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corvidcrossbow · 3 days

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Since I made a post about Mother's Day w/ Daryl, I gotta make a Father's Day one too.

For obvious reasons, he didn't like Father's Day (me neither Daryl). It felt insulting to see people celebrating their dads, felt so forced and unfair, stupid even. How come other people got to have fathers who were there for them and cared for them while he didn't? What made him undeserving of that? (Mother's Day was already hard enough when he was young, sitting in class and nearly trembling from how hard he was straining himself to not cry while those around him made cards and talked about their plans for the weekend with their moms) So he tried to push the existence of the holiday out of his mind.

Fatherhood was never something he pictured. Even when the hypothetical idea of kids crossed his mind, he was sure it would never be plausible: he'd just follow footsteps and end up some doped up abusive deadbeat as well. Although he never pictured an apocalypse with the undead either, and that pushed the idea of fatherhood even further into a realm of impossibility.

So both those happening, and someone as perfect as you being directly involved in it, was leagues outside his imagination.

The first Father's Day after your child was born was rough. He enjoyed how the collapse of society made people lose track of the dates, too occupied with survival to care about minor things like this. But with the stability Alexandria provided, over time celebrations reintegrated into routines, this included, and he was not fond of the reminder.

He didn't mention the day at all leading up to it, or of, continuing his ignorance and hoping it'd slip your mind. He knew it wouldn't: you were too attentive and appreciative of him to miss any excuse to celebrate and congratulate him no matter the context.

But you threaded lightly, knowing it'd be touchy and let most the day pass by as any other would, just being extra sweet on him. You never wished him a ‘Happy Father's Day’, instead when you were going to bed that night thanking him for being a father, for everything he did for you and your daughter and how good he was at it.

He ended up just breaking down, falling apart in your hold and attempting to bury himself in you the same way he tried to bury so much else.

The next couple years were largely similar; little acknowledgement to the day, but extra acknowledgements to him. It was your daughter that started to make it more distinctive. A little older now, she saw the other kids in the community making little gifts and cards for their fathers the same way they did for mothers on the respective day. Even those who didn't have dads made them in memoriam.

So of course she did it too, she loved her daddy and did those things all the time anyway. Why not do it when it's even more special? She didn't even tell you about it, secretly assembling it all herself.

You shared Daryl's surprise when she presented her crafts, repeatedly saying the token phrase you'd held off from using. He was mostly frozen for a moment, trying to just see her and this singular day rather than previous decades of Father's Day's that came before, all negatively tinted and crossed out from his personal calendar.

He accepted it all, and her innocent recognition of the holiday's purpose. Though the urge flared up in some part of him, he couldn't shut her down. She meant well, and wasn't to blame for his rocky relationship with the day and his own father. He wouldn't create reason for her to despise the holiday too, and how could be cold to the human embodiment of sunshine while her toothy smile was beaming at him?

He put her to bed that evening, spending an extra while stroking her hair and admiring how peaceful she looked while sleeping. Despite the state of the world, she had the privilege to not only sleep, but feel safe while doing so. And he's what allowed that; gave her that.

She got to feel safe from all the horrors he'd seen: the walkers, blood, guts, violence, death, immorality, all the disturbing things about life that were amplified by the apocalypse.

But more importantly, she felt safe with him.

She got to excitedly jump on him while he was still asleep in the morning, roll around and shake him till he finally got up. She got to play with him in the dirt while out in the yard, or sit him down with jewelry and accessories surrounded by stuffed animals and toy dinnerware. She got to chase him around and bombard him with curious questions and learn everything she could from him.

She got to make messes and break things, make mistakes, and know he'd always help her clean or fix them.

She got to show her emotions and be a kid and cry, and know he would always hold and soothe her, wipe away her tears and do anything to make sure she was okay.

And she never knew a different response. She never knew the yelling or insults, the degradation, the mockery, the beatings and burnings and whippings. She got to fall asleep by her father's side, lulled to rest by his comforting voice, be in the most vulnerable state a person could be, and know that the last thing he would ever do was hurt her; the idea – the worry – of him hurting her did not exist in her mind.

Daryl'd crumbled to tears by the time he returned to you that night, collapsing into your arms the way he did every time the reality of being a parent hit him. He would never truly understand how he got to this point in life, how every unfathomable thing – good and bad – had genuinely occurred and this is what was real.

From the instant you found out you were pregnant, he'd promised you, promised himself, and promised his child he would always be the father he'd wanted, that he'd deserved, that his kid deserved and that every child deserves. He healed his own childhood by assuring his daughter'd have a good one, and that he'd be regarded as a good part of it.

She made Father's Day something that could actually be ‘happy’ for him.

The daddy issues hit a little too hard while writing this

I fr don't know where the last week of my life went I just remember watching Lost 🗿

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luminouslywriting · 3 days

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Chapter 15 (Mastermind)—MOTA Fic

A/N: The growth in this chapter is beautiful and I think you'll think so too. Happy Father's Day to those who are celebrating in the US today! As always, let me know what you think :) And have a great day! Next chapter....next chapter has so much tea being spilled and I don't think any of you are prepared haha!

Finding Abe didn’t prove to be all that difficult. She waited as long as she dared, waited in agonizing terror that only a sister could understand. She smoked as she waited, leaned against the combine and hummed out patterns and tunes from old band songs that she had long since thrust from her mind.

Her mind was still locked in a race and it was the damn Kentucky Derby up there. A dead-sprint in the Olympics as she tried to keep herself center. Tried to keep herself cool, calm, and collected. She hadn’t gotten her reputation by being an over-emotional person over the years. That would have just been plain silly.

So when Abe finally came walking out of the Interrogation Room and walking towards the barracks to change, Ruth finally found herself speechless. She prided herself on the ability to consistently know what to say, how to shut people down, how to wake them up. It was just something she had always been good at doing. But seeing Abe standing there and looking like some sort of shell of the happy kid that she had helped raise?

God, it made her sick to her stomach.

“Abe!” Ruth exclaimed, catching up to him quickly.

He flinched at the sound of his name, ears still trying to readjust to the lack of gunfire from the air. And when he turned, blinking at the sight of his sister, Abe wasn’t sure what to say. He had seen so many things.

Three missions in three days. Everyone but their crew dead. People blown out of the skies before they could even reach the ground in their parachutes. Nothing here on the ground felt real in comparison to what Abe had seen up there. Maybe death had caught up to them all and death was the realest part of living, not whatever it was that they were expected to do now that they were back on the ground.

But Abe couldn’t find the words to express any of that. He just stood there, hunched over, gaze locked onto the ground, eyes half-glazed over. His mouth felt as though he had just swallowed a whole bucket of sand.

And Ruth, ever the vigilant older sister. Ever the one who just knew things. She had always been like that, having a sixth sense for what Abe wasn’t telling her. Like the time that he had been the one to burn their father’s shirt with the iron and no one else was fessing up. And Ruth had taken the blame for it, knowing full well that the unusually quiet seven year old was to blame.

Or the time when he had really liked a girl in his class and had kissed her. Ruth had immediately known the minute that she picked him up that he had kissed someone. She always just knew. Maybe it was their bond and the fact that she had helped raise him as much as their mother had. But whatever the case, Ruth always knew things.

This time was no different. “Oh my sweet boy,” Ruth murmured.

All at once, Abe’s resolve and numbness crumpled like a paper boat in the water. He stumbled forward and clutched onto Ruth as though she were a being of pure light and he had been lost in the darkness. Ruth, to her credit, just let the boy cling to her as though he were a child again. Back when he was a kid, he used to have the worst night terrors. He’d be up and screaming as though he were being murdered.

At the time, Ruth had been the one to patiently help him through it. Her mother had been too tired and sick to deal with her youngest child’s overactive imagination. Her father had been working himself to death to provide for the seven Sharpe children and ensure that they all had full bellies, enough clothes for school, and that they were happy.

For Ruth, she had never questioned the role that she had within her family. She was the eldest daughter, she was the one who would hold hands of scared children, clean up cuts and bruises, pick up her brothers when they got a little too drunk, take her younger sisters shopping when they outgrew her old clothes—and she never complained and never asked why for a single second.

“You’re alright, you’re alright,” Ruth murmured into Abe’s ear. Her voice was a grounding force that shattered his illusion of the space in the skies above.

As Abe crashed back into his own body, he suddenly felt very foolish. Ruth had been right; he was just a kid. He didn’t belong here any more than John Wayne belonged in the fashion industry. The breaths that were spilling out of Abe’s lungs came out more like splutters. As though he were drowning in an ocean of panic and pressure.

“Come to my office,” Ruth breathed out quietly. “I’ll make you some tea and we’ll talk there.”

Abe couldn’t even bring himself to murmur out a yes or a no. Words seemed to be too much effort for the boy at the moment. His head just sank in recognition of her words and he let her pull him along. He was numb to the dirt path they were walking, numb to the fact that they entered into one of the buildings, and numb right up until he was sitting in his sister’s office, a steaming cup of tea in hand.

The sudden presence of a hand in his hair made him blink a few times, realizing that Ruth was straightening up the mess of waves that had appeared from the sweat and adrenaline of being up in the air. As if a cat, Abe relaxed under her touch and his shoulders sank deeper into the chair.

“Thanks,” Abe mumbled out quietly.

“You don’t have to—”

“I was stupid,” Abe sniffled the words out. “I should have just listened and waited. I’m stuck here now.”

Ruth couldn’t deny that his words rang true like a church bell on Christmas Day. “Yes, you are,” Ruth said quietly. “Harding wants to send your crew to the Flak-House.”

Abe’s head shot up. “What the hell is a Flak-House?”

“A place to recuperate. A place to relax and refocus. You’ve been through a lot in the past few days,” Ruth replied evenly. “I think it would be good for you too.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

“Well I am,” Ruth insisted. “And have I ever been wrong?”

“Well no, but—”

“Exactly,” Ruth gave a firm smile in her brother’s direction. “I’ll be coming along as well, seeing as how I’m receiving some other information about a case there.”

Abe’s hands clenched tightly around the cup in his hand. “You don’t need to babysit me. I don’t need—”

“I’m not babysitting,” Ruth retorted. “I’m your older sister and I don’t know if it’s clear yet, but whether you need me or not isn’t the question. It’s my responsibility to watch out for you and care for you, even if you don’t want or need me to. It’s just what I want to do. It’s who I am.”

“Isn’t that exhausting?”

Ruth just let out a sigh. “I’ve never been exhausted watching out for you. Sarah and Alice? Maybe. But never you. I’m gonna be here for you, whether you like it or not. Deal with it.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was late afternoon when Ruth loaded up the car with Rosie’s crew and began the drive to the Flak-House. Given the fact that she was the only one who knew where it was, it came as no surprise that they were allowing her to drive. Truth be told, Ruth wondered if Harding wanted her out of the way for a few days—especially because she had warned against doing so many missions so close to one another.

It had to come as salt in the wound that only a singular plane had made it back intact. It had entirely crippled the Hundredth and until they got more recruits and pilots, they wouldn’t be doing much of anything. There was also the fact that the effective leaders of the Hundredth were gone, and that had left a power vacuum that Ruth was certain would be filled soon enough.

She hated to admit it, she really did—but Robby Rosenthal was a damn good pilot. He had the natural air of a leader and charisma to match genuine faith and belief. And yes, he had an attitude that dug under her skin at times like a damn tick burrowing to create sickness. But the fact of the matter was that he was genuine and humble and people would look up to him for that. They always had, when they were younger.

“They’ve got horses!” One of the men in the back piped up, eyes going wide.

Ruth nearly snorted. “They’ve got the full English experience here. Croquet, tea, British opera.”

“You ride horses, Rosie?” The man questioned, looking up into the passenger seat where Rosie sat.

“Jews from Brooklyn don’t ride horses,” Rosie retorted. “And they usually don’t drive,” he added, glancing over at Ruth.

Ruth just rolled her eyes. “Well it’s not exactly Brooklyn here. I had to learn how to drive at some point.”

Abe poked his head into the front, eyes wide. “So that means you’re going to teach me, right?”

“Absolutely not,” Ruth answered, shaking her head at him. “When are you gonna need to know how to drive?”

“You did.”

“I moved to England, dumbass,” Ruth pointed up ahead at the sprawling manor that appeared in their vision. “And that there is Coombe House. Otherwise known as the Flak-House.”

Once inside, Ruth helped Abe get unpacked and into one of the rooms. She left him secure with a book while the group waited for dinner to be finished. Crossing down the hall towards her own room, Ruth passed a series of rooms on her way there. Just as she was passing by one of the rooms, she realized that Robby was slowly unpacking, unable to actually just set his stuff down.

She had no sooner passed by the room that a modicum of guilt passed through her chest. She hadn’t even thanked him for bringing Abe back in one piece. Robby had gone out of his way to help her and Abe, risking a lot for himself in order to do so. And he had done so without argument or complaint.

The least she could do was thank him, right?

Ruth let out a sigh, taking a few steps backwards and lingering in the doorway for a moment. She couldn’t bring herself to actually go into his room, for that seemed to be a little too personal. For a moment, it was all she could do to just watch him set his bag down and stare at the walls.

Robby had always seemed so indomitable to her. Sure, she didn’t like him a good half of the time and thought that he was a severe annoyance. But he was still a piece of home right in front of her. And at one point in their lives, they had actually been friends.

“You don’t want to be here,” Ruth said quietly in the doorway.

To his credit, Robby didn’t jump, though he was certainly spooked by her sudden appearance. “Well no shit, Ruthie,” he just scowled at her in the doorway.

Ruth wasn’t taken aback by the response. Instead, she just swallowed down a retort and looked at him with genuine care in her eyes. “I’m not here to argue with you, shockingly enough.”

“You’re not here to boss me around some more, are you?” Robby asked in a weary tone.

She took a step into the room and it all felt so very wrong. So very wrong and so very right at the same time. As though her feet were now weighed down by a thousand tons of quicksand and she could not leave without saying her piece. Could not leave without letting him know what it meant to her.

“No,” Ruth said quietly. “I just uh—I wanted to thank you. For bringing Abe back in one piece. For taking care of him out there. It uh—” Ruth sucked in a breath. “It means a lot to me.”

For a moment, Robby just stared at her, mouth slightly ajar. He looked as though he were some fish out of water, gasping for air. “I uh—you don’t have to thank me. He’s a good kid.”

“Yeah he is,” Ruth agreed. “But he wouldn’t be here without you, so…” She trailed off and then did something that utterly shocked the both of them. She moved forward and for half a second, he was entirely certain she was going to punch or slap him.

But when her arms locked around him in the quickest hug of his life, Robert Rosenthal couldn’t even move. He was frozen in place at the gesture, eyes locked onto her. “Ruth—”

She broke away before he could finish his sentence. “Let’s not make a thing out of this,” Ruth said dryly. “And I’ll deny I ever hugged you, for the record. Dinner’s in fifteen, by the way. Don’t be late.” With that, Ruth retreated from the room and left Robert Rosenthal standing there totally and completely speechless.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dinner was an odd amalgamation of solemnity and humor from the group of others that were there. Abe kept a careful smile painted on his face as they ate and Ruth watched the entire thing rather quietly. The way that Rosie didn’t interact with the other men in the crew. The way Pappy could only focus on eating at the moment. All of them were silently suffering.

Ruth wondered if this is why she had been sent here. Because she saw things through a lens, not half-full and not half-empty either. She just saw things as they were. It was a simple enough outlook on things and she wasn’t afraid to be bold in her honesty.

The only thing that she was particularly concerned enough about was the timing of it all. For one thing, she didn’t know the men in Abe and Rosie’s plane. She didn’t know them well enough to use her regular tactics of inspiration. But on the other hand, she did know her brother and Robby well enough to employ those tactics. And maybe if she could get through to the two of them first, the rest would follow. She figured she would give it a day, give it the space that it needed in order to actually work through things.

That first night though? Abe had come to her door, fists so tightly clenched that she thought his wrists might just dislocated from the rest of his arms. He stood there, teeth grit and almost gnashing against one another as the stormy gaze in his eyes finally met hers.

Ruth didn’t need to ask if it was bad dreams or memories. That would have been a rhetorical question. She knew full well that many of the men that went up into the skies would forevermore be haunted by the war that they waged up there. That the skies held danger and death and no promise of real freedom.

“Come on, then,” Ruth murmured. “I’ll read you Mama’s latest letter.”

Abe shuffled into the room, standing at the foot of the bed for a moment. Ruth returned to her place in bed, lamp still on as she sat down. She patted the empty space beside her, raising her eyebrows as she waited for him to join her. He lingered for a moment before sinking onto the bed beside Ruth.

And for just a shining moment, he could pretend that they were back in Brooklyn. That this was just Ruth’s room or dorm and he had come to visit her. He could pretend like he was just a little kid waiting to have a story read to him. But this was not that.

“Dear Ruth,” Ruth began, eyes falling on the letter in front of her. “I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but last week I received an old letter from one of my sisters. It appears that she may have made it to safety somewhere, but the letter is outdated. Perhaps if I forward the letter to you, you can look into it and see if you can find her and her family?”

Abe glanced over at his sister. “Do you think anyone made it?”

“I’m not sure,” Ruth said quietly. “If it’s an old letter, there’s a chance that they could already be dead or gone. But at least mama had that.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Abe mumbled.

Ruth sucked in a breath and continued reading. “It seems that both Jonah and John are doing well in their respective areas. There continues to be no word about Abe though and that worries both Mary and I. I should’ve boxed that boy’s ears more.”

Abe nearly chuckled at that. “That wouldn't have stopped me.”

“No, I don’t think it would. It didn’t stop me,” Ruth added with a slight grin. And so on she read, well into the night. And when she finally finished reading the letter, she glanced beside her to find that Abe was lightly snoring and finally asleep. Ruth just let a sad smile slip onto her features as she pulled the blanket up over him and began her prayers.

Please….please just protect him through this.

#mota fanfic #mota #masters of the air fanfic #masters of the air #mastersoftheair #oc originalfemalecharacters #rosie rosenthal #robert rosenthal x oc #rosie rosenthal x oc #ruth sharpe #rosie x ruth #abe sharpe

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