#dynamicsymmetry

Moodboard: Narrator - Gone

The only thing I can bank on for sure is that the dark is coming.  The refrain through all of this has been 'I don't know what to do'.  I don't know what to do.  I don't know if there's anything that I can do.  

@dynamicsymmetry I do remember when that happened with IBYFAS. In a strange way based on what you have said about IBYFAS in the past, I feel like a similar kind of thing is happening here for me (just at a greatly reduced pace because I don’t write very fast). Basically in many ways it feels like I’m not really in control of this fic and I’m just a person with a computer and the means to get it out there but the actual decision making is almost taking place somewhere else. So even if I want to change it up for whatever reason I like “can’t”. It won’t let me do anything that feels wrong or like it’ll mess up the pace or won’t give other characters room to breathe and work and develop.

So it’s like I’ve had three chapters of plotty shit happening and not much shippy stuff except in thoughts and memories but it just feels like this is how it needs to be and changing it will feel forced and idk, break the story or something.

I am conscious of one of the big things fic does being serving a shipping/romance component and this fic may have started off that way but it evolved into something bigger.

International Women’s Day: The Walking Dead

I'm here for you if you need anything. Anything at all.

When he brings his face down she's looking at him. Of course she's looking at him. Has her head tilted a little, a hesitant smile on her face. A little questioning, like she wants to ask if he's ok. If he needs anything.

Anything.

Rick forces a grimace and turns back to the ground. He's ready to call it a day but he's not about to leave his hoe and gloves in the dirt. He'll wait until the way to the shed is clear, then go inside and take a quick shower before dinner. Quick enough that the water won't have time to warm up, that his mind and hands won't have time to wander. Somehow, he's managed that for a little over a week. Had for almost a year prior too, but that time doesn't feel quite as long, the effort as impressive.

Once, the admission that it takes superhuman concentration to keep his hand off his prick would have made Shane howl with laughter. Rick might have chuckled too. 

Now all he feels is vaguely ill.