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havin-fun-imagining-twd · 1 year

Text

Invisible, tugging strings, Pt. 1

When - chronologically after souls stripped bare, which means the Chupacabra episode of Season 2.

What - Daryl is hurt and hallucinating at the bottom of the ridge, while you are at the farm, wondering why you are overcome with really insistent dread that he’s hurt.

Relationships - why do the two of you feel like there’s a string tugging at your chests? (slow burn Daryl x Reader)

Perspective - Him 3rd, You 2nd

Pronouns - they/them neutral

TWs - language, description of pain and injury, and those signature crappy screenshots from the episodes the Slowpoke Series tends to have, and one poor pic from the internet of Patricia

What stories should I read first? - souls stripped bare! A measure of reverence Parts 1 and 2 came before it, but definitely souls stripped bare so you get what went on

Will reading this one take me all day? - no, slowpoke, about 15 minutes :)

Can I check out the Masterlist? - please do! There’s the official one here in purposeful nonlinear publishing, and the purely chronological one here. They both have the same Slowpoke stories, just in a somewhat different order. (Reader Requests are in the official one)

There’d been that damned snake, so the horse reared, and down Daryl went.

His neck should’ve gotten snapped, tell you what. For real, he should’ve broke a few fingers or something on his way slip-sliding down the world’s most painful fucking waterslide that was the rock ridge he’d tumbled down before finally crashing into the water below. Maybe he did break some shit on the way down but just doesn’t notice yet?

Whatever, he’s just grateful Y/N ain’t here with him. Because if they’d fallen too, with the injuries they already got going? The two of them would be in this shit instead of just him, and he has no idea how he’d be able to get Y/N out of it. He can’t even get his own damn self out of it.

All his lazy-ass has gotta do is just—fucking—ow! He can’t seem to get any higher, come on! He’s halfway!

It’s because the bolt notched in the top of his crossbow decided to move out and notch its damn self in his left side while he was busy careening his way down the goddamned ridge. Least he was able to fish out his crossbow from the pool at the bottom. And most importantly, he has the doll.

He found her doll! Yeah, that’s right, the one that little Hispanic girl—sorry, ‘Lila’ or ‘Liza’—the doll she gave to Sophia.

He’s seen it from the top of the ridge and was trying to figure out a way down, was walking the horse along the top to find the best spot to climb, when bam. There was a rattler, it scared the poor nag, she fucked off to who-knows all while Daryl crash-banged his way down the slope in record time.

And now, he can’t get any higher. ’Cause he’s a damned pussy.

Son of a bitch, and even now, he’s glad Y/N isn’t here to hear him call himself a ‘pussy’ because they wouldn’t like that shit. At least that invisible string that felt like it was tied to Y/N, whatever the hell that was, either snapped on his way down or he can’t feel it as much right now because everything else hurts so damned much.

Okay, Darylina, all you need to do is buck up and prove your balls dropped and get your ass up the rest of the way and get back to the farm.

He groans in pain and wills his nausea to go down.

“Oh, come on. You’ve done half. Stop bein’ such a pussy,” is his version of a pep talk, and with one final “Come on,” he uses all his strength to lunge himself up closer!

Yes!

Only — it’s the dizzy part he isn’t expecting, along with the way everything in his stomach lurches up, and the way the soil is far too loose and he can’t find a decent grip. Panting to help curb him from upchucking right then and there, he feels himself fail to find a root or branch to grasp.

Next thing he knows, his world is spinning again.

There’s a snapping sound, a searing pain in his side that spreads everywhere, and before he can think, his breath is gone an—

................................................

You

Daryl is hurt just jumped into your mind again and you have no idea why.

He’s gone out on his own before, why are you filled with dread all the sudden? Whatever happened late this morning to you two is really throwing you for a loop.

This morning, you don’t know, but after all happened with him, you feel like you’re welded together. You know it sounds weird.

Still, you do not like that he’s not here, that he’s alone. You know the feeling will ease, but it really sucks right now and you’re really not liking how that sudden dread just appeared in your brain, and loudly, way more loudly than when it happened the first time, like 30ish minutes ago? And the invisible string is still tugging away.

Maybe it’s just the caffeine crash after the espresso incident early this morning. That, combined with latent worries about the blood transfusion and how thoroughly exhausting today was. How the past few days have been…

“Carl, baby, how do you feel?” you ask to distract yourself.

“Creeped out that blood is going into my arm.”

Lori kisses her boy’s hand and shares a quiet laugh with Patricia. Rick cracks up, Hershel smiles politely from his chair.

“Does your back hurt or do you feel itchy? Cold?” Those are the things Patricia said to be on-alert for.

“Nope.”

“Are you out of breath?” Heck, you’re out a breath…

“Y/N, you’re making me nervous.”

Okay, fair, you need to get out of this room, you feel like you can’t breathe enough.

You stick your tongue out just in case Carl notices there’s something off with you (that punk notices almost everything). “Doct—Mr. Greene, would you like me to get more sweet tea?” you check, hoping you seem normal.

Genuine concern for him aside, it can’t hurt to be extra polite after Jimmy went on the search with Glenn today without consulting Hershel or being clear with his mother about it, turns out. And how Daryl…stole a horse.

Mr. Greene nods from the chair he hasn’t left since donating a pint of blood about 40 minutes ago. “I wouldn’t mind, in fact. Thank you.”

Slightly unbalanced from having your injured arm slung and tied to your side, you take his glass from the crocheted coaster with your free hand. Once in the hallway, you close the door behind you and start to hyperventilate. You aren’t really aware of walking there, but you end up at the kitchen counter pouring tea into the glass while tears pour from your eyes and you gulp down air.

Your hair’s still wet from the shower, so riddle you why it feel like it’s 105º in this place? What the hell is going on, dude? Why are you panicking over Daryl, he’s fine, he’s always fine! Just say a prayer and get on with it, you got shit to do.

Wipe, sniff, swallow. Okay.

With a final wipe for good measure, all you need to do is poke your head back in and put the filled glass on the counter. You’ll be nearby to help if anything happens to Carl or Hershel. Nothing should, but you never know.

After delivering the iced tea, you begin to make your way to the porch—but then pause, because don’t want Shane seeing you right now. Every heaving inhale makes your sore stitches burn and your shoulder/chest injury pinch, but you can’t seem to stop! This isn’t cool, this really isn’t cool.

There’s a side-door in the kitchen, you’ll use that. You need air.

two hours ago

“Sweetie, what happened to you two?”

“I don’t know.”

You couldn’t and still can’t shake off the feeling you’d gotten a glimpse into Daryl’s very soul. You didn’t want to take your eyes off him as he ran to—you weren’t sure, but probably to the stables.

There was a tugging in your chest as you watched him hurry away. You didn’t want him to go far.

You didn’t want him to go, period. It felt wrong that he was alone, that you weren’t going with him.

Carol asking you “What do you mean?” got interrupted when Maggie called from inside the house, “Y/N?” and ran out to the porch where Carol was escorting you in.

“Hey,” you panted, finally dragging your eyes from Daryl and looking at her frown. Her coloring matched her last name as she stared at the bloodstained part of your shirt.

“Did one of the infected people do that, Y/N?”

“No, it’s the stitches. Don’t tell your daddy? He already thinks I’m an idiot,” you asked, nervous.

Letting out an exhale and nodding, she said, “I’ll get Patricia,” before jogging back inside.

“This is why I changed my shirt before comin’ back, didn’t want no fuss,” you muttered to Carol.

She was crying softly as she continued to guide you inside. “Well, it looks like you bled through it.”

“Shane and Rick ain’t come back yet, right?”

“Not yet.”

“Good,” was all you could respond to that. You were in too much pain to be in any patient mood.

One, Shane not being back meant he and Rick might have come back with Sophia in tow, and two, it meant that you could get cleaned up before your brother saw what a mess you’d made of yourself.

If he saw you like this, he’d get angry, use it as proof about how you all shouldn’t be out there, then would go off about how there’s no point in searching anymore because statistics say that the little girl’s dead.

And you didn’t like how you were tiptoeing around him. That in itself was a red flag, he’s better than that, and yet…

A final, exhausted glance to see if you could still see Daryl, and Patricia was there as you and Carol entered the farmhouse. “Come into this room to your left, let see what the damage is,” she directed, kit in hand.

“I’m sorry, Miss Patricia,” you whispered.

Carol took your backpack off carefully and murmured that she’d wash your bloodied shirt(s) and grab you fresh clothes from the line. Patricia has her take off your soiled top right then and there, Carol also takes Dale’s watch off you to return.

It was only Patricia in there, so it was okay, you didn’t feel too exposed without a shirt.

She sanitized the area and snipped the sutures. You did need new ones. They hadn’t popped, but the skin around them tore and pulled and bruised.

That her now-dead husband was the one to so expertly do the original ones hurt more than the actual physical pain, believe it or not. Maybe you were feeling too much elsewhere or simply felt too drained and numb from earlier to have that strong a reaction to more?

“Sweet pea, you didn’t do anythin’ wrong. Ain’t no need to apologize,” you heard her tell you. “Otis wouldn’t want you to be.”

There was a brief pause in the suturing process because you broke into a cold sweat and she worried you were about to get sick. “Once we’re finished, I’m going have you head upstairs to take a nice, warm shower again. There’s plenty of fuel left in the generator. Don’t worry, we won’t be shy about sending y’all out for more when the time comes.” She handed you the small emesis basin for you to hold with your good side, and continued.

Halfway into resuming the stitches you ended up needing to use it. As you did, Patricia made motherly shushing noises and cooed how it was okay, then took away the container and put it on the tiny shelf near the door.

You like how she talks, she’s twangy like you are.

“Alright, what happened to you out there, Y/N? Didn’t you go searchin’ with the, uh, Dixon—Merle Dixon from the prescription bottle—his younger brother? I heard the bike drive back.”

“We had a rough morning.” You stifle a sigh in relief and pain in as you felt her make the final suture. The snip of the scissors cutting the excess surgical thread was music to your ears. “Daryl d-drove me back ’cause I hurt too much.”

Daryl. Just the thought of him out there, alone, made your chest tug again and a lump grow in your throat. And you really hoped nobody noticed that he most likely stole a horse 10 minutes before.

“How’d it happen?” she pressed. Finished cleaning up what she used for the stitches, she stood to check your shoulder. “You weren’t like this this morning, Y/N, this mornin’ you were the energizer bunny.”

The front door opened, and a knock came on the door of the room you were in. “It’s me,” Carol spoke from outside.

“Come on in.”

She opened the door and slipped inside, carrying a complete change of clothes for you, and promptly moved to take away the container you’d just vomited in.

“No, Carol, leave that, I can do it. I just need my shirt on.” Having so much skin exposed isn’t your usual.

Granted, that’s when Patricia requested, “Let me get a look at your range of motion and all that first before puttin’ a shirt back on, it’s easier when I can press against the skin directly.”

“It’s nothing I haven’t taken care of before, Y/N,” Carol softly reminded you, and took the container away.

To be polite, you asked Patricia to grab the hand sanitizer from your backpack before she did her thing. Smelly underarms are caused by bacteria and sweat; you knew you’d gotten sweaty. You already felt so humiliated and raw, you didn’t have a damn shirt on, you just threw up in front of her, you were crying; smelling less offensive was something over which you still had some control.

Patricia then started to do similar movements to what Mr. Greene did last night. Everything ached worse than yesterday, so much worse.

“Now, how’d this happen? It weren’t this bad before, certainly not this morning.”

“I overdid it,” you mumbled.

“I’ll say.”

The pictures of the family you’d just buried started to pop up in your mind. The image of them in their grave, that big blanket over them, popped up, too, as did the sensation of carrying them in your arms to get them there. The tears fell harder. “I-I had to.”

“Sweet pea, I’m sure you had a very good reason,” the woman soothed.

Really, if you had a dollar for every time you’ve cried in the past four days (not that you could do much with it, but), you’d probably have a $50 bill.

The door opened a second time.

You were grateful it was just Carol again, not Hershel or Shane. She brought you a small glass of sweet tea, which you held in your free hand but didn’t drink.

“Y/N, I wanna make sure that Daryl didn’t hurt you or try to.” Patricia was blunt.

You weren’t offended on his behalf; that she asked meant she was concerned and wanted you safe. “The opposite, ma’am,” you responded softly.

“Hm?”

“He picked me up and carried me when I couldn’t get myself up.” You tried a sip of tea to help swallow back more tears. It was very sweet tea, you gagged at first. “He dug when I couldn’t no more.” A sob worked its way up as you coughed out “God, I r-really wish he weren’t all alone out there right now.”

Carol took the mostly full cup from you and placed it on the dresser, while Patricia’s hands slowed where she was examining you. “Why’d y’all dig?” she asked.

You slumped where you sat. “The family who’d boarded up their house, the ones from Mexico?”

“The Bardales?”

Your lips wobbled and you could only nod to tell her yes, that was them, then shake your head back and forth to try and relay what happened to them.

She understood. “All of them?” she whispered.

“Th-there’d been a break in, and they’d,” you had to wait until your voice stopped shaking, “they all caught the fever, besides.”

That’s when her hands stopped and you could feel her go rigid. “Was they dead or infected?”

You had no idea what she meant and were too tired to get clarification. “Both.”

“Patricia, I’m going to get you a glass, too,” Carol murmured, and stepped out.

You and the woman sat in silence. When you tried to put your shirt back on, she put a hand on your arm to stop you.

Carol came back and handed Patricia the glass filled with iced tea.

“How did you know they was infected if they was dead?” she finally voiced.

You looked to Carol because you didn’t know what to say or what Patricia meant. She returned your concerned expression and spoke up. “I think she’s asking, um…in what way you found the family.”

Patricia nodded.

“Turned.”

And the words “Infected doesn’t mean they were dead,” cursed from Patricia’s mouth in a tone of voice you’d never heard her use before.

Talk about feeling humiliated and naked and having your soul bared, you literally did not have a shirt on.

“That is what infected means,” Carol disagreed out loud, to your surprise.

Patricia countered, angry and quiet. “Infected means sick.”

But Carol remained gentle and even. “I know it hurts when you’ve lost a loved one to it, but there’s no cure because the person dies first.” She looks down and shrugged in her shy, unsure way. “That’s the one thing we can’t cure.”

“But they come back, we see it.”

“Not alive,” you were able to verbalize as your stress stutter decided to make an appearance. “Not even the CDC c-could fix it. All they found was that infected people die, and the virus takes over.”

“They ain’t found a cure yet,” the woman spat. “A lot of things can look like dyin’, the heart rate can slow—”

“—They die and you know it. What we see walkin’, it-it-it’s just their bodies, ma’am, just the basest part of the brain. The soul is,” there you went swallowing back another sob and failing, “gone because they died and are still dead.”

“We were there, Patricia,” Carol spoke up again. “At the CDC, we talked to the only man still there, we saw proof. There’s nothing left.”

“Don’t lie to me in my own home,” she warned her.

“Don’t insult guests in your own home,” you hissed back, furious that she’d accuse Carol of lying. You clenched your teeth, held back your groan as you stood, wiped the hot tears from your cheeks with your good arm, and tried to put on your shirt so you could walk out with Carol—who stopped you.

She hadn’t lost an ounce of her gentleness yet. “Y/N, don’t get angry. This family hasn’t seen what we have.”

“Well, w-we seen one who’s head got sliced off and it still tried bitin’, but they still think we’re stupid, heartless murderers for laying their bodies to rest!”

“Look what they’ve done for us.” Carol gestured to your stitches. “Look at what they’re doing to help us, what they’ve already done.” She then gestured outside to your group’s campsite, then toward where Carl’s room is.

You still fully expected to get thrown out, but Patricia sat there, lost in thought. She inclined her head to where you’d been sitting by way of inviting you to stay. You remained by the door anyway, you felt too absolutely-fucking-like-garbage to have sat down then.

“You saw one with their head cut off still tryin’ to attack?” the woman then asked, staring at nothing with her brows drawn close. “Wasn’t no nerve reflex, or, or…” she trailed off.

“They’ll keep attacking unless their brain is damaged,” Carol replied. “That’s where the virus, um—you know.” Her eyes turned wet again and she bowed her head as tears of her own fell on her lap.

After more silence, you whispered to Carol for help getting your shirt on. “I just want to lie down before Mr. Greene expects me.”

“No, sweet pea, come back. I wanna help you get some range of motion back, come on.” Patricia, who apparently could hear your whisper just fine, waved you over and patted the spot on the bed. “I’m sorry. Thank you for sharin’ with me. There’s some…things I’ll need to think more on, discuss.” To herself, she muttered, “I need to, I need to talk to Hersh about this.” She next locked eyes with the two of you. “But until then, any walkers you find on our property, tell us. Don’t do nothing, just tell us first.” Then, she pointed to you and made an apologetic smile. “And here,” she held out the mini tissue box from the far end-table. “You need one awful bad.”

The mood in the room improved. She gave an extremely thorough, long massage to your neck, shoulder, and arm muscle on your bad side. Homegirl must weight lift or something, because she gave you back so much range of motion that you created a false memory of having taken painkillers.

“You didn’t give me anythin’, Miss Patricia?”

“No, but I will before you head upstairs to shower off, maybe antibiotics, too, but let’s wait and see if you develop an infection first. Oh, and you’ll need a waterproof bandage, let me find one in here.” She rummaged around her kit, found one, and handed it to you. “Take it off the site once you towel dry.”

now

Daryl is hurt. He’s alone and hurt!

Use the walkie, brainless.

Those words snap into your (brain?) where you’re hyperventilating against the brick chimney in the back of the farmhouse. Carol has the pink one, Glenn has the yellow one; all you need to do is find one of them.

It crosses your mind that he might would’ve radioed if he was hurt.

Which in the next moment, flips into the idea that what if he’s too hurt to even use it?

Which then quickly devolves into wondering why you’re being such a dramatic idiot. He probably doesn’t even remember he has it, it’s probably turned off, and he would be too proud to use it, anyway…

…who cares, you still need to try, you need to know if your friend is safe.

You push off the wall you were leaning into and — ohh whoa.

What is — oh no, you remember this feeling.

You waver where you stand, then turn to press your forehead against the cool, rough bricks. Shoot, how are you gonna get out of this, how are you gonna get back inside?

Your body flushes with heat, your stomach turns cold, and a sensation in between pain and panic burns your chest and lungs as you try to catch your breath; you’re about to pass out for the dumb-ass mistake of not drinking enough fluids. Shittttt, why didn’t you drink that glass of tea, in the least?

“Y/N?”

Rick. That’s Rick’s voice.

“Ricky,” you slur, “don’t freak and don’t tell Shane, but I need f-faint for sec…”

................................................

Him

“Daryl, why aren’t you usin’ that walkie? This was the whole point of them, mangy hick!”

Y/N.

Y/N?

He tries to open his eyes. Did they get stitched up and have enough to drink? Is their shoulder okay? They probably have a sling again, he’d bet money on it.

“It’s okay, man, leave your eyes closed. I know you’re exhausted.” A nudge. “M’sorry, I should oughtn’tve chided you about the walkie.”

No, he wants to open his eyes, he wants to see Y/N! Everything hurts so fucking much but their voice makes him feel safer. The tugging in his chest is back full-force — Y/N is here!

“Dude, I ain’t really here, you know that.”

What? He tries to pry his damn eyes open so he can see them, he needs to see their face.

“But you do know that you’re gonna need to get up soon. Find the walkie if you can, call for help, okay? Please.” He feels their hand lightly touch his wrist. “I’m worried about you, so is Carol.” Their voice sounds like they’re smiling now. “And our Carl’s gonna want to see the doll you found. Daryl, you found her doll!” A giggle. “And you know I’m gonna wanna tease you about how you’ve ripped the sleeves off yet another of your poor shirts.”

He finally got his eyes open and saw…a blur. Green. Leaves, branches.

Y/N.

Ugh, fuck, opening his eyes made his head hurt, though. “I can’t believe you were right about the damned walkie talkies,” he grumbles, cracking up as best he could but fuck, it hurt.

A strange static noise comes from his left. Is that the…that’s the walkie, isn’t it?

Y/N makes a face. “At least it’s nearby. I’m glad. It sounds funny, though, might could’ve gotten broken on the fall down. Maybe waterlogged.”

“I wish you were really here.” Hell, if they’re all in his head, he can be as big a pussy as he wants.

Their smile fades. As they trace their fingertips along his hairline, he could swear it felt real. “Daryl, you need to get up. I know how bad it hurts, and I’m so sorry you’re alone right now, but you need to get up. Please.”

He tries to lift his head. Pain and spinning and nausea.

So he tries to twist to his side instead and is met with more pain, that damn bolt is still lodged in there. Shit, he feels like he’s gonna hurl. “Y/N. I don’t think I can,” he admits, unable to hold back a groan.

“Quarter.”

He would have snorted, but it would make the pain worse. “Fuckin’ serious, I d-don’t—I don’t think I can—” Great, he’s starting to cry, which is making everything hurt worse because his breathing gets faster. “I don’t think I can, Y/N.”

“Bullshit. You can and you will. Now, honey — turn your head, you’re gonna get sick.”

Sure enough, he feels his mouth water, his stomach lurch, and there it comes.

Their cooing reaches his ears, just like earlier today when he was bugging out over some dirt.

It was only a second, and he was done. He turned his head back and rested it against the rock or whatever it was he was laying on. Just so damned tired…

“No. Daryl, you can’t do that, not now.” They sounded firm but still so gentle at the same time. “I-I think you need to get that thing out — I get leavin’ it in until you make it to help is the usual way of things, but it’s gonna do worse damage with it in there ’cause of where it is. You’ll be able to stop the bleedin’ better once it’s out.” They look him in the eyes again. “Do what you need to do to get yourself home to us.”

“Back there ain’t ‘home.’”

They huff. “Not with that attitude, it ain’t.”

He can’t help but smile. That’s how Y/N would’ve reacted, no damn doubt.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re not so bad at this imaginary stuff,” they tease him. “Maybe you should imagine yourself a chupacabra, encourage you to move.”

When he wills himself to open his eyes again, hoping to see them smiling, they aren’t. Instead, they look like they got the wind knocked out of them. They’re sweaty, drained, like they’d been when he’d left them back at the farm.

“This is goin’ to be rough as hell and it’s gonna hurt like it, too. But ain’t that just like so much other shit you been through? Now, you listen good,” and their finger pressed against his chest right where the tether between them was. “Don’t die, don’t get bit. I told you that as you left, Daryl. But if you don’t get up and get that thing out of your side so you can wrap it tight and come home, you are gonna die. Even if there weren’t dead people walkin’ and making things ten times more dangerous.”

How was it that he was strong enough to dig and carry and do so much just a few hours ago, and now he can’t manage turning onto his side or lifting his head? Even talking hurts right now.

“Just—Y/N, how do I get up?” he groans and winces, trying and failing again to sit upright even a little. “Why am I bein’ such a pussy that I can’t I get past this part?”

After grimacing, then mumbling for him to not use that word that way, they point behind themselves with their thumb. “I think he’s gonna have to help you with that part. I wish it could be me, but you know. Stitches and shoulder.”

“‘He?’” he repeats.

“As lost as you’ve felt without him—when he bullies you, if-if you can’t stand up for yourself, please try not to believe the lies, okay? Cruel don’t mean true, a lot of the time it’s the opposite.

He looks again to try to see who was there. Didn’t see nobody.

Y/N included. They were gone.

Upset to be alone again, and zapped from trying to lift his head and strain to see who was there, he lowers his head back down and rests his eyes.

................................................

You

“He probably doesn’t even have it on. Asshole.”

“You’re like, really upset, Y/N.”

“I guess!”

Glenn rolls his eyes. “What happened to you guys today, why are you like this? And with a sling again? And you literally fainted, Rick said?”

He’d been trying to recover an escaped chicken when he noticed Rick sitting with you on the ground, against the chimney out back while you glugged down a glass of sweet tea and a bottle of water.

“We j-just,” you don’t know how to describe it, “it was heavy, a-and I just want him back safe at home, is all. With Sophia.” You make one last attempt to contact him, lightly blowing into the walkie’s mic… before finally giving in and whispering “Daryl, please answer!” After a few moments in expectant silence that proves fruitless, you slide the walkie back into Glenn’s pocket and reach with your usable arm to pat the successfully-caught chicken he’s got snuggled in his arms like a football.

You lean back against the brick chimney and picture a teapot being taken off the burner. “And I passed out for only a mite, nothin’ exciting. Didn’t hydrate enough.”

Glenn nudges you gently with his tennis shoe. “Day’s not over yet. He’ll be back when the sun goes down.”

You inhale deeply, exhale slowly. “You’re right.”

“Tell me about earlier?”

You shake your head. “Later. Now, um, n-now’s not good.”

“Okay.” Glenn nods and looks down. “Sorry it was a bad day.”

“Maybe Sophia will come home and it’ll be a good one,” you mumble, not really believing it but wishing you did. “But we are pettin’ a chicken, so it can’t be all bad. Tell me about your day before I head back in?”

“I…tried talking to Maggie this morning. I don’t know what I was trying to do.” He rubs his face. “I brought the guitar we found on the highway over to the porch, and, I don’t know, was hoping she knew how to play so she could teach me, or something?”

Oh my. “You walked up to somebody’s front porch with an instrument you can’t play in the hopes she knew how?”

He gets red in his cheeks, forehead, and ears.

Good Moses, your face is warming on his behalf, too. “Glenn, is that where you were while we were goin’ over the day’s plans?”

“It gets better. I tried to act all tough, too.”

“You are tough, though.”

He mutters a quiet “thank you,” then stops stroking the hen in order to scratch his neck. “But, like, I tried to act all confident.”

“Confidence ain’t a bad thing,” you offer, albeit 100% out of your depth. You can offer objective advice only, not really anything from experience.

“Cockiness is, though…”

“Oh no.” Glenn acting cocky? That ain’t kosher. Maybe he’s misreading his own actions? “At least you tried? You weren’t rude or pushy or nothing, right?”

“I don’t think so? I wouldn’t want to be.”

“Did you say anythin’ that if somebody said it to you, you’d feel unsafe?”

“Ew, no.”

“Good.” You have to rub your chest for a moment to get rid of the tugging. Leave it to you to dramatize a caffeine crash and dehydration as a sign from heaven that something bad happened to Daryl. “I’m gonna head back in, Hershel donated a pint to Carl. Best make sure both are doin’ well.”

“He what? Shoot, let me find Jimmy, I’ll do more stuff around here to help out.” He helps you stand. “And hey, if Hershel brings it up—dude, I had no idea that all Jimmy’d told his mom was that he was ‘gonna help’ us, and that he didn’t end up asking Hershel.”

“That was way more on Jimmy than on you and the rest of us. You kept him safe out there, that’s gotta count in our favor.”

“Except Daryl stealing a horse is definitely not in our favor.”

You sigh and feel that strange tugging again. “We’ll make it up to them.”

................................................

Him

It felt so much better to keep his eyes closed, but someone’s standing over him now. Must be whoever Y/N said would help him get up.

What was that they said about ‘missing’ and ‘bully?’

He strains to get his eyes open so he can see whoever is above him.

His eyelids feel so damned heavy, man, he just wants to close them again.

All he can see is the green of the treetops at first.

The outline of a person’s head come into view once his vision stops being blurry.

Then it clears.

A smile finds its way to the corners of his mouth. He’s missed him. Felt so lost and out of place without him. His own blood.

“Why don’t you pull that arrow out, dummy? You could bind your wound better.”

Yeah, that was him alright. He’s missed him so much.

“Merle.”

................................................

next part > here! <

> Masterlist link here <

and our teeny tiny taglist :D

@spenciepoo338 @its-freaking-bats @whistlesalot @buffy-the-assbutt-slayer @dreamingaboutthewonderland @kwazii-kat @darylsmavis

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

................................................

Bonus for those who survived til the end of Part 1:

This is why he doesn’t have any sleeved shirts left.

follow for more DIY shirt ideas #upcycle

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moral-turpitudes · 4 years

Text

Borrowed Time:

(Pic creds to YouTube)

Trigger Warnings: Angst, Descriptions/Mentions of War, PTSD, Anxiety, Mentions of Gore, Sibling Cuteness.

Word Count: 1,261

Characters: Thomas Shelby x Shelby!Sister Reader

Request: “Hello hello, can I ask a angst prompt with 4 and 17? Thank youu in advance 💕”

Requested by: @dreamwastakenx

Summary: Y/N visits her older brother Thomas after hearing of his arrival from France, but just like the rest of the men who were lucky enough to come home, they all brought part of the war with them.

Tommy sat with his back against the door, the yelling from downstairs pounding at his skull whilst the sounds of shovels scraped at his brain. He felt his throat tighten and his ribs ache as he looked around the room which was still made up like he left it. It had been a whole 24 hours since he’d gotten back from France, but it felt like he’d never left.

John and Arthur yelled downstairs about the business details and who got which jobs, nearly knocking each other out on the cold wooden floors with the dark cabinets taking the brunt of their blows. The business was left to them, and their aunt was the only one able to keep it afloat until yesterday.

Tommy listened as their shouting carried out into the streets of Small Heath, knowing they’d probably find a way to make up before the night was over, preferably over a bottle of whiskey and cigars.

Being the more level-headed and clever one of the three, Tommy agreed to run the business alongside their aunt Polly, despite his own issues that he hadn’t had the time nor the chance to think about until he got home.

“In and out....in and out.” He said to himself while he tried to calm his breathing and his racing heart. The shouts from the men and the earsplitting sounds of bombs wreaking havoc on his mind as he sat in the safety of his room. He stared anxiously at the intricate wallpaper, not knowing if someone would burst through to save him or to kill him. But he sat there, frozen as the shovels slowly stopped, the images of the tunnels flashing through his mind as he looked on at nothing in particular. Staring off into space like he did on many nights while on guard duty.

Putting his head in his hands, he ran his fingers through his hair and cried. The memories of mere hours ago coming back like a tidal wave. The haunting screams echoing through the tunnels, the stench of rotting flesh-wounds and decaying bodies filling the air of the trenches, and the moans of the wounded men filling his every thought.

“You’re safe. You’re safe. It’s over.” He mumbled as he curled into himself, putting his aching arms around his legs and bringing his knees up, like his little brother Finn would do when he’d been upset all those years ago.

Light footsteps coming up the rickety stairs broke him out of his trance-like state, making him jump a bit.

“Thomas? Are you there?” A voice asked. It was one he knew all too well. A voice that always pulled at his heart no matter how hardened of a person he had become.

“Wh-who is it?” He asked just to make sure, his ribs still aching as he waited for a response.

“It’s Y/N....May I come in?” She asked.

“Yes.” He said, wiping a tear from his eye as he got up from the floor and went to pour himself some whiskey.

“I came over to see if you boys wanted to go out and celebrate a bit...“ Y/N said, glancing around the room, both of their bodies distorted in the dust-covered mirror hanging on the wall nearby.

“What is there to celebrate?” He asked, sniffling as he ran a hand through his hair.

“What’s not? The wars over, all three of my brothers came home, and you get to have a new career.” Y/N said optimistically.

Tommy sighed and stared off out the window, the whiskey swishing in his glass as he spoke.

“We died there, Y/N. The war isn’t over, not for me. Not for John. Not for Arthur. It’s still going on. No amount of peaky business can take that away...Yes we made it home, but we’re still haunted...we’re all here on borrowed time.” He said.

Y/N sighed and walked over to him, wrapping her arms around her brother in a tight hug.

“I should’ve came over sooner, knowing that you were struggling... I’m sorry. I should’ve been there to help you just now even...We don’t have to go out if you don’t want to.” Y/N said.

He moved a bit to break free from his sisters embrace, watching her face sadden a bit at the loss of contact. He sat down on his bed, a tired look in his eyes as he spoke.

“I don’t know if I can do this....” He said.

“Do what Tommy?” Y/N asked.

“All of this. Living, running the business, keeping track of my brothers and you, acting as if everything’s back to normal...” He said, looking up at Y/N as she stood there, her hands fiddling with a pocket watch.

Y/N looked at it and then sat down with him, resting her head on his shoulder. He still smelled of gun smoke and the rich dirt from the tunnels, and his hands were still bruised and blistered from the shovels.

“Nothing is normal, and that’s okay. You can do this you know...I know you can. If my brother can make it through one of the scariest moments of his life still breathing, then he can make it through this too. Alright?” She said.

Tommy smiled slightly, his face not used to contorting in such a way after so many years of grimacing.

“Do you get the ghosts in your head? Like the other men talk about at the Garrison?“ Y/N asked after a long pause, feeling him stiffen up at the question.

“Yes. That’s a whole different war. That’s why it’s still going on for me, still haunting me. Always will.” He said, putting an arm around Y/N’s shoulder.

Y/N held his hand, gliding her fingers over the calloused parts of his fingertips.

“How do you escape the ghosts in your head, Y/N?” He asked, his heart rate calming down gradually.

“After you left, I found myself lying awake at night after the most horrible dreams. And I would use that time to write letters to you...when Aunt Poll was asleep. I did it so often not only because I care for ya, but because I wanted to convince myself that you were still out there. That you weren’t lying dead in a trench somewhere. And when it would get really bad, I’d take out my pocket watch and listen to it, and watch the hands click by. I had it set to the timing in France so that whenever I looked at it, I knew you’d be looking at the same thing. It grounded me when my thoughts got too much. It helped me know you were out there. That’s what helped me with the ghosts in my head when all my brothers were gone...” Y/N said quietly.

Tommy ran his hand over her small one, still clutching the pocket watch. For once, he couldn’t hear the shovels.

“I can’t hear them now....the shovels...” He said, smiling down at her.

“That’s because you’re home Tommy. You’re finally home.” She said, giving him the pocket watch.

“Take this Tommy. If I’m out with John and Arthur or with my friends one day and the ghosts come back, I want you to hold this and think of the family who loves you alright? You’ve always said I’m your favorite sibling.” She said hitting his shoulder lightly.

“Oh, and you can change the time back as well. France is behind you now.” Y/N said.

Tommy smiled again, embracing her as they sat there while the sun set throughout the room. They would always sit like that before the war, enjoying the silence that her other brothers never understood. Letting them talk about whatever came to mind.

As the night drug on, she let Tommy go to bed, peering through the cracked door at him, to make sure he was safe. This was the first time in years that he got a peaceful sleep, all while clutching the watch like a lifeline.

Tag List:

(If you’d like to be added/removed from the tag list just shoot me an ask!) :)

@msbzowy, @nofckingfighting, @aranoburns, @sighonahurricane, @ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes, @gaytommyshelby, @wowjeena, @fifty-shadesof-tommyshelby, @inglourious-imagines, @thebloodyshelbys, @tsolomons, @blinder-secrets, @reveparade, @shelby-fanatic, @ta-ka-shi-ma, @cai-neki, @peakyxtommy, @captivatedbycillianmurphy

#dreamwastakenx #katiesrequests #peakyprompts #peakypromptslist #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders oneshots #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x y/n #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x y/n #katiesWIPlist #thomas shelby x sister!reader #tommy shelby x sister!reader #shelby!sister #shelby!reader

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storiesforallfandoms · 4 years

Text

recruit ~ eric coulter;divergent

word count: 2602

request?: yes!

“Yay in so happy you'll do divergent pics! I've fallen down mainly an Eric x reader hole. Could you do something cute and fluffy with Eric pleaseee. He may be a jerk but I love him so much “

description: the newest member of the dauntless faction finds herself drawn to her brutal trainer

pairing: eric coulter x female!reader

warnings: swearing, slight mentions of a toxic home life

masterlist

The wind whipped around me, tangling my bright yellow dress around me. My heart jumped to my throat as I expected to land on the cold, hard ground. I was starting to regret my choice. Even if the aptitude test said I was Dauntless, I should’ve stayed in Amity. Being here, they were going to kill me!

I almost let out a cry of relief when I felt a net underneath me, catching me from falling further down the what looked like bottomless abyss. I crawled to the edge of the net, my whole body still shaking. The initiates trainer waiting for me was full of tattoos, had his hair shaved on the sides, and had a piercing through his eyebrow. He looked like the poster child for Dauntless, and if he didn’t look so young, I would think he was the Dauntless leader.

He eyed my clothes with a raised eyebrow. “Did you fall into the wrong faction?”

I shook my head. “No, I chose Dauntless.”

“An Amity choosing to be Dauntless? Interesting,” he noted. “What’s your name, Pansycake.”

I winced at the Dauntless nickname for Amity before responding, “(Y/N).”

“Even sounds like an Amity name,” he muttered before turning to the rest of the initiates who had already jumped and announced, “Our next jumper, (Y/N)!”

He roughly pulled me from the net just in time for another initiate to come flying down from the building. Once all the initiates had jumped, we followed our trainers into the Dauntless city. I marvelled at the place, I had never seen where the Dauntless lived before. Not even in pictures really. Understandably so, Dauntless and Amity weren't exactly the closest of factions.

“Dauntless initiates, you’ll follow Lauren. New initiates will come with me,” the trainer who had caught us said. “We won’t start your training tonight, but we’ll get you settled away and show you around.”

The initiates broke in half and the newbies followed our leader around the city. I took this moment to look around and take in my fellow new Dauntless members. There was a number of blue bodies (the Erudite), few black and white (the Candor), but of course no grey (the Abnegation) and only one yellow, me.

We were finally led to the room where the initiates would be staying. Our leader turned to us before allowing us to enter.

“Before you really get into this,” he started, “I have to warn you that the Dauntless training is not an easy task. Just because you’re new to the faction doesn’t mean we’ll be taking it easy on you. We’ll be training you just as hard as we train our Dauntless initiates. If you don’t measure up, if you step out of line, if you refuse to keep going after we’ve told you to, you’re out. No ifs, ands, or buts. If we don’t think you’re cut out to be Dauntless, you’re done. If anyone wants to leave now, we recommend you do so you don’t waste our time.”

I pretended not to see the eyes darting towards me before quickly looking away. Instead, I held the trainer’s eye contact. He was definitely being less subtle about thinking I was going to fail, but the joke was on him. His doubt in me was only going to push me more, to make me want to pass and become a full Dauntless member. I wasn’t going to fail, not if I had anything to do with it.

When no one stepped away or responded, he spoke again, “Good. Now, go rest. We start right after breakfast tomorrow morning. You’re all gonna want to be well rested and ready to go.”

~~~~~~

Despite how hard I tried, I just couldn’t sleep. I was staring at the ceiling for hours, listening to my fellow initiates sleeping heavily around me. I couldn’t stop thinking of the day before, when I chose Dauntless. Every time I closed my eyes, I could see my parents faces. Part of me wished I’d open them again and it would just be the day before the ceremony, and all of this would be some sort of nightmare, but of course that didn’t happen.

I gave up trying to sleep. I silently pulled myself up out of the bed and slipped on the jet black Dauntless clothes that were provided for us. They were a little tight, but it seemed like that was the Dauntless way, too.

I silently creeped out of the room, making sure I didn’t wake any of the other initiates, or that none of them got up to follow me. The last thing I needed was some Candor or Erudite trying to prove themselves early by attacking the Amity. I had heard stories like that before.

I walked to the chasm that we had been shown on our tour of the Dauntless city. Although I could hear the water crashing down below, it still felt like yet another bottomless abyss. Looking down into it made me feel dizzy, but I swallowed my fear and sat myself up on the railing around it. I wasn’t going to pass the initiation if I backed away from my fears now.

“What are you doing up, Pansycake?”

I turned to see the trainer from earlier approaching me. Instead of shying away at the nickname, I scowled at him.

“You can’t call me that,” I said. “I’m Dauntless now, like you.”

“Technically you’re not. You haven’t passed initiation yet. You could be factionless by this time tomorrow.”

I scoffed. “I’m sure you’d like that, but I won’t be. I intend on passing the initiation, with flying colours if that's possible.”

“Watch it, you’re starting to sound Erudite.”

He pulled himself up onto the railing next to me with ease. He sat so close I could almost feel the warmth from his skin. I tried to repress the shiver that was coming up my spine.

“Why aren’t you in bed?” he tried again.

I shrugged. “Just couldn’t sleep. I figured getting to know my possible new home would be better than laying in bed all night. Besides, maybe the fresh air will knock me out.”

“Or the fear of the Chasm will.”

I was trying my best to avoid looking down into the Chasm, but as he mentioned it I couldn’t help but letting my eyes flicker down. Sitting on the railing, I could finally see the bottom, and I could see that it was full of sharp rocks. I felt my stomach lurch and my head begin to spin, but I couldn’t prove weakness now. I simply looked back up at him.

“It’s not that scary,” I said, hoping my voice sounded as even as I wanted it to.

He snorted. “You’re really trying, Pansycake, aren’t you?”

“Stop calling me that,” I hissed. “Even if I fail the initiation, I won’t be Amity anymore. I’ll be factionless, which means that no matter what, I am not Amity, which means I am not a Pansycake.”

He put his hands up in surrender. “Okay, geez. Calm down kid, I’m just trying to have some fun with you. We’ve never had an Amity initiate before, this is all new to us.”

“I’m not a kid,” I huffed. “Not to you anyways, you look like you’re close to my age.”

“I’m 18,” he said. “But I’m still your superior, which means you’re still a kid in my eyes.”

I sighed, frustrated, and rolled my eyes. I was getting sick of this guy. And now I had to train under him? It was going to be a brutal few weeks.

“So, what did your people think when you chose Dauntless?” he asked. “I can’t imagine the peaceful being angry like ever, but I also can’t see them being too happy that one of their own chose violence over peace.”

I looked down into the Chasm, the nauseous feeling starting to subside. Falling down this Chasm would’ve been much easier than having to relive the day before, where I betrayed my parents and my faction by choosing Dauntless over Amity.

“It’s not like no one has ever chosen to leave Amity,” I responded. “It’s just...a lot of them tend to go to Abnegation or Candor. Selflessness is seen as the closest thing to peacefulness, and the Amity also value truth over everything else. I went into my test thinking I’d come out as one of those. I always followed by what my parents taught me, what the faction taught all of us. I thought it was simple that I would get one of those three factions.”

“But you didn’t.” His voice was no longer harsh and teasing. It was light, almost understanding. I wondered if my brutal initiation trainer was a born Dauntless.

“When the test ended, the woman who administered it to me was shocked. She was also Amity, a family friend, actually. She kept looking over the results, muttering to herself that they must be wrong. Of course, to me, worst case scenario was I didn’t test for any faction. That I was some freak who would never fit into any of the factions, that I was meant to just be factionless for life. But when I asked her what my results were, she looked at me and said, ‘Dauntless’.”

He let out a bark of laughter. “Really? She was panicking because you were Dauntless?”

“The Amity seem to think that if one of their own is tested as Dauntless, then they somehow taught that person wrong. I’m sure you can vouch for the fact that there are very few Amity born Dauntless. I mean, I’m the only initiate from Amity here. It’s as rare as an Abnegation testing for Dauntless. Of course, me being the first one in who knows how long, it was a big deal. I didn’t tell my parents, I begged her not to, either. She struggled with the decision, but said she wouldn’t as she isn’t allowed to anyways.”

“So they found out at the ceremony.”

I nodded. “I kept saying I couldn’t tell them what my results were, and that they’d know by the time I chose. They were so excited that they had themselves convinced I had gotten Amity. Or maybe they were just nervous about losing their only child that they had to convince themselves that they wouldn’t. When I dropped my blood onto the Dauntless coals...I swear, I could hear my parents hearts break.”

Well, I could hear my mother’s anyways. My father...I could already hear the angry yelling. I was glad I had been whisked away before they had the chance to really say anything to me.

“What was their reactions?” he asked. I was so lost in thought I had forgotten he was there for a moment.

“Mom is a born Amity, so she understood. She cried a lot and hugged me so tightly it felt like she was crushing every bone in my body, but she understood that if I tested for Dauntless, that I should choose Dauntless...my father on the other hand...he didn’t even hug me goodbye. His face was so red with anger, I was sure if I was there another moment he would’ve yelled at me.”

“That doesn’t sound very peaceful of him.”

I looked down at my lap. Did I tell this complete stranger, that had done nothing but taunt me since I got here, the biggest secret of my family? What exactly could he do? It wasn’t illegal what my father did, just wrong. The worst that could happen, maybe he became factionless. Maybe that’s what he deserved.

“My father isn’t a born Amity,” I revealed. “He didn’t even test for Amity. He’s from Dauntless, tested for Dauntless, but chose Amity.”

He looked at me with wide eyes, disbelief written all over his face. “What? Why would he...no one ever does that. Especially not a born and tested Dauntless. They’d choose Erudite, maybe even Abnegation before Amity.”

“Apparently he was just in love with my mom,” I responded. “They met in school, they were the same age. The day they got tested, they met up with one another in private to discuss the results. When they found out they had been tested for their own factions, they were both disappointed thinking they’d never see each other again. The day of their choosing ceremony, my dad chose Amity to be with my mom. He’s good at pretending to be peaceful in public but...when he was angry...he was angry. He always took it out on me and mom, but because mom is a born Amity she doesn’t do anything about it to keep the peace. I feel so terrible for having to leave her behind, but I had to get away from him.”

“You chose faction over blood, as you’re meant to,” he said. “At least you’re out of there.”

I didn’t realize I had been crying until he touched my face. I jerked away at first, until I realized he was using this thumb to wipe the tears from my eyes. I was happy to be away from my father, but I hated having to leave my mother. I wished nothing more than to go back and get her, to somehow sneak her into Dauntless, but I knew this wasn’t the place for her. She loved Amity, and, despite how he was, she loved my father. She was so caring, so selfless - a true Amity.

“You’re pretty tough for an Amity girl,” he told me. “Standing up against your father by choosing the faction you tested for over the one he probably threatened you to stay in. That takes guts.”

I scoffed through my tears. “More like cowardice. I was looking for a way out, not looking to stay true to what I tested for.”

“But getting away from that scenario is tough, whether you want to believe it or not. You got guts, kid. I think you’ll make it here.”

I smiled and wiped my face dry using the sleeves of my shirt. “My name is (Y/N). You can call me that, you know. We’ll be equals once I pass the initiation.”

He laughed. “And there’s the cocky attitude. You’ll definitely be a great Dauntless. Since you’re so hellbent on being equals, you can call me Eric, but only in private. Don’t want the other initiates knowing we’ve gotten close or else they may think I’m playing favourites.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You think we’re close?”

“I think I’d like to get close.”

My face heated up at his words and I had to look away. I was grateful for the gust of wind that blew at that moment, cooling me down.

“I’d like that, too,” I decided. I put a hand over my mouth to stifle the yawn that came suddenly.

“Tired now?” I sheepishly nodded. Eric jumped off of the railing and offered me a hand. He helped me down, making sure I was safe on the ground before letting me go. “We have training after breakfast tomorrow. Come find me in the dining room, I’ll be sat with the other trainers and the Dauntless initiates. You’ll be seen as pretty daring sitting with us.”

I smiled and nodded, stifling another yawn as I did so. Eric laughed and wished me a goodnight before heading back towards his own home. I watched him go for some time before I excitedly hurried back to the initiate room, but trying not to make the excitement seem so obvious. Maybe I would like being a Dauntless after all.

#eric coulter #eric coulter imagine #eric coulter x reader #jai courtney #jai Courtney imagine #jai Courtney x reader #divergent #dauntless #divergent imagine #one shot #imagine #request

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justanotherbuckydevotee · 6 years

Text

lostmyhead - part 2

Word Count: 1,638 words. Prompt : Lovecraftian – Horrible and indescribable platonic love. Or in which you don’t know how to deal with your emotions. Warning(s): Description of injuries. More sad stuff. A/N: Alright, i don’t actually know what I’m doing. This was tough to write and tough to get back to so any feedback would be highly appreciated. Written for @hellomissmabel‘s 2K Birthday Celebration. Thank you for giving me time (i seriously needed it) and i’m sorry this took on a veryyy different route. On this part, we have a cameo by the lovely @minervaem aka Yvy. Enjoy the angst and happy reading! PS: The reader’s ‘power’/’enhancement will be revealed in the next hopefully final bonus part

masterlist series page || prologue || part 1 || part 2 || part 3 || part 4

** pic not mine **

Cold.

You feel cold. The air felt icy that you’re shaking from it. You wish someone could wrap you in a thick blanket. For a moment, it was the only thing you can feel. But then your body begins to wake, shocking you with that unbearable sharp sting shooting from your side. You want to yelp in pain but your throat is dry, as if a sandstorm had been forced down.

It was only when you blinked that you realized your eyes were open. You see blurry shapes clouding over you, spots appearing here and there. Your ears are no better, vaguely picking up voices in-between the ringing noise that will not cease.

The events that took place comes back to you, piece by piece. You remember going down a hauntingly silent hallway, gun raised and ready. Your earpiece cackles. An agent comes out. Easily shot down.

Then another, and another. Before long it’s hectic.

Fist connecting to a jaw. The blade of a knife glinting before being pushed into flesh. Blood stains. Your name being called. A flash of silver. Needle on Bucky’s neck.

Bucky.

Your hand grasps whatever –or whoever, is next to you. Bucky’s name comes out like a prayer from your lips, needing to know that he’s not in danger, that he is safe.

“You’re okay. We got you”. It’s muffled, as if you’re underwater, but you can still discern the voice belongs to Sam.

You shake your head. He doesn’t understand it. Where’s Bucky? You don’t care what state your body is in. You can’t care about anything but the fear that he isn’t listening to your request. You repeat his name again, praying that Sam understands you.

It’s taking all your energy to clutch his hand again, strongly this time, but your body is failing you once more. Your vision begins to be hazy, the corners slowly being swallowed by darkness. You’re cursing yourself for failing; why must you fail?

“(y/n), you gotta let me work on your wounds” Sam begins, seeing your hand moving to his once more. Then the heart monitors beeps alarmingly. “Stay with me” he says, seeing your eyes slowly closing, your forehead glistening with sweat on your pale skin, the blood that stained your face now wiped enough to clearly reveal your lips turning blue.

Thankfully the team lands on the compound minutes later.

“She’s in hypovolemic shock” Sam explains, dragging the gurney you’re in as Natasha holds a bag of blood upwards next to you towards Dr. Cho and her team.

With ease, Dr. Cho takes Sam’s place, instructing her team what to do in her mother-tongue language. Before long they disappear. Another gurney is pushed out from the jet, Bucky strapped in it.

“We don’t know what got into his system” Steve informs Bruce, pushing his best friend and following Bruce’s lead.

“You need to get checked too” Bruce orders, pointing towards the blood streaking on the side of his head before taking control and bringing Bucky to the medical ward.

A nurse ushers Steve to partitioned area, cleaning off the blood but it’s all that needs to be done. The serum had pieced back his tore skin, leaving only the marks of what used to be cuts and bruises. He hears Natasha from behind the divider, asking about you.

“We can’t be too sure, Agent Romanoff. But we know she’s in excellent hands”

Steve stays put, and so does Natasha. It’s not long after the nurses left that Wanda comes rushing into the bay, eyes wide with trepidation when the news of the operation had gone horribly. Sam and Clint follows behind her, still clad in their gears.

Natasha stands up just as Wanda approaches, wrapping her arms around the red-head.

“Are you okay?” she asks worriedly, unaware of the red glint in her eyes.

Emotions are running high, and Wanda can feel them all so personally she can barely hide it. Steve notices the symptoms, pushing himself off his seat and soothing her with a calm voice.

“We’re alright. Breathe” he tells her, holding her shaking hands in his. She repeats after Steve, following him through the breathing exercise that they both develop when tensions are high. Wanda collects her feelings, closing her eyes as she inhales deeply only to release it slowly after. She has to be in control.

When she looks up at Steve, she mouths a thank you before asking him how he was doing.

“Better now that we’re here” he admits. He knows Wanda is about to ask something but decides better not to, opting instead to sit with them in the sterile area of the compound silently, waiting for any news of you and Bucky.

The first week was hard.

The sight of you in an induced coma had triggered something deep within your closest friends. Though the operations they’d performed on you had been successful, the swelling of your frontal lobe was not something Dr. Cho could aid with her technological advances.

“It’s the only thing I could do. I’m sorry” she mumbled to Steve and Wanda when she stepped out of the operating theatre still in her pristine scrubs. Steve is quick to react calmly, saying she’d done everything she could.

Thankfully, Bruce had given them good news beforehand; Bucky’s injuries were minor. The syringe was filled with a heavy dose of tranquilizer strong enough to dull his super-soldier senses. He’d woken hours after, thoughts all clouded with a raging headache, his muscles sore from the intense fight.

“And (y/n)?” he asked Steve worriedly. In truth Bucky felt guilty. He felt guilty because he should’ve moved faster, should’ve paid more attention to you. He should’ve protected you. He knows he shouldn’t think like this –people always get hurt, but for a long time he always knew the bad guys would pay the price. Never the good guys.

Never you.

And as he sat there for the fourth day in a row silently in your room, Bucky couldn’t help but feel responsible to what has happened. His mind seemed to agree, because whenever he closes his eyes, he was always brought back to that mission, to the moment where someone had gotten a hold on you.

“Just go!” Bucky shouted. He can feel himself going weak, the muscles in his body slowly losing energy, as if even the oxygen around him was weighing him down. He throws an assailant off of him, eyes never leaving your sight as you continued, clearly oblivious to an approaching threat.

“(y/n)!” He screams, but it’s too late. Bucky sees the fear reflecting in your eyes before the attacker’s feet lands harshly on your back, forcing you down on the ground. He doesn’t wait around to see the agent plummeting your head to the solid floor, pushing himself to move. The agent can’t make another move, however, not when Bucky’s got his hands on your attacker.

Bucky throws him away, turning you around just to see the damage of what’s already done. There’s so much blood coming from you, deep crimson running down your nose and forehead.

It’s that image of you that haunts him whenever he blinks.

“I’m sorry” he croaks, hands wringing together. “I’m so sorry I let this happen to you, (y/n). I was supposed to protect you and instead here you are” he continues, the words spiraling out of his mouth like his pent up emotions. He swallows thickly the lump in his throat as he looks at your sleeping form.

He can’t stop staring at you like this; the white sheet and blanket is a canvas, your body its subject as it centers around your state. Your previously healthy skin has gone pasty, closed eyes outlining the dark circles around them. You’d look so wan and weak here, a contrast to how you are when you’re awake. He’d missed talking to you, missed hearing your voice whining to him about training, pestering him about stepping out of the compound to explore the city with the team, longed to hear your delicate tone when he comes to your room to talk.

He leans forward slowly, then licks his lips, his voice barely above a whisper as if he was about to divulge a secret to you. “I –“ but he doesn’t continue. Not when he hears a faint shuffle from behind the closed door of your room. He catches the movement and remains quiet.

A few seconds pass before the door is finally gently opened. Natasha comes in first before Wanda emerges, both of them looking beat. He and Natasha make eye contact, a small nod coming from her before he makes to stand. It was a wordless communication saying he’d been here too long, that the whole team is worried of him, that he should rest.

He stands and exits, making his way to his room.

There’s a girl in his bed, her hair covering her face as she sleeps, soft snores leaving her lips as her chest goes on a rhythmic beats. He knows Yvy is just worried –she worries more than Steve, and she has every right to be so. He changes his clothes quietly, moving around the room and throwing the attire he wore that had the smell of strong iodoform and antiseptic clinging to them into a basket of dirty laundry. It’s piling high.

Bucky crawls onto the bed slowly, dragging the covers over him as he wraps his arm around the waist of his girl in his bed. She stirs for a moment, before intertwining her fingers in his.

She feels warm as Bucky holds her close, pulling her flush against him as he leaves a gentle kiss on her bare shoulder. He doesn’t need to say it, the gesture more than enough to let her know he’s thankful she’s here.

Next part >> part 3

tagging: Angst Royalty Babes @hellomissmabel @barnes-heaven @captnbarnesrogers @buchananbarnestrash @alphaabucky @heartmade-writingbucky @minervaem @rotisserierogers @buckyywiththegoodhair || Permanent Bbes @lovely-geek @iamwarrenspeace @sarahp879 @whitepanthergirl @thefridgeismybestie || For This @sebstanwassup @cami23593 @chuckennuggets1213 @elorajaii @exploratiionist @southern-frued-chicken @mizzzpink @violence-and-velvet

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#annies2kbirthdaycelebration #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x reader angst #angstroyaltynetwork

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pizzamanteachings · 6 years

Text

In My Time of Dying: The Camping Trip Flashback (Part 1)

In My Time of Dying, The Camping Trip Flashback:

Warnings: Swearing, gore, and a the description of a monster (I don’t think it’s triggering but be warned?)

Life had just gotten good, college was going well and you were finally on spring break, relishing in the springtime warmth that you missed oh so much. Your major was psychology and planned to work in a children’s psych ward, but you didn’t want to think of that right now, because you were in the middle of packing for a camping trip.

Present day

It was only a week ago at some shitty dive bar when you overheard these guys talking about some trail up North in Callmyre woods, which were acres of pure forest your friend Avery and his family owned. You were originally going to go up to Moose Mountain but it was known that there were bears and coyotes up there so you and your friends didn’t want to chance it, plus your friend had a shit ton of land that no one ever went in.

You met Avery in middle school and he was a nice kid, now though he was a little douchey 5’11 white kid with moderate strength and a walking representation of anxiety. He was a little rough around the edges but in your heart you knew he meant well. He had always been the rich kid in school which made it hard to relate to him since your families income could be unpredictable and spread apart. One thing that always bothered you about Avery was that he hated nature and the forest. He had been lucky enough to get four thousand acres of land, but he refused to go in. You knew a little history as you eavesdropped on the pair of men, them saying it was “Native American land” and how “weird shit goes bump in the night”. You had always been skeptical about the supernatural, you know, wendigos and vampires and stuff alike, but if it was real, wouldn’t more people know about it?

------Present day------

Now that you had all of your stuff packed and you picked up Avery, you started driving down the highway to meet your other friends Morgan and Dale who would meet you there (since legally you could only fit two people in your car). You drove a shiny black 1967 Chevy El Chamino the ��mullet of cars” as you claimed. You loved this car more than most people as it was all you had left of your late Grandfather who had restored it for you and taught you a thing or two about cars.

The trip was mostly silent, aside from the low grumble from Clint (your beloved car) and the light clinks of your talismans around your neck. Avery didn’t want to camp on his family's land, but no matter how you asked or how many times he refused to give you a straight answer. All you got was “Because I don’t want to” and “You don’t know what’s out there”. He was just trying to scare you, and you didn’t appreciate that. “What and you do?” You retorted. He didn’t answer which made the silence between you make your skin crawl and the tension gnaw at your knees and fingers, begging you to do something. Within your stomach you felt a sizzle of anger that was turned up to a low boil as he was looking out the window huffing and puffing being the spoiled brat he is. At one point you almost stopped the car to tear him a new one as he began to chew his fingernails and throw them on the floor of Clint, who he knew was your pride and joy, but you refrained from curb stomping him as you hated confrontation and new in the logical part of you brain that he was anxious, so you let it slide…barely.

“You want to tell me why you don’t want to go camping in your woods yet?” You managed to say in a calm tone that came out breathy enough not to sound like you wanted to smack him silly until he told you.

“You wouldn’t even believe me. No one ever does.” He said, just above a whisper, looking at you for a moment and then back at the road ahead.

“What do you mean ‘no one ever does?’ You were the one who suggested it and then got all weird yesterday when we started packing!” The whole ‘staying calm’ thing went out of the window as you became more and more upset, because there was something you hated more than Monopoly, it was liars. He had made it out to be that it wasn’t him who suggested his family's land, which pissed you off more than anything. He was all smiles and full of giddiness a week ago, he made it seem as if he was excited but now he acts as if he would rather die than go near his land. The weird part about his family is that they don’t live on the acres upon acres of land, actually not even near it. They live fifty miles away and didn’t plan on building anything on the land. It was nice at first because like ‘yeah save nature!’ but they never let anyone on their land. No one.

You were finally at the meeting spot and saw Morgan and Dale making out in the car which caused you to beep the horn of your car, making them jump and in turn lifted your spirits a little.

It was early morning when you had left for the trip, leaving you and your comrades plenty of time to set up camp. You drove Clint down the worn dirt path, which made you question whether or not people came out here a lot considering the amount of “Stay out” signs littering the entrance area, which was also gated and locked with seven giant padlocks. In your head, somewhere in the back of it brought a pestering pinch that undoubtedly warned you to leave. You weren’t by any means psychic but you had some crazy intuition (which you mostly used in Clue, making you get a hustler title). You should’ve used it on Avery but you knew you couldn’t force it as it would be a biased read.

The nagging in your head wasn’t going away, but you kept ignoring it as you ventured on with Morgan and Dale (aka the “Love Birds”) in the truck bed area clutching all of the supplies.

About sixty miles into the woods (much to Avery's dismay) you stopped and turned Clint off of the path a little and began to unpack in a clearing you had pulled into. Everyone got out and off the car to stretch silently, breathing in the woodsy scent which had your nostrils flaring. The tree’s were ridiculously tall, looming high above all of you, with their barked extremities going every which way, causing some light to enter the area.

Everyone began unpacking tents and everything, but after a while you noticed Avery sitting off to the side, staring off into the surreal scenery. It was as if he was looking for something. As his eyes roamed every inch of the Earth pills were being popped into his mouth. His anxiety must’ve been through the roof as he took the full dose (which is very unlike him as he feared of overdose). Although the rest of the crew was annoyed that he wasn’t helping no one wanted to ruin the first day here, and it is his land so you are guests (and he is a shit host). It was about nine O’clock in the morning by the time you finished setting up. After your tent was set up in the flatbed of Clint your eyes roamed around seeing where everyone was. The lovebirds were next to a few stumps, leaving Avery near the entrance of the path.

The campfire was set up but you all agreed on waiting till nightfall to ignite it as to save fuel, but everyone mostly hung around the area for an hour getting accustomed to the sounds and scents of the wild. With your camera ready within the hour getting ready for some badass nature pics. The only part that was stopping you was getting someone to go with you. Morgan wasn’t up for a hike (as you tended to drift off and have ADD moments) and Dale wanted to plan the hike that would take place tomorrow. All who was left was Avery and he wouldn’t leave his tent. You padded up to his make-do home and opened the flap announcing yourself with a “Ding Dong” Avery was reading, only looking up at you when you entered and refocused on his book soon after. “Can you come with me while I take some pictures?” You asked, your voice laced with excitement.

“(Y/N) why can’t we just stay here? It’s safer here and I don’t want to get lost.” he stated. He didn’t leave any room for argument, but you didn’t need to go with anyone. You left with a huff and began to scan which direction you should venture off in. You just walked straight ahead and looked at the greenery in awe. A part of you understood why the Callmyres didn’t want people here, as everything humans touch inevitably gets corrupted, and this was true beauty. You weren’t one for God as you have always had so many questions on why he would let stuff happen which really stressed you out, but real or not you couldn’t just imagine that all of this came out of random, so you will give God the benefit of the doubt that he exists and created true beauty. Your walk was peaceful and a good time for you to let your thoughts wander as you took some poppin’ pictures of anything and everything.

Your serenity was cut short though as you saw suspicious looking marks on some trees a little way up your make-do path. As you neared the tree the nagging feeling to leave the forest came back and with more strength than ever, causing you to hold your head due to the immense pain. Something just wasn’t right but you couldn’t make up what it was. You reached out to touch the marks, the depth was astounding with the clean scarring of the bark. It wasn’t fresh so you felt a little bit better, it would suck if you got killed by a bear or something, but then again you wouldn’t have to pay off student loans. There was always that.

Upon closer inspection of your surroundings you noticed foot marks in the ground. They were deep, meaning the thing that owned the feet was heavy. It was nothing like you’ve ever seen in your days of hunting. You hunted some pretty easy things, nothing extreme. You did your research before going in guns blazing as not to scare of the prey, but this was much bigger than any bear you’ve ever gone up against.

After taking many pictures of the footprints and the claw marks you were interrupted by rustling of branches high above you. Adrenaline began pumping throughout your body, your fight or flight instincts blaring like a horn in an empty city. Whatever was above you was dashing between the trees above at a remarkable speed, not slowing down in the maze of branches. You crossed off running away as the animal would surely catch up, so you instead stayed incredibly still. You took the opportunity to raise your camera and try and find the thing. The woods fell silent and no sign of the creature anywhere. Suddenly you heard Avery calling out for you in the distance, but it was behind you. You tilted your head in confusion as you remembered that camp was the way ahead, so it wouldn’t be possible for him to have flanked you without knowing.

“(Y/N)...(Y/N) where are you? Come on back!” He called out. Your blood ran cold as in the distance you saw something in the underbrush in the direction of the voice. You moved your camera to follow the movements of the creature, trying to pretend that you were listening out to the calls of your friend. You knew it wasn’t Avery, as he doesn’t talk like that, and he would be scolding you for going out alone, but right now you weren’t focusing on whether Avery was calling out to you or not as all you could focus on was the pale humanoid slowly approaching you. It’s head was just above the bushes in a low crouch. It’s skin was pale but ashy, you could see the creatures bones under the thin layer of skin. The pointed ears and mouth was red with teeth coming out of every direction. The wrinkles in its face resembled the wrinkles on a bulldog, upturned in the form of a bats. The eyes were soulless with a distinct hunger to them.

Everything about the beast screamed hunger, and the way it approached you, you guessed it didn’t want a Big Mac. You had been out for what felt like was a few hours but it wasn’t so, as the sun began to set. You could have sworn that time was being altered because when you found the tree it was nearly eleven thirty, but now it was approaching dusk. Your anxiety made you shudder viciously at your fear of the dark. There was one thing about you that if you could change you would; you hate feeling helpless. It was one thing that always got to you, and this whole situation screamed helplessness.

You took a picture of the thing, which heard the click and retreated into the tree tops. Here and gone, like it disappeared into thin air, but it wasn’t so as for a moment you saw it’s thin stature among the contrasting green foliage. You turned around at a snails place, eyes dashing everywhere to find the creature again. You stood for many minutes, but after no sign of it you made your way back to camp, watching your footing as to not make to much noise.

After some time you had finally arrived at camp, paranoid of the creature lurking in the depths of the underbrush. Your friends seemed worried and came over to you and hugged your figure tightly, whispering incoherent sentences that turned into rambling about how they heard you screaming in the woods. You tilted your head in confusion, how could you have been screaming? You were silent on your walk back as to not draw attention to whatever you saw.

“(Y/N)! Hello? Why were you screaming, are you okay?” Dale said, looking you over for any wounds.

“I-I’m fine, what do you mean I was screaming?” Layers of confusion and worry danced around in your words. What the fuck was happening.

#supernatural #fanfiction #spn fanfic #reader insert #(y/n)

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escapingtherealworld · 7 years

Text

Gang AU

Here’s another pic cause I have no control! It’s meant to link somewhat to a gang au so keep that in mind. Also shoutout to @nyxeunoia for letting me kill her.

Prompt: “Gah, I, well, guess what! You’re not invited to our next murder!” (aquatariuswrites)

Pairing: MiniCat (friendship)

*2 weeks earlier*

“This is gonna be sick, I can’t wait man!” Tyler was visiting Craig in LA for the first time. Craig always tried to avoid having Tyler at his place, always suggesting when they meet to do it at Tyler’s instead. The older had no explanation for this, and Mini intended to keep it this way. That was until a week ago, when his friend had suggested they meet up again. Of course, Mini was all for this idea, but there was just one problem.

“I know, it will be good having you here”. Craig probably didn’t seem as excited as Tyler, because the thing is, he can’t have Tyler here. He can’t be here, not now, not when the gang was so active. But he had no choice, the man had bought his ticket even before they talked. He was coming, whether Craig liked that or not.

“2 more weeks man” He’s clearly excited, whereas the younger was more on edge. If he gets called in he has to go, it doesn’t matter if he’s with Tyler or not.

“I know, I need to figure out where the hell you’ll stay”. Looking around his room he follows with “You know, there’s a nice hotel nearby”

“Oh fuck you” he laughed. He was glad to hear his friend be his normal sassy, sarcastic self again.

*Present*

Today was the day, Craig was waiting at the airport for his friend to arrive. Anxiously tapping his foot on the floor, he stared at the terminal exit. Any minute he was going to turn that corner and the longest week of Mini’s life would begin. At least when he was at Tyler’s, he could ignore the calls simply giving them a “I’m not in town”. He turned to look at the wall behind for a while, just making himself worried staring at the terminal.

As he turned the corner he saw Mini leaning against the railing, facing away from him. He quietly walked up behind him and leaned close to his hear, whispering a “hey bitch” in his ear, which earned him a slap to the face from the man.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry”. Craig spun on his heels to look at his friend rubbing his cheek where he hit him. “You shouldn’t have snuck up on me like that!”

“I thought you’d yell or something, not slap me in the face.”

“Sorry, reflexes”

“Whose reflex is to slap someone?”

“I said sorry! Now come on, everyone’s looking at us” Turning on his heels again, Craig led his friend to his car and they drove back to his house.

*time skip, 3 days*

Everything was going well, Tyler was having a good time, and Craig hadn't gotten any messages to call him in. Until now. The two were playing games like normal when Craig’s phone buzzed on the table, ‘go time, meet at location now’ He was panicking, he couldn’t leave now. Why did it have to be now?

“Everything alright?”

Looking up at his friends concerned face he replied “yeah, yeah, I just gotta make a call”. Standing up he walked to his room and closed the door, dialling his boss.

“Craig, what’s up?”

“Evan, hey um. Quick question. How vital is it that I’m there for this mission?” He was sitting on the end of his bed, bouncing his leg in nervousness. He’s never asked to miss a mission, and he was told never to.

“Um, very. It’s a small group. You, Delirious, Basically, and FourZer0Seven. It’s been planned for you guys; you need to go you know this.”

“Yeah, I know but-“

“What’s going on?” Evan was getting sick of this, he had a job to do. Craig could tell he was annoyed, you could always here the emotion in his voice.

“I have a friend staying at my house, I can’t just up and leave so suddenly”

“Work something out, get her fast or face the consequences” and with that Evan hung up. Leaving Craig to figure something out. He headed back out to where Tyler was seated.

“Everything alright?” he asked again, the confusion clear as day on his face.

“Yeah, fine. Look I need to head out for a bit. I’ll be back later” Turning to leave, he feels Tyler grab his arm.

“Woah, you aren’t going anywhere. Come on, we’ve been planning this trip for a month and now that I’m here you’re gonna leave?”

“I’m coming back, you think I’m gonna leave you alone in my house for long?” He was trying to make him laugh so he could run. But he didn’t.

“I’ll come with, I need some air anyway”

“Tyler please-“

“Not up for discussion Craig” and with that he walked out the door pulling Craig with him. He’d given up. He had to get there or he’d have to face Evan’s ‘consequences’, whatever that was, he didn't want to know.

“Fine Tyler, just let go of me” He dropped the youngers arm and jumped in the car. He sped his way there, driving through red lights, not stopping at stop signs, and scaring the hell out of Tyler.

“Um, Craig, slow down. Craig, hello? What the fuck are you doing? Slow down!”

“STOP TALKING FOR ONE SECOND!” The man was getting angry; he was panicking at what would happen if he missed this mission. He pulled up at the location and saw the guys gathered there.

“Who are they?”

“I need you to shut up, and stay here until i get back” getting out he ran to the guys and started to gear up, making sure they were all out of view from Tyler. Tyler couldn’t see them, and they couldn’t see Tyler. The plan was simple, surround the target, make sure to get rid of all their weapons, and take the out. Simple, right? The only thing, this person was smart, and Mini was distracted trying to ensure the safety of Tyler and his friends. To make sure he was ready he looked over the target’s information again, which happened to be on a police file they previously stole.

Name: Unknown Nickname: Nyxeunoia ‘Nyx’ Age: 21 Sex: Female Height: 5’7 DOB: 4/27/1996 Birth Place: Sydney, Australia Current Location: Los Angeles

“What kinda name is that? Nyxe- Nyxe- however you say it” Delirious complained

“Hence the shortened ‘Nyx’, and you can’t talk! Your name is delirious!” Basically piped in

“Look can we get on with this. I’ve got shit to do” Mini started moving towards to spot where they would take out their target. They had overheard a conversation she was having, speaking of her route for the day. Either Nyx had no idea we were listening in, or she was smart enough to give a fake route. Waiting in position, we see her round the corner, matching her picture and description to every detail. Her green and blue hair and…. pastel blue suit? You’d think someone with her job would wear clothes which didn’t stand out. They made it quick, it was easier than expected. She was ambushed, weapons were taken, and she was killed. All within minutes, like it was nothing. It shouldn’t have been that easy. They were cleaning up the mess when a voice was heard, “Craig?”

“Tyler, I told you to wait in-“

“What the FUCK CRAIG? DID YOU KILL HER?” He slapped his hand over his friend’s mouth, this is exactly what he was afraid of.

“You let your friend tag along? What the hell man?!” It was Fourzer0seven who spoke up this time. He just earned a middle finger from Craig. He lowered his hand from his friend’s mouth giving him a “Let me explain”

“Why the fuck would you bring me here?” Mini could see the confusion, anger, and scared look in Tyler’ s eyes. Oh, boy.

“I told you I should’ve gone alone”

“You let me go”

“Well technically you dragged me out of the house” he hoped being smart would help it. It didn’t.

“You murdered someone”

“Gah, I, well, guess what! You’re not invited to our next murder!” That was not a god thing to say Mini, you idiot!

“Good” and with that, he turned his back and left. Craig didn’t try to stop him, he let his best friend walk away. Well who was his best friend, he wouldn’t be now. After what he’s just seen, there was no way the two would ever talk again.

“Evan won’t be happy” Delirious shook his head, continuing to clean up the mess.

“I know”

#minicat #mention of:#h2o delirious #basically i do wrk #fourzer0seven

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