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txemrn · 2 years

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Detour

Summary: After a nasty run-in with the press, the Daltons spend the day at the twins' soccer tournament; however, fate has a plan of its own.

Word Count: ~1475

Warnings: adult themes; light angst; brief language

A/N: I completely forgot about this fic until we went through our WIPs last week, and I honestly can't remember why I never posted this! I haven't written/released anything TNA in a long time, so this feels good! @sfb123 thank you for helping me with the finishing touches! And @charlotteg234 and @kat-tia801, do y'all even remember this fic? Y'all pre-read it for me last year! lol So ... THANKS! All spelling and grammar mistakes are my own, so please forgive me. All characters and some plots belong to our friends at Pixelberry!

~🖤~

Frantically packing the stack of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches along with the freshly diced carrot sticks, she quickly taps on her phone for the time--and to see if Sam was leaving the office anytime soon. “Mickey! Mason!” She calls out through the penthouse. “We’re going to be late for the first heat of your tournament--”

“Mommy?”

Nearly tripping over her youngest son Matthew, the expectant mom stops to admire the three-year-old’s latest playdough creation. “That looks so good, Matty!" She croons, rubbing his back. "Now put that away for Mommy and wash your hands.”

Her phone begins to ring, jolting her with excitement that maybe her husband was finally tearing away from work. Unfortunately, the name on the screen makes her face drop. “Michael Weston! Mason Warner! Let’s go--” She hits the green button to answer the call with a sardonic, syrupy-sweet voice. “Hi, Vivian, have you left yet?”

“Yes, dear. We should be at the fields--” she begins talking to someone else in the car,“--less than an hour.”

“Sounds perfect--”

“Sam mentioned you may need some help--” the mother-in-law interrupts. “I can have Mason stop by and--”

“No!” She accidentally shouts, but quickly corrects herself. “I mean, no, ma’am. Thank you for the generous offer, but… no.” The mention of her father-in-law makes her stomach uneasy, especially after her husband’s confession that Mason offered Sam the company in exchange for a divorce from her. “We’ll see you two at the soccer fields.”

With a sigh of relief, she hangs up the phone before gathering her picnic basket and beach tote. As she prepares to call for her eight-year-old twins one more time, they suddenly barrel into the kitchen.

“Sorry, Mom,” Mason sweetly apologizes, grabbing a camping chair. “I had a knot in my cleat.”

“But, we got it out,” Mickey proudly chimes in, sliding a Nike knapsack on his back.

“Okay, perfect,” she smiles brightly, guiding all the boys towards the elevator doors. “Mouthguards?”

“Check,” Mickey chuckles.

“Water bottles?”

Mickey takes an obnoxious swig from his chilled water as Mason answers. “Yes, Mom, we’ve got everything.”

She kisses the tops of their heads, ruffling through their soft chestnut waves with her fingers. “You two are growing up too fast. Soon, you won’t even need me--”

“That’s not true,” Mason pipes up.

“Mom, we will always need you,” Mickey wraps an arm around his mom’s shoulder. “Besides,” he lowers his voice, “Dad’s cooking is pretty awful in comparison.”

As they all share a chuckle, they head down to their private car, escorted by building security and Carter, their personal driver. But, the moment the family exited the building, they are blinded by flashes of light from shutterbugs and reporters with microphones.

“Mom, I’m scared!” Matthew cries as she hoists him onto her hip, the men taking her bags and folding chairs. She grips tightly to the older boys, shuffling them quickly into the car.

“Mrs. Dalton! Mrs. Dalton! Over here!"

“Damnit,” she scoffs to herself, buckling up the boys. “It’s okay, guys. Don’t look out the window--” she is quickly interrupted by the brush of a hand on her backside. She abruptly swings around, her open hand colliding with a reporter's cheek.

"Fuck!" He grips his face. "You're gonna be sorry for that, princess--"

"You assaulted me, asshole--" she swivels around, ensuring their belongings are tucked away before she steps into the vehicle.

"Oh! Such a picture of Dalton perfection!" He spits at her. "Such a great example for your kids. Are you sure you can handle one more?"

As she carefully climbs into the sedan, she holds her arm out the window, her middle finger extended as they finally drive off down the street.

"You okay, Mom?" Mason quietly breaks the tension inside the cab.

Offering a cordial smile, she combs a few tresses behind his ear, stroking his cheeks with her thumb. "I should be asking you that," she titters into a sigh. She squeezes Mickey's knee endearingly. "Never, ever forget how much I love you boys--"

"And baby Maggie!" Matthew shouts proudly, placing his chubby hands on his mother's growing bump.

She hugs her arm around Matthew before leaning back. "That's right, Bubba," she slowly exhales in relief. "And Maggie, too." She closes her eyes, relishing the innocence of her boys' chatter. As they draw closer to the soccer fields and closer to her in-laws, a pit grows in her stomach, knowing that her short dealings with the paparazzi will cost her.

Once at the soccer fields, the boys are registered with their team for the day-long tournament. Together, they set up a tent with their fold-out camping chairs and picnic blankets. Sunscreen and bug repellant are carefully applied to each of the boys. As their mother sends them out into their first game, she lays down Matthew with a juice box, hoping that he will rest in order to survive the day without any meltdowns.

She picks up her phone, but of course, there are no alerts from her husband. Putting her phone facedown, she readjusts her short bob into a messy bun before reapplying her Chanel sunglasses. As she begins to sip on an apple juice, a shadow is cast over her body.

“You flicked them off?”

She smirks to herself as she continues to watch the game.

“Baby,” Sam steps behind her chair, pressing his lips into her temple, “did you seriously--?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she grumbles.

“Well, my folks want to talk about it,” he sits down on the blanket next to his resting son, letting out a deep sigh. “Again.”

She pushes her sunglasses onto her head. “What was I supposed to do, baby--?”

“You don’t do anything--you don’t say anything!” He rubs his hands down his face. “Is it that hard for you just to keep your mouth shut?”

“Samuel! He touched me--that’s assault!”

“Are you sure you didn’t--?”

“Of course,” she throws up her hands, interrupting her husband. “It’s my fault.” She stands up, adjusting her sunglasses on her face. “Stop pinning this on me.”

As she begins to take off to get some fresh air, Sam quickly stands up, grabbing her wrist to pull her back to himself. He wraps his strong, comforting arms around her, rocking her back and forth. “Baby, talk to me,” he whispers against her ear.

“I don’t think you know what it’s like to always be under fire with these guys--”

“Um, hello? They are trying to slander my name--”

“--by insulting my character, Sam! By insulting what I’m wearing, what I’m eating, what I feed the boys,” she wipes away a wayward tear. “They took a cheap shot at me today, questioning my capabilities as a mother--”

“Their opinion shouldn’t matter. They don’t even know you.”

“I know, but your parents--”

“Baby,” he silences her, giving her a crooked smile, “they don’t know the real you. The way I know you.”

“They seem to only care about the press--”

“I know, I know.” He tightens his embrace around his wife, pressing his lips against her forehead. “It’s business. It’s the image of the business. And it’s not fair.” He pulls off her sunglasses, dabbing at her wet eyes. “But I know you are remarkable,” he kisses the tip of her nose, making her wince into a smile. “And you’re the only one who can take my breath away--”

“Heads up!”

Suddenly, a soccer ball flies over the young Daltons’ heads, quickly heading towards a duck pond. Sam takes off, chasing after the ball, hoping to stop it before it hits the water. But, luckily, someone else is there to stop it for him.

“Oh, God, thank you so--” he freezes as a young, petite woman with stormy blue eyes and long almond waves steps forward, offering him the soccer ball.

“Mr. Dalton?”

“Yeah, um,” he clears his throat, shaking the shocked look from his face. “I’m sorry, um,” he titters awkwardly, “do I know you?”

“Oh!” She giggles, offering a bright smile. “I know it must be hard keeping up with all of your employees. My name is Brynn. Brynn Schuyler. I work in your laboratory department--”

“With Evan, right!” He blushes, running his fingers through his hair. “Well, it’s wonderful meeting another beautiful face– I mean, face… um, I mean, meeting another employee from Dalton--”

“Sam?” The all-too-familiar voice of his wife startles him from behind as she gently caresses his lower back. Sam quickly pulls her forward, draping his arm around her shoulders. Though she smiles kindly, her chocolate brown eyes narrow in on the young coed.

“Oh, this is Brynn,” he nervously gestures for the women to meet with a chuckle, “Brynn Schuyler from the lab. And this is my... um, this is…”

“Addison.” Mrs. Dalton raises an irritated eyebrow, sticking out her hand for a cordial hand-shake. “His wife.”

~🖤~

A/N 2: If you're new here, hi! Just in case you are wondering what just happened, my MC's name is Brynn Schuyler, and I decided to write this one-shot kinda like a "what if" type situation... what if the subway accident never happened? Were Sam and Brynn still destined to meet? Here's how it might've happened...

~🖤~

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havin-fun-imagining-twd · 3 years

Text

Every step.

When - right before the gang goes to Alexandria. Time jump again, whoo! For more parts to the story, check out the list.

Perspective - 3rd person Daryl’s POV, followed by 2nd person POV (*decided to merge the two parts into one because it made more sense*)

Relationships - Daryl x reader. The gang is there, as always, but they’re in the barn while you and the guy who’s afraid of peanut butter are chilling outside.

Genre - a little bit of everything. Angsty and fluffy.

Pronouns - she/her (part of the female story line starting with the story called The Interview)

TWs - some language, self-loathing (it’s Daryl, y’all), heavier themes.

“You good?”

“...Y-yeah.”

Nah, he wasn’t buying it. She’d frozen up and put a hand on her stomach, what was going on?

He sits up. “C’mon, what’s wrong? There any pain?”

“No, no pain, there’s n-nothin’, it’s all fine, it’s just, um,” she shakes her head and keeps looking down at her stomach.

She was too damned thin now. Everyone was, sure, but it was different with her. Not that she would be showing much by now, but shit, she needed to eat and sleep.

Hold up, what’d she just mumble? Something about earlier and expected?

“Hm?”

What’s that look on her face? Happy? Sad? “Sometimes women feel them movin’ way earlier than expected,” she repeats softly. “Lori felt Judith early, too.”

Wait. Already? Was that even possible? “You just felt it move?”

She looks him in the eyes with a dazed smile and shrugs. “I just felt them move. Yeah.”

Her expression is calm as she as she settles her gaze back to the fields through the treeline. Gentle.

Goddamn, it’d been too long since he’d seen her look so…peaceful?

Before he thinks about what he’s asking, he says “Can I feel?”

Alright, he wasn’t so sure what that new expression she had for a second was, but it was gone now. “Others won’t be able to feel them until later,” she hesitates.

He bows his head. He shouldn’t have jumped to anything. Especially since it was his fault that this had happened to her. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Just had some applesauce like I been craving, I’m great.”

Well, she was one to keep things light. And yeah, she’d made that guy Aaron eat a whole bunch of the applesauce he’d brought to prove that it wasn’t poisoned, so Rick had filled him in. Whatever, he was relieved; she hadn’t been able to stomach the dog meat they’d had a week or so back, so that she had finally eaten something substantial was what mattered. She likes squirrel, but they’ve been few and far between. Plus with the nausea...

“Too bad we ain’t found no playdough for ya, too” he tries to tease. She’d been joking about craving that as well. Those and peanut shells. She needed more some damned vitamins, tell you what.

Wait, there was that expression was again, but just as fast it was gone again. And to his relief, she then smiles. A real one.

“Mm, a basket of playdough and hushpuppies sounds real good. Maybe some modeling clay for dessert.” She chuckles. “And we’ll find you some pig’s feet to snack on, too, don’t you worry.”

“Shit yeah, get you a peanut butter tomato sandwich, me some barbecue beans, grill up a squirrel, toss in some butter puff corn and peanut shells on the side. Maybe some sketti if we're feeling fancy,” he teased. Her accent was more hick than his own.

“Gotdang, but are we classy or what?” she drawls extra-hard.

“Only if we drink watered-down orange powerade and lukewarm root beer out of a dixie cup.”

She makes a face in response (she thinks root beer is too sweet, can you believe it?) and snorts back “That there’s some fine dining. We'll have us some knock-off ambrosia for dessert.”

The invisible string in his chest makes a small tug toward her.

They sit in silence as they were before and listen to the breeze and the birds singing while the gentle murmur from the others talking over in the barn makes its way out to them. She’d joined him out here a while ago. She didn’t like leaving him alone, not since she found him, um…when he did that thing to his hand with the cigarette. He doesn’t know why he did that. He just did.

She makes a tiny, sharp inhale. “They’re doin’ it again.”

He felt that little twinge in his chest when she said that. And all he can do next is just look at her. Even if shocked, she looks…happy somehow. That’s all that mattered right now.

“Hey man, I got somethin’ on my face or what?”

Shit, she’d caught him staring. God, he was a stupid asshole.

“No — honey, please don’t give me that look,” she mutters. “Everybody’s been givin’ me that look, man.”

He knew the look. He didn’t like it either. “M’sorry.”

Then she makes what almost sounds like a whimper. “And now you’re doing that thing, Daryl—” Her breath hitches and she swallows. Shit, was she about to cry? Her voice is rough when she finally speaks. “It ain’t your damned fault. You hear me? None of what happened to any of us is your fault.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that. He doesn’t know what the fuck to do about any of this. And yes, it was his damned fault. For every life at the prison that hadn’t made it out, that shit was on him. For Hershel. Beth. Tyreese. Bob. And for what happened to her. It was all on him because his stupid, worthless ass couldn’t track down the governor.

Just like he couldn’t track down his own brother. Just like he couldn’t track down Sophia. God damn him, and one of the last things that she’d said to Beth before they were separated was “Stay with him! He’ll keep you safe!”

Yeah, look how that turned out. And then to top it off, he’d tagged along with the same men who’d ra—fuck, he didn’t want to think about that shit. Bottom line, every goddamned thing was his f—

“—May I see your hand, please?” she softly requests, and his mind goes quiet.

He holds out both for her, unsure of what to do or what this meant. She looks nervous when she reaches for the one he’d burned and takes it into hers. She gently rubs her thumb along his and stares at the gauze she’d wrapped around it. Mumbling, she tells him “Thank you for lettin’ me bandage it.”

He wants to kiss it. He wants to kiss her hand and tell her that he’ll be there every step of the way. There’s so much shit he wished he’d been able to say to her before it all happened. And so much he wants to tell her now but can’t. So he doesn’t.

The only thing he’s able to do is muster the courage to look her in the eyes again. She notices and returns his gaze, frowning slightly.

But then she makes this little laugh, of all things. “Oh Moses, here I am givin’ you that same look I hate getting, ain’t I?” She sighs. “C’mon, while they’re movin’, tell me if you feel anything, okay?” And just like that, she places his hand on her stomach and presses down on his fingers, away from the bandage so that she wouldn’t hurt him.

He almost forgets all about the feelings in his own stomach as he holds his breath. But…he doesn’t feel any movement or nothing. Not that he thought he would actually feel something this early on, but…

“Hey. Where’d you go, lazy punk?” she whispers to herself, back in that happy/unsure daze. Another sigh and a shrug, and she lets go of his hand.

When he finds his voice, he asks her “What’s it feel like?”

“Sort of like a muscle twitch, but…” A smile. “Tiny wiggles.” She then blinks as if waking herself up and further explains “S-some women describe it as little bubbles or flutters at first.” A pause. “You should might feel ’em in three months or so.”

Three months or so. Okay. Damn but if doesn’t want to wait that long. Did that make him an asshole? A horrible person? “What determines all that stuff?”

“It, um, it depends on some things,” she replies. “The weight, body shape, and body composition of the mother,” she starts, gesturing to herself. “Then the, um, their own positioning, too,” she goes on, pointing to her stomach before she rests her hand upon it again, and they resume their silence.

The breeze feels nice.

“You tired?” he asks.

She waves her hand. “Eh, ain’t we all, Dary-bear?” Oh man, it’d been a while since she’d used that one. She did it to bug him or whatever, just like Carol did with “pookie,” but he didn’t mind it. Them doing that made him feel like he was wanted, if that makes sense.

Now she’s adjusting that big, old watch she still wore that had belonged to Dale. Goddamn if that didn’t feel like a fucking lifetime ago. Still wore her big brother’s chain, too. Kept one of T-Dog’s shirts. Lori’s belt. One of Beth’s bracelets. Used Tyrese's hammer. Hershel's stethoscope. Andrea's pistol. Had a broken mug that used to be Jacqui’s. Hell, they all still had (and used) those little walkie-talkies that she’d given to Amy.

“Daryl, are you worried about goin’ to that place, too?”

She mean the place that Aaron was taking them? Of course he was worried. But he didn’t want to make her any more stressed than she already was. “Nah.”

“I call bull.”

He didn’t mean to grumble in response, but old habits, right? And as he expects, she mimics his grumbling and that makes him smile. She was good at making him smile. “I don’t trust it,” he concedes. “But I ain’t scared.”

She makes a little snort. “I don’t doubt that. You even scared of anythin’ other than chupacabras?”

Fuck’s sake, he loved her so goddamned much. “Ain’t never said I was scared of ’em, just that I saw one.”

“Mmhm — oh wait, I remember! You’re scared of peanut butter,” she razzes, giggling.

Shit, but her laugh is fantastic. He loves it when she makes stupid jokes and cracks herself up. And he hasn’t heard her do it that freely in, fuck, how long? He isn’t sure if it was a few days or a few weeks. Hell, even if it was a few hours, that was too long. He couldn’t get enough of that sound, especially now.

Making fun of her back, he grunts “Comin’ from the one who swam in socks ’cause she was convinced there was a quarry monster.”

“Hey. Socks and a t-shirt and shorts, don’t you be leaving that part out, mangy hick.”

“Watch your mouth, troublemakin’ slowpoke,” he taunted back.

He loved her so much. So, so damned much.

Maybe that’s why he was able to find it in himself to reach for her hand. Slowly and carefully; he didn’t want to scare her or anything. He just wanted to hold it for a second. Just long enough to make sure she knew that “We’re all gonna be there with ya. Every step.”

And when he lets go of her hand and faces forwards again, holy shit his heart is pounding. Did he overstep or whatever? Did he scare her?

“I know,” she nods politely, arms crossed. “We’re a family, right?”

I’m gonna be with you every step. I’m gonna be there for that kid every step. I love you, okay? I love you so damn much. But instead of saying any of this (because he can’t. He just can’t.), he thinks of what she would do. What might at least make her smile.

So, he nudges her in the shoulder. And she nudges him back. He lightly nudges her again and calls her name – and before he can second guess it and shut himself down and hide away again, he says “I’m gonna be there. Every step. W-whatever you need. Okay?”

She doesn’t respond, though, except to bite her lip and nod.

“M’serious. Every damned step. For both of ya.”

There’s a pause. “I know,” she repeats, her tone of voice softer. “Thank you.” Then she elbows him again, of course. His heartbeat might still be racing a mile a minute, but he feels lighter. Hopeful almost, he guesses. And quiet settles between them again, but in a good way.

When he peeks over at her once more, her eyes are closed and she’s leaning her head back against the tree.

Is she…snoring?

“You fallin’ asleep?”

Her eyes open with a jolt and she flinches, but as soon as she comes to, she raises her eyebrows and chuckles at herself. Stretching, she admits “Mm, might could be.”

“You wanna stay here or head back to the barn?”

She opens her mouth to answer – but before she can make a sound, Michonne’s voice interrupts and calls out their names from the barn. They want everyone back inside to discuss something.

“Reckon that answers that, hm?” she half-jokes.

Yup.

He stands up first and extends his hand down to help her. And just as he’s about to let her hand go, he stops. Squeezes it once.

“Every step,” he mumbles into her ear. “I promise.”

_______________________________________________________

What? Are you dreaming?

“You good?” you hear him ask.

I don’t know! Holy shit, man! “Y-yeah.”

In your peripheral vision, you can see him sit up. “C’mon, what’s wrong?” More urgently, he questions “There any pain?”

No, but I think I’m hallucinating or something I don’t know! “No, no pain, there’s n-nothin’, it’s all fine, it’s just, um…” You have to shake your head. That little wiggly/twitchy sensation is still going on.

Not that it was impossible; it most certainly was possible. It was simply (definitely) on the uncommon side. You’d just felt them move.

“I’m just a little surprised,” you manage to get out. “They’re movin’ earlier than expected.”

Lord above, you can scarcely believe those words are coming out of your mouth. And then, as if hearing you, the sensation stops.

He doesn’t respond right away. When he does, all it is is a “Hm?”

“Sometimes women feel them movin’ way earlier than expected,” you repeat softly. “Lori felt Judith early, too.”

“You just felt it move?”

Looking him in the eyes, you shrug. “I just felt them move.” Now you’re smiling. “Yeah.”

Somehow, you feel calm now. At peace. Happy, even. Somehow.

You send up a quick prayer and close your eyes to listen to the breeze.

“Can I feel?” he appears to blurt out.

Damn it. Why did he have to sound so gentle and – and eager when he asked that?

You aren’t in any place for that confusing shit, not now. And God save you, you care about him so much. So damned much it hurts. But to hear that genuine care and softness in his voice is confusing. You aren’t in a good place to deal with that right now. And that makes you feel worse.

“Others won’t be able to feel them until later,” you try to respond in a normal way.

It didn’t work. When you subtly glance over, he’s biting his lip and has his head down.

Of all the people walking on eggshells around you, his doing so pained you the most. How to explain it, um…well, see, Rick blamed himself for what happened, too. But Rick hadn’t been beaten down and spat on his whole life. Daryl, on the other hand…

“You sure you’re okay?” he checks quietly.

Keep it light, help him relax again. For both your sakes. “Just had some applesauce like I been craving, I’m great.”

He makes a little hum. “Too bad we ain’t found no playdough for ya, too.”

Of course he’s trying to cheer you up, too. You close your eyes again and remind yourself that you’re just hormonal, which is fine. You love him because he’s family and a very good friend. Right? You love everyone in your family. You’d simply been attracted to him and close, which is why you are upset right now when you consider that before all this happened, there might’ve been more.

God save you, you love him so much.

And like, fuck, what do you want? You still flinch when some of the men catch you off guard, even little Noah. When they manage to catch you off guard; you were so on edge all the time.

You’re hormonal and exhausted now because you’re pregnant and have gone through some shit, and that’s okay. Things will get better, and you have support. But it’s wise to guard your heart.

And yes, you definitely can smile about how you’ve been quite literally drooling over the idea of eating some playdough. Ooh, or that art clay that comes in those little strips! Mm, and peanut shells.

Oh Moses, you need some more vitamins.

“Mm, a basket of playdough and hushpuppies sounds real good. Maybe some modeling clay for dessert,” you joke. Cracking up, you add “And we’ll find you some pig’s feet to snack on, too, don’t you worry.”

You rev up the accent to really commit to the bit. “Gotdang, but are we classy or what?”

“Only if we drink watered down orange powerade and lukewarm root beer out of a dixie cup.”

The string in your chest tugs toward him.

He knows that you aren’t the biggest fan of root beer, but it sure as heck went nicely with Southern Comfort that one time, tell you what.

You make a face, then snort “That there’s some fine dining. We'll have us some knock-off ambrosia for dessert.”

A natural quiet settles between you two. You listen to the breeze and the twittering of the birds and thank God that no sounds of walkers were interrupting this moment. Hard to believe that that storm had been so bad just some days ago. But now, everything seems okay, minus that Aaron guy. No migraine, no one is sick, Judith’s belly is full, Noah’s ankle hasn’t worsened, and all seems calm, at least out here.

The others are in the barn right now probably discussing what Aaron was proposing.

Being outside is preferable.

What’s more is that, even if that wasn’t how Bob had been kidnapped, leaving Daryl alone isn’t something you feel comfortable with doing right now. Not since you’d caught him burning his hand with a cigarette.

You have personal experience with being in so dark a place; you don’t want him to be left alone for too long. Who knows what other actions he might take against himself?

It could turn out like that time you’d left Andrea with Beth – shoot, why did you have to go and dredge up their memories when your emotions were already running so high? Shoot, now you’re thinking about Dr. Jenner and Jacqui, too, and you’re fixing to spiral down, shit, shit, shit, not now, please not now —

—But just like that, you snap out of it upon feeling that twitching sensation again. The reason you’d kept living. As fucked up as it sounded, they are what helped you climb out of that dark place you’d been in. Them and Carl. And now you could feel them. “They’re doin’ it again.”

You feel his eyes on you after saying this. And when you turn your head, he’s staring.

What’s that about then? What’s with that look he’s got?

“Hey man, I got somethin’ on my face or what?”

And as soon as you say it, his expression changes into that same damned look that everyone has been giving you. That pitiful stare.

“No, honey — please don’t give me that look,” you rasp. “Everybody’s been givin’ me that look, man.” You know that it’s coming from a good place, but for fuck’s sake, you’re so tired and scared and you just wish that everyone would cheer up and stop dragging you back down with that godforsaken, defeated, pitiful, guilty stare!

“M’sorry,” he mumbles back.

Shit, but now he’s doing that other thing! That thing where it’s as if he’s expecting to be slapped across the face or screamed at. You hate how he sounds so fucking broken and beaten down, and that ends up being enough to break the dam you’d been trying so hard to keep in.

“And now you’re doing that thing, Daryl—" Shoot, please don’t cry. Don’t cry. Swallow and try to breathe slowly. Now tell him. Remind him that it’s not his fault. “It ain’t your damned fault. You hear me? None of what happened to any of us is your fault.”

Not for Hershel, not for any of the souls lost at the prison, not for Bob, not for Tyreese, and still no, not for Beth, and still no, not for what happened to you. He is not to blame. That “governor” was and those “Claimers” were, end of story.

The tightness in your throat eases, and you ask him softly “May I see your hand, please?”

He holds them out and you nervously reach for the one he’d burned. Daryl is safe and won’t hurt you. None of your family will. You find yourself rubbing your thumb along his as you check to see if he needs fresh gauze yet. He’s been that close to giving himself third degree burns. “Thank you for lettin’ me bandage it.”

He says nothing, but you feel his eyes on you again and are brave enough to return his gaze. Your poor, broken friend who you loved so, so much. Is it unhealthy that you have the urge to kiss his hand? That you hope it would help him not want to hurt himself again?

Oh heck, now you’re giving him the look, aren’t you? And like a weirdo, you’re now laughing at yourself. Aaand, the wiggling sensation is back.

“Oh Moses, here I am givin’ you that same look I hate getting, ain’t I?” First, you have to just sigh and shake your head. And next, hand to God, you’re even brave enough to place his hand on your stomach.

“C’mon. While they’re movin’, tell me if you feel anything, okay?” And with that, you press down on his fingers in the spot you feel movement, mindful to not touch his bandage.

And yes, okay, maybe it’s not like Daryl’s gonna feel them moving since at the moment who’s in there is too small to be felt from the outside. It just feels right to do.

Oh. Rude.

Daryl wouldn’t be able to feel even if you were further along, considering that the wiggling has stopped. “Hey. Where’d you go, lazy punk?” you mutter.

Voice deep and curious, he wonders “What’s it feel like?”

“Sort of like a muscle twitch, but…” You smile. “Tiny wiggles.” Oops, you’re staring into space. Dang but you’re tired and still in a daze about all this. “S-some women describe it as little bubbles or flutters at first.” And considering the normal gestation time for palpable movement to occur… “You should might feel ’em in three months or so.”

He turns his body towards you. “What determines all that stuff?”

“It, um, it depends on some things. The weight, body shape, and body composition of the mother. Then the, um,” and you gesture to your stomach. “Their own positioning, too.”

You sit back again. It’s probably a good time to rewind your watch. The little piece of Dale that you still had. You wish he were here. Would he have survived the prison’s falling and Terminus, you wonder? And what would he think about Aaron? What would your brother have, for that matter?

As you twist the little dial on the watch, you feel troubled.

“Daryl, are you worried about goin’ to that place, too?”

He’s hesitating before he answers, you can tell. “Nah.”

Um, you call bull. “I call bull.”

Yay, and you’re rewarded with one of his signature grumbles! Only one appropriate response to that: grumbling back. Usually makes him smile, too. And sure enough, you watch as his eyes crinkle and he relaxes.

“I don’t trust it,” he acknowledges. “But I ain’t scared.”

“I don’t doubt that. You even scared of anythin’ other than chupacabras?” That man didn’t seem to get frightened by anything.

“Ain’t never said I was scared of ’em, just that I saw one,” he corrects you, lightly nudging you with his foot.

“Mmhm,” you sass back. Oh wait, you remember! “Oh wait, I remember! You’re scared of peanut butter!” you snicker. How wild that he doesn’t like peanut butter, right?

He holds in his laugh until after he grunts “Comin’ from the one who swam in socks ’cause she was convinced there was a quarry monster.”

“Hey. Socks and a t-shirt and shorts, don’t you be leaving that part out, mangy hick.”

“Watch your mouth, troublemakin’ slowpoke,” he taunts back.

You’d missed this. You care about him so much. You love him. So, so damned much.

But you still feel a chill surge through you when you watch him reach his hand over and - clasp yours. He did it slowly and carefully which offered you time to withdraw, at least, but…what the fuck is he doing? Why is he holding your hand? Daryl doesn’t do things like that. And why would he be doing it now?

He swallows. “We’re all gonna be there with ya. Every step.”

Then he lets go and quickly faces forward as if nothing happened. Your pulse is having a damned field day. You’re safe. He is safe to be around.

Staring dead ahead and nodding, you do your best to keep your voice level when you reply “I know. We’re a family, right?”

And he told you the truth, of course your family will be there with you. Heck, you’re surprised that another one of them wasn’t hawking around you right now.

Your arms are crossed as you try to remind yourself that you’re hormonal and very tired, which is why you’re conflicted and confused.

Then out of the blue, he elbows you. Which is something dumb that you would do, and it makes you smile. And naturally you bump back into him. He then lightly nudges you again and calls your name — and without looking at you, says “I’m gonna be there. Every step. W-whatever you need. Okay?”

Okay. Okay. However, this word doesn’t make its way to your mouth, so all you can do is nod your head.

“M’serious,” he whispers, insistent. “Every damned step. For both of ya.”

And with that, your scared feeling melts away and all you feel is calm again. Safe. Every step. And you know he will, for the both of you, that’s the thing.

Putting up another quick prayer, you repeat softly to him “I know.” And you mean it. “Thank you.”

Then you elbow him again, of course, you’ve got a reputation to maintain, after all. And the quiet that settles itself between you two again is easy, comfortable.

You rest your head back against the tree once more. For whatever reason it is that you’re still at peace, you ain’t about to argue with it. And heck no are you gonna argue with that nice, heavy, relaxed feeling spreading over your limbs and eyelids…

And the next thing you know, you’re awaking with a jolt upon hearing “You fallin’ asleep?”

Hot damn, you actually were asleep, weren’t you? And probably snoring. With a self-aware grin, you admit “Mm, might could be.”

One corner of his mouth turns up and he checks “You wanna stay here or head back to the barn?”

To be honest? You’re completely down for closing your eyes and nodding off again right here. So exhausted. But as you open your mouth to let him know, Michonne’s voice interrupts and calls out your names.

They want everyone back inside the barn.

“Reckon that answers that, hm?” you half-joke.

Within seconds, he’s on his feet and extends his hand down to help you. But just when you would expect him to let go of it, he stops. Squeezes it once. And when he leans over just close enough to murmur into your ear, you don’t feel unsafe.

And what he says, you trust.

“Every step. I promise.”

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thedarklordsnicklefritz · 4 years

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The Mighty Nein as ice cream flavors

Jester: Playdough

Caleb: Peanut Butter Cup Panic

Yasha: Cookies and Cream

Beau: Rocky Road

Fjord: Sea Salt Caramel

Veth: Cookie dough and M&M

Caduceus: Mochi ice cream

Molly: Rainbow Sherbet

#critical role

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wyrmguardsecrets · 3 years

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i mean you joke but my household had a recipe for edible peanut butter playdough--it wasn't very good but was surprisingly good playdough. So I guess it might of failed in at least half of its concept. now i want to track it down and make it in churros against my better judgment. like the time i drank two extra shots of tequila for my friends 28th.

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soclonely · 4 years

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You remind me of Hunter from the bad batch 😊 soft but chaotic in a good way. Like how do you come up with these headcanons 😂

Oh man I don't even know. I kind of just have these little generalizations and odd thoughts. Like, everyday habits but in clone form

Waxer and Boil are the type of people you catch at 2am in the kitchen eating the peanut butter from the jar with a spoon

Hardcase breaks out in hives when he touches playdough or similar

When Jesse was younger he got a bead stuck up his nose

Short pencils irritate the hell out of Tup

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keepingupwithfundies · 4 years

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CO 1109: Meet Gracie Duggar!

Abbie and John welcome their baby, and John makes a special surprise for his wife and daughter. The Seewalds make birdhouses and bird feeders. Jinger makes playdough for Felicity.

-T

Abbie is 38 and a half weeks, and she says she feels pretty good but she is really tired. In their home, John David is making a video for the baby. It will feature John and Abbie as well as some family members. John hasn't told Abbie too much, but he did interview Abbie for the video. John then goes to Joe & Kendra's to interview them for the video. Joe talks about growing up with John, and how romantic he became when he met Abbie. John then interviews his parents, and he asks them about when they knew Abbie was the one. John then interviews Jana, some of the other siblings, and he plans to edit it with old photos and put it together for after the baby's born.

At the Seewalds, the family is making and decorating bird houses and pine cone bird feeders. Spurgeon got a bird book, and the boys are interested in birds. Jessa and Ben guide the boys through the bird house construction process. The boys then set to painting. Jessa paints and says "H for Henry!" and Henry says "E then n and r and y." and Jessa is thrilled that he is suddenly spelling his name. The boys finish their painting. Next, Jessa covers pine cones in peanut butter for the boys to cover in seeds. "We made them so the bird wouldn't die," Spurgeon explains. Then, they go outside to hang the feeders in a tree. Overall, Ben says they'll be seeing a lot more birds around here.

At John & Abbie's, John is giving Abbie a pedicure since she can no longer reach her toes. The other guys talk about what they do for their wives, and it is very sweet but not a lot of pedicures. Abbie asks John if he'll paint their daughter's nails, and he agrees. Abbie says she will think the world of him. They talk a bit about their birth plan- stay at home as long as they can, then go to the hospital, and include both moms. John finishes the pedicure and says it could be any day now.

At the Vuolos', Jinger is making homemade playdough for Felicity to make it fun and memorable. Felicity is copying them, which is very sweet. Jeremy is busy with work and school, so Jinger works hard to keep Felicity entertained. Other moms talk about keeping their kids entertained. Jeremy talks about how his mom kept them entertained, and says he once fell asleep in playdough and got it stuck in his hair. Jessa says her kids have to keep it at the table. Felicity likes the playdough, but does put it in her mouth of course. Felicity takes a cute picture, and then Jinger lets her out to go roam.

Back at John & Abbie's, it's 2:30am and Abbie is in labor, and has been since 4:30pm. They call the moms, and they head over to be there with Abbie. Abbie says she thinks it is time to head in to the hospital, so they prepare to make their way in. John and Abbie arrive in the hospital, and Abbie is disappointed to learn that it might be false labor, she's only at 1cm, and the contractions stalled out. They head home. They labor at home with the moms and Abbie's dad. Abbie's contractions are getting more intense and close together. Abbie reads scriptures written for her at the baby shower. Abbie's dad also reads scripture to her- and Abbie said he didn't imagine having her dad at her labor, but he was a calming presence and she was glad he was there. Around 2:30, they head to the doctors office, and Abbie is at 3cm- some progress, but not much. The doctors sends them to the hospital to see if that can help progress. Abbie is a bit disappointed with the slow progress so far. Abbie and John are at the hospital, but they're exhausted.

Back at the main house, Jana takes the younger girls to the store to get provisions for John and Abbie. They end up filling a cart up, and heading into the hospital. Michelle meets them at the hospital as Abbie is in the tub. The family departs, worried about the slow progress. At 10pm, Abbie was only dilated until 5cm. Abbie gets an epidural and pitocin at that point. Between 11 and midnight, they moved rooms, got the epidural and pitocin. Abbie then slept for a couple of hours. Abbie progressed in her sleep, and at 2:15 Abbie is at 10cm dilated, and it is time to start pushing. Abbie pushed for 30 to 45 minutes, and at 3:21am, their daughter was born. Abbie and John are ecstatic to hold her for the first time. A card announces her name: Grace Annette Duggar.

Back home, John says they named their daughter Grace after Abbie's middle name and Annette after his mother's middle name. The family is coming over to meet her, and they are worried about fitting everyone in their tiny house. Everyone jokes about being stuck in together, but everyone is excited to meet Gracie. They take a picture of the girl cousins- Ivy, Addison, Bella and Gracie- and Jessa says they will all be best friends. Jim Bob notes that he correctly guessed the weight- 7lbs 11oz. John says he is looking forward to hanging out by themselves, and Abbie says it feels great to be a family of 3.

Two weeks later, John and Abbie are enjoying life as a family of 3. John calls her over to show her the finished video. John is excited to get to show Abbie the finished video. It is a very cute video showing their wedding, the pregnancy reveal at the photoshoot, and the well wishes from the families. It is a very cute video, and Abbie is so surprised. They are excited to show it to Gracie again when she is older.

#CO season 11 #recap #counting on

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