Will nodded, then scrunched up his face as he thought. “Well, if they’re any good, the second act is still running short. We could spare up to seven minutes.” Will stopped, looking up at Steve. “That is, if you didn’t have something else in mind, Mr. Rogers.”

“Oh, I’m sure Mr. Rogers has something in mind.” Bucky grabbed Steve’s shoulders, turning him before he could get a word out. “Thanks for all your help, Will! Have a Merry Christmas!”

“You, too, sirs!”

Steve waited until Bucky had steered him out of Will’s earshot before wiggling out of his grip. “Why are we going to see this act again??

“Because Martinelli asked us to.” Bucky steered him out of the building and pointed downtown. 

“Martinelli? Benny Martinelli? The one from the mess?” Steve looked at him sideways as they moved down the street. 

Bucky hummed in agreement. “Same one.”

Steve sidestepped a group of kids. “I had no idea he had sisters.”

“Well, if they look anything like him, we’re already in trouble.” Bucky winced and stopped at the crosswalk, turning the Steve. “He had a face only his mother could love.”

Steve nodded, gritting his teeth, watching as the cars went by. “You know, I talked to him so many times—”

“Weaseling out extra portions,” Bucky teased. 

“Super human biology, I’ll have you remember,” Steve snuck in as they started across the street.  “He never mentioned he had sisters.”

“Who knows, we might get there and it might be him in a wig with a mop trying to pass off as a sister act.” Bucky threw his hands up and laughed good naturedly. “We’re doing an old Army buddy a favor.” 

The rest of the walk was quick, and they were ushered to a table on an outdoor veranda with more fanfare than Steve liked. “I’ll never get used to this part,” Steve mumbled. 

“Can you just try to enjoy it, for once?” Bucky whispered back, always just a little exasperated with the wat Steve didn’t quite enjoy the perks of being a famous performer and war hero. He turned to the host seating them by the dancefloor. “Excuse me, have the Martinelli Sisters gone on yet?”

“No, but they should be on in about fifteen minutes.” The man set a menu in front of them. 

“You mind telling them we’re here?”

“Of course, Mr. Barnes.”

~*~

The knock on the door startled Peggy, and she pulled her dress up to her slip-clad body, even though no one had come in to their tiny dressing room. “Who is it?” she called in an even, American accent. The host replied with his name quietly, and Peggy tossed her costume on the bench and wrapped up quickly in her robe before opening the door. “Everything alright?”

The man smiled, “Yes, quite, ladies. I just wanted to tell you, Barnes and Rogers are here, and they asked about your act specifically. Mr. Barnes even said to tell you they were here!”

Angie leaned over Peggy’s shoulder, smiling brightly. “Oh, how wonderful! Ain’t that great, Peg?” 

Peggy’s face stayed stoic. “Lovely.”

The host, feeling tension, slipped away quietly. As the door shut Peggy pulled off her robe, tossing it down and picking up her costume again. “I told you not to do it,” she huffed softly in a gentle English accent as she stepped into her gown. 

Angie deflated, sitting on the small bench at her make-up mirror. “Are you sore?”

“Sore? Yes.” Peggy’s tone was crisp and annoyed, and avoided looking at her friend as she slipped the gown up. “What happens when they find out we’re not sisters? That they’re not doing a favor for a friend because you were the one that wrote that letter?”

Angie stood and moved over to Peggy, turning her around and zipping her into her dress. “If Benny weren’t in Alaska where it takes six months to get a letter here to there and back again, he’d have done it for us. I know he woulda.” She was bright and positive, just like she always seemed to be. “Besides,” Angie turned Peggy back to her, twisting the curls around her face into place and smoothing her dress over her shoulders, “it’s good business. We keep sitting here playing little clubs waiting for fate to happen, we’ll both be old and grey.”

Peggy shook her head, finding it extremely difficult to be mad at her friend. She couldn’t help the smile that crept into the corner of her mouth. “You’re going to get us pushed right out of this business, you know. First the sister act when we’re obviously not sisters…”

“Semantics,” Angie tossed in, flapping her hand at Peggy as she turned away to put the finishing touches on her make-up. 

“And now this?” Peggy sighed, stepping over and leaning her hip against the table where Angie was finishing her make-up. She crossed her arms over her chest.

Angie looked up at her, and then shook her head, going back to her mascara. “You know, you’re clucking about like a mother hen here again.”

“Some days I do wonder how you manage,” Peggy sighed, “but I know you know what you’re doing.”

“I’ve been in this business a long time,” Angie muttered as she lined her lips, “We need to give fate a little push if we want to go places.”

“Five minutes, girls!” The call came through the door.

“Thank you!” Angie called as Peggy turned hurriedly to her mirror to make some last-minute adjustments. “Oh, stop it, English. You’re a catch. He’ll be crazy about you.”

Peggy huffed a laugh through her nose. “Which one?”

Angie winked. “Whichever one doesn’t see me first, that’s who.”  

[feyroon]

Pre-relationship for John and Scout plz :3

rubs my hands together. love thinkin about them

1. How did they first meet?

Scout met John after Charles brings her back to camp (around chapter 2 in game). She ran into Charles and took care of him after a bad snake bite. The man definitely knows how to deal with snake bites but I know Scout probably fussed over this total stranger, made him food, and went to get him medicine while he rested. He took pity on her and brought her back to camp to meet Dutch, feeling guilty leaving her out in the swamp by herself. That is where she meets John. 

2. What was their first impression of each other?

In my “Scout joins the gang AU” Abigail leaves with Jack shortly after Scout comes to camp, a couple weeks after the gang settles in horseshoe overlook. Scout hears them arguing many times while she’s tending to the horses, feels a bit sorry for him. She understands that it’s hard to step up and feel appreciated when someone is always screaming at you, even blaming you for getting attacked by wolves. And then Abigail leaves and John is really grumpy for a while, but incredibly relieved. John doesn’t think much of Scout at first, she’s a girl. She’s not bad looking. But god, Abigail and Jack are gone and he has conflicting feelings and he needs a drink.

3. Did any of their friends or family want them to get together?

I can imagine some of the ladies noticing Scout’s eyes wandering on John and teasing her about it. Karen especially, “that man’s a mess” she would say. Arthur would be pretty oblivious until mid chapter 3 when John starts to ask him about Scout out of the blue. He doesn’t think they’d be horrible together, but still, John’s an idiot and he thinks Scout probably deserves much better. I think Dutch would send John and Scout on errands and jobs together just to see John’s face go red as a beet.

4. Who felt romantic feelings first?

I think it was mutual, and happened slowly over time for both of them. I like to imagine that in the mission where John and Arthur steal those sheep, they take Scout along and she’s the one who uses the rolling block rifle to scare off the ranchers. She probably showed off a little bit, shooting one of the men’s hats clean off. John was probably head over heels right then seeing her snipe like that. There was probably a time before that, right after Abigail left that Scout found him sitting and drinking alone while everyone else was asleep, and she sat next to him and told him he’d be okay. And that some people aren’t meant to be fathers, and she knows he’s trying his best in the only ways he knows how. Except he was maybe exaggerating his injury just a tad bit to get some rest, but they both laughed it off and John says it’s the first time he’s laughed like that in a really long time. Scout probably touches his hand a little as a reassuring gesture before she gets up to leave, and John is left sitting there eyes wide and face red and just goes “Fuck”. tl;dr Scout shows John basic understanding and reassurance and this man just falls fast and hard because he has not felt loved by anyone close to him in forever. And also she’s hot when she holds a rifle.

5. Did either of them try to resist their feelings?

Probably both of them. Scout stays relatively oblivious until Arthur figures it out. She’s always liked John in the back of her mind since they talked the first time. She liked seeing his face go soft when she spoke kindly to him. But he’s just been left by the mother of his child and she figures he’s not looking for anything anytime soon. Scout tries to give him space while taking little opportunities to show him kindness and understanding. John holds back because he still has a lot on his mind, and a part of him thinks he doesn’t deserve someone like her. When you’ve been berated for every little thing you’ve done wrong most of your life, you start to believe you’re no good at all. Scout begins to repair that part of John, very slowly.

6. If you had told one of them that the other would be their soulmate, what would they think?

When they first met? They would both probably laugh it off. Faces would go red, and they probably wouldn’t believe it. After a few months? Both of them would probably say something like “I think I could get used to that.” I don’t think either of them would believe in soulmates, just two people who are so undoubtedly well together that everything starts to make sense. They don’t have to be soulmates, they just have to promise to be good things for each other. Stare up at the open night sky over the heartlands and forget that you’ve got the law hot on your trail. But, technically speaking, they would be soulmates. John would never find a love like that again. 

7. What would their lives be like if they had never met?

John obviously, would continue on the canon story of rdr2, into rdr1. Scout would probably still be on her own somewhere. Her dream was to build a house on her grandparents’ land in Big Valley. Not settle down, but just have a home somewhere she could always come back to. She would probably travel a lot, and go see New Austin, and the mountains in Ambarino. She’d probably meet a lot of people but no one would stay in her life too long. Very cheesy but both of them would always have that puzzle like piece missing that they could never find.

some of my Scout lore comes from this absolutely wonderful ficlet written by @reddeaddufus that you can read here. I loved some of the things they added in so much that I made them canon lol 

[southernlynxx]

A Night to Reminisce

For the Safe Haven Easter Egg Hunt event - Congrats @foundynnel for finding that sneaky egg, and thank you for your patience while your overdue prize was written! Rating: Teen Status: Complete  Fandom: RDR2 Characters: Sadie Adler, Hosea Matthews, John Marston (Mentioned) Canon/AU: Canon Compliant Summary: “Does it get easier?” She asks quietly, that one pressing question she both needs and fears the answer of. Warnings: Spoilers for Chapter 1

It’s close to midnight when Sadie trudges back to camp, the air thick and humid against her skin; a persisting aggravation carried over from the swamp what stood a stone’s throw away.

Her body is still taut as a bowline and her eyes drawn to every twitch and quiver of the undergrowth; it's enough for her fingers to clench around the smooth, familiar barrel of the repeater no longer there. She mutters a quiet curse with Marston’s name not far behind it; recalls how the man had approached her tentatively in the darkness and reached for the rifle like a fool set on removing a red rag from a bullpen, assuring her a twelve hour guard shift was good and plenty.

She liked Marston well enough, so she’d let the rifle go with only the slightest resistance, but not without the low, almost-joking warning not to press his luck like that again too soon. Even though she’d been reluctant to give up the gun, the man’s disconcerted look had been a fair trade in her book.

The camp is quiet as she enters it, looping around Pearson’s wagon to slip a bottle of beer from the well-stocked crate to unwind before a night of restless, haunted sleep. Just as she lifts the neck of the bottle to her lips, a light catches her eye, bleeding around the thick trunk of the oak tree rooted in the centre of camp. With everyone supposedly sleeping and all the campfires banked low for the night, it’s curiosity what teases her slowly around the tree to locate the source of the light.  She discovers a lamp and none other than Hosea sitting at the weathered wooden table  - leaning back in his chair and chuckling away to himself with a bottle at his elbow.

It amuses her to think the old outlaw had outdone the younger men in drinking and thus been left to savour his victory alone, so with a quirk to the corner of her mouth she asks: “Bit late for a party, ain’t it?”

Hosea straightens with nothing short of surprise, yet the eyes that pin her down are shockingly clear and bright — perfectly sober — which surprises her in turn.

“Mrs Adler,” he greets, warm and unbothered by her interruption, “Never too late, in my books. Bessie and I were always up until the wee hours, talking about nothing.” He gestures to the table, to the framed portrait that Sadie had failed to notice before, of a fair, homely woman sitting alongside a young yet unmistakable image of Hosea. “It’s our anniversary… twenty-two years…”

Something in Sadie’s stomach drops, something painfully raw, but beneath it resonates a bone-deep sadness that feels like it could span years ahead of her. Briefly, ever so briefly, she wonders if Hosea had once felt so blighted by fate and spurned by life itself like she did these past hellish months, so torn from his happiness that even boundless sorrow could not fill the void.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” she says and makes to retreat, but Hosea holds out a hand as if to stall her.

“Wait— Mrs Adler, please, sit down… Bessie always did love company.”

Her refusal is imminent, weren’t nothing but cinders and bitterness she could bring to a moment she figured was meant to be tender and reminiscent, but Hosea’s beseeching look — etched with lines that soften what would have once been sharp, conniving features — indeed stalls her.

She ain’t had much of a chance to get to know Hosea Matthews, but figures she owes him at least some of her time for the handsome stallion he and Lenny had ridden into camp and matter of factly dispensed into Sadie’s care not two weeks ago. So, mindful of that unspoken debt, she draws back a chair and sits opposite Hosea with Bessie between them.

“Did Mrs Matthews approve of this life you’re leadin'?” She asks for want of anything better, the companionable silence too pressing with a need to be filled. Was always easiest to be the one with the reins of a topic, to keep from being asked those sad questions others posed and used to pry in the name of sympathy when she let them lead. 

Hosea chuckles and takes a sip of his bottle which encourages Sadie to do the same. “I wouldn’t say approve,” he admits. “But… she understood. I’d lived this life many years, and this way of living… the people… they’re hard to leave behind. Not so sure I was proud of trying, for the record, but Bessie, bless her, she understood — came back with me.” He leans on the table, bottle cradled between his palms, and the silence that follows is heavy in a different way, tinged with loss and regret but a gentle, persisting fondness. Sadie rests her elbows on the table, finds her ever-erected shields suddenly too heavy to bear.

“Does it get easier?” She asks quietly, that one pressing question she both needs and fears the answer of.

Hosea lifts his head, pale eyes sharp and searching in the lamplight, and it takes a great deal of will for Sadie not to turn away.

“The rage… the resentment… it fades, slowly, over time. You start to forget the heat of it, the bitterness that you once feared, or perhaps wished, would consume you. The loss… well, that stays with you for a good long while, visits now and then like an old friend you can’t turn away. But the memories, good and bad, the joy they brought you… they never leave you.”

A warmth spreads over the back of her hand, and Sadie looks down to see droplets of moisture that’s soon overlaid by Hosea’s palm; he squeezes tight. 

It’s the only tear Sadie allows herself to shed as they finish their drinks and reminisce late into the night, but it's the first to fall for the bittersweet hope that her Jake’s goodness may yet be stirred from the ashes of her memories, once she'd finished taking to task the bastards that took him from her too soon.