#even atlanta would be manageable

[binary5tar1117]

I hate twitter or whatever its called these days so it's kinda annoying that concert announcements are only over there. Like... release a 30 second youtube clip? Or community update? Or literally anywhere else please.

[freebooter4ever]

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[trans-axolotl]

ID: Intersex activist Max Beck standing in front of the American Academy of Pediatrics with a sign that says Silence=Death.

On October 26th, 1996, the first ever protest for intersex liberation in America took place when activists from Hermaphrodites With Attitude took to the streets to protest the American Academy of Pediatrics. Later memorialized as intersex awareness day, this important action was a milestone for the American intersex movement. Max Beck, one of the intersex activists from HWA, documented the entire protest and later published their recollection in the Intersex Awakening Issue of the Chrysalis Journal. The full piece is pasted under the cut.  

"But we’re here today to say we’re back, we’re no longer lost, and we’d like to offer some feedback. We’re here to say that the treatment paradigm for “managing” intersexuals is in desperate, urgent need of re-examination. We’re back to say that early surgical intervention leads to more than “just” physical scars and sexual dysfunction. We’re back to say that the lack of education and counseling for intersexuals, our families and the community at large does not lead to a blissful, healthy, well-adjusted ignorance. Rather, it too often leads to a life-threatening shroud of silence, secrecy, and self-hatred. 

I’m here representing over one hundred fifty intersexals throughout North America. One hundred fifty intersexuals are saying: Please! Listen! You doctors, you pediatric endocrinologists and urologists treating intersexuals, you nurses interacting with intersexuals and their families, listen to us! We understand intersexuality, not because we have studied the medical literature — although many of us have — not because we have performed surgeries, but because we have been grappling with intersexuality every day of our lives. We’re here to say that those who would have us believe that intersexuality is rare, cloud the issue by breaking us and separating us into narrow etiological categories which have little meaning in terms of our actual, lived experience. 

We’re here so that other intersexuals can find us — for many of us, finding others like ourselves has been a lifealtering, even life-saving, experience. We’re here to reach parents before their intersex child is born. We’re here to elicit the help of other sympathetic professionals. We can take a stand as openly intersex adults without being crushed by shame! And we did!" 

Hermaphrodites With Attitude Take to the Streets: By Max Beck, 1997

In late October of 1996, Hermaphrodites with Attitude took to the streets, in the first public demonstration by intersexuals in modern history. On a glorious fall day, the like of which you can only find in New England, under a crackling, cloudless sky, twenty-odd protesters joined forces to picket the Annual Meeting of the American Academy of Pediatricians in Boston. Deeply aware of the historical and personal significance of the action, and — correctly — surmising that a notebook diary would not be practical on such a whirlwind, windy week-end, I took a small hand-held tape recorder with me. What follows are excerpts from the resulting transcript.

October 24, 1996 2:45 PM, Atlanta’s Hartsfield International Airport

The trip has only just begun and I am already exhausted. Hot. Starving. Fifteen minutes until take-off. Every businessman boarding the plane looks like a pediatric endocrinologist, Boston-bound. Silly thought, testimony to what? My anxiety? My fear? My giddy anticipation? If these bespectacled, suit-and-tie sporting men were pediatricians, would they be flying coach on Continental, with a layover in Newark? I’m headed for Boston, for the Annual Meeting of the American Academy of Pediatricians (AAP). Tens of thousands of pediatricians. I’m not a pediatrician, though, nor am I a nurse; in fact, I barely managed to complete my B.A. I’m a manager of a technical laboratory. We don’t work with children, and the AAP certainly didn't invite me, so why am I going?

With the plane taxiing toward take-off, this is a lousy time to reassess. I’m going. I’m going because I am intersexed. I’m going because the doctors and nurses who treated me as an infant and a child and an adolescent, and those who continue to treat intersexed infants and children today, consider me “lost to follow-up.” I was lost— that’s part of the problem. Now, I’m back.

9:02 PM: Boston’s North End

I’m comfortably ensconced in Alice’s warehouse condo in Boston’s North End, a renovated warehouse with a view of the city skyline, ceilings easily twenty feet high, exposed beams and brick, gorgeous tile floor. As I speak, my hostess is preparing an absolutely phenomenal meal. The aroma of roasted peppers permeates the entire space. Tomorrow, the work begins; my project this evening is to unwind and enjoy this wonderful meal. Easier said than done. I’m feeling excited, enervated, I feel very alive, something I don’t feel very often, I feel very present and aware. It could be my exhaustion, it could be the Chardonnay. But I think, rather, that the excitement is anticipation about what we are about to do. Being here, finally being prepared to raise a voice, to be heard, to be seen, a vocal, out, proud hermaphrodite who is standing up to say, “Let’s rethink this, this isn’t working, we’ve been hurt, stop what you’re doing, listen to us!” I’m really looking forward to meeting Morgan at the airport in the morning; it’s always amazing to make eye contact with someone else who has been there.

October 25, 7:38 AM Boston Commons

En route to my encounter with the AAP, walking the approximately two miles from my hostess’ domicile to the Marriott Hotel at Copley Square, I pause in the Boston Commons to enjoy a park bench, to sip my Starbuck’s decaf, and to watch a group of senior citizens performing Japanese swordsmanship on top of the hill beneath a monument to some forgotten general. The city is cool this morning, but clear, and it promises to be a beautiful weekend. That’s good: we won’t be rained out. I’ve got a stack of about ninety ISNA brochures in the bag at my side, crammed in the inside pocket of my leather jacket. If I want these pamphlets to get inside, I’ve got to get to the site of the Nurses’ Panel at the Marriott before they close the doors. Then it’s back out to the airport, to pick up Morgan. My feet are already killing me.

October 26, 9:15 AM: North End

Morgan and I are sitting at our hostess’ breakfast table, pulling our thoughts together. In a few minutes, we’ll have to leave to pick up Riki at the airport. The logistics of pulling together an action are mind-boggling. There’s no describing the thrill, though, of all that work, all those phone calls, all those miles. Riding a clattering subway on a Saturday morning, seated beside another living, breathing, laughing, swearing intersexual, hugging near-strangers at unfamiliar airports, then riding back, together, defiant, determined, organized, to the heart of so much of our pain, so much of our anger, so much of our need. We gathered in front of the huge Hynes Auditorium, pamphlets and leaflets in hand, and met the AAP attendees as they left the convention center for lunch. The next hour-and-a-half was a blur, as we positioned ourselves in strategic locations before the Hynes, held signs and “Hermaphrodites with Attitude” banner aloft, distributed our literature, engaged AAP members and passers-by in conversation and debate, spoke to microphones, to cameras. In all that time, I recorded only one fragment of a breathless sentence. 

Saturday, 12:20 PM Outside the Hynes

We’ve got all the exits covered, and it’s an incredible, incredibly empowering experience. I remember the words I spoke to the TV camera, if only because I had scribbled a rough outline on the airplane, pirating mightily from Cheryl’s press release. And because the moment was so salient, so real. Me, Max, bespectacled, with blisters on my feet and chapped lips, speaking out to untold numbers of invisible viewers (and a few bewildered pediatricians behind me.)

"When an intersex child is born, parents and caregivers are faced with what seems to be a terrible dilemma: here is an infant who does not fit what our society deems normal. Immediate medical intervention seems indicated, in order to spare the parents and the child the inevitable stigmatization associated with being different. Yet the infant is not facing a medical emergency; intersexuality is rarely if ever life-threatening. Rather, the psychosocial crisis of the parents and caregivers is medicalized. 

Intersexuality is assumed to be a birth defect which can be corrected, outgrown and forgotten. The experiences of members of the intersex support groups indicate that intersexuality cannot be fixed; an intersex infant grows up to be an intersex adult. This hasn’t been explored, because intersex patients are almost invariably “lost to follow-up.” The abstract of a talk that will be given at this very conference by a doctor who treats intersex infants concedes that “the psychological issues surrounding genital reconstruction are inadequately understood.”

Part of the problem is that we were lost to follow-up, and there were reasons for that. But we’re here today to say we’re back, we’re no longer lost, and we’d like to offer some feedback. We’re here to say that the treatment paradigm for “managing” intersexuals is in desperate, urgent need of re-examination. We’re back to say that early surgical intervention leads to more than “just” physical scars and sexual dysfunction. We’re back to say that the lack of education and counseling for intersexuals, our families and the community at large does not lead to a blissful, healthy, well-adjusted ignorance. Rather, it too often leads to a life-threatening shroud of silence, secrecy, and self-hatred. I’m here representing over one hundred fifty intersexals throughout North America.

One hundred fifty intersexuals are saying: Please! Listen! You doctors, you pediatric endocrinologists and urologists treating intersexuals, you nurses interacting with intersexuals and their families, listen to us! We understand intersexuality, not because we have studied the medical literature — although many of us have — not because we have performed surgeries, but because we have been grappling with intersexuality every day of our lives. We’re here to say that those who would have us believe that intersexuality is rare, cloud the issue by breaking us and separating us into narrow etiological categories which have little meaning in terms of our actual, lived experience. We’re here so that other intersexuals can find us — for many of us, finding others like ourselves has been a lifealtering, even life-saving, experience. We’re here to reach parents before their intersex child is born. We’re here to elicit the help of other sympathetic professionals. We can take a stand as openly intersex adults without being crushed by shame! And we did!

7:20 PM: Boston’s North End

Goddess, this is so sweet, so liberating! I was so reluctant a week ago, having my Jesus-in-Gethsemane experience, reluctant to accept — not an onus or responsibility but — to accept who I am. And here’s where the hard work really begins. I’m exhausted when I think of the road before us. But then, it’s nothing like the road behind us. 

Max Beck, 1997.

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Finding Refuge.

Chapter two.

Surviving a Zombie Apocalypse with Terry Richmond

“I’m so sorry, Raelynn. The position has been filled.”

Raelynn Matthews looked into the eyes of the receptionist standing behind a sleek front desk. The stillness within that corporate building in Downtown Atlanta left an eerie feeling she was intensely familiar of.

“E–Excuse me?” Raelynn finally found the words to speak, “I–I–I–don’t understand.”

The nonchalant receptionist stared back at Raelynn with a cool expression and a slow blink.

“I received an email from your company for a job opportunity. You have an opening here,” Raelynn displayed the email to the receptionist, “So help me understand…”

The sunken, almost lifeless eyes of the receptionist flicked down to her iPhone and then back to her face.

“That email was sent two days ago. We don’t wait around for a response. If you wanted the job, you’d have shown up within the allotted timeframe.”

The even, condescending tone of the alabaster bitch sitting before her was about to bring the evil out of Raelynn.

“Are you being sarcastic? The date says March 25th. Today is March 25th—”

“I’m trying to be nice here. What would you rather me do? Go grab one of the big boys and have him tell you what I just told you?”

Emerald green eyes stared into Raelynn’s coffee brown orbs. The receptionist with a nameplate that reads: Monica Caudle, started packing her patchwork satchel, prepared to leave Raelynn standing there. The sound of dress shoes against polished, concrete floors echoed around her as her fingers covered in various silver rings twitched against the desk’s surface.

“You know your way out—AHHH! WHAT THE FUCK?!”

Somehow, Raelynn’s hand smacked against Monica’s Big Gulp cup and spilled the contents of a blue slurpie all over her white capris and black, pointed toe, ballet flats. Monica leaped up and almost tripped from the velocity of her sudden movements. The blue, icy-cold liquid drifted all over her desk, soaking very important documents and Monica’s AirPod Pro case.

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!” Monica screeched, “I OUTTA SLAP THE FUCK OUT OF YOU—”

Whoops,” Raelynn twisted her full lips and gave a single shoulder shrug, “My hand just…has a mind of its own.”

“I’m calling security—”

“Call them, I don’t care. You deserved it. I’m sure you’ve gotten by so far in your miserable life being nasty and rude to people. Today is the day you feel how it feels to be treated poorly. And it doesn’t help the fact that you’re so ugly on the outside. It matches that rotten core of yours.”

Raelynn beamed at Monica. Monica stared at her with her mouth agape.

“Think about what I’ve said. Really think on it, Monica. I could have done worse,” Raelynn placed her large, black, Telfar bag over her shoulder, “Have a good rest of your day!”

Turning, Raelynn walked away, ready to get so far away from that building. She refused to allow herself to cry over it. Maybe it was a sign for the heavens above that this job wasn’t for her. She was still in college working towards a certificate in medical billing and coding. Other opportunities were on the horizon.

Raelynn had a temper, one she couldn’t control when in situations. Slowing down, breathing deeply, and taking a break before responding were methods she tried to use to reduce her anger. Practicing relaxation skills and developing new anger-management strategies may also help. She just started therapy, so it was an adjustment for her.

A black girl from Decatur, apart of the 14.57 percent of African Americans within the eastern suburb. Her foster parents had her attend the best schools, put her in many clubs from ballet to karate, and made sure she got a full ride to Spelman.

You may have heard the expression “children are resilient,” promoting the idea that children can overcome and conquer hardship and trauma. While it may be comforting to believe in the rhetoric of childhood resilience — that children are immune to adverse experiences and won’t be damaged by trauma — it’s far from the truth. Raelynn suffered heavily from PTSD. She was neglected by her biological parents and abused by her mother’s boyfriend at the age of seven.

The cigarette burn in the center of her chest was a reminder. The sensation of piping hot water against her skin brought back memories of sitting in a hot tub after receiving a beating, the whelps on her skin so painful she couldn’t stand the heat against her skin. Nights without a meal because she ‘disrespected her mother’s man’. Going to school at the age of nine with a black eye was enough to have her 4th grade teacher call CPS.

“Take her, I can’t afford her anyway. One less thing to be concerned with.”

George and Tonya Williams adopted her. George was a Veteran and Tonya was a pediatric nurse. They drove all the way from Decatur to take her back with them. George was a very disciplined man. Very straight and very structured. He was like a drill sergeant. Tonya was loving and often times smothered Raelynn. They built a picture–perfect daughter to their liking, and Raelynn felt she didn’t have a say in the matter. Although she was forever grateful of them, she wished they could understand.

Raelynn became rebellious. She skipped school, got suspended multiple times, fought often, and stayed out way past curfew. It was a cry for help that fell on deaf ears. Eventually, George started to regret adopting Raelynn. And just like her mother’s boyfriend, he hit her. Slapped her in the face. Slapped her while her foster mother watched. Thankfully, she was of age to leave them both behind and figure out what she was going to do.

She left Decatur and moved to Atlanta where she worked two jobs to make ends meet, got her license, made poor dating choices, and partied till she couldn’t party anymore. It did nothing but numb the pain. She tried reaching out to her biological father, but discovered he had passed from colon cancer a year prior. Her mother was no longer with that abusive man but she was living in South Carolina with extended family until she got back on her feet.

Before stepping off the curb and into the street, Raelynn stopped herself, realizing what she was about to do. Was she about to…walk into incoming traffic? She took two wide steps back and closed her eyes. That wasn’t the answer. Raelynn noticed a bench and took a seat. She sat her bag down next to her and retrieved a small note pad and a pen with purple ink. Raelynn removed the top to the pen with her teeth and started jotting down what had just happened.

After what felt like an hour, Raelynn stood from the bench and walked safely across the street to her parked car and climbed inside. The drive back to her shared apartment with her roommate took longer than usual, cars bumper to bumper. Raelynn opened the door to their two bedroom apartment and dropped her shoes off where she stood. Walking inside, she spotted her roommate, Ashley, an art major with the beauty of a pageant girl and the body of an IG model. Ashley was wearing a matching, pale–pink pajama set with her honey blonde knotless braids cascading down her back.

“Raelynn? Did you see the news?” Ashley glanced over her shoulder at Raelynn with light–brown eyes, “look…”

This is a worldwide emergency broadcast; a viral outbreak has been reported and is spreading quickly. The virus is a fast acting strain and is passed through bodily fluids from the infected. Once bitten or contaminated in any way, it attacks your bloodstream and brain. The symptoms of the infected include profound sweating, fever and nausea.

Raelynn’s eyes were hooked to the screen. Ashley stood from the carpet and began ringing her shaky hands as fear rushed through her. Life was about to get interesting. So, a worldwide pandemic? Great. What else can go wrong? They were behind in rent, she couldn’t get another job after being fired from her job delivering packages from Amazon. With a pandemic, she’d have no way to pay bills and survive.

Call up George and Tonya. Move back home to Decatur, she thought.

“It’s probably one of those distractions, Ashley. Just like all of that Area 51 bullshit—”

“Shhhhh! Listen!”

Ashley turned the volume up on their wall—mounted flat screen.

The virus is fatal and there is no cure as we speak; we have reports coming in now that the infected that have passed are rising and attacking the non–infected. Please stay in your homes and do not get close to anyone sick, in severe cases that you need to protect yourself, the only way to stop them is damaging the brain. Do not try to come to emergency services or hospitals and wait for more information…

“Rae…”

Ashley was starting to have a panic attack right before Raelynn’s eyes. The intense fear and anxiety she was experiencing made her dizzy. Ashley almost lost her balance and fell face first against the carpet. Raelynn dropped her bag and rushed over, slowly lowering Ashley to the sofa. She wrapped her arms around her shaking body, rubbing her back in soothing circles. Ashley’s hyperventilating began to slow down.

“Ash, it’s okay…it’s okay—”

“I need to call my mom and my sister! I need to know that they’re okay!” Ashley shouted hysterically.

“Ash, Ash, please, calm down—”

“NO!”

Ashley shoved Raelynn, causing her to fall back against the couch while she stormed off down the hall. Raelynn shot up from the couch and followed Ashley, angered by her rage against her when she was only trying to help. She stood within the doorway of Ashley’s bedroom and watched her pack an overnight bag with random pieces of clothing.

“So, you’re just going to go out there when they just said to stay indoors—”

“I need to be with my family, Raelynn. They’re all I’ve got left. I don’t expect you to understand that—”

“HOLD ON,” Raelynn charged inside of Ashley’s room, “I was only trying to help you! If they’re saying it isn’t safe to go out, then why would you?—”

Raelynn wasn’t prepared for what just happened. Ashley bent over in front of her and vomited all over her bedroom floor. Raelynn rocked back on her heels to avoid it from getting on her. The putrid smell of her stomach contents filled the cramped space and Raelynn couldn’t stand there any longer.

Ashley looked up at her with a sweaty face and spit hanging from her bottom lip. They locked eyes and the silence between them was almost chilling.

The symptoms of the infected include profound sweating, fever and nausea.

“How long have you been feeling like this?” Raelynn questioned.

Ashley avoided Raelynn’s penetrating gaze.

“Ashley, how long?”

Ashley wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She rushed past Raelynn and into their shared bathroom to grab cleaning supplies. Raelynn watched her scrub and clean, the scent of bleach mixed with vomit toxic to her senses.

“Do you think you were infected—”

“Shut up right now, Raelynn.”

“I need to ask these questions! Because if you are…if you are…”

Raelynn disappeared down the hall to her room. Fuck what that news anchor said on television. If Ashley was indeed infected, she would attack Raelynn and do the exact same to her. She packed an even bigger bag, grabbing all the important things she needed before heading back to Decatur.

Speaking of Decatur.

Incoming call…

“Tonya?”

Raelynn glanced down the hallway, the sound of Ashley scrubbing catching her ear.

“Raelynn, honey, is everything alright? Did you hear what’s happening? Are you safe?”

“Uh…” she lowered her voice and cracked her door, “I don’t think so…my roommate is sick…she just threw up everywhere.”

“You need to come home. Get out of there fast. I rushed home from work because the hospital is in an uproar. The things I’ve witnessed…come home, Rae.”

“How does George feel about all this?”

“…George wants you home too. Leave now and let me know when you’re on the way. I love you. Please be careful, Raelynn.”

Beep.

Raelynn started to feel her own sense of trepidation. She continued packing, and when she finished, she opened her door, silence ahead of her.

“Ashley?”

Nothing. Just an eerie silence.

Raelynn hated the unknown. She hated not knowing what she was walking into. That hallway was her only chance of leaving that apartment. Mustering courage, Raelynn gathered her things and began walking the hallway. Before she approached Ashley’s door. She stopped, reaching inside of her Telfar bag, gripping the handle of her licensed gun. She made sure to bring it with her if what the news was saying was true.

In severe cases that you need to protect yourself, the only way to stop them is damaging the brain.

Raelynn stepped in front of Ashley’s door and it was empty. She’d left. Raelynn exhaled, hoping that Ashley wasn’t infected. She was on her way to her mother and sister. If she’s infected, she would definitely do the same to them.

Not wasting anymore time, Raelynn left the apartment behind and as she exited the complex, her eyes moved back and forth, taking in the sight of people rushing and screaming and crying. She hadn’t been in her apartment for an hour and already there was mass hysteria. She jogged with her bags to her Honda Civic, popping the trunk and throwing her bags inside. Raelynn made sure to keep her eyes focused around her. She hopped in her car and slammed the door shut, thankful she was safe.

We’re gonna die!

It’s the apocalypse!

Those words stuck with her the entire ride to Decatur. She could only hope it wasn’t true. Maybe she was asleep. Maybe she needed to be woken up from this growing nightmare.

——

3:00 pm

The town of Senoia

located 45 minutes south of Atlanta. It was established in 1860 , the land was purchased by a Reverend. Cotton and Peaches where the agricultural products shipped from this area. There are still plenty of farms, now they have lots of honey farms and other fruits. The town was named after a captain's wife from the civil war.

Terry walked into that town with a shotgun flung across his body and a crossbow in his hand. He wore his favorite jeans, a grey T-shirt beneath a flannel shirt, and a beanie on his head. His hazel eyes took in the appearance of the charming little town, small shops surrounding him. The sound of shuffling feet startled him so he ducked low behind an abandoned, faded blue sedan.

It was a small group of zombies.

Terry silently watched while fixing his crossbow to shoot. He steadied his breathing, something he’d learned to do over the months. No use in making it known that he was highly anxious. His eyes peeked through the dusty window at the zombies moving along with weak attempts to stay on two feet.

It’s crazy to think that these were once everyday people. Waking up, going to work, driving, laughing, making love…

They stumbled around, moaning and groaning.

Rauuuhhh…guhhhhhhhh…

Another method that allowed Terry to keep the zombies away from where he hunkered down was to bait them. He’d tie dead animals to a wooden board and hang them in various locations within the forest to keep his scent away. It worked, because if they caught a whiff of him, they’d go crazy. He had to do it every several days. A lot of work, but worth your life.

When they were far enough away, Terry remained low, his eyes casing the area like a hawk. Solid back against a brick wall, Terry retrieved his walkie talkie from his back pocket. He’d made it to the first landmark Rae told him about.

“When you find the history museum, radio me and I’ll tell you what to do from there. Good luck, Terry.”

He was still unsure about Rae.

“Why are you helping me?” Terry questioned her hours prior.

“Because…I know what’s it’s like…and we have to have each other’s back, right?”

He’d like to believe that. Terry refused to travel in a pack. He refused to trust anyone else besides his cousin. But, with Mike gone, he had no choice but to let his guard down just a little. Only a little this time. As soon as he finds Mike, he’s leaving everyone behind. Including Rae.

“Rae, this is Terry, come in.”

Terry moved further away until he was hiding beside a dumpster, crouched low.

“Rae, what’s your 20?”

He couldn’t stay here any longer. What the fuck was she doing? His head snapped to the right when he thought he’d heard something.

Terry whispered a low “fuck,” before jogging as quickly and quietly as he could across to the other side.

“Rae, come in, I’m too exposed. You got me open out here.”

“Terry, Terry, I’m here, sorry…”

“What the fuck was that?” Terry whispered aggressively into the walkie talkie.

“Signal strength down. I’m trying here, Terry. Are you at the landmark?”

“Yes, yes. Now, where to go from here?”

“Travel north. You’ll notice train tracks straight away. Stick close to the trees. When you reach a tunnel, I’m waiting inside for you.”

“Will you? I need your word, Rae.”

“I promise. I wouldn’t lead you astray.”

Terry moved. He hadn’t been in this position for at least two months. His well, structured game plan to remain hidden most of the time was being tested. It took Terry about twenty minutes to find the tracks. He stepped over carefully and did as Rae suggested: sticking to the trees. Ignoring the twigs and pointy greenery scraping his skin, Terry could see the tunnel straight ahead.

“Argh!”

Terry dropped to his knees when the back of a gun collided with his head. He dropped his crossbow and turned around on his hands to see who had attempted to knock him out. He was resilient. it would take a lot to put Terry Richmond down. Not even a taser could subdue him for long. He’d withstood a bullet to his back. His bright eyes stared up into the eyes of a wild—looking white man with overgrown facial hair and thin, oily, dirty blonde hair.

“Who the fuck are you?!”

Terry wanted to kill this man with his bare hands. He was going to draw attention to them.

“Get that gun out my face.” Terry warned.

“I don’t recognize your face ‘round here. We don’t take kindly to outsiders in Woodsbury. You could be infected…”

“Yeah, well, I’m not. And you’re right, I’m not from around here. But I damn sure don’t owe you an explanation. After all, you don’t own this town.”

Click.

Terry acted quickly and charged the man into the bushes. They wrestled, rolling around in the dirt. Terry took his arm and pinned it back, causing the man with rancid breath to wail in agony. He wouldn’t keep still. Terry had to put him in a choking headlock with his bulging bicep.

He squeezed.

The man tapped his arm frantically.

“You wanna go to sleep? Drop the fuckin’ gun. Do it now, motherfucker.” Terry spoke through clenched teeth.

The man loosened his grip on the gun. Terry gave his throat one more painful squeeze to let him know he meant business before releasing him. Terry picked himself up from the ground while the man tried to catch his breath. He picked up the gun and placed it on his hip.

“This mine now.” Better move along before they come find you after making all that noise.”

Terry snatched up his crossbow and adjusted the shotgun around him as he walked, with one final look of pure hatred down at the man, he continued on his way and fast. Terry lifted his forearm and studied the bloody abrasion with fierce eyes.

He wanted to scream. He couldn’t afford to walk around with an open wound. If anything, that man he was fighting back there could be infected.

Terry took off running as fast as he could, darting between trees like a track runner. Up ahead, he came out onto the train tracks and sprinted into the dark tunnel. He slowed his footsteps and pressed his chest into the wall of the tunnel, exhausted breaths billowing from his mouth.

He didn’t have a second to gather himself before he had his crossbow aimed at the face of a woman.

Ebony skin a deep brown with a dewy appearance.

Heart shaped face with eyes coffee brown and a flared nose decorated with a hoop ring.

Lips full and lush.

Hair styled in thick, rope twists that reached her waist

She had her hands raised in surrender. Those entrancing eyes didn’t look away for a second.

Staring down the length of his crossbow, his eyes that appeared green drifted down her tiny frame. She was wearing a hoodie beneath a thick, utility jacket. Her lower half was dressed in a pair of skinny jeans and her feet were covered with dirty high–top Vans.

His eyes locked with hers again, and he slowly lowered his weapon. She released a shaky breath, the sound settling his nerves. He held the crossbow to his side and parted his dry lips to speak.

“Rae?”

She nodded her head, her own eyes taking him in from head to toe.

“Terry…”

She reached behind her and Terry’s eyes followed cautiously. Raelynn held up a hand to calm him down.

“I’m just grabbing the walkie talkie,” She displayed Mike’s walkie talkie, holding it out for him to take, “Here…figured you’d want this back—”

“Show me the worksite where you found it. Maybe there’s a clue there that’ll lead me to Mike—”

“That’s not a good idea…”

Terry tilted his head down at her short body. Rae had to crane her neck to look at him.

“That’s my family, Rae. And we had a deal. Did you forget that?”

Rae’s eyes darted down to her feet. Terry released a sigh.

“Fuck it, just point me in the direction and I can be out your way.” Terry said with a frustrated voice.

“It’s not that I don’t want to help you, Terry. It’s just…there’s guys from this group that are pretty dangerous…they’ve been on the hunt for anyone that could be infected and they’re killing them on the spot.”

“Hmm, is that so?” Terry looked left and right before his intimidating eyes fell on her again, “I just took down one of those guys not too far from here. I ended up with this,” Terry raised his arm to show her, “And I’m not tryna stick around to get infected. Got something on you to wrap me up?”

“Yes,” Rae started walking backwards towards a door, “This way—”

“Stop.”

Rae paused.

“What’s down there?”

“Our refuge. You coming or not?”

Terry hesitated. He looked around him one last time before following Rae through a door, darkness the only thing he could make out ahead.

@theereina @bombshellbre95 @planetblaque @trippyscotch @megamindsecretlair @thesweetestdrug @theblulife @blackerthings @deja-r@kanafunee @helloncrocs @kaylabuggggg06 @skyesthebomb @blyffe @gwenda-fav @beenathembo @blackpinup22 @novaniskye @melaninhawtie @urfavblackbimbo @avoidthings @rose-bliss @xo-goldengirl @kinginwithbreezy-blog @mysecertdiaryofableedingheart @sirenmouths @kokokonako @creartivefairy @soulfulbeauty19 @therealmrsrhodes @hrlzy @nayaesworld @gg-trini @brattyfics @flydotty @writingsbytee @shiania @browngirldominion @notapradagurl7 @madamzola @kismet83 @aristasworld @sl33p-deprived-princess @erynnnn @itssbrie @melaninangel @withoutmusiclifewouldbflat @sweettea-and-honeybutter

[snapscube]

Not the person who originally said the anon before but what's Georgia like?

it’s better than florida i’ll give you that LMAOO

moving from the florida panhandle to atlanta was a crazy upgrade not just cause i was largely independent in an unprecedented way but also man this city is so much more my speed. i feel like there’s actually shit to do, i have such lovely friends here, the only major downside i personally deal with regularly are the seemingly forever increasing rent prices. my rent i think doubled in 2 years after moving, and that was before joy moved in w me and we got a larger apartment so it’s even tighter now price-wise. still manageable at present for me, of which im very grateful, but some relief would sure be nice. past that, i still don’t know the area as much as id have liked to by now. when i first moved here it was right smack in the middle of 2020 covid times so that was a hinderance but even past that im kinda just at home a lot anyway, so im still trying to keep an eye out and figure out excuses to exist in my area a bit more actively.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Ian McDonald's "The Wilding"

I'll be in TUCSON, AZ from November 8-10: I'm the GUEST OF HONOR at the TUSCON SCIENCE FICTION CONVENTION.

Ian McDonald is one of those absurdly brilliant novelists that just leave me wondering the actual fuck he manages it. How does he cover so much ground, think up so many compelling characters, find so many gracenotes, conjure up so many complicated emotions?

McDonald burst on the scene in the late 1980s, with the 1988 novel Desolation Road and then his 1989 Out On Blue Six, a slick, stylized cyberpunk-meets-Orwell tale that overflowed with beautiful prose, technomysticism, and sly jokes that hid sneaky truths that hid even more sly jokes:

https://memex.craphound.com/2014/01/20/out-on-blue-six-ian-mcdonalds-brilliant-novel-is-back/

By my count, McDonald has now published twenty books – mostly novels, but a couple short story collections (and the most amazingly demented, Tom-Waits-inflected teddybear murder comic imaginable, 1994's Kling Klang Klatch):

https://irishcomics.fandom.com/wiki/Kling_Klang_Klatch

McDonald's work is truly globespanning. While he's made his mark on the Martian soil, and overtaken the moon with the Luna trilogy (his definitive rebuttal to Heinlein's Moon Is a Harsh Mistress) he is widely adored and much-awarded for the glittering, futuristic versions of Brazil (Brasyl), Tanzania (the Chaga series), and India (River of Gods).

Indeed, McDonald's imagination has roamed so far over the Earth and the solar system that it's possible to overlook his fantastic reimaginings of Ireland, the land where he was raised. There's his Philip K Dick Award-winning 1991 novel King of Morning, Queen of Day, a swirling, mythopoeic novel of Celtic mysticism:

https://www.baen.com/king-of-morning-queen-of-day.html

And then there's 1992's Hearts, Hands and Voices, which is lowkey one of the best novels I have ever, ever read – a scorching science fictional allegory for The Troubles, but with the gnarliest biotech weirdness you can possibly imagine:

https://archive.org/details/heartshandsvoice0000ianm/mode/2up

McDonald's books cover so much goddamned ground, but one feature they all share is a prose styling wherein every sentence is at least 20% poetry, a fraction that somehow, impossibly, rises to as much as 150% in certain especially shiny passages.

Like this passage, which opens The Wilding, McDonald's new horror novel that marks his first return to Ireland since 1992:

Autumn lay on the great bog in silvers and tans, late purples and duns.

The sun rose above the tall ash saplings and feral sycamore. It called the birds into full voice. Stabbing shrills, tumbles of notes, the flutes of dove-call, frantic ticking hisses, song upon song. In hedgerows and copses, among the pale foliage of the birches, in the weave of deep willow and the bramble fastnesses, each bird called and was heard. In this season the peatland held the day's warmth through the night and on the bright, clear mornings rivers of mist formed, filling the subtle hollow places in the exposed cuttings, the bogs and fields. High sun would dispel it but at this hour half of Lough Carrow lay mist-bound. Each blade of grass hung heavy with dew, the clumps of sedges were already browning, the bracken curling and crisping.

A pair of horns lifted above the willow scrub and out-grown ash hedges of the Wilding. Polished tips caught the low sun and kindled as bright and keen as spears.

https://www.gollancz.co.uk/titles/ian-mcdonald/the-wilding/9781399611503/

Oof.

I would drop everything to read Ian McDonald's grocery lists but after that opening, I wasn't going to put this one down, and I didn't, reading the whole thing on yesterday's flight home from my gigs in Atlanta this week.

The Wilding is (I'm pretty sure?) McDonald's first horror novel, and it's fucking terrifying. It's set in a rural Irish peat bog that has been acquired by a conservation authority that is rewilding it after a century of industrial peat mining that stripped it back nearly to the bedrock. This rewilding process has been greatly accelerated by the covid lockdowns, which reduced the human footprint in the conservation area to nearly zero.

The story's protagonist is Lisa, a hard-case Dubliner who came to the bog to do community service after a career as a crime syndicate driver for hire, a woman who never met a car she couldn't boost and pilot in or out of any tight situation. After years in the bog, she's ready to start a new life, studying Yeats at university, indulging a late-discovered love of poetry that has as much to do with her redemption as her years in the wild.

Lisa's last duty before she leaves the bog and goes home to Dublin is leading a school group on a wild campout in one of the bog's deep clearings. It's a routine assignment, and while it's not her favorite duty, it's also not a serious hardship.

But as the group hikes out to the campsite, one of her fellow guides is killed, without warning, by a mysterious beast that moves so quickly they can barely make out its monstrous form. Thus begins a tense, mysterious, spooky as hell story of survival in a haunted woods, written in the kind of poesy that has defined McDonald's career, and which – when deployed in service of terror – has the power to raise literal goosebumps.

There's a lot of fantasy that deals with Celtic mythology, including McDonald's own King of Morning, Queen of Day, but the vibe of that stuff tends to the heroic and romantic – sure, there's the odd banshee, but in the main, it's mischievous wee people, pookas, and leprechauns. More fey than fear.

But Irish mythology in its raw form is terrifying. The monsters of Irish storytelling are grotesque, mean, remorseless, and come in every shape and size. Some authors have done well by going back to the bestiary for the deep cuts. When I was a kid, I must have read John Coyne's Hobgoblin fifty times (mostly because it was about D&D, which I was obsessed with). I haven't read this one since I was about 12, and I have no idea if it'd hold up today, but it left me with a deep appreciation of the spooky multifariousness of monsters who dwell in Ireland's bogs:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hobgoblin_(novel)

The Wilding is a suspense novel, which means there's no way to really sum up the plot without spoiling a lot of the affect, but suffice to say that McDonald brings large swathes of deep Irish lore to the surface, and it had me reading as fast as I could and wanting to put the book down and hide.

What a writer McDonald is! The fact that this is the same guy who wrote last year's stunning secret-history/solarpunk/uncategorizable wonder that was Hopeland beggars belief:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/30/electromancy/#the-grace

Read you some Ian McDonald novels, is what I'm trying to say. This one is only available in the UK, if that's not where you are, consider mail-ordering it. Looks like they've got stock at Forbidden Planet for £19 plus £18 shipping to the US. Worth every penny:

https://forbiddenplanet.com/424306-the-wilding-hardcover/

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/25/bogman/#erin-go-aaaaaaargh

[topazy]

Tomorrow's promise

Pairing: Daryl Dixon × reader, Rick Grimes × sister reader

Warnings: Swearing, violence, blood

Chapter: 3.06

Merle was trying to intimidate you by dragging his blade across the metallic table in front of you. The screeching noise caused you to flinch. You had spent the last couple of hours listening to Merle interrogate Glenn, beating him senseless for information, but not once did Glenn break. His actions solidified your reasoning for refusing to tell him anything; you’d rather be tortured than tell him anything.

You were being kept in a bricked-up building; the white paint on the walls has begun to peel off with dampness, and aside from the one door leading in, there was no other exit for you to escape out of.

Standing in front of you, Merle cocks his head to the side and says, “That shirt you’re wearing belongs to my brother.”

“How observant.”

“He gave it to you?”

You roll your eyes and say, “Yes.”

“He ain’t usually one for sharing.”

You say nothing back. Your people would have figured out something was wrong by now, and your brother would have come up with some plan to find you and Glenn. Even if Rick has started to lose his mind, this would force him back into reality.

“Listen, sugar tits. I don’t want to hit a girl, but I will if I need to.”

It’s difficult for you to comprehend that Daryl and Merle are brothers because the older Dixon was so vile in comparison to his younger brother. Merle begins to rant about Rick, Glenn, and T-Dog leaving him on the roof in Atlanta to die. While Merle shares his version of events in which he’s the victim, you manage to loosen the tape bounding your wrists behind your back.

You don’t let anything Merle says rile you up, until he mentions Rick one too many times, and it causes a wave of anger to wash over you.

“All I want to know is where my baby brother is and where that goddamn sheriff is so I can make the son of a bitch pay!”

Using your free hand, you punch Merle in the face; the unexpected blow causes him to stagger back. When he’s stable, he pulls his gun out and hits you in the face, causing blood to pool from your mouth. It takes you a few seconds to register that blood is not just coming from your lower lip; you bring your hand to your mouth and feel that a bottom tooth is missing.

Merle jolts forward and clenches your cheeks with his hand. “Do you have any idea who you’re fucking messing with, girl?”

You smack his hand away. Glaring at him, you say, “I’m y/n Grimes, and when my brother comes for us, I’ll make sure he takes more than your fucking hand this time!”

Merle tenses them out of the room.

—

Your tongue becomes numb when you bite it so hard in an attempt to hold back tears. Since you told Merle nothing, the governor has tried to pry information out of you with various threats. When that didn’t work, he forced you to strip off all the top half of your clothing. When you crossed your arms over your chest to try and cover yourself, he just laughed at you.

The governor was now dragging you roughly by the arm to another part of the building, with Merle and another man leading the way, each of them holding guns in their hands.

You gasped in shock at the sight of Glenn's severe beating upon entering the next room. Blood streamed from his ears, nose, and mouth, while bruises marred his face. His left eye was so swollen that he could hardly open it.

“We’re through with games,” the governor says, pulling out his gun and pointing it at your head. “Now, one of you is going to give up your camp.” When you don’t answer, he lets out a dark chuckle. “No? Let’s see if this gets you talking.”

Feeling a sudden, sharp pain in your lower leg, you stumble forward. One of the men had sliced your calf with a knife. You spit blood from your mouth out onto the ground. “I’m not going to tell you sadistic fucks anything!”

When the governor raises her hand to strike you, Glenn blurts out, “The prison.”

The governor lowers his hand, and Merle asks, “The one near Nunez? The place is overrun.”

“How many?”

When you don’t answer again, the governor points his gun at Glenn. “You have until I count to three, Miss Grimes. One…two…”

“Eleven,” you sob.

“Eleven people cleared that whole prison of walkers?”

You nod.

Enraged, the governor places his hand on your back and pushes you to the ground on his way out. As you weep, Merle and the other man step over your body and out of the room.

Glenn rushes to your side; he tries to help you up, but you refuse since you’d be showing him your bare chest. He takes his top off, hands it to you, then turns around for you to put it on. Once it’s on, you sit upright, and you bend your leg to inspect the bleeding wound. The cut wasn’t big but looked deep.

“Fuck, that looks bad, y/n.” He moves closer to inspect your face. “The governor took your tooth?”

“Merle hit me with his gun.”

Glenn starts to look around for something to help stop the bleeding. The room you were locked in reminds you of the wooden shed in your garden that Shane used to leave his unwanted junk in.

The disgusting treatment you and Glenn received pulls at a memory—something you’d tried so hard to keep locked away inside the back of your mind. In between sobs, you say, “Rick will find us; I’m not sure how, but he will.”

—

When more of the governor's men, led by Merle, came back to torture you for more information, you and Glenn attacked them with makeshift weapons. One of the men tried to force you to stand; you stabbed him in the throat with the sharp edge of a broken pipe, while Glenn tried to tackle Merle, but you were outnumbered.

Forced onto your knees, a sob slips from your lips. The men were reloading their guns behind you, getting ready to kill you with their execution style. Glenn, who looks terrified beside you, holds your hand. “We’re going to be okay; just look at me.”

“I’m never going to see Jace again.”

“Maggie will keep him safe.”

His grip on your hand tightens as the men approach to put sacks over your head.

“It’s been fun catching up,” Merle taunts.

All of a sudden, there’s a loud bang followed by smoke, which makes it hard to breathe with your head covered. Perhaps this was their cruel way of killing you—gassing you to death.

The sack is ripped off your head, and you’re met with a familiar face.

“Rick…”

Everything is chaotic as gunfire lights up the room, but with the smoke, it was hard to see who was shooting. Rick hooks his arm around you and helps you stay upright as you run from the room.

—

As soon as Rick lets go of you to barricade the door, you stumble to the ground. He tries to catch you, but he’s not fast enough. Rick had practically carried you across the street and into a small diner, which luckily had no windows, so hopefully it would give you cover for a little while.

Maggie kneels down and tends to Glenn, who’s leaning back against the counter, while Daryl and Oscar clear the back rooms.

Rick disappears and reappears within seconds, coming out of the kitchen with a tea towel in his hand. Frantically, he ties the fabric around your lower leg, and when you yell in pain, he apologizes, “Sorry, sorry. We gotta get you two out of here.”

“How’s Jace?”

Daryl answers before your brother can. “Aside from missing his mom, the little guy is fine.”

“Carl?”

Rick's eyes soften. “Don’t worry about them right now; they are safe. Everybody in the prison is fine. Y/n, Carol is alive.”

Finally, some good news.

Maggie looks over at your brother and says, “Help me get him up.”

Glenn was starting to look a lot worse, with his face becoming more swollen with each passing moment. You’re unaware of Daryl moving behind you until he hooks his arm around your waist and helps you to your feet.

Daryl presses a kiss into your hair and says, “Shit, what happened to your face?”

“I had the pleasure of meeting your brother.”

He steps back slightly, maintaining his grip without letting go completely. “My brother is here.”

“Daryl, this was Merle,” Glenn slurs as blood mixed with saliva dribbles from his mouth.

“It was him; he did this.”

“You saw him?” Rick asks in disbelief.

Glenn nods, “Face-to-face. He threw a walker at me. He was going to execute us.”

Daryl’s loose grip on you suddenly tightens again. “So, my brothers, is this governor?”

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “He’s somebody else. Merle’s his lieutenant or something.”

“Does he know I’m with you?” Although it was a simple question, the way Daryl was looking at you made you feel it was much deeper.

“He does now,” Glenn says. “Rick I’m sorry, but we told him where the prison was. We couldn’t hold out.”

“Don’t; there is no need to apologize.” Rick says, “We have a car half a mile down the road, and we need to go now before they find us.”

—

The fight to get out of Woodbury, the hellhole of a town the governor runs, was brutal. Someone shot and killed Oscar, and Daryl went missing.

A woman named Michonne waited on the side of the road with you and Glenn. Neither of you were able to walk far, so you stayed while Rick and Maggie had gone back to search for Daryl.

“Y/n! Glenn!”

Hearing your brother's voice, you get to your feet and limp over to the tree line. “Rick, did you find him?”

Your brother nods, panting, and he raises his hand. “Now we have a problem here; I need you to back up.”

You see Daryl and smile, realizing that he's alive, but the spark of happiness you feel quickly falters when you see Merle behind him.

“What the hell is he doing here?” Glenn yells, pointing his gun at Merle.

Michonne points her sword at him and says, “He tried to kill me!”

While the rest of the group argues, Merle leans back against a tree, smirking. He was enjoying the chaos his presence caused. You make your way over to him slowly, which amuses him. “Now, sweetheart—”

You cut him off by head-butting him. “That’s for my missing tooth, you asshole!”

“Hey, now, you hit me first,” he argues.

“After you beat the shit out of Glenn!” You go to take a step closer to him, but Daryl holds you back.

“You hurt her?” He barks.

“Oh, I see how it is.” Merle sneers at his brother before turning his attention back to you. “Listen, girly, we both got a few bunches in, but I had nothing to do with you being dragged around topless; bosom’s on show for all.”

Before Merle can say anything else, Rick is on top of him, punching him repeatedly. At first, nobody intervenes, but when the blows don’t stop, Daryl lets go of you and moves to pull him off. “Rick, that’s enough!”

“Rick! Stop!”

It takes Daryl, Michonne, and Maggie to finally pull your brother off of Merle. The look in Rick’s eyes was almost feral, like one you hadn’t seen in years.

—

You sit in the passenger seat of the car your brother would be driving back, watching as Maggie, Glenn, Rick, and Daryl have a heated conversation in the middle of the road. Leaning your head back, you squeeze your eyes shut. All you wanted was to get back to prison and hold Jace.

You needed to see Jace, Carl, and your niece for yourself to fully believe they were safe.

When the car door opens, you sigh. You already have a sick feeling about what is about to happen. Without opening your eyes, you say, “You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

“They ain’t allowing Merle to come back to the prison.”

You open your eyes to look at Daryl, who’s crouched down to be eye level with you. He appears to be in a state of despair; it's the first time you’ve ever seen him look so defeated. “You surprised me after what he did to me and Glenn?”

“No.”

You rack your brain, trying to find any other solution that didn’t result in Daryl leaving, but there was none. “None of us want you to go.”

“I know,” he says, looking down at the ground. “Merle is coming in and out of consciousness; if I leave him on his own and a walker finds him... He’s my blood; I can’t do that.”

Your eyes cut across the road to Rick, who was patiently waiting. It stung knowing that if the roles were reversed, you wouldn’t leave your brother behind; “we’re your family as well.”

Daryl looks up at you again; this time his eyes are filled with unshed tears. “I just… I need you to know if Merle was able to protect himself. I’d be leaving here to go back to the prison.”

“What about when he’s better?”

“I’ll find my way back to you.”

[queensunshinee]

Time Of Our Lives || Part 18

Part 18:

"Why are you walking in circles around my house?" Art looked amused as he opened the door and leaned against the doorframe. He knew he shouldn't be doing this, and that he was a bit of a jerk for enjoying her embarrassment so much. But her flushed face and the staged eye roll were worth it.

"Because I was early." Liana muttered. "How did you know I was here?" she asked, stepping closer to him while he stayed put, taking his time to look at her. Still amused but also trying to hide his concern. He hadn’t heard from her for three weeks. Not since Atlanta. Until she sent a message yesterday asking if she could come over.

"I have windows in my house and you've been doing patrols here for ten minutes. The option to ring the bell exists, you know." He said, keeping his tone light. "I have a friend who always says that being early is just as rude as being late. You could have had plans." She said and shrugged. As if he would make plans half an hour before knowing Liana was supposed to come over. After five years of not being alone in the same room.

"I didn’t have plans and you can always come early when you come to me." He rolled his eyes. If he had the courage, he would have told her what he wanted to say and offered her a key to his apartment under the excuse that he wasn't always home, but if she was early, she could come in. He desperately wanted her to feel comfortable entering his home. Without knocking. Without ringing the bell. Just come in and sit on the couch or open the fridge. To be an active part of his life. The life he was trying to build for both of them.

"I brought wine. It's cheap, don't be a snob about it." She showed him the bottle and walked past him, causing him to move a bit but not manage to ignore the sensation of her body brushing against his for a second. He knew leaning on the doorframe like a douchebag was a good plan. God, in moments like these, Art felt so pathetic. "Put it in the fridge if you want. There's a bottle of white wine there, we can open it in the meantime." He shrugged as if it wasn't a big deal. As if he hadn’t put that bottle there especially because he saw her order white wine that night.

"So we won't drink my cheap wine?" she asked, opening the fridge and pulling out the cold bottle that even looked fancy. Annoying. "If you prefer the wine you brought, I can open it, it doesn't really matter, it'll just take time to chill, and there's already a cold one." Art said. He didn’t want to come off as condescending. He knew she hated that. He wasn’t trying to buy her friendship with money. He knew he couldn't. They both grew up in abundance, Liana never lacked anything. He wouldn't buy her with wine. But the hangover from the wine he offered would pass faster than from the one she bought.

"I don't know." She really thought about it.

"Next time you come and we want wine, we'll open the bottle you brought, deal?" He liked the sentence that came out of his mouth. As if stating she would come again. She just rolled her eyes. "You think that was smooth, don't you?" she asked and laughed. "You have to admit it was something." He retorted, seeing her move to the living room while he pulled out the wine and took out two glasses.

"Hey." He said after he sat next to her on the couch and they both took a sip of the wine. "This is really good wine. I kinda hate you." she said in response and he laughed. "It's whatever." He shrugged. "Hey." She replied, looking at him. "You disappeared on me." He said quietly, not taking his eyes off her. Art Donaldson had a way of examining Liana as if he saw all of her. As if he had all the time in the world to look at her, and he would use all of it. She felt her ears turn red under the intensity of his blue eyes.

"Don't look at me like that, Art. It makes me nervous." She sighed, and he shrugged again. "Do I have to think twice now about how I look at you so you won't get nervous? You're a big girl, stop getting nervous from looks." There was amusement in his voice. It was friendly but had an additional layer that Liana couldn’t quite put her finger on. "You're such a dick." Another sip of the wine.

"Tell me about those weeks." He stated. Almost not giving her a choice, there was no question mark at the end of his sentence. "It was a great fun, I watched all seasons of 'Gossip Girl' from the beginning." She smiled a forced smile.

Art recognized the exhaustion. She looked tired and sad, trying to hide it with excessive perkiness and humor. He didn’t want to give her the pleasure. He wanted her to talk to him. He wanted honesty and he wanted it now. He wanted to touch the raw flesh. He wanted to know her level of loneliness, if she was thinking about Patrick. If she was in contact with him. If she planned to forgive him.

"Liana." He sighed, running a hand over his neck as he took another sip of the wine. "You want to hear that it was shitty? Because I didn’t come here to cry, Arthur. I'm kinda tired of crying." She lifted her legs onto the couch and put her head on her knees.

"Then don’t cry. Just tell me what's going on here. I never know." He said, gently pointing at her head as she smiled a sad smile. Art thought that smile hurt him too much. He didn’t know that someone else’s smile could hurt him in his bones. How is that even possible? What kind of connection is this? How long has he felt this way? Did he feel her inside his body since he was born? Will it pass with the years?

"I miss him. A lot." She said after a few seconds of silence and didn’t look at Art. "I know it's not what you want to hear, Art. But that's the truth," she returned her gaze to him, her head still on her knees. Art moved close enough so he could hug her. He didn’t know what got into him, but she looked so small on his couch. So fragile.

"Can I?" he asked after her head was already on his chest, as if the question even mattered. He put down his glass and with his free hand ran his fingers through her hair. Inhaling what he could of her scent. "It doesn’t matter what I want to hear, Lia, I just want you to tell me something. It doesn’t have to be good this time." He muttered, wondering if she could hear his heart beating as she curled up on his chest.

"I feel so alone here, Art. Sometimes it hurts my whole body. It's like everyone dressed in white, and I dressed in black. And losing Patrick for so long was really too much. I feel crazy," her voice was so small and he knew her eyes were full of tears even without seeing her. It made him close his eyes and take a deep breath.

"You're not alone, Liana. Not in America. Not when you and I are in the same time zone..." He moved for a moment, missing her touch automatically. He felt the need to look her in the eyes when he spoke. "You could have called me. I would have come. I would have stayed with you." He meant every word he said. "You know that's not possible, Art, right?" she muttered, her voice accompanied by a faint sob. "I can't be what you want me to be right now." She looked back at him. Big green eyes full of tears. "You surely know by now that I'll take whatever you give me, Liana. If you need a friend, I'll be your friend. It doesn’t have to be more than that." And that probably hurt him to say more than it should have.

"You don’t want to be my friend, Art." She said, taking a sip of her wine that stood next to his on the table. "I want to be what you want me to be." And in Art's opinion, that sentence was the most logical thing that had ever come out of his mouth.

When Liana entered her apartment, she wasn’t drunk. She was tipsy. The boxes she had packed for Patrick were no longer in the middle of the living room, and getting to the kitchen to grab a glass of water wasn’t as complicated as it had been a few hours ago.

“Hey.” She heard from behind as she took a sip of water. “Fuck! Patrick!” she screamed a second after the glass fell from her hand and shattered on the floor. “Shit, don’t pick it up with your hands, wait a second.” He mumbled and went to get a broom and dustpan. She sat down on the kitchen chair and looked at him. He looked neglected. His stubble was long and messy, there was a stain on his shirt, and in her untrained opinion, he had lost weight.

When he finished cleaning up, he stood in front of her. Neither of them said anything; they just stared at each other, and Liana felt that if this silence continued, she would burst into uncontrollable tears. “Why are you here, Patrick? I gave you plenty of time to collect your shit.” She sighed. “I needed to see you.” He said quietly, leaning against the counter, not taking his eyes off her. “You’ve seen me. Now you can go.” She swallowed, afraid to stop looking at him.

“No. Liana. I need…” his eyes reddened. He tried to hold back the tears. Seeing him like this made Liana want to forget everything. To overlook. To let it pass. To give in. Because who is Liana Levy without Patrick Zweig at this stage of their lives? And how can she let him leave her (their) apartment when he looks like this? How can she continue living without knowing if she will ever see him again?

“I’m sorry I told you like that about the baby. It wasn’t right.” She said, forcing herself to keep looking at him, because turning her head now would be insensitive. Patrick respects her more when she doesn’t avoid looking at him. Why does she still care if he respects her? He definitely didn’t respect her in Atlanta.

“Can you tell me about it, please?” he asked in a choked voice, and she sighed. “There’s not much to tell,” she took a deep breath, hearing the tremor in her own voice. The whole situation was strange, “I don’t know if you remember, but about half a year ago, there were a few days when I felt really bad? I threw up a lot?” she asked, checking if he understood what she was talking about. He nodded silently.

“I didn’t know who to talk to,” she continued, and this time he looked away. As if to say what they both knew was in the air;  Why didn’t you talk to me? Why didn’t you talk to me? Why didn’t you talk to me? “I talked to Tashi…” his gaze returned to her, surprised. “She went with me to the clinic, and that’s it.” Again, deafening silence.

“Do you want to know about Atlanta?” he asked. “Will it help you to know?” he added quietly, wiping away the tears and continuing to look at her. “What will it give us, Pat?” she asked with an exhausted chuckle. “Why didn’t you talk to me?” he asked what had been on his mind for the last few minutes. Maybe for the last three weeks, since she had venomously yelled at him about the baby, trying to hurt him as he had hurt her.

“Because I no longer think I know how to talk to you.” This time she couldn’t stop the tears. She was choked with them. Her hands covered her face from him, and he automatically moved closer to her, detaching from the counter. “Lilo, look at me for a second.” He asked softly. Where was this softness in the last few years? Where was the man she thought she knew so well?

She stood in front of him, letting him hold her hands by her sides. They looked at each other, his tears dried up while hers still flowed uncontrollably, her lip trembling almost as much as her leg. She just wanted one more moment. Just one. A good one. One she would remember fondly. “It’s me. It’s still me. I got a little lost, but it’s still me.” He said, wiping her face once more. Again, gentleness, again, tenderness. “I don’t know how to find you, Patrick, and I can’t keep wasting my life searching.” She hugged him suddenly, pressing her cheek against his chest while he wrapped her in his big arms, the ones that always promised it would be okay. But how would it be okay? How would it be okay if he left this apartment and didn’t come back?

“I love you.” He whispered above her head. “I love you too.” She replied. It was the truth. “I just don’t think it’s enough,” she pulled away from him.

All that was left were two people who knew each other perfectly. Every smile and every freckle. Every facial expression. Every emotion, but they caused each other more harm than good. “I wish you had told me.” He meant the baby again, and she nodded, “I wish I could have been there for you.” He added.

“I wish a lot of things.” She sighed.

She kissed him suddenly.  It wasn’t full of passion and wildness like most times their lips met, it was heavy and tense. A feeling of necessity and fragility conveyed in salty lips from tears. Tongues slowly uniting, an understanding of an end. Of something that would never return. Patrick’s lips parted from hers only when they were both desperate for air. His forehead touched hers amid short breaths.

“I love you so much, Liana. I don’t know who I am without you.” He said again. Like a child’s confession. Like a convict’s confession who received a death sentence. “We owe it to ourselves to find out. I have to learn to love myself enough alone. And you have to find real reasons to get up in the morning.” She responded After a few seconds. “I’m afraid that I’ll leave here and won’t have a way back into your life, Lilo. I’m afraid you’ll erase my existence as I can never erase yours.” Another confession. His eyes were closed; this time he couldn’t look at her. Not when he was this exposed. Not when he had no defenses.

‘So why did you do it?’ That’s what she wanted to ask in response. ‘Why did you throw away four years of our lives and many more years of pure friendship? Why didn’t you give us a real chance at any stage? Why do you always give up on yourself? why did you give up on us?’ “It hasn’t been working for a long time, Pat, we were just afraid to admit it.” She sighed again. “And if I’m still afraid to admit it?” Another quiet question. A rhetorical one because what else was there to say.

“I love you. I will always love you.” He said for the third time and placed his key on the table. His fingers touched hers for one more moment.

“Maybe in another lifetime, it’s enough,” she said with a forced smile as another tear fell. “Maybe there’s a world where Liana and Patrick are in love, and it’s enough.” He nodded and chuckled in defeat. “Sounds like a beautiful world. Call me when you find it, okay, Amanda?” He asked in a broken voice and left the apartment.

“I promise.” She said, but no one heard her.

Hey again, how are we doing with all the angst? I swear, this part was almost too sad to write, but I feel like it's important to have some healthy conversations. It helps them all to grow. As always, I love it when you message me what you're thinking, so use that askbox PLEASE :)

taglist (if anyone wants to join, just ask) @soberbabes @nina357 @lamoursansfin @marley1773 @ruyaas-world @apolloscastellan @primlovesdilfs @fangirl-kimora @serenadingtigers @imbabycowboy @do-it-for-kicks @izzywags478 @4deline08 @igotmajordaddyissues @jackierose902109 @ganana @yoitsme-04 @swetearss

[putmeinmoviebaby]

Arriving at the FBI headquarters in Quantico, I walk through the huge door towards the elevator. It was exactly 2:30 in the morning when I received a call from Garcia saying we had a new case.

As I walk through the elevator door, I hear a voice shouting in front of me, breaking me out of my thoughts.

“Y/N, HOLD THE DOOR, PLEASE!” Looking at the voice ahead, I see JJ and Reid approaching.

The two were coming towards me when the door was about to close, so I immediately held it open.

"Thank you. How was your weekend? I imagine it was more exciting than mine." JJ says as she gets into the elevator with Spencer, standing next to me.

"Ah, it was a lot of chaos. My neighbor set the kitchen on fire and I had to help her put it out," I say, rubbing my eyes in an attempt to get rid of the sleep.

“It is known that the biggest cause of house fires is neglect of the electrical system and lack of maintenance,” says Reid as he takes a sip of coffee in his hands.

“Actually, she was trying to make a cake and ended up setting the kitchen on fire. She’s a 66-year-old woman,” I explain as I lean against the wall of the elevator. "Wait, shouldn't you go out to dinner with Will? It was all arranged."

"Oh, I wish I could, but my babysitter got sick, and I had to cancel everything."

"I can't believe it, what bad luck! Everything was arranged for you to celebrate your wedding anniversary. You could have called me; I would have watched Henry for you."

"No, I couldn't do that. The last case left us all exhausted; we needed some rest."

As I hear her words, the elevator doors open, leading us to step out.

Ahead, I spot Derek with a mug in his hands, heading toward the meeting room.

I drop my things on the table in front of Emily and make my way to the room.

Upon arriving, I sit in the chair next to Spencer and Emily, who greets me with a smile and a pat on the back.

"Since everyone is already here, I will start presenting today’s case. Our Atlanta office informed us about a serial killer; two prostitutes have been stabbed and repositioned in the past two weeks," Garcia says, displaying the photos of the victims' bodies on the screen.

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

"Oh God, my back is killing me," I hear Rossi’s voice as he exits the jet.

I let out a low laugh and glance sideways at him. "Age catches up with everyone, Agent Rossi," I say, grabbing my bag after returning from Atlanta, where we solved another case.

As I move forward, getting closer to Reid, I see JJ running to catch up with me.

"Y/n, could you do me a favor? I don’t know if you have plans for tonight, but I managed to reschedule my restaurant reservation, and it’s only for today." "Could you watch Harry for me tonight?"

"Of course, go have fun, you guys deserve it," I say, giving JJ’s shoulder a squeeze. "Besides, I love Harry. He’s a really fun kid, way better than spending the night watching Friends."

"I can help you," I hear Reid’s voice say, who was walking next to me. "If you want, I can just go home."

I look at his face and smile.

"It would be lovely to have Dr. Spencer Reid’s company," I say playfully.

"Okay, I’ll see you two at 8," I hear JJ say as she heads toward her car.

As time passes, I park my car on the corner of JJ's house and soon see Spencer’s car nearby.

Getting out of the car, I lock it and head toward JJ's house, knocking on the door, which is quickly opened by Will.

"Y/n, how are you? Come in, JJ is finishing getting ready, and Spencer is in the kitchen with Harry."

"Oh, hey Will, I’m good. I’ll leave my bag here in the living room," I say, walking toward the living room and placing my bag on the side table.

Turning toward the kitchen, I soon see Spencer with Harry, playing a word search game.

Spencer was wearing his dark blue cardigan along with his glasses, making him even more attractive in my eyes.

He was so focused that he hardly noticed my presence upon arriving in the kitchen. Harry, who spotted me right away, came running toward me, throwing his arms around my shoulders and hugging me.

"Oh Harry, I’ve missed you! It’s been so long since I last saw you. You’re getting bigger every day," I say while still hugging him.

"Soon I’ll be taller than you" I hear him say, which makes me laugh.

"That won’t be hard, Harry, since height isn’t my strong suit," I say, releasing Harry from the hug and looking at Spencer, who was watching me with a sideways smile. I walk over to him and sit in the chair next to him.

"Good evening, Dr. Spencer Reid. Have you found all 1,000 the crosswords?" I ask, noticing the pencil in his hand.

"Yes, this was the last one," he says while writing in the leaf.

"The Spencer is really fast,Y/n. He’s the best at word searches," I hear Harry say with admiration.

"Oh, I’m sure he is," I say, looking in his direction, which makes him look back at my face.

His expression showed a mix of embarrassment and happiness. JJ enters the kitchen with Will.

"I don’t know how to thank you two for this," I hear JJ say.

"Don’t mention it, you’d do the same if we needed it. You look beautiful," I say, looking at her, which makes her let out a soft laugh.

"Thanks, the restaurant is a bit far from the city. If anything comes up, you can call me. I should be back by around 11," JJ says, heading toward Harry, kissing his cheek and ruffling his hair.

"Okay, Harry and I are going to throw a big party. In the meantime," I say, looking at Harry, who lets out a laugh.

"Oh, I’m sure of that," JJ says, laughing, as she heads toward the door with Will. "Bye, see you later." I soon see her closing the door.

"Can we order pizza?"

"Oh, Harry, you read my mind. That’s exactly what we’re going to do," I say, grabbing my phone to call the pizzeria.

"While we wait, why don’t we watch Jurassic Park?" I see Harry’s body jump in excitement, and we head to the living room, where he lays down on the couch to watch the movie.

I see Spencer sitting next to me and Harry laying his head in my lap.

"Did you manage to get some sleep?" I hear Spencer’s soft voice ask.

I look in his direction and let out a low sigh. "I wish I could, but I couldn’t sleep last night. I was too anxious about the last case."

"It’s okay, your body is stressed and anxious with your daily life. You have a job that demands a lot from your mental health."

"I often feel incapable, like I won’t be able to carry on, but I remind myself that I need to be strong, or I’ll fall apart."

"You don’t have to be strong all the time. It’s impossible to be, rationally speaking. Let yourself fall apart once in a while."

I let my body relax, feeling a little lighter, and rest my face on Spencer’s shoulder, which surprises him at first. Soon, he wraps his arm around my shoulder, pulling me closer and running his hand through my hair.

"It’s okay, you don’t need to be strong around me. You know that." I hear his voice whispering in my ear: "I’m here. You can call me when you can’t sleep, and I’ll read you the story of Snow White, which was your favorite when you were a child."

Hearing what he said makes me let out a soft laugh, and I hide my face in his neck, causing him to feel shivers.

"Oh, I’ll definitely remember that. So, wait for my call in the middle of the night for you to read me the story of Snow White."

"That won’t be a problem; I know the story by heart. I used to read stories to my mom when she had episodes."

"That’s really sweet; you’re definitely a great son." "I’m terrible at reading in public. I get really nervous," I say softly, looking at Spencer’s hands now resting in his lap.

"When we read or speak in public, the first thing our body thinks before we start is that we’re being threatened. And when we feel that way, biochemical reactions happen naturally in our body, which help us get out of the threatening situation," I hear Spencer say.

"I love it when you do that," I say, still looking at his hands.

"Do what?" He asks, looking at my face with a curious expression, raising an eyebrow.

"When you start to ramble about something," I say, laughing and watching his face heat up.

"Oh, the rest of the team hates it because they think I talk too much, which isn’t entirely untrue," I hear him say.

Hearing your words makes me laugh as I see a slight smile forming on your lips; sometimes, Reid seemed like a "little boy" seeking his parents' attention.

"Don't worry, you always have me, you know that," I say, leaning my shoulder against yours in an attempt to get closer to your body.

I see a slight smile on your face now, and your light brown eyes are fixed on mine as your hand moves toward my face, resting on my cheek for a few moments before leaning in to leave a kiss there.

It makes me feel a sigh in my chest, completely losing myself in those eyes and long brown hair that make my heart warm and alive.

The End

[ghostboneswrites2]

Hello! First of all I love your stories so much💖 and hope you're having an amazing day. I wanted to ask if you could write something with this, feel free to decline if not 😊

I have this idea of Daryl and the reader being a thing before the apocalypse, Merle hated his girl and left her closed in a place with loads of walkers around without D knowing(something similar to what happens to him in Atlanta) but she manages to escape and survive thanks to what D has taught her. The group at the prison helps her after finding her tiredly fighting some walkers close to there. D and M are in the woods and the scene of D's back comes and says that the reader was his saviour for staying with him even after that and that they were planning to escape and get married. They arrive at the prison and she punches M in the face and well says to D everything that happened. M gets to see how D gets around Reader and before leaving the prison says to reader to take care of his bro and "sacrifices" himself going to fight the governor, D and r found him already turned and they both cry, promising to take care of each other.

I love the detail here! Plz forgive me, this turned out way longer than I intended. Nearly 5k words! I hope I did your vision justice! It was getting pretty long so I had to cut and tweak some things but I tried make sure to include all your key details!

Separated

Summary: You and the Dixon brothers are on your way to Atlanta to find that refugee center you heard about on the radio before they stopped broadcasting. When your journey is interrupted and you and Merle get separated from Daryl, Merle impulsively leaves you trapped and stranded in fear Daryl would choose you over him if it came down to it. When you're reunited with your love, you face tragedy together.

Note: There are some time jumps here. They're labeled to hopefully avoid confusion. Also some canon dialogue <3 A lot of your backstory with the Dixons wasn't totally necessary but I was trying to create a ~vibe~

18+ MDNI || Warnings: profanity, TWD typical violence, canonically moral deficient character, death and dying, mentions of alcohol and pills

the way he cowers and shrinks away from Merle's walker makes me cry every time omg

Then:

        Things went south so fast. The three of you were traveling relatively trouble free. The guys could hunt, and Daryl had taught you a thing or two yourself, so food was never an issue. Finding water wasn't as hard as it would be later down the line. All the supplies left in homes and stores hadn't been completely ransacked yet. It was the beginning of the outbreak. With Merle's truck, Daryl's bike, some weapons and supplies, and the general survival skills you were learning from the two of them, fleeing to the city to find that refugee center had been as easy as something like that could get, until the water ran out.

        It should have been an easy pit stop. The town was small. Your grandma would have called it a 'blink of an eye' town, because when you passed towns so small on a trip they'd fly by in the blink of an eye. There was a general store right on the corner, so that was where you decided to start the search. Just some water, maybe first aide and booze. Who knew what you'd find? The truck was parked right outside the store. Daryl wanted a smoke. He said he'd meet you and Merle inside. Then the growls started. Daryl could hear them from a distance, so he knew it was a big herd. 

        None of you had had much trouble with the big groups of them yet. So far, maybe ten or fifteen at a time. You killed the ones that got too close and fled as fast as you could. No unnecessary risks, that was the rule. Merle always said if he died it would be from something cool like a police shootout or a bank robbery. He refused to go out the way those things took people out. Daryl always said he'd shoot himself before he let them get the chance to eat him alive or turn him. He'd never be a walking corpse. You? Daryl always said you were too pretty to die. You just said you were too much of a badass. 

        Daryl popped his head inside. There were only two freaks inside and they were easy enough to take down, so you and Merle were just looting by then. 

        "Incoming. We gotta head out." Daryl announced.

        "Just a second, baby brother. I'm lookin' for the whiskey." Merle said.

        "Ain't got time for that. I can hear 'em comin'." Daryl insisted. You zipped your bag up with everything you had found so far, including the water, and walked toward your broody boyfriend with a half smile.

        "There were exactly three waters left. How's that for good luck?" You said to him.

        "Why'd'ya think I keep ya 'round? You're my good luck charm." He winked before slapping the window to get Merle's attention. "C'mon, man! No unnecessary risks!" 

        You slipped past Daryl and stepped outside, throwing your bag in the bed of the truck. You could hear the moans and groans. You turned your attention in the direction of the noise and you could see the heads peeking up over a hill. Your eyes grew wide as your heart sped up.

        "Uh... Guys? We gotta go!" You called out, not taking your eyes off the herd that was slowly coming into view. You had never seen so many of them.

        "Merle, come on!" Daryl was growing more aggravated and impatient as the seconds ticked by. 

         Daryl jogged back to the truck just as Merle was emerging from the little shop. With no sense of urgency in sight, Merle just looked over the bottle of Jack he had found as he casually strolled over to the driver's side. You scooted into the middle seat and Daryl hopped in the passenger spot and slammed his door shut.

        "Hurry up, man!" Daryl urged his brother. 

        Merle grumbled some smartass remark about being afraid of 'a few dead bodies' as he cranked the engine and hit the gas, speeding away.

Now

        You were so sore. So exhausted. So ready to just give in, but you couldn't. You refused to give in that easy. Someone told you once that you were too pretty to die, and you took that to heart. 

        You kept swinging your machete at them as they closed in on you. You were cornered between a building and a fence. What the hell were you supposed to do now? You had no idea, but you were determined to figure it out. You had gotten yourself out of worse situations.

Then

        "Gon' have to circle back somewhere to get back on the interstate." Daryl informed, looking at the map.

        "I don't need a second driver." Merle waved him off. You rolled your eyes. You were glad to be surviving something so scary with the man you loved, but the third wheel was getting hard to live with. 

        "Whatever, man." Daryl huffed, turning his attention to the window instead of paying his brother any mind.

        You kept your attention on the rearview mirror, relieved to see the herd fading away as the truck rolled forward. Those things really freaked you out, especially when they were all together like that, stumbling and bumping into each other carelessly.

        A mile or so down the road, you heard a loud pop and the engine started to sputter. "Ah, hell." Merle sighed. 

        "What?" Daryl asked, leaning forward to see his brother.

        "Gas is empty." He replied, looking down at the dash.

        "Are you kiddin' me?" Daryl asked incredulously. "Ya didn't think to check before?"

        "I did check, but I thought we'd be back on the interstate by now. Plenty o' cars to siphon a li'l fuel from back there." Merle defended. 

        "Hate to raise the stakes even higher here," you interrupted. "But, that herd is gonna be catching up soon, so we need to figure something out."

        Merle shot you a sideways glance. If it was up to him he would have just left you back home and fled with his brother, but Daryl insisted on picking you up. Now, he couldn't even hop on his bike with his baby brother and sail away to safety because there wouldn't be room for you and Daryl would never agree. He wasn't the greatest brother, but he wouldn't leave Daryl behind either.

        "Wha's that?" Daryl suddenly asked, breaking the tense silence as the three of you considered your pressing circumstances.

        You both turned your attention to what the archer was pointing out. Just beyond the treeline was a small wooden structure. Some kind of shack. 

        "A house?" You wondered.

        "Nah. Shed or somethin'." Daryl figured.

        "Maybe we can hide there and let the freaks pass by. They're pretty stupid, right? Maybe they'll just keep going straight if we don't draw their attention." You suggested.

        "Won't even know we're there." Daryl agreed.

        "Well then let's quit the yappin' and get over there before they see us." Merle drawled as he pushed his door open. Daryl got out and offered you a hand while you stepped out of the truck. Your posh parents never liked him much, but they never saw what a gentlemen he could really be. You had cut ties with them long before the dead started roaming.

Now

        You were beginning to think maybe this was really the end. It really wasn't that many. Seven at the most. But you were just so tired. You lazily swung the blade into a skull and struggled to yank it out. You had climbed on top of a dumpster, so at least they couldn't reach you, but you were still trapped until you could get rid of them. You wondered how stupid it would be to take a quick nap. Surely one of them would reach you eventually. You decided against it.

Then

        Without any spoken agreement, the three of you grabbed any supplies you thought you'd need and jogged over to the dilapidated structure. It was vacant and smelled faintly of mildew and rotting wood.

        "It'll do." Merle sighed.

        "Do? This is a mansion compared to the truck." You remarked, stretching your body. You were stiff from so much sitting. 

        The three of you watched silently through the cracks in the door as the herd stumbled by with their swinging arms and dragging feet. The smell was something you couldn't get used to, and with so many of them, it was strong. You gagged quietly. Daryl rubbed a hand up and down your back when he noticed.

        The three of you really thought you were fine. You outsmarted the dead ones and soon you'd be on your way again. You had never been so wrong about anything before.

        Merle got a little too comfortable given the situation. He went and dug through his duffel for his whiskey. He had been drinking so much you wondered if his piss could get someone drunk. The entire time you'd been on the road with them, the man had managed to find liquor everywhere he went. There wasn't a single day he hadn't been drunk, and if there had been, you were sure he'd have a stash of pills to keep him feeling nice. You guessed you couldn't blame him. Shit was rough nowadays.

        When Merle found the bottle he dropped it and it shattered. After giving Merle a look that could kill, Daryl turned his attention back to the herd. A few of them were veering off. The sound had caught their attention. Only a few heard, but as they started walking toward the shed, more followed. 

        "Shit." You whispered. 

        "This place ain't gon' hold." Daryl added.

        "My Jack." Merle complained.

        "Hell with your booze, man." Daryl scoffed as some of the dead started to claw at the outside. "We gotta go."

        "Go  where, baby brother?" 

        "We could take down the few that are at the door and break for the truck."  You thought.

        "Nah, too many on the road. But we can run off that way." Daryl nodded toward the back of the shed.

        "Okay." You nodded, throwing your bag over your shoulders and readying your machete.

        Merle haphazardly hooked his duffel and cocked his pistol.

        "No guns. Too loud." Daryl reminded him.

        "Relax. It's a last resort." Daryl shrugged, tucking it unto his belt. With a nod to each other, you and Daryl kicked the door open and took down two walkers. Merle was right behind you.

Now

        Tires screeched from ahead. You looked up and saw a car. A woman and a man got out of the vehicle and rushed over, taking down the walkers with ease and precision. Gee, you thought. Bet it's nice to have someone that has your back. 

        The couple walked over to the dumpster and eyed you cautiously, glancing at each other. "You okay?" The man finally asked.

        "Could use an espresso." You quipped.

        "What's your name?" The woman inquired.

        "(Y/N)." 

        "I'm Maggie." She introduced. "This is Glenn."

Then

        Only using your energy on the ones closest, the three of you darted deeper into the woods. They followed, because they saw you and now they wanted you. 

        Only, there were more in the trees than you anticipated. Usually the woods were pretty clear save for a few stragglers here and there. These woods were not. You wondered why, but there was no time to guess. You just kept running.

        Eventually there were just too many. Daryl got pushed further and further away as more and more emerged from behind trees. When you realized you couldn't see him anymore you called for him.

        "Quiet girl! He can take care o' himself. You're drawin' more to us!" Merle hissed. You reluctantly obeyed, because you knew he was right. Daryl probably evaded them somewhere and would meet you both back at the truck.

        When the running began to take its toll and your chest started to burn, you put more of a focus on searching for somewhere to hide. To your advantage, there was an overgrown cabin not too far ahead. erle peered over his shoulder.

        "We're losin' em. Let's get inside an' wait 'em out. Daryl 'll meet us back at the truck when it passes." He strategized well for his inebriated state.

        "Okay." You breathed, just grateful for a chance to stop and rest.

Now

        "Need some help? Maggie asked, offering you a hand as you slid off the edge of the dumpster.

        "Thanks." 

        "You have a group?" Glenn wondered. Maggie gave him an unsure look. You noticed Glenn looked pretty beat up. You wondered what happened.

        "No." You said lowly. You did have people, but you were left behind. 

        "Well.." Glenn trailed off, looking to Maggie as if to silently ask what they should do with you.

        "You can come with us. Can't promise you can stay though." She spoke up.

Then

        The cabin had been vacant for a long time. Some of the old dusty furniture remained so you both sat down and just breathed. You handed him a water bottle and sipped on one for yourself while you waited. It felt like hours had gone by. It had grown dark out. Merle peeked out of the window. There were a bunch of them all around, but they had no idea the two of you were in there. It seemed like they lost their lead and just stopped, staggering around in the same spot. 

         "There's a lot of 'em, but they ain't payin' attention. I say we leave out the back an' sneak back toward the road." Merle suggested. You thought for a second. 

        "Yeah," you nodded. "Okay." 

        Just as you passed it by, Merle suddenly shoved you in a closet and shut it behind you.

        "Merle, what the fuck, man?" You complained, banging at the door. It wouldn't budge.

        "Quiet, now. Don't wanna draw in any unwanted attention." He taunted. You sighed.

        "Merle, c'mon this isn't funny."

        "'Fraid it ain't a joke, Darlin. Truck's outta gas an' my bike only carries two."

        Your heart sank.

        "Daryl isn't just gonna leave without me." You reminded.

        "He won't have a choice when I tell 'im 'bout how them dead ones took ya down." He mockingly lamented. "It was just terrible, ya know? They grabbed her. I couldn't pull'er away in time before they got to chompin'."

        "The hell, dude? Don't do this!" You begged, banging at the door again.

        "Look. Ya got your bag in there, got your weapon, got your wits. You'll figure it out." He reasoned.

        "Not if I'm trapped!" 

        "I'm sure you can kick that slab o' wood down if ya try hard enough." He was getting further away by the sounds of it. "Jus' try not to be too loud. Don't want 'em hearin' ya."

Now

        "I'd be grateful." You admitted. "I haven't had anywhere to rest in a while. I have some medicine here I'd be happy to share in exchange for a good night of rest."

        "Watcha got?" Maggie asked.

        "We actually came out her for medicine." Glenn added.

        "Some antibiotics, some Benadryl, some stuff for pain. Oh, and I found an EpiPen. I'm allergic to bees, so." 

        "Antibiotics is what we need." Maggie said.

        "Yeah, whatever you need. Thanks again."

        They still hit a few stores while you rested in their car. Maggie made sure to grab the keys just in case you tried anything, but you were too tired to try even if you wanted to. When they had found everything they thought they'd need for the prison, they drove you back. Rick and the others were apprehensive, with everything happening with Woodbury and recently losing one of their best fighters. Daryl was also their hunter, their tracker, and generally someone they all relied on.

        You explained to them that you were traveling with some people to Atlanta but they left you behind and you'd been on the move ever since. "I'd be glad to sleep outside if it makes you more comfortable." You said to Rick. "I can leave in the morning. I just really need somewhere to sleep."

        Rick studied you for an uncomfortably long time before he asked, "How many walkers have you killed?"

        "Walkers?" You asked. You'd never heard that term before.

        "The dead." He clarified.

        "Oh... I don't know, really. A lot."

        "How many people have you killed?"

        "None." You said honestly. "But there is one person I might beat to death if I ever see him again."

        "Why?" 

        "He left me stranded, surrounded by the dead."

The Next Morning

        Rick let you sleep in a separate cell block. He let you know you'd be locked in for a the night but that he'd come get you in the morning to talk. You didn't really care. You just wanted rest. 

        When he came and got you that morning you were offered a warm meal, which you gladly accepted. You made sure to give them the majority of your antibiotics as a show of gratitude. 

        Meanwhile, deep in the woods, two rednecks were hashing it out. Name calling, shoving, whatever it took to unleash all the pent up frustrations they had between each other.

        See, in all that time Daryl spent with Rick and their group, he began to find a side of himself that was suppressed with his brother around. The only person to ever make him believe he could be good was taken from him before they made it to the quarry. Merle, on the other hand, only represented everything that Daryl was trying to put behind him. Merle was capable of hurting good people or looking the other way instead of helping someone in danger. If only Daryl knew some of the things Merle had really done.

        "There was a baby!" Daryl defended as Merle laid into him for risking his own ass to save a family on a bridge.

        "Oh, otherwise ya woulda just left 'em to the biters." Merle retorted.

        "Man, I went back for ya. Ya weren't there. I didn't cut off your hand, neither. You did that. Way before they locked you up on that roof. You asked for it."

        "You know what's funny to me? Hmm? You and Sheriff Rick are like this now." Merle said, locking his two fingers together. "I bet you a penny and a fiddle o' gold you never told him that we were plannin' on robbin' that camp blind."

        "It didn't happen!" Daryl snapped. "And we woulda never had to if ya didn't let the truck run out o' gas! And my girlfriend wouldn't be dead!" Daryl's chest was heaving as his eyes stung, threatening to spill fresh tears at the thought of her. Merles eyes flashed something Daryl couldn't quite decipher.

        "It didn't happen 'cause I wasn't there to help you!"

        "When we were kids.. Who left who then, huh?" Daryl frowned.

        "What? Huh, is that why I lost my hand?" Merle rasped.

        "You lost your hand 'cause you're a simple-minded piece o' shit!" 

        "Yeah?!" Merle lost it. He grabbed Daryl by the shirt. "You don't know!"

        When Daryl fell to the ground, his shirt ripped down the back. Merle froze. His chest felt tight as he stared down at the gruesome scene left on Daryl's back from years of abuse at the hands of their father. "I -- I didn't know --"

        "Yeah, ya did." Daryl's voice cracked as he pushed himself to his feet. "That's why ya left. But (Y/N), she never left. She was always there, man. Always. She was the one who saved me. She protected me. Not you, man!" He wiped a tear as he took a breath between heated words. "We were gon' run away, gon' get the hell outta that town and get married, maybe start a family. I don't know, and I never will thanks to you!"

        He did blame his big brother for the loss of his love, but not in the way that he should have. He blamed Merle's clumsiness, carelessness, and negligence. He had no idea that Merle trapped and abandoned you.

Later

        Daryl went back home to the prison. Merle couldn't stand too watch him leave, so he followed. Guilt was starting to eat at him, gnawing away at his insides, mouthfuls at a time. He almost felt nauseous hearing about you and what Daryl had planned with you. He tried to imagine his battered baby brother in a nice little house with a wife and kids. Hell, he even tried to picture it for himself, but the image wasn't clear enough for it to seem possible. All either of them had ever known was violence and loneliness. That was why they needed each other. That was why he had to get rid of you.

        You had just finished a tour of the prison. Rick told you that you could stay for a while, but he didn't know if he trusted you as one of them. He shared a little about a rival community with a crazed leader. You understood. You never expected to stick around, even if they offered. You couldn't see yourself trusting anyone after what Merle did to you.

        You were sitting in the cell you slept in the night before, sharpening your machete and thinking about the things that you couldn't change. You heard distant voices echoing from the other block. It was some sort of confrontation from the sound of it. You snuck over to the cellblock where everyone stayed and peeked around a corner. Glenn and Maggie were blocking most of your view, but they seemed to be the most pissed off. Rick was off to the side trying to mediate.

        "You can't let him stay. Not after what he did to Glenn!" Maggie demanded.

        "He goes, I go."

        You stopped breathing. That voice sent chills up and down your spine. 

        "Okay." Rick held his hand out, attempting to set forward a solution but the room fell silent as you stepped into view. Merle noticed you first. He looked like he had seen a ghost.

        "Well, I'll shit bricks." He murmured in disbelief.

        "(Y/N)?" Daryl breathed, almost inaudibly. Your eyes were welling with tears as you stood just feet away from the man you loved.

        Daryl dropped everything and ran over to you, wrapping his arms around you and lifting you up. You couldn't even hug him back because your arms were trapped under his. All you could do was let out something between a giggle and sob.

        "Daryl." You whispered. Your body felt so perfect against his, just how he remembered. Then, it dawned on him. He set you down and turned to look at Merle, a blend of betrayal and fury flooding his eyes.

        "You said she was dead!" Daryl growled. 

        As everyone around you watched the scene before them unfold, they felt clueless. Daryl had never mentioned you because it hurt too much to bring up. Your feet began moving before you could even think. One second you were standing beside Daryl, then you blinked and you were inches away from Merle, rearing your fist back and striking his jaw with a force you didn't even know you were capable of. Merle stumbled and dropped to the ground holding his face. He moved his jaw around a little before he glared up at you.

        "Okay. I deserved that." He accepted.

        "Yeah, you did." You spat. 

        "Hold on. Someone care to explain what the hell's goin' on here?" Rick spoke out.

        You turned to Daryl, as if it was he who answered the question. You didn't care to share with the class. Daryl needed to know.

        "When we got separated in the woods.." You began, taking a breath. "Merle and I found a cabin. We hid there, waited for shit to blow over, and we were supposed to meet you back at the ruck. Merle figured you'd wait for us there."

        "And I left her." Merle admitted from behind you. You glanced back at him momentarily. You were surprised at his accountability.

        "In a closet." You added spitefully. "The place was surrounded. Took me forever to get out of there and even longer to get back to the truck. By then, you two and the bike were gone."

        Daryl's nostrils flared with rage. His fists were balled up so tight his knuckles turned white against his tan skin. His shoulders rose and fell with each heavy breath he took. He was so pissed, so hurt. The weight of the revelation had weighed him down so heavily that his boots felt like they were nailed to the ground. Otherwise, he would have lunged at his brother and beaten the teeth out of his skull. All that time Daryl spent in pain, mourning the loss of someone who wasn't gone. All because his brother didn't like her.

        "Why." Daryl growled.

        "The bike only fit two, man." 

That Night

        You sighed contently as Daryl traced little circles over your shoulder. Once it was decided to leave Merle in a cell, and everything had been explained to Rick, you and Daryl retired to his own cell to enjoy your reunion in private. He was laying on the bottom bunk, one foot crossed over the other as he stared into space, enjoying the feeling of your head on his chest and your arm and leg draped over him.

        "I missed you." You whispered, breaking a long, comfortable silence.

        "Mm." He hummed. "I mourned ya every day. I shoulda gone back."

        "Don't do that. We're together now. Don't blame yourself." 

        "Shoulda never believed 'im. I knew how jealous he was. Thought he'd get over it." He confessed. You smiled softly and nuzzled up closer, taking in a whiff of his sweaty scent.

        "Me too." You agreed. "But he left me with my bag. He didn't want me to die. I think he was afraid if only two of us fit on the bike you'd leave him behind."

        "Nah. Woulda had your sweet ass ride the handlebars." He teased, twirling a finger through your hair. You giggled, then you paused.

        "Wow. I think that's the first time I've laughed since we got split up." You realized.

        "Sure ya didn't find no boyfriends along the way?" He joked. He always did that when things felt too heavy between the two of you. You rolled your eyes, not that he could see it.

        "You say that like I've had a lot of those. We've been together since we were like, twenty." You laughed.

The Next Day

        Merle and Michonne had disappeared. You learned that the leader of the opposing community -- the Governor, as they called him -- wanted Michonne in exchange for peace, but Rick refused. Merle had likely taken her as a peace offering since he knew what the Governor was capable of.

        You and Daryl left to search for him. He took you to a spot where they had previously convened for negotiation. The two of you did a brief sweep of the area before stumbling across some walkers. You each took one down after another until you were left with only one. You froze when you registered what -- or who -- it was. 

        A sob immediately escaped Daryl as he fell backwards. You blinked back tears as you crouched down behind him and pulled him against you, rocking gently as Daryl wept. Merle's dead body clumsily pushed itself off the ground and onto its feet. You stood first, hoping to put it down before Daryl had to do it himself, but Daryl was quick to push past you. He violently shoved the corpse. It sumbled back, but it walked toward him again. Over and over Daryl shoved what was left of his brother as he cried. Tears were freeling spinning down your cheeks. 

        When Merle's body fell on its back, Daryl crawled on top of it and plunged his knife into its skull over and over and over until he collapsed.

        You wanted to intervene, to console, to be his rock, but something told you to let him get it out. He needed to. So, you waited until Daryl's blind rage simmered down and placed an assuring hand on his shoulder.

        "Wanna bury him?" You whispered.

        Daryl shook his head.

        "Okay." You relented. You glanced around your surroundings and noticed a patch of wildflowers off in the distance. "I'll be right back." You squeezed him gently before jogging over and gathering each and every flower in the patch. When you walked back over to where Daryl was hunched over Merle, he looked up at you with wet, red eyes. When he clocked the flowers, he gave a single nod and stood up beside you. You split the flowers in half and handed Daryl a bundle. The two of you placed them each individually around Merle's corpse.

        You thought back to a conversation you had with Merle the night before, when you couldn't sleep and went out of the cell to get some water.

        "Take care of my baby brother, will ya?" Merle's voice echoed through the quiet block.

        "I always have." 

"We'll take care of each other." Your vice cracked as you spoke. "Promise."

        "Promise." Daryl whispered.

Join the taglist! || Masterlist

tags: @kissmeunicornbaobei @thesadcatt0 @clairealeehelsing @duckybird101 @tmntfixationxreader @ryoujoking @blackvelveteen1339 @yondus-girl @ladylincoln @sunshinebug9 @saylum559 @yoowhatthefuck @duffmckagansbandana @celtic-crossbow

[roosterforme]

Scenic Route | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You can't wait to head back to the east coast for Christmas with your husband and your parents. But when your travel plans start to unravel, Bradley shows you what's really important. And you remember you already have everything you really need no matter where you are.

Warnings: Fluff, angst and mentions of smut

Length: 4300 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series! (But it can be read on its own) Check my masterlist in my profile for the reading order!

"All I want for Christmas is four days off from work, a little bit of snow, and your dick with a bow on it," you told your husband with a smile as you got in bed. You had an early flight to Maryland to visit your parents the next morning, and you hadn't seen them since your wedding last month.

Bradley shook his head. "No way I'm putting a bow on my dick at your parents' house."

You pouted at him as you took your glasses off and set them on your nightstand. "Wow. Next you'll be telling me that Santa Claus isn't even real."

"Oh, Sweetheart," he rasped, pulling you close. "I've got some bad news for you."

"Don't you dare say it!" you scolded, holding his lips shut. "I won't stand for that! When we have kids, are you going to try to ruin it for them, too?"

You released his lips while he burst out laughing. "I was going to say that the bad news is there's no snow in the forecast in Maryland."

"Oh," you sighed, cuddling up with him. "Well, I can deal with that as long as Santa is still real."

A handful of hours later, when your alarm was going off, you moaned and practically crawled into the bathroom.

"Hurry up," Bradley kept urging as you washed your face and brushed your teeth. "Airport parking is going to be a mess."

You rolled your eyes at him in the mirror, but he kept following you around until you were walking out to the driveway with your luggage and a travel mug of coffee. The only time he would agree to taking your car anywhere was when it was in an effort to protect the Bronco. So you drove him to the airport in your little car so the Bronco wouldn't 'get dinged up in the parking garage'. 

"You know what I'd love to get you for Christmas, Sweetheart? A new car." 

You smiled as he shifted around in the front seat. It was almost amusing how much he hated your little car, but you loved it.

"This one is perfectly fine," you promised as you pulled into the parking garage at the airport. 

He shot you a playfully unamused look as he unfolded his legs to climb out of the car and start gathering the luggage. But the look of displeasure was no longer playful as you followed him into the airport. 

"Our flight's delayed," he said with a sigh as he looked up at the departures screen. 

"No!" you groaned. "I'll text my parents and let them know while you check the bags."

But as soon as you hit send and watched your suitcase disappear from view, you noticed that your flight had been cancelled. 

"Bradley!" you called, pointing to the screen as he walked back over to you.

"Oh, fuck," he sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "Stay here, Baby Girl." He turned back toward the airline agent while you called your parents. 

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

Bradley managed to sweet talk a new itinerary out of the young woman who worked for the airline. And he wasn't necessarily proud of himself. 

"Hi, Ava. That's such a pretty name," he said with a smile, watching her blush a bright shade of pink. "Is there anything you can do for me about this flight to Baltimore?"

She looked flustered now as she checked her computer screen. "There aren't that many options. This is because of all the snowstorms in the middle of the country, sir."

"You can call me Bradley."

"Bradley," she said with a smile. "I could reroute you to Denver first and then Atlanta and then into Baltimore?"

"That would be great," he said smoothly. "Anything you can do to make Maryland happen." He glanced over his shoulder to where you were talking on the phone and pacing around. The line behind him had started to grow with people dealing with cancelled flights, so he knew he needed to rebook these seats while he still could. 

"I would be happy to do that for you, Bradley," she replied with a grin. "Oh, you have two seats under your reservation?"

"Yes," he told her as he watched you pace away again with your phone pressed to your ear. "For my wife and I."

"Oh," she said with a sigh before printing him out new boarding passes and handing them to him without another word.

"Thanks, Ava. Happy holidays."

Bradley rushed over to you and laced his fingers with yours. "Let's go. Only have a few minutes to get on our flight to Denver."

You sputtered but started to walk briskly along with him, smiling up at him as you spoke into your phone. "Dad, Bradley got us on a new flight! I'll call you back, okay?"

"Come on," he urged, and then you and he were rushing toward security before it started to get crowded. 

"How did you do that?" you asked, wrapping your arms around his waist as you waited in line for your turn. 

He kissed your forehead and whispered, "You don't want to know."

But you just laughed and nuzzled your face against his neck. "You either threatened someone or flirted with someone. Either way, good work, Roo."

"Honestly... the things I do for you."

When the two of you were the last passengers to board the flight to Denver before they closed the gate, you looked at him in surprise and went all the way back to your seats in the last row. "That was close," you whispered, taking the middle seat and snuggling up against his shoulder. 

"I just hope our luggage gets there," he replied. 

But soon enough, that was the least of his concerns. Because halfway through the flight, he was jolted awake by an announcement. 

"This is your captain speaking. Because of weather related issues in Colorado, we will be rerouting to Dallas/Fort Worth."

"Shit," Bradley hissed as you and he shared a look of annoyance. "It's okay. We'll figure it out."

"Get ready to start flirting some more," you mumbled, taking his hand in yours. 

When you and he deboarded in Texas, the entire airport appeared to be packed wall to wall with people. The flight announcement boards were all flashing with DELAYED or CANCELLED. 

"What should we do?" you asked, but he was already calling the airline. 

"Get ready to start sweet talking, Baby Girl," he told you. "It might take both of us."

"But that's your specialty," you said with a sigh. "I'll go search for something to eat, you stay here on the phone." Bradley kissed you before you wandered off through the crowds. He was tired. He knew you must be as well. But the most important thing was getting you to Maryland to spend the holiday with your parents. They were the only close family either of you had. 

After talking to three different people on the phone, Bradley managed to get two middle seats on a flight to Memphis. He reasoned that at least you'd be heading in the right direction, as most eastbound flights were being cancelled for snow. 

When you eventually returned with two coffees and a bag with sandwiches and snacks, he waved you over to the single seat he claimed. "Come here," he told you, patting his thigh so you had somewhere to sit. "We're going to Memphis, but we have a bit of a wait."

As soon as you were in his lap, he felt better. And when you handed him a sandwich, he felt great. "That's all they had left," you told him as you opened a bag of chips.

"It's perfect," he told you as he finished it in four bites. "You know there's a house for sale two streets behind ours, right? Get your parents to move there. It would be easier than this shit."

You sipped your coffee and then smiled at him. "You think my mom hasn't mentioned that to me already? She checks the San Diego real estate listings online all the time."

"Huh," Bradley said. He had been half joking, but he didn't hate the idea of having your parents nearby, in or around San Diego. It would certainly cut down on this kind of stress. And he could tell that you were getting antsy now as your eyes kept looking up over his head to see which flights had been cancelled. 

"There's an elderly man standing over there," Bradley told you, patting your hip. "Why don't you go tell him he can sit here, and we can walk around instead."

"Okay," you replied, and Bradley watched as you walked up and introduced yourself to the older man with a cane and hearing aids. When you helped him make his way over to the seat, Bradley stood so he could sit down.

"Are you alone, Marvin?" you asked, letting him hold your hand until he was settled down into the seat.

"No, my daughter is with me. She went to wait in line for food a while ago. We're trying to go to San Diego."

You laughed and dug around in your bag. "Figures. We just left San Diego. And you can have the other half of my sandwich while you wait for her. The food lines are getting outrageously long."

"Thank you," he mumbled, taking the wrapped up sandwich and turning to Bradley. "Your wife is very sweet."

Bradley nodded at him and said, "She's everything," earning a brilliant smile from you in the process. "Happy holidays, Marvin."

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

You fell asleep in the Dallas/Fort Worth airport while you were standing up in Bradley's arms. It wasn't a very good nap, but you didn't get to sleep at all on the flight to Memphis which was filled with irate travelers and miserable children. You shoved your headphones in to avoid listening to the woman next to you complaining. This flight had been delayed several times, and you were happy to just be in the air again.

Bradley was a few rows in front of you, in between two people who did not look happy to have someone so tall between them. But he occasionally turned around to smile at you, and you mouthed I love you to him each time.

"Oh you've got to be kidding me," you gasped when you arrived in Memphis late on Christmas Eve only to find that all outbound flights had been grounded for the night. You felt the panic rise up inside you. "We were supposed to arrive in Baltimore yesterday," you said softly as Bradley wrapped his arms around you. 

"It's okay," he said calmly. "It's late, but let's just text your dad and let them know where we are."

"We don't even have another flight booked, Bradley. We are going to have to spend Christmas in the Memphis airport." You could feel tears in your eyes, and you felt ridiculous as one of them fell to your cheek. "It's our first holiday married."

"I know, Sweetheart," he said as he wiped your tears away. But he was already on the phone again as he pointed you to an empty seat across the walkway. "I'll take care of it."

You carried your bag to the lone empty seat and plopped down while you sent a text. Your stomach was growling loudly, but there was nothing around except for shitty vending machines. Your phone rang as your dad called you, and you answered with a sob.

"Hi, dad."

"You're in Memphis now?"

"Yeah. It's almost midnight here. Merry Christmas," you told him softly. 

"Listen, when you get here, you get here. Just be safe, and call when you're in Baltimore, okay? We're only thirty minutes from the airport, so whenever you land, I'll leave to come get you."

"Okay," you said, already crying again. "I love you."

When Bradley walked over and scooped you up out of the seat, he looked pleasantly happy. "Why are you smiling so much?" you asked as he settled down with you curled up on his lap. 

"Because I have all good news, Baby Girl."

"Okay. Spill."

He kissed your temple and said, "We have a flight to Raleigh that leaves at noon. And we have some sort of rental car waiting for us there. And then it's just a five hour drive to your parents' house. I also got us some Doritos to enjoy together along with a Wild Cherry Pepsi."

You laughed and wrapped your arms around his neck. "Was the vending machine almost empty?"

"Sure was. There were zero options, but I'm fucking starving."

"Thanks for taking care of everything," you whispered as he fed you a chip. "You're wonderful."

"I'm only wonderful because of you," he replied, kissing your nose. "Now eat your fancy Christmas Eve dinner and try to get some sleep."

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

Bradley held you in his lap all night as you dozed on and off. His left leg was asleep, and he hadn't been able to relax enough to get a nap, but that was fine. It was noisy here, even at two in the morning. This somehow reminded him of his first time on an aircraft carrier; he was dying to sleep but just couldn't. But he didn't have anything as nice as you in his life when he experienced that twelve years ago. 

You sighed and pressed your lips to his neck as you slept, and he closed his eyes, memorizing how fucking good this felt. He was sure you'd disagree. The two of you were smashed between two families who were also trying to get a little rest, and there was an announcement going over the intercom. It was a little chilly in here, and Bradley was hungry enough to eat those nasty unsalted pretzels you liked so much. This wasn't the nicest way to spend Christmas morning. Not when you'd been expecting to be with your mom and dad.

But Bradley was so happy. You and he were married. You were together. He wasn't deployed. And you had your left hand planted against his chest where he could look at the rings he had given you. This was great. He'd be happy to do this every year with you.

You stretched and arched your back, and Bradley was finally able to shift his left leg to try to alleviate the sensation of pins and needles. "I had a dream," you whispered, "that Tramp ate Penny's turkey off the kitchen counter and they said they were never going to dogsit for us again."

Bradley laughed as he held you tight and kissed your hair. "Nah, he'll be a saint for Amelia. She takes him on a beach walk every day when he's there."

"That's true," you whispered before kissing his lips. "I'm sorry I've been cranky, Roo."

"Don't apologize," he said softly as you switched to sit on his right thigh. "This is not ideal."

"I know," you agreed, running your fingers along his mustache and his scarred cheek. "But we're together. Merry Christmas."

He pulled you close so your forehead rested against his. "I thought up a fun idea. Wanna hear it?"

"Yes."

He smiled and told you, "Let's walk around to all the vending machines and see what we can find. It'll be like opening presents together next to the tree at your parents' house."

Your laughter was so loud, you had to cover your mouth as you nodded. "Sounds so fun. Let's go."

The two of you scoured every corner of each of the terminals in the Memphis airport together until you had located eight different vending machines. Bradley watched you jump up and down when you found a bag of unsalted pretzels. "I love these things!" you said biting into one and then feeding him the rest of it. 

"We got some good shit, Baby Girl." Then you and he sat side by side and ate everything as you watched a light snow falling outside. When Bradley finished drinking a bottle of ginger ale, he said, "If we have to sleep here again, those benches over in Terminal A looked classy as hell."

You nodded as you finished a bag of popcorn. "Just like our bed at home."

"You know it," he said, kissing your cheek before he stood to throw away all of the trash. Then he heard an announcement for your flight to Raleigh to start boarding, and he pulled you up to your feet. "Let's get out of here while he still can."

He carried your bag for you, and with a little luck, this flight actually took off on time. And Bradley fell asleep on your shoulder while you ran your fingers softly through his hair.

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

"I love it!" you shouted in the freezing cold rental car lot in Raleigh. "It's just like my car!"

Bradley groaned and tossed your bag onto the backseat. "Every time we get a rental car, we just get the newest model year of your little shit mobile!"

"It's even red!" you said, laughing right at him. "I'll drive. I'm going to like it so much, I'll just get a new one to replace my car when it dies in like ten more years."

"No," he said. "I'll drive. I don't want you getting any ideas." He steered you around to the passenger side door and opened it for you before he buckled you in. Every time you tried to complain, he kissed your lips until you were sighing and digging your fingers into his hair. 

"Are you trying to get me to fuck you in the backseat or something?" you whispered against his lips before he stood and looked down at you in the passenger seat.

"First of all, no, I'm trying to get us to your parents' house. And second, no, because we wouldn't both fit. I don't even think you could get a car seat back there," he said with a pointed look before he closed the door and walked around to the driver's seat.

"A car seat," you muttered as you adjusted the radio to play some Christmas music as he pulled out onto the road.

"You heard me, Baby Girl."

You were hopeful. You really were, but you were trying not to dwell on it, at least not today. Bradley drove for a few hours into the dim evening dusk, and you offered so many times to switch seats with him. But he just kept telling you to feed him some of the vending machine snacks and keep the Christmas music playing. 

When you texted your parents to let them know what was going on, you knew they would be waiting for you. But they really went above and beyond. You texted them when you were about twenty minutes away, and when Bradley pulled the little red car into the driveway at eight at night, they came running outside. 

"You must both be so hungry!" your mom said, rubbing her hands together, brow pinched with stress. "Dinner is ready. I just took it all out of the oven."

"You didn't have to wait for us to eat," Bradley told her as she hugged him. 

"Nonsense! We'd wait until tomorrow if we needed to!" she told him before kissing both of your cheeks. "Now get inside, it's freezing."

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

Bradley managed to sneak into the bathroom and into the shower with you around midnight. The four of you had enjoyed one of the best dinners he could ever remember eating. Then your parents had spoiled the two of you with gifts, including a new bed for Tramp. And now you and he were about to change into some borrowed pajamas after finally getting showered.

"I really hope our luggage shows up back at home at some point," you said as you removed Bradley's shirt. 

"It will," he said, helping you strip down and climb under the stream of steamy water. Both of you groaned in pleasure and then laughed. 

"I already feel so much better," you muttered as he started washing your body, paying extra attention to your breasts. 

"Wash my hair?" he asked you, flashing his big, brown eyes. 

"Always," you promised, and he melted into your touch. "You know, Roo, this day was actually kind of fun. The vending machine Christmas gifts, and the rental car sing along. And then finally getting to eat dinner."

"It was perfect," he told you.

You laughed. "Well, that might be a stretch, but I think-"

"It was perfect," he insisted. "I spent my day with you. And we got to see your parents. That was all I was really hoping for. But on top of that, you're my wife. And marrying you has been the best thing that happened to me this year. So today was perfect."

Bradley could tell even as the shower spray wet your face that you were starting to cry. "I love you."

"I love you, too. And even though we only get to spend one day with your parents before flying back to San Diego, I wouldn't change being with you for anything else." 

The two of you were wrapped up in towels and stumbling out of the bathroom, laughing quietly together when you almost bumped right into your mom.

"I thought you were in bed!" you told her, holding your towel in place, and Bradley had never felt as naked as he did with this damp towel around his waist. 

"Your dad needed his blood pressure medication from the kitchen," she replied with a smirk on her face. "Why are you looking at me like that? You're married. I know you two are having sex."

"Oh, god," you groaned, leaning back against Bradley, covering your eyes. 

"We didn't..." he started. "Not in the bathroom..." he added. "Good night!" he said, slipping past you into the room you and he were going to be sharing. And when he looked back at you and your mom before he closed the door, you looked scandalized. 

He laughed quietly to himself as he pulled on the random assortment of clothing your dad was letting him wear since the luggage was currently lost. When you came in a few minutes later, still in your wet towel, he was laying in bed waiting for you. 

"You bailed on me!" you hissed, tossing the towel at him and standing there naked. "We made wedding vows, Bradley!"

He caught the towel and tossed it onto the floor as he reached his hands out for you. "Why don't you come over here, and I'll make everything better?"

You climbed into bed next to him, and he wrapped his arms around you to keep you warm. "Roo, she asked me if you and I are having unprotected sex." Bradley snorted as you groaned. "She wants to know if you're giving me creampies, because she wants grandchildren!"

Bradley burst out laughing. "She actually said that?"

"Not those exact words, but you know what I mean!"

"Well, Merry Christmas, mom," he said softly while he tried to contain his laughter. "We're working on it."

You buried your head under the pillow, and Bradley had to coax you out with some kisses. "Can I have my Christmas present now?" he asked once you were draped across his chest with your fingers in his hair and your lips on his neck.

"Yeah," you whispered. "I'm about to give it to you."

Bradley stroked his fingers along your cheek so that you were looking at him. "You already give me everything, Baby Girl. You know that, right?"

You pressed your lips together and nodded. "Me and you."

"I love it," he promised as your lips met his again.

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

"Okay, so this has kind of been a disaster," you told Bradley as you finally boarded your delayed flight back to San Diego the next night. "But also, I sort of loved this?"

"Best Christmas ever," he whispered, slipping into the seat next to yours and grabbing both ends of your seatbelt. Then he snapped them closed and tightened the strap, just like he always did. He even always buckled you in the Bronco. You were so used to all these little things now. You just looked at him for a few moments, and he looked back as a smile found his lips. 

"Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked, cocking his head to the side.

"Well, I learned a lot about you over the past few days," you told him as the flight attendants closed the overhead compartments. 

"And?" he prompted, linking his fingers with yours. 

"I think you might be perfect," you informed him seriously. "You took care of everything in all the airports so I didn't have to worry. You made sure that sweet, old man had somewhere to sit."

"Marvin," Bradley interjected. 

"Yes, Marvin. You held me while I napped. You made sure we ate. You played vending machine Christmas gift roulette with me. You drove the rental car. You made my parents happy. And, plus, you keep doing all the little things that you always do. Like hold my hand the perfect way so my wrist doesn't hurt, and buckle my seatbelt for me. You're perfect."

He looked at you. "You take care of me all the time, Sweetheart. I like taking care of you, too. That's just... what I always do."

You nodded and snuggled against his arm as the plane took off, taking you home to San Diego. "Keep on doing it, Roo. Please." 

"I'm planning on it, Baby Girl."

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

Roo takes care of BG, and BG takes care of Roo. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls.

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[castiwls]

Better man .ᐟ

Paring; patrick x reader

Prompt; 'i hold onto this pride because these days its all I have'

Requested; no

Notes; requests are open again!

Masterlist | Taylor Swift masterlist

You hated the way your heart seemed to pick up when you’d opened the door. The way you could feel your chest tighten slightly as you stood in shock for a moment.

You’d promised yourself you wouldn’t do this. For your own pride you’d promised that if Patrick zweig ever came knocking you would slam the door and not look back.

And you’d been so close to doing it. So close to saving your own pride but he’d been quicker.

He shot you that same boyish smile which used to make you melt, the same smile he’d used when he’d told you that nothing had happened.

The same smile he’d lied to your face with.

He’d stood there with that smile and his best impression of a kicked puppy as he’d pleaded. “Just for tonight. I haven’t got enough for the motel.”

You knew you should have shut the door. He survived just fine without you normally so there was no reason to take him in - yet a small part of you couldn’t do that.

You couldn’t leave him in his car all night, it was cruel.

Maybe Patrick deserved it - a part of you thought he did - but one look at his face and you were folding.

Patrick had happily made himself at home as you’d watched from the kitchen. His eyes stayed locked on you from where he sat, his fingers drumming against his leg subconsciously.

“Whatcha makin’?” You jumped slightly at the sudden closeness of his voice. You hadn’t even heard him cross the space from the couch to the fridge where you stood.

Patrick grinned slightly his fingers brushing your waist as he leaned over your shoulder to look at the contents of your fridge.

“We could get take out?” He mused like this was normal. Like it was normal to be discussing dinner options with your ex-husband on a Tuesday night.

“Can you pay for takeout?”

“I can pay you back.”

A sigh left your lips as you closed the fridge. “C’mon that pizza place you like is open.” He pressed as you turned to face him. “Just gimme a week okay? A week and I’ll pay you back.” He leaned down slightly, his nose almost touching yours as he spoke.

His voice was quiet, the same tone he used whenever he wanted something. A tone you’d come to realise he used when he knew he was in the wrong.

He’d used the exact same one in Atlanta when he’d reappeared at 6am. “Nothing happened. Just went for a walk.” He’d said as he continued to pepper kiss across your neck.

You’d barely been able to get a word out before he’d managed to pull you under him and quickly make you forget anything besides white-hot pleasure.

You’d should have ran then and there but you didn’t. You didn’t because you loved him and a small part of you thought that maybe he loved you to.

He’d come back to you still. Hadn’t he?

“Five days.” You said after a moment, swallowing down the pit growing in your stomach as old memories flashed through your mind. “You have five days Patrick.”

He huffed moving back but nodded. “Alright. I can do that.”

“Great.”

⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *

Patrick Zweig was the worst person alive.

He was the worst person alive and yet you still found yourself shifting towards him subconsciously.

By the time you’d both finished the food his arm had somehow found home on your shoulder and your head had somehow ended up on his chest.

His thumb rubbed absent circles into your shoulder as you both watched the movie.

Well, you watched the movie. Patrick seemed pretty engrossed in watching your expression as you watched the screen. Your lips were drawn into a slight pout as your fingers absently fiddled with the sleeves of your (his) hoodie.

“You're not gonna make me sleep on the couch hm?” His lips ghosted over your ear as he spoke. You shifted slightly so you could face him.

A small sigh escaped you as you took in the pleading look on his face.

You knew you should push him away. You should be firm that he was staying on the couch.

He’d broken your heart and trust in the worst way possible yet seemed to be able to weasel his way back into your life no matter what you did.

The worst part…you still loved him. You loved the way he still held you like he used to, the way he wanted to sleep in your bed.

He’d continued to come back to you even after you’d pushed those papers in front of him.

He did almost everything right but you knew deep deep down that he knew he was in the wrong for that night.

Somewhere in there was a better man and you sometimes got a taste of that.

Patrick smiled, his thumb brushing your cheek.

He had you hook line and sinker yet…

“I am.”

His face fell ever so slightly and for a moment you saw the same person who had stood in your kitchen and declared that he had done nothing wrong. The same man who had looked you in the eyes and told you that you could never be her.

You may have been a weak person when it came to Patrick but you still had just enough pride to enjoy the look on his face as you stood from his hold and grabbed a duvet and pillow from the cupboard.

“Goodnight Patrick.”

[misguidedasgardian]

Wildcats (Part XVII)

XVII. Home

MASTERLIST

Summary: Your “tried”, and in doing so, you had come oblivious to the danger from within 

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Zombie apocalypse AU, living dead, zombies, guts, blood, guns, injures, mentions of domestic violence, a fist fight, imprisonment, talks about slitting throats, kissing, longing, angst, fluff, might miss some important warnings, but you know what this is about

+18, MINORS DNI

Notes: ALRIGHTTTT!!! these dorks are finally… “a punta de caramelo” JAJAJA ready to party, I think, enough build up… Alright…the timing in this chapter might be a little flimsy, but what’s important are those dorks so… let’s do this! 

You waved Daryl and Aaron goodbye as they went through the gates and out of Alexandria, you wanted to be optimistic, but still, you still felt a bit sad that Daryl had left you here, you didn’t even trip once! Has it been so bad for him? you had such a good time. It had been a lovely  day. But still, he had been right about the run the day before, so, if he said it, he must have a reason. 

The dead had been buried, and even though your family had taken a big hit, you needed to keep going, this is what the new world looked like, you mourn your dead by keeping living, and that is how you needed to proceed.

Real or not you had a mission now that Rick had put on you, search for an alternative, a plan B, some houses to go to if Alexandria goes poorly. 

Your meetings with Reg about “development” had been canceled indefinitely, of course, he was mourning his son, so now that Daryl was gone you had to keep your hands busy.

You had become comfortable in the days you had been here, and today, you were determined, you went to see a person that was going to help you get the skills that you needed to become stronger to approach the new mission. 

“Espinoza”, you called with a wide smile on your face, she was already smiling when she turned, you found her by the trucks that needed fixing. 

“... I just realized I don’t know your last name”, she said with a frown

“Well, it’s very native, ANYWAYS”, you said with a wide smile, “I wanted to ask you something…” 

“Tell me”, she said

“Well… I can’t think of anyone better to help me improve my upper body strength”, you said softly, “I’m fairly good with guns, and my ax, but the other day back in Atlanta I could barely keep out a walker who fell on top of me, and neither the second one when he fell in top of the other…”

“Say less”, she said with a big smile, “I need to practice some new skills as well”

“You’ll help me? I want to be able to fight too, people, you know? fists”

“It’ll be fun”, she said with a soft smile.

You bit the dust like twenty times in the morning, until Carol managed to scrap you off the floor and into the house for a quick lunch, and then you spend the whole afternoon helping Rosita fix cars. Or at least those who didn’t have computers, those where your favorites to try and  fix. 

“So this, can be easily fix with a simple wielding, don’t let the shape fool you”, she said as you held up the broken hood of the car for her

“I always though radiators where a pain in the ass”, you said

“They are, they are easy to break, but easy to fix”, she said with a soft smile

“Great, you know what I was thinking? to install a good thick bumper in front of that truck… so we can run over walkers more easily”

“You know? i was thinking the same thing, but I’m worried about the weight, we would need to make sure to weld it good to the…”, the sounds of what must have been a window breaking interrupted you, followed by the sounds of screams and yelling. You both started running towards the commotion just in time to see Rick punching Jesse’s husband into the road.

“STOP IT PLEASE!”, screamed Jesse, trying to separate them as her husband was the one choking Rick into the grounds, but he pushed her away, making her fall. You ran towards her and helped her up and away from the fighting men.

“Dad! stop!”, Rick had the upper hand now and now it was Carl being pushed. Who was grabbed by Rosita.

“RICK!”, you called angrily, but he didn’t hear you, but he did hear Deanna as she came angrily.

“STOP IT RIGHT NOW!”, you hugged onto Jesse softly, as she grabbed onto you. She was crying, and in distress, you didn’t understand what’s going on, but you could take a pretty good guess.

“Hey, hey, everything will be fine”, you said softly, she barely nodded, “we are here for you, you’re gonna be fine”, you echoed

“You touch them again and I will kill you”, Rick threatened Pete, that’s his name. Jesse whimpered behind you 

“Damn it, Rick! I said stop!”, demanded Deanna, only then Rick stopped pounding into that sorry bastard

“Or what? You gonna kick me out?”, he asked, there they were, those crazy eyes again. It was odd, Rick was wearing the constable uniform, his beard was trimmed and his hair combed back, but, his eyes, it was the same as that night, with the claimers. You didn’t even notice he had pulled out a gun until everybody gasped and stood back, at least, the Alexandrians did. You were so used to it by now it scared you. 

“Put that gun down, Rick”, said Deanna, her hands in the air trying to calm him down.

A million thoughts ran through your mind, where did he get the gun? why?

“You still don't get it. None of you do!”, he said, waving the gun aimlessly, “We know what needs to be done and we do it. We're the ones who live. You, you just sit and plan and hesitate. You pretend like you know when you don't. You wish things weren't what they are. Well, you want to live? You want this place to stay standing? Your way of doing things is done. Things don't get better because you… you want them to. Starting right now, we have to live in the real world. We have to control who lives here”, his speech told you this was coming for a while, it made you tremble in your spot, you looked over at Rosita as she was as impressed as you, telling you she didn't know anything either.

“That's never been more clear to me than it is right now”, sentenced Deanna, uf, you better rush that search for a home, soon.

“Me? Me? You…”, he chuckled in a way that it was so dark it made you tremble, “You mean me? Your way is gonna destroy this place”, he said, his face was bloodied, so were his knuckles, “It's gonna get people killed! It's already gotten people killed! And I'm not gonna stand by…”, you didn’t even see her coming, Michonne had clocked him so hard in the back of the head that Rick collapsed into the ground.

An awkward silence befell all of those who were watching, Abraham came out of nowhere as you could only look at Rick, as your dreams collapsed around you.

“Please, place him in the basement of the apartments”, said Deanna gently, “until he can cool down, take the gun…”, she started giving directions while you could only follow Abraham and Michonne who had grabbed Rick and were taking him to the place directed by Deanna, also, Rosita and Carl followed you.

As you walked, you catched a glimpse of all those scared faces staring at you, at your group, like you were the worst criminals they had seen.

It was done, here it was, the crash, the collapse. 

They were never gonna let you all stay, or worse, they were going to make you spell Rick 

And if he was expelled, you were going to go with him.

Abraham left him in a small room, and Rosita brought things to patch him up, as she did while he was still unconscious.

Glenn came running

“Maggie will calm Deanna down”, he said softly, you looked at him with a frown.

“Does anybody know what is going on?”, you asked angrily, looking around the room, but nobody said anything

“This took me by surprise as well”, said Michonne 

“What happened with that guy?”, Carol appeared in that second, looking angrily at everybody. “If all of us are here, it's going to look like we are cahooting”, you said

“Nobody saw me coming”, she said, “Pete had been abusing Jesse, and the children, I told Rick yesterday”, there was an awful silence.

“And where did he get the gun?”, you asked her, she shook her head

“I don’t know”

“...Nobody was doing anything?”, asked Glenn, “About Jesse and Pete?”

“No, he is a doctor”, Carol said, with a dark tone in her voice. You sighed, rubbing your face. Eventually, you all went away, leaving only Carl and Michonne with Rick.

Rick had taken his role seriously, he had beat up a guy who was beating his wife, and probably the children, the bastard deserved it, the tricky part was now…

The fucking gun.

You passed by the house where the armory was, and now, two Alexandrians stood by the door, one of them was Tobin, one of their toughest guys.

Well… shit. 

You needed to think, so, you went to keep an eye on Tara, the calming environment of the infirmary was just what you needed right now. The night already falling over Alexandria. 

. . .

He was so thankful he didn’t bring you along this time. 

First, Aaron and him found a woman all torn out, tied to a tree, and an unknown man dismembered on the ground next to it. It was a horrific sight and even though you had probably seen worse, this was best.

They had to spend the night out there, in the car. They preferred it so, because they had advanced a lot, and at night, they had seen the man with the red poncho, and had better chances of finding him if he lit a fire again. 

But the next day, they keep following the trail, and they had found something that look promising

But now? He was going to die, most likely.

He took a long drag of the cigarette he found, as he watched those ugly, decomposing faces, scratching the glass, trying to get to them. 

It had been an obvious setup, (now that he thought about it), and now he was trapped in a car with Aaron, surrounded by walkers, and to get matters worse, an unknown group of deranged maniacs were coming his way, most likely, those who had been carving people, and their foreheads with a W

He was going to be the one to try to fight it off, as he looked at Aaron from the corner of his eye, Aaron was a good person, he had taken them to Alexandria, he had a husband, a home, he was a decent man, he deserved to be the one to live, Daryl was here to protect him.

But as he took another drag, he thought about his family.

Rick, Carol, Carl, baby Judith…

He thought of you.

Of your face, of your smile, of your arms around him yesterday when he took you for a ride, about the excitement he felt when he heard your voice whispering in his ear, about yours cent wrapped around him, he thought about how badly he wanted to be around you, with you… he thought about how much he wanted to kiss you, to hold you, and now… with how things were looking…

He was never going to get to.

He was proven to be right, in not taking you here, if you would have been here, things maybe could be worse, you could have been attacked, bitten or worse.

It was better this way.

Now he was never gonna know what it would be like, to be with you, to hold you in his arms, to kiss you. He liked you, and he just had come to realize it. 

He looked down

“I’ll go, I’ll distract them while you make a run f’it”, he mumbled, “just let me finish my smoke first”

Maybe he could make it. He promised you he was going to come back to you, he promised, perhaps with one arm less, but he was gonna make it, he had to. He had to tell you. 

Would you still want him with only one arm? hell, did you want him at all?

He had to find out. 

He felt silly, thinking those things in a time like this, what did you do to him? 

“No”, said Aaron, looking at him decisively, “this was nobody’s fault, we’ll do it together”, he nodded, Aaron wanted to get home as bad as he did, and they were gonna do it together.

And then, one of the walker’s heads was crushed by what looked like a wooden stick. 

. . .

The very next morning, you woke up a bit startled, with everything that happened with Rick, you had forgotten about the archer. You ran downstairs, only to find Maggie making breakfast

“Hey, good morning”, she smiled at you softly

“Good morning”, you whispered, “Is Daryl back?”, she looked at you with a glint in her eye

“He didn’t”, she said, “but he and Aaron reported they were going to stay out there one night, so don’t you worry”, she said softly.

“Alright”, you said, but the fact that they gave notice, didn’t soothe your nerves.

“He is going to be fine”, she said softly, “but we need to focus on keeping the place they are going to return to”, she said, and you nodded

“I’ll go see Rick”, you whispered

“I will go and talk to Deanna”, she said, and exited the house.

You walked quickly, you needed to figure this out and the only one who could answer all your questions was Rick. 

entered the room where Rick was, with Glenn, Carol, and Abraham, you needed answers, you needed to know what was going on. SOme of them acknowledge you, not all of them, but Abraham closed the door behind you

“Where’d you get the gun?”, asked Michonne

“You took it, right? From the armory? That was stupid. Why did you do it?”, grilled Carol, Rick’s face said it all, so you looked at the gray haired woman with suspicion, she was in on it, you realized as you looked back at Rick wide-eyed. 

“Just in case”, said Rick, not taking his eyes off of Carol, but then he looked at you, and he seemed surprised to see your angry face. 

“Deanna's planning to have a meeting tonight. For anyone who wants to…”, started Glenn

“To kick Rick out?”, asked Abraham, you didn’t say a thing you just looked around.

“To try”, said Carol

“We don't know that”, you said, finally 

“Maggie's with Deanna right now. She's gonna find out what it is”, assured Glenn

“At the meeting, you say you were worried about someone being abused and no one was doing anything about it. You say you took a gun just to be sure that Jessie was safe from a man who wound up attacking you. You say you'll do whatever you want them to. Just tell them a story that they want to hear. It's what I've been doing since I got here”, said Carol, and you chuckled, you knew she was lying front the second she stepped through those gates. 

“Why?”, asked Glenn

“Because these people are children and children like stories”, she said

“What happens after all the nice words and they still try to kick him out? They're guarding the armory now”, muttered Glenn, as you thought he was the one who was taking the same side as you, the concerned side 

“We still have knives. That's all we'll need against them”, said Carol

“Well, tonight at the meeting, if it looks like it's going bad, I whistle. Carol grabs Deanna, I take Spencer, you grab Reg, Glenn and Abraham cover us, watch the crowd”, muttered Rick, and then his eyes landed on you.

“This is “trying” for you Rick?”, you asked him angrily

“We can talk to them”, said Michonne, “there is no need…”

“Yeah, we will. If we can't get through, we take the three of them and say we'll slit their throats”, said Rick as it would have been easy, “we did try, (y/n)” he said gently, “we tried, but this people don’t understand how things are now”

“Like at Terminus?”, asked Glenn, “where’re gonna slit their throats like they’re cattle?”

“No, we just tell 'em. They give us the armory and it's over”, said RIck, like he had everything figured out

“Did you want this?”, you asked him, “just making us try our best just in case so you didn’t feel bad about this?”, Abraham placed his hand on your shoulder and then you noticed how riled up you had become, taking a step forward, your voice rising. Anger taking a hold on you.

“No”, said Rick, looking straight at you, “I hit my limit. I-- I screwed up. And here we are”, he said, “I want you to stay here, that mission will have to wait, now, if you'll excuse me, I'm just gonna sleep some more”, he said, dismissing the lot of you. 

How could you become so short sighted? 

As you were trying your ebay and play house, your family was collapsing around you, Rick had crazy eyes, Carol was scheming right along with him, you had lost Noah, and Tara was in the hospital… Sasha was turning into a sniper, she spent all the time in the watchtower, and people had become actually scared of the lot of you, because of your aggressiveness. This was bananas, as Maggie, Abraham and Tyresse had actually reached a position of power in the matters of days.

But that part relieved you, actually, you wanted your people in power, because they knew what they were doing, not because they were gonna threaten to cut people’s throats out. 

This was a whole mess

Were they going to expel Rick? were you going to go with him?.

You found a map of the state of Virginia, you opened it in the dining room table, and you began planning.

You could take a good guess where you were, and then there was Washington… you wanted to go to Washington, if they do expel you from here, that was your safer bet, to find a building and spend a couple of days there until you found something more permanent. 

The map was pretty detailed, and you noticed groups of buildings near you. 

“Is that a factory?”, you whispered, looking at the squared looking buildings in the map, that had been taken by a satellite a couple of years back. you certainly didn’t want to go there. DC was still the safest bet, especially if they evacuated most of the people.

But Rick won’t go

Rick wanted to stay here no matter what, he wanted to take the place. 

And even if you weren’t comfortable with that, you were not going to fight it, to fight him, or Michonne or Glenn, or Abraham 

Maggie and Glenn were building Rick’s defense, so you had to stay put, and try to stay calm.

It will not come to this, it will not come to that, to slitting people’s throats.

But if it did… Did that make you the bad guys? certainly not better than those psychos from Terminus.  

You thought again about Daryl, about what he might think about all of this, was he in on it? It was weird that Rick was planning something and not including him. Was he in on it? You really hoped he wasn’t. 

You watched the sunset through the windows, you didn’t even know where the whole day went, you had spent hours and hours over that freaking map, walking around the house, thinking about scenarios and possibilities, and freaking out. 

Was Daryl going to spend the entire night out again? Was that alright? On top of everything else, you felt so nervous, he was gone… What was going to happen when he came back? Was he going to go onto the plan of threatening them? You had seen what he could do, he was quick with his crossbow and he was fiercely loyal to Rick.

Whatever it was, you needed to stand by your family, even though you didn’t agree to the plan, you had to see it through and see to it that nobody was going to get hurt. 

You needed to go to the thing, what were they calling it? you didn’t remember. But you didn’t move a muscle, not a single one, you were afraid of what is going to become. They were not going to kick him out, the group was not going to allow it, instead they were going to take the place.

The decision had been made.

You were not consulted on it, and yet, you were expected to support it.

But you needed to go, and prevent the hostile takeover, you could, you only needed to be truthful. You were on your way out, when you heard the rumble of a motorcycle outside. You smiled at the thought of the archer. So you got out of the house in a hurry. 

“Hey you’re home!”, you said happily when you saw him cross the porch to the house. You were so relieved, not only because you were worried for him, but because of everything that happened with Rick… But he didn’t even mind anything else. He came straight for you, he seemed driven, pushed by invisible motivations.

He encased your face with one of his hands, everything was so fast you barely had time to react, and he leaned in, and trapped your lips with his in a chaste kiss

You smiled into the kiss, grabbing his shirt.

This was happening, this was really happening and you wanted to make it last as much as you could, his hand traveled to the back of your head, to hold you steady.

All your thoughts and worries went away as easily as that. Everything was going to be alright, and he felt heavenly. He felt the same, kissing your lips was the best thing he had felt in a long while. He separated from you, even though he didn’t want to, you didn’t want to. But still, he needed to see your reaction. 

“M’sorry”, he whispered against your lips, “I wanted to do that:”

“Took you long enough Dixon”, you said against his, and this time, you grabbed onto his shirt and you pulled him towards you, you kissed him again. This time, it was more intense, you actually heard him whimper against your lips, as you both took a deep breath into each other. Grabbing each other more tightly. You didn’t know how you were ever gonna stop it. 

But of course a gunshot rang through the air, making you split up like the other was on fire. 

taglist @crazyunsexycool @capricxnt

[moonstarsunearth]

About Atlanta's scene, Tashi is drinking at 3 am while watching how Anna Mueller won Wimbledon this year and was being successful, but that literally happened that same month; the Wimbledon final was on July 2nd of 2011 and the Atlanta Open began on July 18th, so it's recent. The TV commentators are talking about how she is having an excellent season with no female player right now that can stop her. If Art is a favorite to win The Us Open, Anna must be too.

For Tashi, she must have been the one winning grand slams, the one stopping Anna—not like the commentators say, but she can't play. For me ,watching Anna win, I believe her first Wimbledon and grand slam, must have caused Tashi the strongest feelings of grief about losing her career since she knew she couldn't play anymore, especially because she tried to maintain composure and be strong for years.

Also at Applebee's, Tashi told Art that he was a great server (130 mph) but that he could be better (135 mph). Tashi is an excellent coach because she knows what adjustments Art needs to make to reach his potential, and they accomplished it. Less than a year later, the TV commentator says it: Art had an excellent serve last year around 130, but now it is 135–140. Changes like this are the reason that Art went from being a good player to a great player—the ones that won Grand Slams. 

Tashi is seeing Art and Mueller begin to have the life she dreamt of and was working hard for since she was a child, and although she is also an important part of Art's success, it isn't something that is necessarily always recognized or mentioned, and in the end, the most important thing is that she isn't the one playing

I have always thought that a romance with Art would be complicate things if she just wanted to have a tennis coaching career. Tashi literally mentioned it at Applebee's—that it wasn't necessarily a good idea to coach when there are romantic feelings involved, but they still decided to have a professional and romantic relationship that same night. And although Tashi and Art managed to sell themselves as this tennis power couple, I think Tashi had to fight to be recognized in the tennis world as his coach and not just his girlfriend or wife. 

And I don't believe those kind of handmaid's tale theories of Art forcing and manipulating her to marry or have a child. I think maybe in the euphoria or her success as a team they decided to marry, but for Tashi, there is part of her dealing with the fact of completely closing that part of her life when she was known and recognized as Tashi Duncan and the duncanator, that professionally she could never be recognized as that and she would be more recognized for what she would do and build as Tashi Donaldson than what she achieved when she was the duncanator and had a career for just herself, and now everything she does must be connected and depend on Art.

I am not excusing cheating or even believing like many that it doesn't matter because "throuple," Art and Tashi were in a monogamous relationship, and in the movie, all of them showed they cared about what happened in Atlanta, Tashi and Art, even if they tried to ignore it, and Patrick provoked them with it in different ways. But for me, there is a pattern in both scenes when she cheats. She is shown as sad, vulnerable, a woman who loves to be in control of her feelings and her  life is losing control of it. There are imminent changes happening in her life and Art's career that she can't necessarily control and that generate conflicting and uncomfortable feelings for her (art success, Art's retirement, Mueller's career consecration, a possible marriage, a possible divorce), moments that push to the forefront the loss of her career and her dependency on Art to have the career she is having now. 

The fact she cheats both times in those circumstances,tell us a lot about her feelings and as a character. I think it was her way of trying to regain control and very interesting how Patrick,someone that she is attracted,that she had a relationship but had not clousere in the same way she didn't have closure with her career appearing with her old " I told ya " t-shirt,a reminder or her past when everything was more simple ,when she still had her career and all her dreams.

That is why I would never understand these takes,that instead of watching Tashi as a person who can take horrible decisions that hurt her and others, is this villain that is always just planning and scheming to use the boys attraction for her to manipulate them.

[jtl-fics]

Tbd? Perhaps?

10/23/24 WIP Wednesday (Closed) | TBD AU

Then Andrew came to Atlanta, to the wolves and…and Neil knows he never would have won that argument all those years ago for Andrew to let him go. Not when he’s so weak to Andrew, and he had been stupid enough to think that they could be friends. Neil could have friends and those friends could be safe. Then Andrew and him got closer and Neil told himself that they could even be best friends. Then Andrew-

“Uncle Neil?” Dion’s voice startles Neil out of his thoughts, looking up from his long gone bowl of pasta. There’s daylight streaming through the windows and Dion’s looking at him worriedly. “Did you sleep?”

Neil looks at Dion and down at the Wolves uniform and shakes his head, “I guess not.”

“It’s really not good for you to stay up all night.” Dion’s chastisement is far cuter than Kevin’s ever managed to be. “We don’t have to do practice together this morning, you should get some sleep.”

Neil wonders if Kevin would have been this endearing if Wymack had the opportunity to raise him. He dismisses the thought as he reaches over and ruffles Dion’s hair, “Thank you.” He gets up and Dion takes his plate before he can reach for it.

“Go to bed. I can handle this.” Dion says with pride as he walks over and puts the pasta bowl in the sink before turning and looking at Neil triumphantly.

[justenjoythegossip]

THE SHOWER PORN AND A FEW FICTITIOUS MYTHS…

Recently again, I have come across the fictitious myth that Alba posted her shower porn to deflect from her racist and antisemitic stuff that was uncovered by (more likely leaked to) Chris’ fandom a few days earlier. 

But I would argue that this explanation for her posting herself stripping in the shower has little to no credibility. I will explain why, share my theory about what likely went down and the clues that point to it. I will also use this opportunity to debunk a few myths that have plagued this fandom for a very long time…

Usual disclaimer: I have no insider knowledge and have 0 contact familiar with this shitshow and the protagonists.

Her posting a shower porn was likely an act of retaliation to embarrass Chris…

When someone posts their nudes online, it can be either accidental or purposeful. If the posting is purposeful, it cannot be about deflecting from an existing PR crisis for the sole reason that the distraction would only work temporarily. The thing you are trying to deflect from would come back and bite you (on the butt) very quickly AND you would have added a sex scandal to the mix. Not the greatest move. Especially when you are a woman. Men tend to go unscathed or even end up benefitting from such scandals, but it’s rarely the case for women because… double standards and misogyny, you know? 

So the reason someone would post their nudes, a sex tape or in this instance a shower porn is to find elsewhere. It is most likely to get attention. The question is: what kind of attention and from whom?

I suspect it was actually Chris’ side that leaked the receipts showing her to associate with racist/antisemitic people in what turned out to be a successful effort to silence her. The reason his team likely tried to keep her quiet is probably because she had made a couple of very costly mistakes prior to that.

What made Chris’ team want to silence her and get her under control…

Her first mistake was to post the now debunked fake yoga certificate so that she could place herself in Atlanta with Chris. It probably forced his team into damage control mode, as they had to get assistance from a yoga studio based in Atlanta and a couple of its members that helped corroborate Alba’s claims. But her most aggravating mistake was posting her mother’s age on Instagram, very shortly after people commented on the fact that Chris was closer in age to Alba’s mom than to Alba herself. It was a catastrophic move on her part because, it showed she and his team were lurking on SM, it showed how thin-skinned and rash she is and worse it drew more attention to the age difference and terrible optics of this “relationship”. 

Leaking her problematic stuff likely served as a warning shot to behave and stay quiet or else she would be destroyed. And that’s probably why she posted that shower porn, to embarrass Chris and get a semblance of revenge. I believe she felt safe doing that anyway because a marriage was already in the pipeline.

But notice that she has kept quiet since then. You can compare her SM activity before that event and after she came back to Insta, and it differs greatly. And of course, her problematic stuff never reached the general public. 

Do people remember the GQ event in Portugal where she refused to talk to the media and was said to be rude? It was most likely because that poor Nazi troll wasn’t allowed to speak. Her only job was to flash “her” ring in order to honor one of their sponsors and that was it. 

But she did manage to post a video of the rings with her soulmate Justin to try and embarrass Chris once more. 

Why a talent agency would seemingly work against its client’s best interests…

Of course, some people might think this theory has little credibility because leaking her problematic stuff doesn’t reflect on Chris well. But I believe that not only did the talent agency not mind this little problem, but they actually welcomed it. First of all, they made sure her problematic stuff never reached the general public, as this information was only destined to his fandom. But more importantly, why not charge more hours to your client to manage a crisis you have created yourself? That’s actually quite the smart savvy business model and that’s “capitalism” for you. 

It might be too cynical for some but we are talking about a company that allegedly dabbled in sex trafficking by providing actresses to a famous disgraced producer so that he could sexually assault them. They then allegedly helped cover the scandal by helping him destroy the lives of the women who dared speak up. So this shitshow, that would be kids’ stuff for them, wouldn’t it?  

Of course, such tactics have helped decrease Chris’ market value or help accelerate it but as you have noticed, all of his upcoming projects (excluding Red One) are CAA-backed, so they basically get him for cheaper. And Marvel is likely the only place where he can still get huge paychecks these days but they will get a big chunk of that anyway so basically it is a win-win situation for the talent agency. 

Of course, it’s difficult to know what is happening behind the scenes and it’s just speculation on my part but I suspect they no longer have much faith in Chris’ career and future. A few critically panned projects and commercial flops may have helped reinforce their strategy and it seems like that they are trying to squeeze as much money out of Chris as quickly as they can. 

The legend that Chris’ fandom is like the FBI is a great cover story…

Rumors are that the fandom uncovered Alba’s past and exposed her, like they have uncovered so much of Chris’ business over the years. But I suspect this is a lie. A very practical lie by the way. 

Because the legend that Chris’ fandom possesses the most amazing investigative skills has served two purposes. First of all, it has enabled the fandom to feel good about themselves as they could pat themselves on the back for being such great detectives. And yes, I would argue, it was a good thing to try to make a loyal fanbase feel good about themselves, especially when they are so easily and so often thrown under the bus. But more importantly, this legend has been used to cover the fact that this fandom has been infiltrated for years and has been fed information directly from his team. On this platform (which sponsored his NY con) and other SM platform. I have discussed it previously and have used many examples to illustrate that. 

Like a Team Real blog having a picture of Chris’ dog at the daycare center. Like a blog which made a (non)sensical U-turn from Team PR to Team Real (a very practical trajectory that I explained in a previous post) who allegedly recognized a hotel room in Finland or in… Lisbon!

Let’s talk for a second about the video Chris did in his hotel room in Lisbon for that teacher. Isn’t it amazing how quickly people found out where Chris had shot this video? Isn’t it tragic how that poor teacher allegedly had to quit her job because Chris’ crazy stalker fans harassed her? 

People would be smart to question the veracity of this story as it is likely totally fictional. It did serve at least 2 purposes. First, it helped reinforce the crazy fan narrative that has been shoved down our throats for years and more importantly it helped place Chris in Portugal, which was the whole point of this little video. His team leaked where Chris was (something they have done very often) to breadcrumb his relationship to Alba, so that his fans could connect the dots. Do people remember the first articles that came out after Chris and Alba became official? They all put so much emphasis on the fact that his fans figured it all out and put 2 and 2 together when Chris and Alba were trying so hard to be private. Because private people always breadcrumb their relationship on Social Media, don't they?

But it was nothing new for Chris as he was flirting very ostentatiously and so privately with Jenny on Twitter back in the day...