You like (and frequently borrow) a lot of Shane’s clothes, but the jersey is special, and not only for it’s sentimental value as a token of the past.
It was almost all he wore in the year you first met him. The image of him scowling at the end of the bar with it on sits like a polaroid covered in hearts in your mind. He wore it so much that it didn’t get washed as much as it should have. It was a rough patch in his life.
But he was wearing that jersey the first time you hugged him. He smelled like musk and beer but you came to like it because it was him.
The fabric clung hotly to your face. Jerseys were an odd sort of fabric full of tiny holes that clung to skin in drapes.
It clings to you now as you lie in your marital bed and squirm with your hand working between your legs.
He wore his jersey twice this week. It definitely needs a wash. Shane kindly left it on the bathroom floor rather than put it in the laundry basket, which made it all the more convenient to steal; to stuff your face in it and then finally put it on and revel-
in how it feels against your skin.
in how you were once so desperate just to hug him and have this material pressed to your face, but now it clings to your chest so prettily as your lungs flutter.
Ever since he quit drinking it allowed his natural musk to shine through. It was almost less sour, more earthy. Salty. It was heady and clung in the back of your throat in a way that made you salivate.
But the smell dissipates too quickly with the jersey on you.
You turn and put your face in his pillow, chasing the high and circling your clit as you desperately inhale.
His sweat, his musk, faintly the smell of his shampoo, too. It has you throbbing, dropping your face hard into his pillow so you can't even breathe, suffocating yourself to push yourself closer.
You don't even think about how obscene you look facedown in his pillow, ass up in the air as you touch yourself.
Until you hear the door open.
You gasp and instantly shoot to your knees with a “fuck!,” steadying yourself on the headboard.
Shane stands in the doorway gaping.
He blinks once, then, “is it my birthday or something?”
You burst into a fit of laughter and drop back onto the bed. “Sorry, I thought you'd take longer.”
"Thank Yoba I didn't” he teases as he approaches the bed and looks you over with hungry eyes. “You should keep going.”
There's something in his tone that implies it isn't a suggestion and it sends a shiver down your spine.
You involuntarily let out a little eep and a chuckle before opening your legs to resume touching yourself.
Shane smiles and skims a hand down to your peaked nipples, tweaking one through the slippery fabric. “That's my girl,” he praises under his breath.
Ooo look I'm participating in another event ooo
I might do a few drabbles for this one, I make no promises 👀 thanks to my beloved @glazedsnail for putting together this event (and for the MDNI divider) and @saradika-graphics for the other dividers. If you want to see more from me check out my pinned post, I occasionally take requests.
Request: Can you write a fic where Shane doesn't die? Like he goes off on his own and meets up with Rick's little sister? The groups eventually meet up and the past comes back like a slap to the head.
Summary: You never expected to see your brother again. Now here he is. This is your chance to have your only family member back. The only problem is what bumps will come up along the way?
Rating: Mature for later chapter
Warning: Doesn't follow the show!
Pairings: Shane Walsh/Reader
AO3 Link: Meet Again Part 1
_____
“It’s fucking cold.”
That had been the thought going through Rick’s mind the most. It was nearly December, and being on the road was difficult. After a series of near death experiences and meeting various psychos along the way, finding a new home was the one goal that Rick was trying to achieve.
Glancing over his shoulder, he met Michonne’s gaze. Neither had said it but they both knew it was time to find a safe place to lay low. Wandering through the woods wasn’t doing anyone in their group any good.
“Its too quiet”
Carl commented in a low tone. Rick met his eldest son’s eyes with a nod. Carl was right. Things had been too quiet, and it was beginning to become unnerving. Rick hadn’t been used to quiet. Quiet was a forgotten concept for everyone in the group.
A rustle in a nearby bush made everyone freeze. Rick’s hand immediately went to his gun.
There goes the quiet.
Rick thought coldly as Carl shoved Judith behind him.
“Are you bit?”
A voice called from the bushes. Rick frowned, turning his attention back to Michonne. It wasn’t often when they came across another living person. Usually, when they did, it wasn’t good.
“I could ask you the same question.”
Rick replied. A hooded figure stepped out from the bush.
“I’ll be damned. Rick Grimes.”
Rick stepped back.
“Who are you?”
He questioned as the hooded figure chuckled.
“Someone you know well.”
Rick watched with wary eyes as the individual lowered the hood. The moment Rick’s eyes met yours, his mouth dropped. He thought you were dead. He knew you were dead…yet here you were.
Everything about you was mostly. Like everyone else, it appeared that you had been seeing too many cold winters.
“Y/n!”
Rick could barely get it out. His sister…his baby sister. You quickly closed the distance and threw your arms around your brother’s shoulders. It took Rick all of three seconds to hug you back before Carl wrapped his arms around you from behind.
“Aunt Y/n, you're alive!”
You, meanwhile, closed your eyes savoring this moment. This was the moment that you had been dreaming of since everything changed…the moment that you had been praying for.
“Where have you been?”
Rick asked, cupping your face. You shrugged.
“A bit of everywhere. I have a group not far from here. It's worked out enough. I thought you were dead…but you’re here. Shane told me…”
Rick rolled his eyes.
“Well, Shane was dead wrong.”
Rick watched as an unreadable expression crossed your face for a moment before being pushed aside.
“All I care about is that you are alive.”
You replied before turning back to Carl. Your sweet nephew. He had grown so much from the last time you had seen him. Carl now stood taller than you with long hair.
“Look at you! You’re nearly grown.”
Carl shrugged, giving you that same smirk that Rick used to.
“I’m still me.”
He commented, not flinching when you kissed his cheek.
“Yes, you are. I’m so damn sorry I haven’t found either of you before now.”
Rick suddenly remembered the rest of his family. He knew there was a lot to catch up on. So much had changed from the last time that he had seen you a few years before.
“Y/n, a lot has changed. I would like you to meet my wife, Michonne.”
Rick moved aside as Michonne stepped up. He expected your confused expression. If you weren’t confused, he would have been worried.
“Lori died.”
He added. As Rick expected, you didn’t look the least bit upset with this news. It was no secret to Rick that you despised Lori. You had never liked her from the moment that you were introduced.
“Oh…what a shame.”
You replied before turning to Michonne. She watched you with a wary expression on her face before speaking.
“I have heard so much about you. It's a pleasure.”
You nodded, not blaming her for being wary. If the other woman wasn’t wary, you would have been worried about her. One didn’t just run around trusting people anymore. That’s how you got yourself killed.
“Hopefully, we will get to know each other.”
That wasn’t a lie either. Michonne had heard Rick say your name so many times. He had always said one of his biggest failures was not finding you. The subject had been something that Rick blamed himself for.
“She was the best little sister. Y/n was a handful, but she always had my back. If someone said anything about me, she would probably try to fight them…and win.”
Michonne internally smiled at the thought before shaking your hand.
“Hopefully, yes.”
Rick then reached out for Judith.
“You have a niece, too. This is Judith. Honey, this is your Aunt Y/n. Why don’t you come say hello?”
The moment Judith stepped out, you felt your mouth drop. You knew those eyes…Shane’s eyes.
Holy hell, its true.
You thought before swallowing the thought aside before kneeling down.
“Hi there.”
You said with a smile. In all of the years that you had been living, you had wanted a little niece to play with. You had your perfect nephew. Now you needed your perfect niece…and you got her.
“Hi.”
Judith replied before stepping back to Michonne. Carl went back to Judith and held his arms out.
“Aunt Y/n is the best. She brings great presents and plays the best games. You’ll love her.”
He said softly but loud enough for you to hear. Judith again gave you a sweet smile as Rick reached out to ruffle her hair.
Turning your attention back to your brother, you frowned, remembering that the lot of you were just standing in the middle of the woods. Rick clearly seemed ot be on the same brain wave.
“Are you alone?”
He asked. The last thing that he was about to even think of was letting you get away again. If he did, he may never get you back!
“No, I have a group not far from here. I have been keeping watch. You never know about the characters you see anymore. What about the lot of you?”
Rick shrugged.
“We have been on the move for a while. Staying anywhere too long is a bad idea. There are more people in our group not far from here.”
You glanced over your shoulder, making sure there was nothing that was creeping up on you from behind.
“You could always come to my group with me. There is just one little problem that you and I should discuss first.”
“What is it?”
Rick asked. You let your eyes fall to Judith, who had wandered over and was looking at your shoes.
“There is someone in my group that you probably never expected to see again. Whose name starts with an S and last name starts with a W.”
As you expected, Rick’s face immediately went pale before frowning. Shane….Rick never expected to see his former friend again. Now, knowing that you, his baby sister, were in the same league as the man who caused Rick so much grief, made all the alarm bells begin to sound. Rick reached out and gently pulled you away from Judith’s earshot. He wasn’t ready for his little girl to hear this conversation.
“How the hell did you link up with him?”
You shrugged, trying to think of the best way to explain everything to your older brother.
“I was alone, and he was alone. You find something familiar and just hold on. I know about everything, Rick.”
Rick frowned.
“His truth or the actual truth?”
You crossed your arms over your chest.
“The actual truth. Rick, this world brings out the worst in all of us. Shane is no exception and neither was Lori. Regardless, you are Judith’s father. You are the father that she knows. Yet another example of you being a wonderful man that Lori never deserved in the first place.”
Rick sighed, running a hand through his hair.
“Shane won’t want to see me. We nearly killed each other.”
You frowned. Never in a million years did you ever expect Shane and Rick’s friendship to end.
This world brings out the worst in everyone.
You thought before speaking.
“Shane is still a hot head that can be rather unpredictable, but I believe deep down he regrets how things went down between the two of you. Neither of you has ever been great about talking about your feelings, so I only have my good guesses to go on”
Rick chuckled.
“Sounds like you are right, as usual. Is he good to you at least?”
You smiled.
“I love him, Rick.”
Rick immediately looked sick. This was exactly what he didn’t want. Why didn’t he expect this? He didn’t know…but he didn't want to hear it.
“Christ, Y/n.”
You held a hand up.
“Rick, I love him. I have loved him for a long time. I think deep down you know it. He’s been good to me.”
Rick continued to rub a hand over his face.
“What is going to happen when it comes to Judith? He’s going to know that's his kid.”
You shook your head. This would definitely be a rough subject in the making, but Shane had accepted long ago that Rick was Judith’s father. When he told you about Lori’s pregnancy a few years beforehand, he accepted that Rick was the father that Judith needed.
It had taken Shane a long time to be able to say that. It took you beating some sense into his brain before he finally accepted the truth.
“Again, Judith is your daughter. You are her father.”
Rick shook his head, taking all of this in. This was beginning to feel like a fever dream.
“Is there anything else that I need to know? Like anything at all?”
He asked. Rick knew that facing Shane was going to be difficult enough. What was he supposed to say?
“Hey, I bet you never expected to see me again?”
“Hello again, asshole! Fuck you for touching my sister. Prepare to die.”
Rick decided against the latter of the two greetings. If Rick wanted to keep you in his life, insulting and potentially killing your boyfriend seemed like a bad place to start (no matter how much he disliked it)
If there were any more "surprises," Rick needed to be prepared.
“Rick, you have a niece.”
You admitted. As you expected, Rick looked as if he needed to sit down. He knelt down and took a few deep breaths. You had a baby….a baby with one of Rick’s former best friend. You could have ended up like Lori and Rick would have never known.
“Y/n…please tell me everything went okay? You could have died….you could have….”
You knelt down, placed hand on Rick’s face, hoping to comfort him.
“But I didn’t. Everything was just fine except I can guarantee you that I am never doing that again.”
Rick placed a hand over yours and brought it down to hold onto. No longer were you the child who used to chase after Rick. Now you were a grown woman, a mother, in the middle of the apocalypse.
“You’ve changed so much, Y/n. You’re a grown woman. I have missed so much of it.”
You squeezed Rick’s hand.
“You don’t have to miss anymore. Please come back with me? I can help take care of your family. You’ll be safe…the kids will be safe. I sure would love to have a sister-in-law that I like. I’m only disappointed that I didn’t get to punch Lori one good time before she died.”
Rick’s blue eyes rolled up to your face before smiling.
“There’s my wild girl. I think you will really like Michonne. She’s an amazing woman.”
You stood up and held out your hand to Rick.
“I want the chance to find out. Don’t worry about Shane. I’ll handle him.”
Title: Holding Water
Series: The Long Way Home - Part 2/4
Pairing: Shane x f!Farmer
Words: 7,427
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: references to depression, references to addiction, alcohol consumption, references to sexual deviance/kink, using sex to self-medicate, hurt/comfort, whump, vaginal fingering, public sex, enemies to fuckers, references to Farmer/Sebastian, why yes that is a Sleep Token reference, we love a flawed Farmer in this house
Summary:
The worst thing about unknowing is that you can’t -- a few hopes and dreams, scattered like leaves, puts you back a few steps, Farmer, but you’ve got those cupped hands spilling all your feelings the harder you try to hold onto a man gone missing.
Where’s Sebastian?
You don’t have an answer.
But when his best friend asks the same question, you realize that you’re not the only one trying to keep it together.
--
The second part of the story belongs to Shane and the Farmer: inspired by Kantrip’s Older!Sebastian. (This may be read as an isolated one shot, but I recommend beginning with Shadows & Tall Trees if you want to enjoy all four seasons as a complete arc.)
Read it on Ao3 or below the cut 👇🏻
Notes:
Hello again! After some thought, Shadows & Tall Trees evolved into four stories spanning four seasons with three interconnected threads: the Farmer, Sebastian, and Shane. If you've arrived here without having previously read Shadows & Tall Trees (a Farmer/older!Sebastian fic), you can read this and probably deduce the gist of the circumstances leading up to it. Holding Water introduces Shane to the dynamic.
However, while the goal is a HEA for the completed series, I'm putting everyone through the grinder first, so expect some discomfort before things get better, and I would encourage starting where it starts, which is at the beginning.
--
This follows continuity established by Kantrip's Older Sebastian Expansion in that Shane and Seb, being older bachelors, are friends, and they play pool together on Tuesdays at the Saloon. It's evident that they don't tell each other everything, however, and I'm capitalizing on that. ;)
--
Holding Water
--
“I want a goddamned mess.”
- Spiritbox, The Mara Effect - Pt. I
--
The black flamingo appears against the hedgerow the second week into fall. The fence is rickety on that side of the property, the hardwood putting up a failing effort, but the bird is painted plastic with red eyes and pink legs and flaking spray paint and it weighs nothing.
A little tag around his neck declares his name, “Jerry”, which isn’t the strange thing —
You recognize the writing:
It matches each of the letters that Sebastian sent from rehab, but maybe with a little less hesitation and fewer crossed-out words.
The gift is supposed to mean something, you think, but you leave it where it is to watch over you as you till the earth, struggling for something to take root because you can’t afford the sprinklers and using the rain totems feels excessive. It’s going to be another season’s worth of silver-grade carrots and Pierre’s smug victory at the fair, at this rate.
No one said this was going to be easy, but the thought skitters before you can determine if you’re thinking about your work load, or your not-quite-relationship.
You haven’t spoken to him in a week.
Or maybe, he hasn’t spoken to you.
It’s hard to say, but whatever is jamming the air waves sends back the sort of static that leaves you prickling with nervous energy, spooked, and desperate, and lonely enough to bury yourself in the pumpkins that will not grow worth a damn without the expensive fertilizer.
You give up before the sun even dips below the horizon, dirt-caked and achey, and thinking of the city again.
It wasn’t better than this, wasn’t it?
You’re starting to forget.
The farmhouse creaks around you, winter darkness shifting along the edges and beneath the furniture, catlike and indifferent because the seasons change but you’re just… stuck in the same place with nothing to show for it.
In a slant of waning sunlight, there’s a glimpse of a ghost in the living room:
A memory of the last time Sebastian sat in the middle of your sunken couch, his knees sticking up higher than the arm rests, legs spread wide enough that you could have knelt between his Doc Martens… Shirtless and tousled, tired from the night before, but happy.
Wasn’t he?
The vision fades, crisping at the edges likes leaves on a campfire, leaving you breathing harsher for retaining the details but not the feel of his chest under your hands or the elegance of his fingers guiding you into position because didn’t he have you where he wanted you, even then?
Fuck it, you decide.
Fuck the radio silence.
And fuck him.
A little voice whispers, “But you already did.”
“Fuck this,” you croak.
The door slams after you as you head back out into the first licks of autumn chill, your arms shoved through your ratty cable knit cardigan, hat still hiding the sweat as you make your way into town on foot. The single red eye of Jerry the Flamingo watches you depart.
You flip it off for good measure too, and head for the Saloon.
—
Gus greets you with less trepidation these days, the warm welcome and the cold beer a respite as Emily slides your drink across the counter and wipes up after it.
“Oh, you’re purple today,” she tells you, a furrow appearing between her eyebrows. “With little flecks of goldenrod. Something wrong at the farm?”
It’s easier lying. “Gourd problems.”
“Oh, I see,” she says, agreeing, “Eggplants and potatoes,” which makes no sense to you, but she nods likes she gets it.
Emily leans in to confide, “Dating women isn’t any easier.”
You stall out for a second because no one is supposed to know about you and Sebastian, but Emily is off again to serve another customer and you can’t do anything other than stare after her as your face begins to burn.
It’s a moment further when you realize it’s because you’ve caught Shane’s attention.
He doesn’t move from his position beside the fireplace, one hand shoved into his hoodie pocket, the other putting a dent into his beer can.
They’re friends, at least — him and Sebastian. Ish?
The question flickers into being before you even take a step, recognized in the hunch of his shoulders and the downturn of his mouth.
“Nope. Fuck off.”
He chugs, his attention sliding sideways and behind you to anything and nothing that isn’t directly in his way.
Fine, you think: if there’s one thing you can rely on, it’s Shane being an asshole.
“It’s not about you for a change,” you mutter, tossing yourself into the stool in front of him just to be irritating. “I am drinking.” You rap the countertop. “Because I am a paying customer. You can shut your face.”
He snorts. “That’s a different flavour.”
“That’s pumpkin spice, baby,” you return. “Peaches and cream season is over.”
He eyes you skeptically, leaning just far enough into your peripheral vision to give you an appraising once over. “You look like shit, farmer.”
“You’re the expert in personal presentation.”
He smirks like you’ve said something darkly amusing.
You glower at him over the rim of your mug, taking three chugs before setting it down with a hard thunk.
“Care to join me?”
He cocks an eyebrow. “If you’re trying to put yourself under the table, you can just crawl.”
Been there. Done that.
“Suit yourself.” You finish off the glass, gesturing for another, which Emily obliges, looking between you and Shane with an obvious question mark hovering above everything.
“The Farmer was just leaving,” Shane mutters.
You counter, “He’ll take one too, Emily. On my tab.”
The new alliance seems to brighten her, because Emily lights up like a Winter Star tree at the prospect.
“See!” she tells Shane, delivering the drinks and disappearing, glancing back just the once to beam at the pair of you: the two most uncomfortable and surly people at the Stardrop in the last fifty years, at least.
You do not want to think about what she means.
“Um,” he says.
“I am way too sober to unpack that,” you tell him.
For the first time since you moved to Pelican Town, Shane appears to agree.
“Let’s workshop it.” He tinks the rim of his glass to yours, and takes the barstool two over to keep a healthy enough distance, glancing over. “Silently and without making eye-contact.”
It doesn’t last.
—
“…No, by that point the toilet was overflowing and Sam had completely emptied the paper towel dispenser.” He burps.
Shane’s shoulder bumps yours again, your midnight stroll towards Cindersap a meandering path of stops and starts as you double over again, gripping your knees for balance as you laugh. Loudly. The sound carries across the square and bounces off the clinic.
“Did you tell him?” you gasp. Your stomach aches. Everything is hilarious, and Shane —
He rolls his eyes, gesturing with a go-beer. “Would you? I’d sooner pour one out for the teddy bear. I spent a week plunging the stuffing.”
“Who does that?” You can’t breathe.
“Who does that?” he repeats. “There are thirty four people in this shithole town. Who do you think?”
“Someone with a vendetta against the Joja Corporation —”
Shane gives you a glazed grin.
“You didn’t.”
“No, but I saw the security footage.”
You waver on the spot, rocked by the revelation. “I didn’t know Pierre had it in him.”
Shane keeps walking, calling back over his shoulder, “Didn’t you used to work for them, farmer?”
The night breathes, brightly coloured and mottled with swirls of oil slick against the autumn leaves. They rustle a little, the wind creeping through your clothing to tickle out a shiver despite the flush and the heat and the strange distraction of Shane’s company, walking you back after Gus gently suggested he needed sleep.
Shane halts at your silence, swaying a little. He’s still in shorts and Crocs. Socked feet.
“A guy died in the cubicle in front of me,” you tell him, though the words sneak in with a little dissonance because it feels like someone else’s life; a sidewinder that strikes from the left all at once to leave you wondering if it really happened. “No one ever came to get the body.”
His frown is the clearest thing. “I don’t think you’re fucking with me.”
Because in three hours, it’s become apparent that there’s no need:
You’ve exchanged too much drunken honesty —
Everything but the one thing that you keep in your cupped hands.
“Can I ask you something?” you hedge, because this can’t last forever, and the bitterness that creeps in like a sobering chill is unrelenting.
Even eight beers in, he looks wary.
“You might not like the answer.”
Because Shane doesn’t sugarcoat anything.
You look down at yourself, taking in the dirt-caked knees of your coveralls and the ratty sweater, the loamy crescents under the chipped relics of your fingernails.
“Maybe I should have known better,” you say to yourself, more than to him.
“Just say it, farmer.” His jaw stiffens like he’s anticipating a blow, but the sentiment doesn’t reflect in his gaze: whatever sadness lingers there is resigned to defeat already, so you tuck any questions about Sebastian away.
Where he’s been.
What he’s doing —
It doesn’t really matter anyway.
Whatever expectations were there you’ve clearly fallen short of them, so focus on the moment and get over it.
Your voice is clear as a bell in the darkness, the crossroads between Fairhaven and the Ranch and your farm as starless and still as the ringing quiet will allow. Everything going to sleep for the winter, falling into torpor. Maybe that’s where you ought to bury your feelings. Erect a shrine to Yoba for them on the corner. Whatever.
“I expect tomorrow you’ll go back to ignoring me,” you tell him, “but I wanted to say thank you for a — huh.” You smile into your chest, shrugging. “An interesting evening, Shane.”
The look he gives you is cutting.
“I’m drunk, not stupid,” he says, but the impatience slivers when he shrugs it off, slouching away a step. “Thank me for the hangover if you still feel that way later.”
You reach for his sleeve before he can escape, catching him by the wrist because it’s not the first time he’s dismissed you, but if the best you’ve got is kindness, you’ll dump it over his head with a bucket until he believes it.
“I mean it —”
You don’t see the rock where it juts from the path, snagging on the toe of your boot and sending you hurtling into a stumble.
Shane’s not fast enough to catch you, so when you hit him, he goes down too.
It still hurts — knees first — the pain distant because you’re tangled, and close up like this with his arms around you, you realize that you might be stupid for drinking too much, but Shane somehow still tried to protect you.
It dislodges a feeling you can’t pinpoint immediately —
Shapeshifting into something much more insidious, gold-tinted and glittering like a strain of ore in a stone: whatever it is, you feel like it’s something you’re not meant to see, a rare bit of treasure identifiable only by an expert.
Shane’s mouth is less than three inches from yours, lips parted —
He flinches.
Or maybe you’re imagining it.
“My fucking elbow,” he groans.
You shove off of him.
It’s over that quickly, but germination is a weird thing:
What you sometimes think isn’t going to turn into anything churns below the surface, getting its roots in deep enough to be a problem later.
“Is it broken? Do I need to take you to Harvey?”
“For the love of Yoba, woman —“
“Are you bleeding?”
“Get off me.”
You giggle. It’s a little maniacal, granted, but it’s better than crying in front of Shane — especially since he’s staring.
He clears his throat, assessing the circumstances, “Okay. You’re blasted.”
It takes a minute to subside, but the hard packed dirt under your head is a comfort, and the stars swirl into patterns when you close your eyes, the whole world spinning as if you can feel the rotation of the earth, racing through space faster than your rushing blood can keep up.
An image flashes, tightening your throat to the point of choking out something monosyllabic instead of an apology:
Sebastian dreaming somewhere. Or maybe just pretending with his eyes half-closed, your fingers twined together.
But he’s wherever — floating in the void of your imagination and you can’t touch him.
“You okay?”
When you open them again, Shane’s face blurs.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” you admit.
“Figures. You’re a lightweight.”
He squints into the darkness.
“You’re not gonna make it home like this.”
You squeeze your eyes shut. Maybe to summon the memory again, but it burns, wet leaking out at the corners.
“You can just leave me lying in the dirt,” you slur. “Here’s your parting gift.”
You hold up the offending object that set you off the first time —
A green Croc in Tunnellers colours.
“Take it, Cinderella. My arm’s getting tired and everything is spinning.”
Shane takes your wrist instead, hauling you to sitting and then to your feet as the stars swirl into curlicue patterns. You sag into him as you both stagger towards the Ranch, which is closer than trying to get home in the dark.
The door opens and closes with a practiced click, the dark softened by Shane’s breathing and the fuzzy texture of his sweatshirt in your fist, and a murmured, “Be quiet. Jas is a light sleeper.”
You fall into bed face-first, but it smells different:
A mixture of fabric softener and someone else’s skin with musky underpinnings, cheap aftershave, restless nights and wrong directions. You crush the pillow to your face, the words floating from a distance as your body slackens, “I’ll take the couch. I don’t sleep much anyway.”
Everything fades when the void beckons: unconsciousness pulling you down into mangled dreams of hands and teeth, soothing touches after the sting, long kisses with a hand pinning your wrists. Pleasure and absence bracketing you in from all directions because the figures are faceless yet somehow familiar:
Two of them with you in-between.
—
You wake clutching a Croc to your chest like a teddy bear — fully-clothed in a foreign bed, mouth sticking and tasting of stale beer.
But in the momentary confusion, you’re only processing the sealed water bottle on the bedside table and the creak of unfamiliar bed springs. Tunnellers posters. Ancient television. Muddy footprints.
You reach for hydration, and find there’s a hastily scrawled note below it that reads,
“Fed your chickens.”
Bolt-upright your vision spots over, the world lurching as your stomach sloshes, but you’re fully-dressed in last night’s clothes, absent your boots but plus one Croc-shaped trophy.
It’s Tuesday, so Marnie is at aerobics, but the little girl sitting in the hallway blinks at you with owlish curiosity as you tip-toe from the kitchen and into the Ranch reception with your throbbing head and your boots dangling off your fingertips.
So much for stealth.
“You’re the new Farmer,” she observes. “What are you doing here?”
You wonder if she’ll accept bribery.
A door opens and slams, but you stiffen, your shoulders up to your ears in self-defence.
Shane rounds the corner, coming to your rescue —
A sack of feed lobbed at you with indifference.
“That’s the new formula. On the house so you can try it out.”
Yoba, he’s smooth.
“Now, get out.”
Well, almost.
Shane waits at the door, ushering you into daylight light he was bouncing you off his property, his arms crossed and glowering, the sleepless night and the hangover kissing crescents under his eyes.
He doesn’t look happy.
He doesn’t look mad either, and maybe that’s worse, because the feeling that twists your tummy into unsettled discomfort has little to do with the way he watches your not-quite-walk-of-shame progression into the calm, clear morning, and everything with the recognition that you can still smell hints of his spicy aftershave clinging to your hair.
There’s a hint of orange in it, you think.
The feeling doesn’t fade —
That strange weight of tension, words left unsaid battering the inside of your ribcage, their little wings struggling for escape.
It’s only when you get back to your homestead that you realize he wasn’t lying: there are eight happy hens in the coop with full bellies, clucking happy noises when you pet them again.
Your head’s throbbing, the feeling that Shane’s been here casting strange shapes across the beehives and under the blackberry bushes, and you try to see the wreckage of the pumpkin patch as he might, but you can’t: all you see is the mess you ignored for an evening while you slept in someone else’s bed.
Something’s missing, yet:
You can’t figure out why Shane acting like a friend leaves you feeling bereft.
Against the hedgerow, Jerry the Flamingo bobs in the wind.
—
Two days go by with every minute counted, hours slowed to seconds. It occurs to you that if the only strategy in your possession is avoidance, you’re actually getting quite good at it, because not leaving your farm means not taking the mountain passage into town, and not having to cross the Ranch.
It’s a good plan, but while you fail to parse your feelings, the dreams are getting worse.
You wake in a sweat on the third morning to the sound of your headboard slamming against the wall a fresh rapport of percussion, the tension between your legs a heady throbbing even though you don’t think it’s physically possible to come without touching yourself.
It starts to fade as consciousness beckons, but the memory of phantom fingers circling the back of your neck persists; your face is still pressed into the mattress while your body writhes over the last dregs of pleasure.
The knocking sound echoes through the farmhouse, and you shove off the tangle of your bedclothes, disoriented.
You’re all alone.
There’s someone at the door.
Barefoot and barely covered by your coveralls, you fold your arms across your chest in self-defence as Shane’s scowl falls on you again.
You’re not wearing a bra, and your hair must be sticking up, or maybe it’s the look of guilt you’re wearing because you’re certain he knows that your thighs are still wet and your sex gives a pulse at the thought of what caused it, because Shane’s gaze narrows in suspicion.
Oh, you think. Daddy’s angry.
“I didn’t figure you for a thief, farmer.”
You pull a breath in between your teeth.
He points at his feet, and the impulse to kneel is so hard-coded you legs almost buckle. But that’s not what he means.
“You took my shoe with you,” he explains.
A smile threatens, but you smother it with a fist. You want to laugh and cry in combination, but your pussy is the culprit, not the man who, in your subconscious, was telling you just moments before what he was going to do to you because you came without his permission.
“What?”
You wave it off. “Nothing. I’ll get it. Just —” Fuck. “Wait here a second.”
But he doesn’t, and you can’t say why there’s a familiarity to Shane stepping over the threshold and into the kitchen like he owns it, but if you’re frittering excuses, it feels like something that’s already happened. Some forgone conclusion, the brain stopping and starting again within a millisecond, like deja vu, or precognition or —
“You don’t look so good.”
You force the Croc at him. “I meant to bring it by sooner.”
You didn’t.
He frowns. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Sweet Yoba, would you just —”
“We’re not friends,” he says. “So you owe me exactly nothing, but I know the difference between a bender and a distraction.”
He’s cute in the buttery sunshine of your kitchen. A little worn, and a little angry around the eyes, but compelled to ask the right questions with that absent affectation that alerts you to the fact that he’s being sincere.
“This is not a road you want to go down, farmer,” he warns. “Don’t make it a habit.”
You stiffen. “It’s none of your business.”
Shane stares a beat, taking back his Croc and slapping it against his palm a couple of times like he was testing it.
A hysterical thought harries at you: you’ve never been spanked with a flip flop either, but that doesn’t make the prospect of redirecting your frustrations any less attractive.
You attention lingers on Shane’s wide palms and thick, square fingers — the knuckles dusted with hair, and you can imagine how more covers his chest and back and belly.
He’s a broad swath of man whose heaviness has less to do with his stature and everything with whatever he’s carrying.
“Anyway,” he says. “I’ll be at the Saloon tonight. Sebastian owes me a game.”
You freeze at the mention, but you haven’t braced against the feeling of being socked in the chest. It aches in that special way being abandoned can be, because the people you care about go on living.
Shane doesn’t notice. “That bastard keeps ducking me,” he mutters, and after another beat of hesitation, his adam’s apple bobs as if trying to swallow the offer:
“Come by if you want to make more bad decisions, I guess.”
As if that isn’t loaded.
Shane’s blink takes a long, mortified second to happen as if he’s already regretting it, his mouth opened as if wanting to take it back but he can’t because you both know how it sounds.
The answer wavers in and out of focus: possibilities on the perimeter of your life turning from liquid to haze and obscuring any way signs indicating how you’re supposed to handle this.
Shane doesn’t wait to make an escape.
“Later,” he says, and he doesn’t run but you glimpse pink high on his cheeks, and that one word tumbles over your senses like gravel over silk. It leaves your skin prickling with goosebumps, your nipples piqued, the warm flush of arousal spilling over from your centre because this time you’re certain:
It’s not just you.
He’s felt it too.
—
“I’m surprised he didn’t say anything,” Robin tells you.
Bravery isn’t enough to fill the hollow left behind: a darkened bedroom and an empty garage, sheets made neatly and laundry folded.
You tried, you think.
You tried despite the feeling that something had slipped between your fingers despite holding quick — not moving an inch. Hope spills over sometimes, and maybe that’s what brought you to the carpenter’s instead of the Saloon, but the problem with hope, you’re learning, is that something so ephemeral isn’t meant to be clung to.
“He said he’d be back in a few days — he wanted to meet with his parole officer face to face, and take care of a few things, I think.”
But you know the reason why Sebastian said nothing at all to you: there’s no explanation needed when the person you’re sleeping with is insignificant.
Maybe if you had given him a bouquet if would have made a difference. Maybe it would have been a declarative statement of your intentions towards him, but you didn’t: you had feelings, and feelings aren’t promises.
Old customs aren’t meant to be fucked with, no matter how insular. Some are important: flowers to declare a partnership, shells to make it permanent.
Now you know, you think.
Does having closure change anything?
The winding path from the mountains carries you past the derelict community centre, your feet determined to keep moving despite the empty feeling in your chest, but nothing lifts the weight of understanding.
It doesn’t hurt, you tell yourself.
It can’t. It didn’t mean anything.
The town square has its lanterns lit for the evening, and you stand on the central cobbles for a long moment, each little inhalation the sliver of a knife leaving cold tendrils of unfeeling in its wake. The Saloon awaits, but if Shane is in there, then it’s better for him if you’re out here.
Say it again to yourself, farmer: you’re saving him, even if he doesn’t know it yet.
“It’s better like this.”
You turn, prepared to drag yourself back home the long way again, prepared to make the right decision, and there he is:
Haloed by an amber pool of lamplight in front of Emily and Haley’s, his hands in his pockets, both Crocs on his feet, and a frown etching lines into his face. Shane’s expression remains guarded, but his gaze is as sharp as a razor, and you can’t help but think that if this is the one night he chose to go sober, maybe you’re the one who should be frightened.
Your heart hammers like it.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he says, but there’s something heartbreaking in the way he says it that pushes you towards him, propelled by something blooming where there was only an inkling a moment before.
He waited.
Sebastian didn’t.
But it’s not that simple when you can see your reflection in another person.
Mingled disbelief and despair trail him when he moves finally, and you remember every time you tried to befriend him and the one time Shane said, “Please,” with an ounce of defeat when he asked you to stop trying. A glance around the square and a small shake of his head covers over the sad smile he points into his chest.
“You deserve better,” he says.
You make fists of your hands.
“Maybe I’m the villain here,” you answer.
The shadow of a rakish smile appears — a relic from a former life, maybe. “Do you want me to make you worse?”
But you know a liar when you see one: this white knight pulled a blanket over your shoulders and then he fed your chickens at some ungodly hour of the morning while you slept off your hangover in his bed.
You shake your head, because your throat is closing off and you fear that any attempt at explanation will shatter the illusion that you’ve got it together.
Your fingernails are crusted with dirt.
Your pumpkins look like warty orange toads.
And despite sowing all the love you can, you’ve never seen it grow into much.
Shane lets out a breath, but there’s no relief in it. “Got it,” he says.
He doesn’t. Resignation limns his edges.
In a voice that’s high and ringing, and full of something that isn’t quite pain, you tell him, “I want you to make it better.”
Because this feeling of never fitting into anything anywhere is an ache that never goes away.
Shane wipes a hand down his face in defeat, reluctance and desire intermingled into a potent cocktail that no one wants to taste. Maybe this is a catalyst, or maybe it’s poison, but he’s braver than you think.
“Fuck it,” he says. “Come here.”
You’re so similar. How did you never see it?
But you know the answer:
He’s only ever offered glimpses.
“This is a really stupid idea,” Shane says before the collision, but it happens anyway: a half-laugh-half-sob that’s wrapped in quiet destruction and a thrum of feeling, lit on contact as his arm slides around your waist.
You choke a breath because there’s relief amid the panic, and a rush of heady desire that lifts you off your feet and into the soft solidity of his chest with a whimpered, “Disastrous,” muffled by his lips and a sigh that knocks you both backward into the bushes.
You trip, roll sideways against the siding and pushing him into it, taste spearmint over pizza and the hunger beneath the surface.
Shane pulls you into him, the hand cupping the back of your neck all courage, because you being here is confirmation:
“Be fucking sure, farmer —”
You bite his lower lip in answer, and his grip on you tightens. If this is a pull-no-punches situation, Shane shudders into movement, exchanging your place for his against the building. The kiss is sloppy and desperate, but earnest in a way that slots your legs together and pushes your chest into his — like it’s been ages since anyone’s touched him, and he needs everything all at once in case it disappears.
“Shane.”
It’s plaintive, and you feel him stiffen like hearing it flips a switch. His hands grip the meat of your ass, and your hands are in his hair, and his mouth is on your neck, and his teeth —
He nips at the soft spot below your chin, and the gush of wet heat is almost embarrassing.
Worse, maybe, than the pathetic little mewl that escapes you when he does it again, sucking on the spot to sooth a mark into it. His fingers find the clasp of your jeans, the button popping open with a flick, the zipper pushed open as his hand takes the place of his hip and you grind on his fingers through your panties.
He slows, surprise cracking the syllables into smaller pieces, “You’re soaked.”
You swallow a whimper. You know.
He presses forward, rubbing up into the gusset as if the small scrap of fabric is a minor inconvenience, the glitter of surprise in his smile tender enough to be weaponized.
“Don’t you dare,” Shane says when you start to squirm, because darkness chases delight and he’s revelling in it. “Don’t you turn your head. I want to see every bit of what you’re feeling when I touch you like this.”
On a breath, trying so hard not to climb up his body, wanting to beg him to slide your panties to the side, you manage, “Make me,” despite your embarrassment, and reach for his fly.
He cups your throat, tipping your face towards him before you can fumble the motion, and holds you there against the building as his fingers dip lower, mapping the secrets between your legs, and venturing deeper when the elastic stretches to popping and skin touches skin.
“Fucking drenched,” he says like he doesn’t believe it, watching your eyelids flutter as you squirm against him, bucking into his palm as if he’s the solution to every problem you’ve ever known.
“This is what you want?”
You hate that he still sounds unsure, so you cup him through his shorts in retaliation, the tent of his hard on hot against your fingers as you close around his length as best you can, giving him a tentative squeeze.
Shane shudders a breath, pressing into your touch with a grunt and a moan, his forehead touching down on your shoulder.
“Okay, then.”
Into his ear, you whisper, “I want a few things but I’d like to hear you make that noise again first.”
His, “Mmph,” into your throat is offset by the slip of his fingers along the edges of your slit, pushing gently inward to wet himself to the knuckle, and then stroking without penetration —
A long glide from the edge to your clit and back again, teasing to prolong the moment, or maybe to make you squirm.
Shane chuckles, “In a minute, farmer, don’t be so fucking impatient.”
You kiss him, hooking a knee over his hip as Shane’s exploration coaxes you open around his fingers, memorizing the feel of your tension spindled higher by the rough tread of callouses. He spreads his knuckles, already too thick, and curls them up as he begins to thrust, his mouth on your pulse as you lose your grip and sag in his arms.
He pushes you up. “Hold on a little longer, sunshine, you’re going to give me what I want first, and then you can do whatever you like to my cock.”
You’re done, your choked cry smothered by his hand as he covers your mouth, the pace he sets rough enough to tear the release from your body with a guttural sound of surprise.
“Shh.” He doesn’t want to get caught. “People in this town talk.”
You whimper behind his palm.
Shane’s chuckle is so full of smug satisfaction, you forget for a second that your expectations have been shattered —
Who is this man?
“Again,” he says, his lips catching your protest before it happens, his fingers stroking over the back of your head. It’s too tender — too soft for what you deserve, like the touch of a true lover whose affection bleeds into every gesture. It makes your eyes burn, so you squeeze them shut.
You’re still throbbing on his fingers, his pace slowed to a languid stroke, but even twitching in sensitivity, the brush of his thumb across your clit is a little bit of redirected relief.
“I can’t —”
“You’ve been annoying me for weeks. Now you’re paying for it,” he says against your mouth. “Kiss me, sweetheart, and show me what this pussy is going to do to my cock.”
It’s easy to tangle your fingers in his hair, to tug the strands at the roots as he takes what he wants of your mouth and your cunt, and never once does he let you feel like he might let you go: pressed between him and the building at your back, the nighttime dark and the heat of his chest.
“Okay.” Your voice sounds tiny, even cradled against him.
You don’t remember the last time you felt so safe with someone so completely determined to shatter what little control over yourself you had left.
He pulls back just enough to wipe your face, frowning. “Why — farmer, are you crying?”
“Shut up, Shane.”
“Are you okay —”
You kiss him again, squeezing out the sadness as you come again. This one earns a grunt as your body contracts, the swell of pleasure bordering on something painful —
Not because it hurts, but because while the things that are broken don’t always have a fix, you can still mourn them.
“You’re so fucking tight.” There’s admiration in it, but also a touch of soft concern you cannot handle. “We should go somewhere.”
“I know a place.”
And here’s where it gets complicated, because he’s rubbing your clit again and you need the feeling of his hands on your skin. Shane takes a step with you in his arms, but he’s not stopping: the whole of your body is his to play with, if he wants it, and when he gives you a squeeze, you’re certain he’s fighting basic instincts.
“Better tell me where,” he says into your throat, his other hand slipping under your shirt and beneath your bra. He grips your breast, the delicious roughness bordering on discomfort.
You forget the words. They evanesce when he kisses you again.
“I swear to Yoba I’m going to fuck you right here if you don’t tell me —”
“Community centre,” you whisper. “It’s closest.”
He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and impatient, you change direction:
“Can I touch you now?” you ask him, because everything trembles like it’s about to fall apart.
His hair is tousled, his mouth swollen, but Shane’s lips purse in a way that’s soft and delicious and you want to wrap your legs around him just to be closer, or maybe your mouth. You want to drown in him, and you realize that some part of you could: a lifeline held onto with the sort of careful hope for returned affection that you realize you’ve always offered with two fists.
His voice cracks, and the fracture makes him sound a decade younger. “You can touch me whenever, as long as you’re not —”
“With my mouth?” you clarify.
He doesn’t have an answer for that. Shane just gapes and blinks as you undo his belt, the pre-come on his boxers a little warm dot, the musky heat of his body welcoming you as your knees touch the ground and some part of you remembers that Sebastian also knelt at your altar and Yoba, this is so fucked —
You nuzzle him through the cloth, his thighs stiffening under your hands, and while the scent and the feeling is unfamiliar, the gentle touch of his hand to your cheek is as soft as a feather.
You press your lips to his shaft through the cotton, licking at the wet spot, and his cock jumps. It’s all him — the flavour and the texture and the scent of fabric softener that reminds you of his bed, and you wouldn’t trade the circumstances or your position, even if there wasn’t a precedent or past experiences so close to the surface.
You’re here with him.
This is not a mistake.
Your mouth fills with spit.
“Fuck,” Shane breathes.
“Can I, please —”
Fingers pluck at his waistband, ready to free his cock — the tip juts against the seam in the pouch.
When he says your name, you don’t hear it.
Shane clears his throat and grabs your hand before you can do anything further and he says, “Come on,” and those heavy, rough fingers tilt your whole face up while you cling to his waistband like a good little —
“Stop.”
His thumb swipes at your cheek, his expression alight with an indiscernible mixture of emotions that all churn together: concern and desire and a little bit of that stubborn, determined anger setting his jaw when something pisses him off.
“Up.” He tugs. You resist, because you’re sure you’ve done something wrong and it must show because —
“Come on, sunshine,” he says again, softening. “Come here.” Into his arms.
This isn’t how it was supposed to happen.
“Don’t you want to?”
Everything trembles, threatening to shatter: the high, tight plaintive desperation an embarrassment you can’t hide because Shane doesn’t want you either and the sting expands inside you into a giant, empty cavern and you’re all alone in the darkness.
“Hardest fucking thing I’ve ever done,” he says into your hair, “turning down a blow job.” And finally, you choke a sob.
His body is a buffer against everything, and you find yourself gripping him around the waist as he squeezes you tighter like he could smother the bad feelings.
“Why did you stop me?” you manage.
His inhalation is steadying, but pained as he disengages — your bra pulled back into place, shirt straightened. He even zips and buttons your jeans as if the process of putting you back together is fortifying, but all the while, Shane watches your expression like you’re the one who needs caring for in this situation.
Something threatens to break — a tremor across a still surface.
“You want something I can’t give you.”
Because for him, it’s just that simple. You should be used to it: the sharp bite of rejection so much worse than every other time you’ve exchanged barbs in the attempt to befriend him. This kind of lie is intimate.
“But you were waiting for me,” you whisper.
“You left the smell of your shampoo all over my pillows.” It’s an accusation.
His hands linger on your hips, thumbs drawing circles beneath the hem of your shirt, like he’s reconsidering, but you know when someone’s shovelling shit. You’re a farmer.
“Why didn’t you go into the Saloon?”
His eyes are tired, but alert as he searches for an answer in your features, or maybe he’s memorizing them. He looks so pissed that for a second you want to shrink out of his grip and run in the other direction.
Instead, Shane darkens.
“You weren’t supposed to show.” And there’s a finality to it.
His gaze trails across your shoulders, up your throat and back to your mouth where it lingers.
“I spent all night thinking about what it might mean if you did. And I think I get it.”
The air that spills between your bodies is colder even that the autumn breeze tumbling down from the mountains. It leaves you shivering as his hands fall away.
“I know what it’s like to want to feel nothing, farmer — whatever it takes to get a moment of quiet,” he explains.
It stuns you into silence. “That isn’t what this is.”
But you don’t wholly believe it either: you’re too fast, too reckless, too driven to impulsive decisions. You dropped everything in the city to move to the Middle of Nowhere, Ferngill Republic, and take up growing crappy pumpkins with barely five hundred gold in your pockets.
Somehow, his honesty makes it worse:
“I might be a piece of shit,” Shane says, wetting his lips as if weighing it. “But I’m not going to be treated like it.”
He swallows, but you don’t know what to say to him that isn’t so complicated that you can snatch at the frayed edges. It’s falling to pieces over something that hasn’t happened yet.
“Nothing to say, huh?”
Shane shakes his head.
“Figures,” but the smile is full of self-deprecation, and it withers before he reaches the end of the alley while you keep trying to put it all together. The one thing that’s clear is that he’s leaving.
And you’re angry.
It rises suddenly and with a swiftness, your body aching at the unfairness that he can drown in his drug of choice but you can’t get closer to him because he doesn’t believe he’s worth it —
“You just don’t want someone to give you a reason to stay.”
It hangs like a blade, because knowing seeing the mirror of your own despair up close and personal can be someone else’s reckoning.
You know you don’t know him at all, but you recognize the shadow beneath the angry surface: Shane, who turns flinty and hard to cover up whatever’s hurting him while you pinned your heart to your sleeve and let the damned thing keep bleeding.
“I’m not the solution to whatever’s eating at you, farmer,” he says, as if he’s got you pegged.
He’s gone around the corner before you have an answer, but your answer isn’t what he wanted to begin with. You’ve just taken too long to realize it:
“I don’t know what this is yet.”
But you think you know that it meant more to him than he was willing to admit.
—
No one said you didn’t learn from previous experiences.
The bouquet is already tattered around the edges, a collection of sweet pea, fairy rose, and tulips that you battered bringing home from Pierre’s because you can’t stop debating if you should offer it to Shane or beat him with it.
It’s gone into the kitchen trash can twice so far, but it doesn’t make a damned bit of difference:
Yoba, you’re so mad at him for making assumptions.
You’re fucking furious.
And maybe a little bit ashamed too:
The Community Centre. Really?
Like he was a damned dirty secret.
Okay, you think: you could have handled that better, but he didn’t hesitate to kiss you back, and had you given him the opportunity, he would have fucked you stupid in that alley off Willow Lane without a second’s hesitation.
It only occurred to you later that he wanted it to mean something, echoes of Emily’s, “See!” from the Saloon all the confirmation you need.
Staring blankly out the windows doesn’t help because after a while, your eyes begin to burn and you haven’t figured out if there’s some other folk custom that demonstrates “begging for forgiveness” other than a bouquet to announce that you’re clearly affected, and maybe a little delirious.
You don’t even like each other.
But you can’t stop thinking about the way he put you back together after practically tearing off your clothing, and when you touch your fingers to your throat, you can still feel the tender spot where Shane marked you with his mouth.
Maybe this is a bad idea.
Maybe you should wear a bandana or something.
A scarf.
A fucking cravat.
“Fuck my life,” you groan, but you’ve arrived at a decision that has you snatching up the bouquet and marching straight for the door and the garbage can outside by the chicken coop, farthest from your second guesses and regrets and unwelcome household guests: Sebastian’s heart beats under the floorboards. Shane’s rejection drags after you like a mantle.
You’re all alone, but maybe you deserve it.
You open the door.
With one foot on the lowest stair to your porch, Sebastian raises his head to smile up at you again. He folds over the little name tag that he’d hung around the flamingo’s neck in his hands, and now, you can see the smear of writing on the back.
Chapter 2 of All the Shades of Black: A Stardew Valley fanfic! You can find the full, in-progress fic here!
___________________
Springtime in the valley had its ups and downs for the townsfolk. There were plenty of fish to be caught in the rivers, and the weather was warm enough for walking outdoors, but sudden cold snaps tended to hit the valley, freezing crops and stunning the local wildlife.
Stardew's newest addition to the town, the farmer girl, was recovering from one such snap, planting rows of parsnips and potatoes out by her house while her four hens watched, intrigued. She was toiling with the garden hoe, frantically tossing up dirt and clumps of dead plants in preparation for the next harvest. There was only a little over a week of spring left, and she wasn't even sure if half of them would be fully grown by then.
"Fuckin' weather around here. Won't stay put for two god damn days…" she was mumbling curses to herself as she buried the seeds in the ground and watered them. "Another cold front and I'll be out a couple thousand. Pierre sold me those seeds at a markup too. God fucking shitty cold weather-"
Several hours and a symphony of profanity later, the garden was finally complete. In a few days, hopefully, the plants would be ready for the spring harvest. The farmer wiped some sweat off her forehead with her sleeve, and stood back, hands on her hips, admiring her hard work. She nodded, content, before heaving the copper hoe over her shoulder and trotting over to the chicken coop.
The four of them, Cinnamon, Peachy, Angel, and Tiny, were huddled around the coop's little entrance door in a small, feathery pile. Thinking that they were just hungry, The Farmer didn't question anything until she heard their low growls and chitters, eyeing something in the coop.
"What is it, girls? Your feathers are all standing on end." She threw open the door, brandishing her garden hoe, ready to lash out and yell at either a fox or raccoon. Instead, she came face to face with absolutely nothing, and she sighed. "There's nothing even in here. What are y'all scared-" Then she saw it. "-of."
Sat in the middle of the coop, in a little thatch of golden hay, was the oddest-looking chicken egg she had ever seen. A little soot-black thing with red, glistening spots. None of her chickens laid that , and she bent down to examine it. "What on earth...?"
Meanwhile, while the Farmer was busy examining the strange egg that had appeared overnight, Shane and Marnie were having their own complications with their unruly barn animals.
It had started when Marnie had called Shane over to wrangle up some stray sheep that wouldn't cooperate for their shearing, butting them with blunt horns and knocking them over. While they were busy, one of their goats had, once again, managed to escape the pasture, enticed by fresh berries on the opposite side of the fence.
Covered in mud and dirt, Marnie sighed, continuing to shear the ewe she had caught. "Shane?" When he walked over, Marnie handed him a few cave carrots. "Could you call Sweetpea back to the barn, please? She got out again." She pointed over his shoulder where a young, black and brown goat was munching on the leaves of a blackberry bush out in the yard. "I don't know how the little devil keeps getting out, but it's driving me crazy!" The sheep squirmed and tried to butt her again, and she pinned it back to the ground, taking the shears to the wool.
Shane sighed and reluctantly took the cold, hard carrots from her hand. "You know, I don't really think she likes me very much."
"Oh, she's an old goat. She doesn't like anyone. Go on now." She said, now done shearing her sheep, and she darted off to catch the next one. He laughed as he watched her fail a tackle and went face down into the dirt, then bolted upright, red-faced, and went to chase after the ewe.
Sweetpea, despite her name, was an ornery thing who did what she pleased, which Shane thought was funny when he wasn't on the receiving end of her indifference. He bent down next to her, watching her snag some more berries off the bush, chewing loudly before she turned to look at him with an unimpressed expression.
"Don't give me that look. You know you're not supposed to be out here." When he pulled the carrots out from behind him, he watched her eyes go wide. "Yeah, you like this stuff, don't ya'? Only if you come back to the barn, though." He waved a carrot in front of her face, her head moving to follow it, and she took a step forward. "Yeah, come on now, let's get you back-" She suddenly jumped forward, snatching the carrot from his hand, and chewing it up in his face. "You little shit." He hissed, and she snorted at him smugly.
While she was busy eating, the bush shook slightly, and the two of them turned to look at it, intrigued. Shane thought that maybe there was a bird's nest in its center, and they had disturbed it. Suddenly, the bush rattled violently, and a noise that sounded suspiciously like a whine had both Shane and the goat jumping back, wide-eyed. Sweetpea, startled by the bush shaking, bolted past Shane, running back towards the barn without looking back, and Shane felt himself shake a little. "Did that bush just… yelp?" Shane bent down towards the bush, the squeaky sound and trembling leaves drawing him in. Slowly, he bent down onto his knees, reaching out to push up some low-hanging twigs at its base, peering into the sticks. "Hello?"
He jumped slightly as a small, wet snout poked out from between the leaves, sniffing at his hand before a little tongue darted out and licked at his fingers, and Shane's mouth fell open. "No way…"
From the bush emerged a small, black and white, sheepdog puppy, no more than a month old, at least, with sticks tangled in his fur, and a tear in his left ear. He yapped at Shane happily, tail swishing back and forth. "Where on earth did you come from, little guy? You look like you've been through hell and back." He said, plucking a burr from his matted fur.
The dog then began running at his feet, lowering its head to the ground, and eyeing him while doing so. It was only a puppy and it was trying to herd him! He stumbled backward, away from its sharp puppy teeth that just barely grazed the leg of his pants. "H-hey Marnie. Aunt Marnie!" Shane called out to his Aunt, who was working in the barn. "Marnie! Hey, I need your help with something!"
She stumbled outside a few seconds later, clutching a basket of eggs. She was still covered in wool fibers and dirt. "Gracious, Shane, what are you yelling fo-" Hearing her voice, the puppy lost interest in Shane, and bounded over to greet the older woman, yapping excitedly, and running in circles around her feet. Marnie put a hand over her mouth. "Oh, my goodness."
"Think he got dumped like the last one?"
"Oh, I'm afraid so. Look at him, he's all dirty and matted. He's lucky he's alive. Aww… Aren't you a good boy?" She patted him on the head.
Scratching the back of his neck nervously, Shane looked down at the puppy, a question bubbling in his mouth. "Can we keep-"
"No."
"Ah, worth a shot." He muttered. He had always wanted a dog, but Jas had a small fear of them, especially larger dogs. Marnie, holding the egg basket up where the pup couldn't bite at it, placed a hand on her cheek, and a pensive look spread across her face. "What 'chya thinking, Marnie?" Shane questioned.
She stayed silent for a moment, before snapping her fingers when an idea popped into her head, and she patted her leg, signaling the puppy to follow her. "I'm thinking that he needs a good home. C'mon, Shane. I do know who might be able to care for him!"
"Huh? Who?" His heart dropped when he saw the direction she was walking in: towards the Granger's farmstead. "Oh no…"
"C'mon now, you can't avoid her forever."
"Yes, I can."
"Shane-"
Oops, that was her serious tone. "Alright! Alright! I'm coming." He reluctantly trotted over to Marnie's side, twitching his feet as the puppy nipped at the ankles of his shoes. "I'm not gonna talk to her though." Marnie just shook her head.
Back at the farm, The Farmer had taken to a tank top and shorts as the sun began to crest in the sky above, bringing the daily temperature to its peak. Though it was cooler in the mornings now, the temperature had a habit of shifting a good twenty to thirty degrees in the afternoons, before dipping again when the sun went down. This meant long sleeves and pants during the mornings, and the bare minimum of clothing in the afternoons when sweat began to trickle down her face and neck.
She was inside, with the house door and windows wide open, letting in a breeze from outside since her years-old air conditioning unit left much to be desired. "If I don't fix that before summer gets here I'm gonna roast." She had been moving boxes of stuff that came from her old apartment: books, trinkets, silverware, stationary, and the like, she was almost completely done with setting up and furnishing her entire house. Soon enough, she would be able to bring Robin the materials needed for a couple of rooms to be added on. She could hardly wait.
She heard a knock on the doorframe, and turned to the sound of Marnie calling into the house. "Granger? Mrs. Granger! You home, dear? Your doors wide open!"
"Right here, Marnie!" She popped up from behind the veritable mountain of boxes and furniture, trotting over to the door. "Just letting a breeze in. Smells stale in this old farmhouse, ya' know?" She set a small box of photo frames on the counter, all of them being pictures of her and her family. "So, what's brought ya' here?"
"Well, about that." She smiled, a bit forcefully. "We had something, er, someone show up at our house, and we don't exactly know where to take him-"
The farmer gave her a questioning look. "Him?" Now, what did she mean by, "him?"
"I know you just got your chickens and all, and your hands have been full with the cold snap, but we thought maybe you'd-"
There was a sound of a bucket and tools being knocked over, as the muffled sound of someone talking around the corner from the corner of the house made them both look over. Shane hopped out from behind, kicking a metal pail off his foot, while eyeing something in the grass. "Uh… Marnie. Marnie! He's herding me again! Marnie!"
The Farmer watched confused about what had him stumbling. "What the-" Only when a little puppy, no more than a foot tall, bounded after him, did she smile wide. "Well, I'll be damned." Snapping at his pants, teeth digging into the fabric, the canine did his best to drag Shane towards Marnie. He stepped towards them to make the puppy think he had won so he could pry his sharp teeth off of him.
Seeing the farmer, the puppy immediately lost interest in terrorizing Shane and went to greet the young girl, trying his best to jump up the steps, which might as well have been walls for the pup. When he finally got to her, the Farmer bent down and scooped him up, bringing him up to her face. "Well hi there, little one." The puppy licked her nose. "What's your name?"
"He… doesn't have one. Yet." Shane locked eyes with the farmer, and rather than a scrunched-up face of disgust as he had expected, he was instead met with a gaze he couldn't quite decipher. She almost looked… a bit sad? Worried? He figured maybe fretted was the word, though he couldn't imagine why. "What?" He snapped when he felt like she had looked long enough, and Marnie scowled at him.
"Nothin'! Nothin'." She continued talking to Marnie like nothing had even happened. "No name then. Yoba… he's a stray. Where did you find this little one?" She said, bending down and stretching out her hand for him to sniff. "He's all matted and dirty!"
"Shane found him outside in a bush. We don't have any idea where he came from. No collar or anything, and there hasn't been word of a lost dog around town either." Marnie sighed. "I think he might have been dumped."
Shane dusted some puppy prints off his pants and shirt. "Yeah, besides the only dog I know around here is that mutt of Alex's." Shane added. "We've had people throw their dogs in the water upriver before, from Zuzu City."
Her face suddenly dropped, and she looked at the two of them solemnly. "Before?" She muttered, looking down at the dog, who was now chewing on her finger, his little paws wrapped around her wrist. "Sweet Yoba…"
"We understand if you can't take him." Marnie sighed. "We just thought it would be worth a shot, you know? He's clearly a farm dog and all-"
The farmer raised a hand, holding the pup in her other arm. "You won't have to worry. I'll take him. I have more than enough room, and I've always wanted a dog."
"It's not too much trouble?"
"Not at all, Marnie. So, sheepdog, huh?" The little puppy licked her nose, and she giggled. "We'll call ya' Shepherd, eh? How's that sound?"
"Shepherd! Oh, that's a lovely name! Right, Shane?"
"Whatever."
"This sweet thing's gonna have a nice home here, I know it." Marnie scratched Shepherd on the head, and the farmer set him back down on the porch, looking over at the chicken coop, where the hens were scratching and pecking at the dirt.
Shepherd hadn't seen them yet, so she gently picked him up, and turned him in their direction, watching his eyes go wide at the sight of the birds. His tail began to wag excitedly. "Go get 'em, Shep! Go get 'em! Go on!"
With a high-pitched bark, he vaulted down the steps, landing face first in the earth, making everyone chuckle, before scurrying off towards the coop. The three of them watched as the little dog began to run in circles around the chickens, who couldn't be less bothered by the sight but were curious about the new face. Shepherd lowered his head to the ground, stalking around the birds, who began to back up at the sight. He then bolted in the opposite direction, rounding up Tiny and Peachy from the other side. The chickens were now packed together, and the dog zigzagged towards them, backing them up to the coop door.
The Farmer whistled, a cue to stop, and the puppy lifted his head, and bolted back to the steps, immediately flopping over onto his back, allowing The Farmer to scratch his belly. "He's a natural. That'll make getting them into the coop at night a lot easier. He'll fit right in, Marnie."
"Wonderful! I was worried he wouldn't find a home here." She bent down to the puppy, scratching him behind his ear, making him shake his leg. "Be good to Miss Granger, little Shepherd. She's a hard worker." Behind her, Shane rolled his eyes. "I'll let Mayor Lewis know of the new addition. I'm sure he has some blank adoption certificates somewhere. Oh, and a collar! I wonder if Pierre has a blue one."
Shane was already walking down the steps, eager to get back home. Seeing The Farmer with her new pet made him miss his own. That and just seeing the girl drained his social battery. Getting the hint, Marnie followed close behind, waving goodbye to the Granger girl and Shepherd. "Good luck! Having a dog is a life-changing thing!"
"Thanks again, Marnie! Thanks, Shane!"
He had no clue why she was thanking him. Bringing the dog there was all Marnie's idea. "Hey." She bumped him in the side. "She said, "Thank you."
Sighing, he mumbled, "You're welcome," and Marnie nodded in approval. He could feel the girl staring at his back. He just knew and, sure enough, when he turned she was looking at him with that same expression from before and just like last time, he couldn't quite place the look. He simply shrugged, turning back towards the path and keeping his eyes forward. " Weird girl. At least she took the dog ."
"Hey! Hey, Shane! Wait up!"
" Oh no… " She was back, and running towards him. "What the hell does she want with me?" He tried to ask Marnie to take care of her problem but, before he could even ask, she turned and began swiftly walking towards the trail back to the barn. "Marnie! Don't-!" Too late, she started walking at a faster pace, leaving Shane to deal with the farmer, and he swore she was smiling. "Goddamn it-!"
"Shane!" The Farmer screeched to a halt in front of him, throwing up a dust cloud that he fanned out of his face. She bent over, placing her hands on her knees, and huffed, out of breath. "Before… you say anythin'… I don't wanna talk to you either."
"Then why are you?"
Straightening up, she took in a lungful of air before continuing. "Because… I have a problem-"
"Then get someone else's help."
"Look. It's somethin' with the hens. You're the only person knowledgeable enough about chickens to help me. I don't think even Marnie tops it."
His eyes suddenly had a glint to them. "A… chicken problem?" He didn't want to admit it to himself, but he was flattered. " Most knowledgeable! Hey… I've made something of myself! " He cleared his throat. "Yes. Well… I've raised them for years. I know a lot."
"Yeah. Yeah. Look, there's something in the coop I really want you to look at. I've never seen anything like it, and I have no idea where it came from, and I'm not getting close enough to it until I have some idea of what it is."
"Is this, "thing," gonna try to eat me or something? He grimaced. "What the hell is it?"
"Well… that's the thing."
Back at the coop, the egg remained untouched by both The Farmer and the other hens, who were now piled up in the corner, still eyeing the strange little egg with uncertainty. She and Shane were hunched down, both staring at the egg on the floor, perplexed, and even he had to admit that this was a new one. "What the fuck?"
"I know, right? It just… showed up. Scared the girls half to death. They won't go near it." She gestured to the pile of trembling feathers in the corner. "What d'ya think it is?"
"An egg, obviously, but it looks… burnt?" He reached out a tentative hand, brushing his finger along the hardened shell, before he gasped and abruptly pulled his hand back, startling her.
"What? What?! What is it?!"
"It's warm!"
"I mean, it was laid this morning, but-"
"No! no! I mean-" He picked up the egg, cupping it in his hands and pushing it towards her. "Feel it!"
She jumped back. "Are you crazy!? I ain't touchin' that thing!"
"I'm serious!"
"Ok. Ok… fine." She cupped her hands, and Shane slid the egg in, and her eyes widened at the feeling. "What the shit?! It feels like it's been microwaved or somthin'!"
"Exactly! How could a chicken even lay this?"
"Wasn't one of mine. I swear. They're terrified of the thing." The Farmer handed the egg back to Shane, who gently turned it in his hands, inspecting the way the red flakes glistened in the light. "It almost looks fake, but it feels so real. I really don't know what to tell you. Look, Gunther has some books on chicken breeds and stuff. You should try and get your hands on one and see if you can find a match in there. Maybe it's just… I don't know, an unusual breed."
They both went quiet, deep in thought as to what to do. It certainly wasn't normal, that was for certain. "What kind of chicken do ya' think would come outta it if it hatched?" They both gave each other a look of mutual agreement and trotted over to the incubator. Shane gingerly placed the little egg in the hay, watching as the little red speckles seemed to glisten slightly.
"I don't think I'll be able to look into it with a flashlight. That black shell won't allow it so I guess just wait and see what happens." He shrugged, not speaking any further than that. He seemed genuinely interested in the strange little egg. Hell, he seemed interested in anything that had to do with chickens, or farm livestock in general. Even though their first meeting was a bit rough, The Farmer smiled, happy that she had someone knowledgeable about animals as her neighbor. She might be a bit lost otherwise.
He glanced at her, just barely catching her staring, and she turned her head, pretending to be interested in a little feather on the floor. Shane cleared his throat, the quiet moment growing to be unbearable. "Well… um-" He shook his head, walking towards the coop door. "Just… let me know what becomes of it."
The Farmer raised an eyebrow. "You don't want to meet the other hens?"
He stopped momentarily in his tracks, a piqued expression on his face, but he ultimately ignored the feeling. "I've gotta get back to Marnie. She needs help shearing the sheep today."
"Ok… alright."
Shane closed the door behind him, not once looking back, and The Farmer sighed. "Well, better than nothing." She felt something soft brush against her leg, and she looked down to see Tiny huddled up against her leg. The other hens had moved from their pile and were now strutting around the incubator, purring at it quizzically. Angel, the smallest of the group, hopped up on its edge, cocking her head at the sight and trilled. "What? Is that your egg or somthin'?" Sure enough, little Angel hopped into the hay, and strutted a couple of circles around the egg, before plopping down on top of it, puffing up her feathers and clucking in contentment. "Well, I'll be damned. How on earth did you- ya' know what? I don't wanna know. You just keep doing your thing, Angel." She scratched the little hen on the head. "Let's see what happens, eh?'
Angel was undaunted by the sight of the little egg, that The Farmer learned quickly, as she refused to get off of it no matter what, and the little hen vowed to stay there no matter how long it took, even after spring began to draw to a close, making way for the summer season. The flower dance came and went like every year, hailing at the end of spring. While dancing with Emily, Shane watched out of the corner of his eye as Jas demonstrated a, quite wobbly, but pretty accurate flower dance that The Farmer watched intently, and tried to copy, which she ended up putting her own spin on some of the moves. "You made your own special dance!" Jas squealed, before tugging on her pant leg. "Can you be my dance partner for today, Mrs. Granger? I really want to try it before it ends!"
She was a little surprised but shook her head and laughed. "Of course, but I can't say I'll be perfect at it. I've never done this before."
"Neither have I!" She grabbed her hand and impatiently dragged her into the lines of dancers, pushing her to Sebastian, who was dancing with Abigail. "C'mon, C'mon! It's halfway done already!'
They both chuckled at the sight. "Aww. You got yourself a dance partner after all!" Abigail mused, and The Farmer got bashful, her dancing not exactly like everyone else's. Though he wasn't exactly fond of her, Shane was admittedly happy that Jas liked the girl, and the two seemed more alike than he had previously realized.
"It's good to see Jas finally join in." Emily said. "She never could get Vincent to dance with her. He always stepped on her toes."
Summer hit the valley at full force, blasting the town with record heat and turbulent rainstorms. Her spring crops died back, and the days grew more hot and humid. The Farmer had invested in hot peppers and melons, planting rows upon rows of them in front of the farmstead. Around the land, she grew beautiful golden sunflowers that made the farm look so much more delightful, and she would give them out to some of the townsfolk, Haley being the main beneficiary, as they were her most beloved flower.
At the Luau, The Farmer showed up with an enormous basket of giant, shiny, red habanero peppers, and Shane had to fight not to drool at the sight. " When did she start growing peppers?! Those ones are huge !"
Sebastian, Sam, and Abigail were at her side, observing her unusually large crops, and congratulating her on the harvest. Sam swiped one of the peppers from the basket and popped it into his mouth as a joke, but the farmer simply smiled knowingly as she watched his face form beads of sweat, and go bright red. He quickly excused himself to nearly drain the punch bowl. The three of them cackled at him the whole time, while Mayor Lewis shook his head at his antics. "At least he didn't bring-"
"Anchovies?" The governor laughed. "Yes, indeed."
Ascending the ladder up to the pot, she waved hello to Marnie, who was stirring the batch with a comically large wooden spoon ."You made it, and you brought those delicious peppers."
"Sure did! They're the best I've ever grown! The soil here is really somethin'." She looked at the governor, the basket tilted over the potluck. "This won't make it too spicy, will it?"
"No such thing!" He bellowed, and she dumped the basket full of peppers into the potluck. Later, the governor declared that year's potluck was one of the best he had ever attended.
Now, at the end of summer, word of the Moonlight Jellies' arrival swept through town as it did every year, and Jas, just like every year before, begged Shane repeatedly to take her to the docks, which he agreed to every single time. "I take you every year, you know. You don't have to beg."
At the farmstead, the Granger granddaughter got a letter in the mail alerting her to the event. " Join us at the docks around 10 pm for a rare and beautiful event! The moonlight jellies will be passing by Pelican Town on their long journey south for the winter ."
"Moonlight Jellies… I've never heard of such a thing." Curious, and wanting to see such a rare event for herself, she made it towards the docks at sundown, wanting to claim the best spot on the docks for herself. She was glad to see that everyone in town was already there, eagerly waiting for the lantern boat to launch. Mayor Lewis greeted her. "Glad you could make it! You definitely won't regret it. The moonlight jellies are a spectacle you shouldn't miss."
She had also spoken to Miss Evelyn and George. "We've never missed a single year. I've been coming to see the moonlight jellies ever since I was a little girl. I'm glad you get to see it all for yourself."
"Hmph. What's so special about these slimy little balls of goo anyway?" George huffed.
Soon, the sun had finally rested below the horizon, leaving the people of Pelican Town in near complete darkness, only illuminated by the one, small lantern, and the millions of stars in the sky, untouched by the blinding lights of the nearby Zuzu City. "Wow… you can see almost every single star out here. I could hardly see just the planets back home."
Mayor Lewis had untied the rope to the lantern boat, waiting for the signal to let it loose. "You think it's time to launch it, Miss Granger?"
"Absolutely!"
With that, he let the boat slowly drift out to the open water, and the docks were shrouded in opaque darkness. It was oddly quiet, the only thing being the murmurs of excitement in waiting for the migrating jellies to arrive. The minutes passed, yet there were still no signs of their arrival. "Does it usually take this long?"
Suddenly, Vincent grabbed onto his mother's sleeve, jumping up and down on the pier. "Look! Out there! Out there!" The still, clear water began to glow an eerie, white color, and the people on the docks began to "ooh," and "ahh," at the sight. One by one, little round jellyfish began to appear from the distant water, the glow becoming ever more bright the closer they got until the entirety of the beach was lit up like the fourth of July. They looked like stars in the ocean, glowing vividly against the deep backdrop of the sea, or snowflakes on a clear winter's night.
The Farmer stared in awe. "All my life I've never seen anything like this. It's beautiful." Nothing back home or nearby could compare to that moment of seeing the Moonlight Jellies, or Lunaloos, as the Wizard called them. She felt like he was right when he said they possess a magic aura stronger than other sea creatures. It could be felt just from watching them.
Abigail watched her smile wide as a trio of baby jellies came to the edge, along with one giant, basketball-sized parent. She placed a hand on her shoulder. "So… what do you think of your first Moonlight Jelly Festival?
"I know I 'aven't seen the other festivals yet but… I think this one is gonna be my favorite." She said, gazing out onto the water with a look of pure wonder and curiosity that reminded Abigail of a little kid. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and Abigail pretended not to see when she ducked away to wipe them. "You know… it makes me kinda homesick. The ocean."
"You grew up near it, did you?"
"I did. Everything here reminds me of it, but this is so much better in every way." Bending down, she just barely stuck her fingers into the water, giving one of the jellies a gentle pat on the head, and the gelatinous animal seemed to glow brighter for a moment.
Sebastian stepped over to the two of them, watching some of the jellies gravitate towards The Farmer curiously. "They like you."
"Who wouldn't." Sam trotted over and ruffled up the hair on her head, making her smile as she swatted him away with her free hand. "Call it animal magnetism." Sebastian swatted him on the shoulder while she giggled. "What?" He whined.
Soon, the water was filled with jellyfish in every direction, spanning the entirety of the beach. Vincent was running up and down the waterline maddeningly, hoping to spot his elusive green jellyfish, Willy took a moment to cast a non-lethal line out into the bay for Dimitrius, who wanted to observe and tag a specimen to track its migration patterns, and though Linus kept his distance, The Farmer smiled as he waved hello to the jellies that came close enough for him to see.
Dimitrius and Robin were now curled up on the bench, hand in hand, watching the beautiful moment together with Maru leaning up against them. Alex had pushed George's wheelchair out to the edge of the dock, to which he kept responding "If you dump me in I'm gonna haunt you for sure," but he ever so slightly smiled at the sight of the jellies. Even he had to admit it was a breathtaking sight. Evelyn nodded a thank you to Alex and placed a kiss on his forehead. "Nana…" he groaned.
Elliot had rushed into his home to grab a journal, hoping to scribble down the memorable moment for a story one day, and even Pierre had abandoned his pop-up shop to sit with Caroline on the pier, to which Abigail beamed at.
Jas and Vincent both crowded around the edge of the pier, while Shane gripped the back of both their shirts, afraid that one of them would fall into the drink. "Easy you two. I'm not gonna be the one to fish you out."
"But I wanna see the babies!"
"You can see them close enough from here."
Only Sam could rival the kids' enthusiasm, grabbing the other's shoulders and pointing whenever a jellyfish came close, to which they would nod their heads and say "I see them too."
A faint, green light began to glow below the dock as a stranger-looking jellyfish swam out from underneath it. "Look! Look! Right there! Hey, Vincent! Come here! There's a green one! There's-" Before Sebastian could tell him to back up, Sam's foot slipped off the dock, and he let out a high-pitched yelp as he went face-first into the sea, sending up a giant spray of water, and Shane rolled his eyes as the jellies in the water swam away from the disturbance.
"Nice goin' Sam." Abigail shook her head.
The Farmer gasped, and jumped upright at the sight, shucking her jacket onto the ground. It was clear that she knew nothing of the moonlight jellies other than the fact that they were jellyfish and, jellyfish being jellyfish, that they probably sting. "No, wait! They don't-" Before they could tell her not to do it, she bolted forward and jumped into the water, sending up another spray of water that Sebastian shielded himself and Abigail from. "You've got to be kidding me." He mumbled.
"Why on earth did she jump?" Shane questioned.
Some of the people around the dock started howling with laughter while they were under the waves, and Leah piped up from the other distant dock. "So who's gonna tell her that Moonlight Jellies don't sting?!
"I have to admire her bravery."
"Did no one tell her?"
"Oh c'mon guys! Cut her some slack!"
"Hey! Here they come!"
Both Sam and The Farmer burst out of the water, Sam clinging onto her for dear life with a bewildered look on his face, his usually spiky hair now a blonde mop covering half his face, and The Farmer's clothes were now ruined with seawater. What caught everyone's eye, of course, was the moonlight jelly that sat atop her head like some sort of weird hat, its glow bouncing off the water's surface. She was confused as to why everyone was laughing at her. "What?! What is it?!"
Dimitrius huffed a breath of laughter and bent down on the dock to look at her, amused. "Moonlight Jellies can't sting you, Mrs. Granger. Sam was in no danger."
Shane and Jas giggled, while the others roared with laughter, as The Farmer's face went bright red, and she covered her face with her hand. "Oh, mon dieu…"
"Mon dew?" Sam questioned, only to find himself plunked back into the water as The Farmer swam over to where Jas was watching, and Sam doggy-paddled back to Sebastian and Abigail. "You could have carried me back!" He called to her.
"Your legs work! You can swim."
Sebastian was bent down at the edge of the dock, stretching a hand out to Sam for him to grab onto. "You know, it's a toss-up between this and the potluck, Sammy. We're not gonna let you forget about this either."
"Like I need any other embarrassments to my name." Sebastian was ready to hoist him out of the water but Sam had other ideas. With a swift yank, he pulled Sebastian into the water with him, the cigarette he had between his teeth being left behind mid-air, only to be extinguished by the water that splashed up afterward. The Farmer and Abigail cackled.
When they breached, Sam sported a dorkish smile at the sight of Sebastian absolutely drenched, clinging to his shoulders. His hair was plastered to his face like some sort of shaggy dog, unable to see anything except his mouth, which was pulled down into a frown. "You know I hate swimming."
"But we're swimming with glowing jellyfish!"
"That's even worse."
On the other side, Jas was bouncing up and down, while Shane kept a death grip on her hand so she wouldn't meet Sam's same fate. "Did you see any baby jellies under the water, Miss Granger?"
"Jellyfish were all I could see, Jas." She saw Shane doing his best not to crack up with laughter, and she glared at him with a displeased look on her face. "What are you gawkin' at?" She barked.
"I like the hat. Suits ya'" he said, gesturing to her head, and snickering, flashing a sharp-toothed grin.
She placed a hand on her head and felt the squishy jellyfish jiggle at the touch, making her grimace, and Shane laughed even harder, while Jas hid her giggles behind her hand. The Farmer about had enough, and she placed the poor jelly in her hand, leaning back and grinning. "Hey Jas, watch this."
When Shane opened his eyes, his fit of laughter almost finished, the wet, gelatinous creature was hurled right at his face, hitting its mark with a wet, sopping splat. The entirety of the docks burst into laughter, Jas probably laughing the loudest of all, as she doubled over at the sight of Shane with a jellyfish plastered onto his face. Behind them, Marnie shook her head. "Not again."
"Serves ya' right." The Farmer smirked.
Shane peeled the slimy blob off his unamused face and plopped the disoriented critter back into the water to join its family. " Good thing these guys are tougher than most jellies ." He strode up to the edge of the dock, eyeing The Farmer. "Right, you son of a-" Right before he could snatch her up out of the water to throttle her, she used one of the docks wooden beams to push herself backward, barely avoiding the swipe of his hands, and Shane panicked, flailing his arms about as he lost balance. "Oh no- no-! Ah! ope-!" With a giant splash, Shane was the next to go into the drink. The Farmer pointed and cackled at the sight, still swimming backward, hoping to not get strangled because of her little stunt. Shane emerged from the water, coughing and sputtering, his hair no longer spiked up in certain places, and droplets of water clung to the stubble of his face. "Holy shit! It's freezing! I should drown you!"
"What? You should thank me. You're swimming with Moonlight Jellies. It's a once-in-a-lifetime experience."
"I could have gone several lifetimes without this."
"Speak for yourself." She splashed a spray of water in his direction. "You're smiling ." With that, she ducked back under the water, swimming away with a speed that impressed him.
It took a moment for her comment to register, but she was right. " I… I am smiling ." The water caressed his body, he only had to move his legs slightly to stay afloat, and though the jellies had scattered when he fell in, they now returned, wandering up to him and curiously floating around his legs and arms, glowing brightly. He reached his hand out to a little baby and allowed it to settle in the palm of his hand, and it felt like a little blob of jello. "Woah…"
On the dock, Jas unclipped the bow from her hair and gingerly set it down. "Me next! Me next! I wanna swim with the jellies!" Before Marnie could tell her not to, especially in her good dress, Jas jumped in next, nearly landing right on top of Shane.
The Farmer screeched, "Jas!" but calmed down after she appeared out of the water in front of her immediately after, her hair now loose from the twin buns, cascading into the water. The Farmer sighed in relief. "Oh… you can swim."
"Really well!"
"I see that."
Another loud splash came from behind them, and they turned to see that Abigail had also abandoned her jacket, and shoes, as she too had jumped into the water with a perfect swan dive, and a few onlookers clapped. She waved to Alex and his grandparents on the dock, since he seemed just as eager to do the same. "C'mon, Alex!" The boy tore his shirt off, tossing it to Haley, who just looked at him, disbelieving, and he sprinted down the dock, cannonballing into the water, nearly soaking poor Dimitrius and Robin.
"I didn't know this year's theme was "swimming with jellyfish." Lewis grumbled, rubbing his forehead.
"Oh, let them have their fun." Marnie giggled. Looking around before doing so, she threaded an arm around Lewis', watching Jas and Shane in the water with a warm smile. "It's been a moment since I've seen Shane and Jas having this much fun anyway."
Looking around the bay, the overall tone seemed to change from serene and quiet, to a magical, otherworldly feel as people laughed and splashed water at each other, being joined by the jellyfish who were all too curious to check out the new company. Shane had never seen them as anything remarkable, but the night had completely changed his way of thinking. He would be looking forward to next year's celebration. "Now look at what you've done." He said to The Farmer, gesturing at all the people in the water.
"I'd say I've made it better." A jellyfish swam up against her back, and she jumped, laughing away the fear. "Hey Jas, how long can you hold your breath for?
"Thirty seconds! That's half a minute!"
"Sure is." The Farmer ducked under the water, and popped up a few seconds later next to Jas, splashing some water in her direction. "Climb on my back!"
Doing as she said, Jas clung to her soaked shirt and puffed up her cheeks with a deep breath. The Farmer nodded in question, to which Jas held a thumbs-up, and with that, they both disappeared under the waves and into the cloud of jellyfish.
When she opened her eyes, she almost opened her mouth in wonder too. In every direction, left, right, up, and down, there was nothing except glowing white jellies. Unable to speak, Jas tugged at The Farmer's jacket, pointing excitedly at the babies that swam past them, little bubbles floating upwards from her nose. From their left, something bright green danced near the corals, and the two of them caught sight of the green jellyfish that started the entire journey.
It all ended too soon. She signaled her inability to hold her breath any longer with another tug to her shirt, and they both rocketed up out of the water, taking in lungfuls of air. "That was amazing! There were so many jellyfish! Shane, we saw a green jellyfish under the water!" Jas shook her hair, droplets of water flying in all directions. "You swim like an otter, Miss Granger! Where did you learn that?"
"I grew up 'round the water. Natural habit of mine. Though the jellyfish back home stung. Badly. Me and my friends used to do this when we were little."
Sam and Sebastian swam up to the two of them, absentmindedly chatting with them while observing the jellyfish, and Shane smiled at the sight of Jas grinning from ear to ear, enamored with the jellies. Abigail paddled up next to him. "Thinking of strangling her for pelting you with a jellyfish? You're lucky they don't sting."
He chuckled. "No. Jas thought it was funny. I guess it's alright." He huffed a breath, allowing himself to lean back into the water. "You know something? She's not so bad after all."
The Moonlight Jelly festival ended around midnight, when the water became too frigid to continue swimming, and everyone who had jumped in bolted home to change into warm clothes and huddle up around a cozy fire. The next day, the leaves began to change, sporting varying shades of amber, burnt orange, crimson, and gold. Geese could be seen in the sky, flying southward along with the jellyfish, in search of warmer waters.
It was The Farmer's favorite season. Free from the scorching grip that summer had on her, she was free to tend to her fall crops without working up such a sweat and doing so without Harvey constantly worrying about heat exhaustion. Pumpkins were her main crop, as she hoped to grow only the biggest and best for Abigail to use as a jack-o'-lantern, and for Evelyn as an ingredient in her Spirit's Eve pumpkin pies.
Flower-wise, she had taken to growing beautiful fairy roses for Jas. They came in shades ranging from baby blues to deep, violet shades, and light pinks. They were by far, the most beautiful flowers she had ever seen so, of course, she bought some seed packets from Pierre and began to grow them herself. When she heard that Jas had a special place in her heart for them, she planted an extra patch just for her.
Along with the seasonal changes, The Farmer found herself taking long walks at night with Shepherd, autumn's magical night air having called her into Cindersap Forest, where amber and hazel leaves coated the ground in a blanket of fall colors. Blackberries were growing in abundance now, and she had no shortage of them when she ventured out into the woods, snacking on them the whole way through. Once, a fox darted out onto the trail in front of them, and they got a moment to admire its beautiful red coat and plush, bushy tail before it darted back into the bushes. " Oh, if only I had a camera ."
Tonight, they were alone with the stars and crickets. She had wanted to sit out on the pond dock for a while and stargaze, hoping to see some meteorites that The Wizard had talked about earlier that week. " I feel an arcane power radiating from them ." He had mentioned.
A sharp click snapped her out of her thoughts, and she looked up at the pond ahead of them. It was Shane sitting alone at the water's edge with a beer can in hand. Seems the dock was already occupied. " I should go ." Rather than leave she found herself taking a couple of steps forward. Shepherd whined, looking up at The Farmer as she stared out at the dock, eyes trained on the familiar figure. Unsure of what she was thinking, but following her gut instinct, she tentatively stepped forward, walking out onto the dock. Shepherd paced in a circle before lying down, not exactly fond of being above the water.
She found herself taking more careful steps out onto the dock, unsure if he was in need of company or not. Whatever the true reason, it felt like something was pulling her out there, begging her to stay, like someone was tugging her by a leash and, for some insane reason, she was obeying. When her foot hit a creaky plank, making him perk up, she froze. He looked back over his shoulder and, for a moment, she could have sworn she saw a slight smile, but he ducked back before she could confirm. She inhaled sharply and walked up behind him, fixing her gaze on the lake, not wanting to know of the look on his face.
"Up late, huh?" He questioned, and she finally stepped up beside him, looking out onto the water.
The final fireflies of fall had just begun to emerge, the nights nearly cool enough for them to disappear. They blinked their mesmerizing, glowing patterns in the night in search of other fireflies, painting the forest with little, golden flickers of light. Joining them was the chorus of crickets, vocalizing in unison with the whooperwhills to create nature's nighttime symphony. It was all so very beautiful.
A sharp click snapped her out of her thoughts and made the crickets go momentarily silent. Shane had opened another beer, but pushed this one in her direction, the earthy smell of wheat and rye making her mouth water. "Here. Have a cold one."
"Oh, bless." She said, taking the can from his hand. "Thank you."
"No problem."
She regarded the fish in the water below, taking an acorn that had fallen onto the pier, and tossing it into the water, watching as the fish swam up to it expectantly, and even a small turtle joined in. She giggled when the two would chase each other around.
Shane sighed, watching a bass snap at one fish that was much smaller. "Buh… life." That she could agree with. Life never showed her any mercy, that was for sure. "You ever feel like no matter what you do, you're gonna fail?" He sighed. "Like you're stuck in some miserable abyss and you're so deep you can't even see the light of day?" Her heart ached at the thought. It was a feeling she used to know all too well, and sometimes that same feeling would rear its ugly head in her most vulnerable moments. She nodded solemnly, looking over at him. He kept his eyes forward, not wanting to see the look on her face. " She probably thinks I'm mental… " Either way, he kept on. "I just feel like no matter how hard I try… I'm not strong enough to climb out of that hole."
Memories began to trickle into her mind, eating away at her hardened exterior as she remembered how she felt the same way before moving to Stardew Valley: the smell of alcohol and cigarettes, not showering or brushing her teeth for days, her messy, smelly room, pushing herself to work until she fainted, spiraling deeper and deeper into that pitch black abyss until everything collapsed in one big clusterfuck.
She shook her head and tilted back with the beer can, chugging its contents so fast she hardly tasted it. When she finished it, she let out a small, undignified burp. It was impressive, but it also worried Shane. "Fast drinker, huh? Woman after my own heart."
Her ears perked, and if the alcohol hadn't already done so, she definitely would have blushed from that. " Ain't I the same woman that tried to beat the shit outta you ?" She held her tongue on that one.
"Just don't make it a habit. You've got a future ahead of you still."
"Still?" She questioned. "Shane, you're as young as me."
He didn't reply, and instead took another sip out of his can, finishing it off. "Well… my liver is begging me to stop. Better call it a night." He turned to The Farmer, meeting her gaze for the first time that night. Partially illuminated by the light of the fireflies, he saw the look in her eyes: that same look she had when he stepped onto her porch weeks ago, in the spring. He couldn't decipher it, whether it was pity, fear, or anything of the sort, it didn't matter. For once he was just glad she wasn't looking at him with that face of hatred that she gave him on day one. Standing up, he dusted off his pants, extending his hand to take her empty beer can, when his fingers brushed her own ever so slightly, he could almost feel the warmth the alcohol was causing coursing through her blood. " Why did I give her that? What if she's like me ?" She caught his gaze right before he turned, sensing a faint air of guilt. "I'll see ya' around." With that, he took wobbly steps off the dock, patting Shepherd's head before heading back to the barn, leaving The Farmer all alone on the dock with her thoughts eating her alive. She never thought she'd see the day, but she found herself wishing he had stayed. Even if it did stress her, it was better than her own solitary company.
A wet nose pressed into her hand, and she stiffened, until she realized it was just her loyal dog, who had braved the terrifying dock just to be with her. Shepherd laid his head down on her lap, whining until she placed a hand on his head, scratching behind his ears, and a little smile appeared on his face. She sighed, tilting back to look up at the stars blazing bright above her.
Old memories bubbled up in her mind. Memories from long ago, when she thought all was lost. Now, she was seeing distressing similarities with Shane and his bad habits. He was going down that same, dark path that she had trekked herself, and unless someone tried to pull him off of it, there was no telling how he might end up. " Though I have a pretty good idea ." She thought, gazing out at the cliffs in the distance. A beer can still sat out in the grass from the months before, on that dreary night.
He might end up just like her. " Just like me …" A breeze blew through the forest, sending a chill down her spine, and that's when she decided to call it a night. "C'mon, Shep." Leaving the docs, she took one last look at Marnie's ranch, watching the last light go out as Shane headed to bed. From then on, she would be hoping, every single day, that he would wake up the next.
"There's more to ya' than what meets the eye, isn't there, Shane?"
Summary: The wacky tale of how Shane ended up giving you the strange bun recipe.
CW: Don't read this if you’re squeamish or hate getting your hands sticky, description of gross food
Notes: Ok I know the CW might be intimidating but I'm so proud of this one actually it's hilarious. I also hate having sticky hands and food descriptions why have I done this to myself. Look what I do for the sake of art 😩
Words: 765
You squinted at your buzzing phone wondering why Shane would be calling you.
“Hello??”
“Hey, uh. I need you to be cool about something,” Shane's whisper was gravelly through the phone.
“What?”
“Me ‘n Jas are coming, just take one for the team,” he blurted in one breath and then reluctantly added, “please.”
The politeness was so out of character you checked your phone again to make sure it was his contact. “W–”
“Gottagobye–”
He suddenly hung up, leaving you confused as all hell, until him and Jas rocked up to the property a few minutes later. Jas proudly carried a big tupperware container in her little arms.
You met them on the edge of the field and Jas held it up to you silently with her eyes averted.
“Hey farmer,” Shane gruffed. “What do you say, Jas?”
“This’s for you,” she mumbled, still not meeting your eyes and blushing.
“For me?” you asked in a carefully flattered tone, shooting Shane a confused look as you took it.
He simply mouthed something about ‘the team’ with an expression that could almost be considered pleading if it wasn’t Shane.
You cracked open the container and… didn’t know what in the void you were looking at. It looked like a strange attempt at some kind of cake, slathered with pink frosting to overcompensate.
“Oh wow,” you looked up at Jas with a hopefully-convincing smile. “Did you make this?”
“Mhm!” She nodded and crossed her arms behind her back, beginning to sway adorably. “Shane said we should let you have it ‘cause you’re…” she trailed off and looked at Shane for reassurance.
“Because farmers use up a lot of calories,” Shane finished.
“Yeah the calalies.”
You narrowed your eyes at Shane and deadpanned an “Uhuh.”
He scratched the back of his neck and looked away.
You could imagine how it had all played out. He helped Jas make this monstrosity and instead of pretending to like it himself, pawned it off on the nearest sucker.
“What’s… in it?” you asked as you picked it up. It jiggled mockingly and stuck to your fingers.
“Lotsa stuff! Isn’t it pretty?” Jas beamed.
You stared at it, willing it to suddenly disappear. “Oh it’s so pretty Jas, thank you so much.” You put the strange bun back down and stood with an awkwardly sticky hand. “I’m going to save this for later, I just had a snack already!”
Jas’ smile fell.
It broke your heart, especially because this was the most she’d ever spoken to you.
Oh well, you’d probably eaten worse before. You grit your teeth and smiled tightly. “Well I guess I could at least try a little bit since you came all the way out here.”
Immediately the girl brightened up, smiling so wide she showed off a gap in her teeth.
You took a bracing breath and picked it up again. You resolved to do it as quickly as possible and not think about it.
You raised it to your mouth. It made your lips sticky and you took the smallest bite. It was so very odd.
Sweet, but then also… Oh Yoba, FISHY?
You shut down your brain. No thoughts allowed! You swallowed and put back on a smile. “Wow, thanks so much.”
“You like it?” Jas asked excitedly.
“I love it, you’re gonna be such a baker one day!”
Jas hopped up and down and looked up at Shane proudly. He gave her a thumbs up.
“Alright, we should let farmer get back to it, huh?”
“Okay!”
She ran off ahead and you turned to Shane, raising an interrogative eyebrow.
“The team, huh? Are we a team now?”
“Uh, well, y’know…” He scratched the back of his neck again. Was he… blushing? “Thanks,” he added reluctantly.
You sighed and almost went to pinch your nose but stopped just in time to remember the awful residue on your finger. It was weird to see him being genuine.
It... almost made you feel things you weren’t so sure about…
“I will not say you’re welcome because you aren’t," you hissed, "What the hell was in that?”
“Oh! Right, here,” he shoved a hand in his jacket pocket and pulled out a crumbled slip of paper. “I tried to write down everything she put in it, in case it, y’know, makes you sick or somethin'.”
“Wow, thanks,” you sassed and stretched the fingers holding the tupperware so he could awkwardly wedge it into your clean hand.
He stepped back and looked about ready to combust on the spot. “Anyway…”
“Get off my property, Shane.”
“Yep!” he said in an uncharacteristically chipper voice and hurried to follow after Jas.
Ooo look I'm participating in another event ooo
Thanks to my beloved @glazedsnail for putting together this event and @saradika-graphics for the fab dividers. If you want to see more from me check out my pinned post, I occasionally take requests.
Request: Can you write a fic where Shane doesn't die? Like he goes off on his own and meets up with Rick's little sister? The groups eventually meet up and the past comes back like a slap to the head.
Summary: You never expected to see your brother again. Now here he is. This is your chance to have your only family member back. The only problem is what bumps will come up along the way?
Link to Part 1
Rating: Mature for later chapter
Warning: Doesn't follow the show!
Pairings: Shane Walsh/Reader
AO3 Link
____
Arriving back at the little neighborhood that had been your home for the past few months, you turned your attention back to Rick. A mixture of feelings came swirling back. Seeing your older brother alive and well made you happier than words could say. Rick was the one person who understood you through everything in your life. If you needed someone in your corner, it was always Rick. It didn’t matter how hairbrained whatever the task at hand was, Rick found some way to support it. You could only hope that Rick would be able to be the same way when it came to your relationship with Shane.
“Wait right here. I need to go inside real fast.”
Rick understood. You were going inside to warn Shane about just who was waiting for him outside.
“You better butter him up good because he is going to be pissed to see me.”
Rick replied. He wasn’t looking the least bit forward to seeing his former best friend. Their last interaction had left a taste in Rick’s mouth that he couldn’t get out. Now, here you, his baby sister, were having a relationship with the man that Rick would somehow have to “get used to.”
You took a breath. This was not about to be easy. From what you heard from Shane, neither he nor Rick had the best reputation in each other’s minds. The last thing that you were about to deal with was grown men bitching at each other like high school girls.
This world has brought out the worst in everyone.
You thought before giving Rick a careful expression. Meeting Michonne’s gaze, she gave you a look that mirrored yours. While the two of you had said less than 10 words to each other, your expressions were like joint mirror balls.
“Luckily, he likes me.”
Rick chuckled as you moved toward the steps.
“You have a kid with the man, I sure hope that he likes you. If he doesn't, that will be a slight problem. We’ll be out here waiting.”
The moment that you went into the small brick house and closed the door, Rick turned back to Michonne. While he wanted to be happy that you found happiness, he couldn’t be totally comfortable that Shane wouldn’t put you into some kind of danger.
Rick had seen the man that Shane had turned into. Had this been before the world went to shit, Rick would have been more open to you dating Shane. Would he have been thrilled? Maybe? There would still be reservations. Rick knew Shane’s history. He wanted to think that maybe it would take one good woman to straighten Shane out…even if that one good woman was you.
“Those two together are gonna to be like fire meets gasoline.”
(meanwhile)
Shane looked up when you walked into the room. He was immediately on his feet.
“Where the hell have you been? You are never gone this long.”
You moved to stand in front of him. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you tried to think of how to drop this bomb on him.
“I know. I found us some…company. I need to talk to you about something.”
Shane raised an eyebrow.
“You know that I hate conversations that start this way, darlin.”
“I know…just remember that you love me, okay?”
Shane groaned as you wrapped your hand around his wrist and tugged him toward the door. He couldn’t help but wonder what in the fresh hell you were dragging him into? Was it something that would risk your family's safety? Shane didn’t think so. You were as careful as he was when it came to safety. There was no way that you would put his or baby Evelyn’s life in jeopardy.
Wrapping your hand around the door handle, you turned back to your lover.
“Please put your gun on safety."
“Fuck, Y/n.”
Shane grumbled as you opened the door. Stepping out, you moved to the side as Shane walked out. The moment that he saw Rick, Shane’s mouth dropped. He looked between Rick and you as if asking, “How in the fuck is this the one person that you drag back?”
You watched Rick and Shane’s reactions carefully. Would you be able to break up a fight, should one break out? You could try. Neither moved to say anything for a moment. It was finally Shane who spoke
“Look at you, cowboy, you look like shit.”
Rick scoffed.
“Yeah, you don’t look like a rose yourself.”
Shane chuckled as your hand wrapped through his. You were trying to keep him on the line of calm and losing his mind. When Shane’s eyes landed on Judith, you felt his hand tense around yours. You gave him a quick squeeze back before moving to stand between him and your brother.
“I think we all need to sit down and have a chat. Carl…”
You held out a hand to your nephew. Carl quickly walked over and wrapped his arm around you. It still amazed you that the little boy now towered over you. From behind you, Shane was asking Rick about “What the fuck happened to that boy’s eye?”
Carl leaned down, tightening his hold on you as the two of you walked into a dining room.
“Is he good to you?”
You nodded.
“He’s very good to me. I promise that you don’t have to worry.”
“You would tell me if he wasn’t right?”
Carl replied. You turned to your nephew. Running your hand through his messy hair, you again tried to comfort his worry. Something told you that if Shane wasn’t good to you, Carl probably wouldn’t hesitate to take a gun out and shoot him.
That thought alone made you sick to your stomach. Carl should be back in King County, being a typical teenager with a smart mouth and a bad attitude. He shouldn’t be in this world, being an adult before he ever should have to.
“You’ll be the first to know, I promise.”
Carl kissed your cheek before moving to sit down next to Michonne. You watched him for a moment longer before moving to sit down next to Shane. He reached out, pulling you onto his lap. Rick frowned at his former best friend’s action. Rolling your eyes, you knew that Shane was already trying to antagonize Rick. It appeared that he achieved his goal.
Rick gave Shane a cold glare. He wanted nothing more than to jump across the table and start swinging at Shane. It didn’t matter that Shane was holding you like a delicate piece of china. He was touching you, and that was too much for Rick to process at the moment.
“That’s enough.”
You murmured so only Shane could hear it.
“Okay, baby doll, what is all of this?”
Shane asked. Rick nearly gagged at the pet name.
“Can you not call her that?”
Shane chuckled.
“She’s my wife. I can call her whatever the hell I want to. Speaking of, baby doll, how in the hell is this the person you come across in the woods?”
You sighed and moved to the seat beside Shane. The last thing that you wanted was to have any reason for either man to be bitching. Rick again glared at Shane.
“And she’s my sister. You better not be sucking her into your fucked up game of a life. I don’t care what kind of world we are in. She is my sister, and I will kill for her.”
Shane laughed.
“You didn’t even know where she was! I have been the one keeping her safe!”
You groaned.
“For the record, I can take care of myself, and I did a pretty decent job of it.”
Rick and Shane chose to ignore your comment and continued to find any little thing to bitch at each other about. You found yourself staring at them, muttering “these bitches” under your breath before meeting Michonne’s gaze.
She smirked at the expression on your face. While she didn’t know you in the slightest, you already reminded her of Rick. She could see the sass brewing underneath the surface.
“You got her pregnant!”
Rick snapped, interrupting Michonne’s thought. Shane shrugged.
“Guess my pull-out game isn’t as good as I thought.”
Rick’s mouth dropped while Carl muttered “gross” under his breath. You met Michonne’s gaze again before slamming your hands on the table.
“Shut it! Both of you.”
Standing up, you looked between the two men that you loved most in the world.
“We are going to stop this, right now. Look at us. The world has changed. We have changed. None of us has to like each other. Hell, the two of you can hate each other for all I care. Until we are higher on the food chain than those freaks outside, we are going to have to find some way to tolerate each other. You both need to remember who you were to each other years ago. Shane, Rick is my brother. Rick, Shane is the father of my child, and I love him. Once upon a time, before some bitch showed up that I didn’t even get to swing on, you both loved each other. Now, both of you get along, or I will shove my foot up both of your asses!”
You turned to Michonne.
“I’m very sorry. That wasn’t pleasant to listen to. I can show you to a room, if you would like.”
Rick gave her a nod. Michonne stood up and followed you out as you muttered about shoving your foot up people’s asses like a bunch of children. Carl quickly took off after the two of you; he wasn’t about to sit and listen to his father and Shane’s bitch fest. He had seen enough bitching over the last few years to do him a lifetime.
When the door closed, Rick turned back to Shane, who was silently shaking his head.
“Do you think she's serious?”
Shane shrugged. He wasn’t about to test you and find out. Shane had seen you lose your shit on plenty of people over the past year. He wasn’t about to let it be him.
“I’m not about to find out. Your sister has a temper. She will probably be making a weegee board to bring Lori back to kick her ass later.”
Rick hummed in agreement. He knew that you never liked Lori. Now that she was dead and you didn’t get one slap in, you were probably very disappointed.
“She did wear black to my wedding. How did it start with Y/n? You’ve known her since she was a kid.”
Shane leaned back, rolling his eyes.
“She’s a woman now, if you failed to notice. It just happened. We were alone, and it just clicked. I think you know that I have always had feelings for Y/n. She's the one that I always wanted but didn't think that I could get. Kinda sucks that this is the world I get to be with her in, but you get what you get. Y/n and my daughter are all that I need in this world.”
Shane made sure to put an emphasis on the words “my daughter.” Rick’s blue eyes rolled up to meet Shane’s face.
“In that case, Judith is my daughter.”
Shane raised an eyebrow.
“You think I can’t see? I know who that baby girl belongs to, but… to make Y/n happy, I will keep my feelings to myself.”
“Probably best that you do.”
(meanwhile)
You stood in the kitchen holding baby Evelyn in your arms. There was minimal noise coming from the dining room, and it was making you nervous. You were hoping that Rick and Shane weren’t in there killing each other.
“I don’t like silence.”
You turned as Michonne stepped into the room. She sat down at the table as you kept your eyes focused on the dining room door.
“Yeah, me either…especially with those two. Sorry, we couldn’t have met under better circumstances.”
Michonne scoffed.
“There aren’t many good circumstances anymore.”
You moved to sit down at the table.
“That’s true. Good circumstances are sketchy anymore. “
Michonne’s attentions went to the baby in your arms. She looked to be around a year old.
“Is this your baby girl?”
She asked, her voice softening. You noticed her eyes change in her eyes as she looked at Evelyn.
“Yeah, this is Evelyn. I’m glad that Rick will get to see her. Regardless of the situation, I still want her to know her uncle.”
Michonne was quiet for a moment before deciding to ask the question that would let her know how honest you were.
“Did you mean what you said about Rick being Judith’s father?”
Your eyes rolled back up to Michonne before nodding.
“Rick is her father. It appears by all circumstances that you are her mother. That is good enough for me.”
You were pleased that Michonne seemed to accept that answer. The two of you sat in silence for a moment before Michonne stood up and looked toward the dining room again.
“Something tells me that it won’t be so harmonious between those two for some time.”
You laughed and sat Evelyn down on a blanket with her toys.
“Just so you know, I meant what I said about shoving my foot up their asses.”
