#ANYWAY. the glenns. biting them

[asoftsighh]

Hey! Could I request some fluff with Sirius please?

I was thinking of something a bit too specific like, Sirius not admitting he likes an oblivious! Reader, but still getting jealous of people around them?

Bonus points if the other boys keep pestering Sirius saying things like " thank the heavens you don't have a crush, huh?"

Thank you!

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊ sirius black x reader ₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

sirius isn’t jealous, he swears

1k words

a/n: thank you for requesting angel!!

The third time Glenn Pots touches your arm, not that Sirius is counting, Sirius’ nails have almost drawn blood. He squeezes his fists tightly, grateful that he was no longer holding a glass cup, as it would’ve surely broken. 

Sirius leans back in the arm chair, propping his feet up on the coffee table, the picture of casualness. Around him, people danced and cheered and retold the Quidditch game that had ended less than an hour ago, the Gryffindors leaving victorious. Normally, he’d be in the mood for this; he might’ve sung along with the music with James or bothered Remus. More importantly, he might’ve gotten to talk to you. 

The thought makes him glance back over at you, sitting on the loveseat in the corner, Glenn Pots leaning into your side. You’re smiling at him, a small one, but still. Before he can fret any more, someone places themselves on the arm of Sirius’ chair, fully blocking the view. This particular person, one with wild hair and crooked glasses, looks like he’s up to no good.

“You alright, Pads?” James asks, his eyes saying that he already knows what’s wrong. “Looking particularly sulky tonight.”

Sirius waves a hand, trying to subtly position himself so he can still see you around James’ body. “Fine. Headache, is all.”

James’ smile grows impossible wider, glasses slipping down the slope of his nose as he looks down at him. “Hm. Is it, perhaps, one in the shape of a Mr. Pots?”

Sirius turns his glare up to James, squinting at his best friend. Whenever James knows that Sirius is one of his moods, all of his smiles look satisfying enough to punch. If they weren’t friends, and at a party, he might’ve done just that. Instead, he shoves James’ legs off of his lap.

He laughs and catches himself before he could fall to the floor. “You know,” he continues, positioning himself back on the arm, “you could just talk to her. Crazy idea, I know.”

“And why would I do that?” It’s hard to keep the bite out of his voice, but he doesn’t worry about hurting James’ feelings. He knows that Sirius isn’t mad at him; mad at the universe and Pots, yes. Never James, though.

“Sirius, you’re staring.”

From James’ new seat, he can just see Pots. Even from across the room, the way he is looking at you makes him uncomfortable and angry all at once. Like you are something shiny behind a glass case and he has to have you.

“I’m not jealous, James,” Sirius says, far too defensively for that to be true. “I just think that he has a weird laugh. Not like she seems very happy with him anyway.”

James glances over his shoulder at you, pushing his hair back with a rough hand. When he turns back, he wiggles his eyebrows. “Maybe you can go save her. The whole knight-in-shining armor thing. Girls love that, I’ve heard.”

“Oh yeah?” Sirius asks, half listening. He watches as Pots leans closer to tell you something. “And how’s that working out for you?”

When James doesn’t immediately respond, Sirius looks up at him in surprise. “Sorry,” he amends quickly. “Jesus, sorry. I’m a dick.”

James’ smile doesn’t waver, and he dismisses him with a hand as he stands from the chair. “It’s fine, Pads. I know you are just a grumpy bastard in love.”

Sirius groans, leaning his head back against the chair cushion. “I am not in love.”

From the corner of his eye, he can see James rolling his eyes, already turning toward the drink table. “Go talk to her, mate.” His voice is stern, like he’s giving an order. He’s gone before Sirius can say anything else, swallowed in the sea of bodies.

Sirius sighs softly, tucking the longer strands of his dark hair behind his ears. Taking a peek at you, he sees that you’re still there. You look exceptionally beautiful tonight, in his (and Pots’, but he ignores this,) opinion. You’ve done something different with your hair that eases the pain of anger in Sirius’ chest, bit by bit.

Without another doubt, he stands, making his way toward you, dodging dancing and cheering bodies. He’s about halfway there when you glance up, meeting his eyes. Jesus, he’s never met someone who makes him feel this nervous. 

“Can I steal you?” he asks once in talking distance. You’re standing before he can even finish asking, forgoing the drink you were cradling in your hands on the nearest table. Saying a quick goodbye to Pots, you come up to his side with already-flushed cheeks. Sirius pretends to not notice the daggers being shot in the back of his head as he steers you away, one hand between your shoulder blades. 

He feels more like himself with every step away from that loser. “Hello, gorgeous. Are you having fun?”

You look up at him with a smile that makes Sirius forget how to breathe. “I am now,” you say. Your voice is quieter than the music, but he hears you just fine. He guides you to an unoccupied couch, your thighs brushing against his as you sit. You’re so close that Sirius can smell your perfume and the way your lashes flutter as you look over at him.

He clears his throat, resting a forearm on the back of the couch, upper body angled toward you. “So… Glenn seemed chatty.”

You let out a giggle before saying, “He was. Mostly about himself.”

Sirius doesn’t bother stopping his eye roll. “What a tosser. Should’ve found someone else to talk to, love.”

You meet his eyes. “I wanted to, but he was with someone else.”

A coil of dread unravels somewhere within Sirius. His voice is low when he asks, “Who?”

Your smile widens, like you know something he doesn’t. “You, you idiot.”

He is stunned into silence for a moment, rare for him. Heat rushes up the side of his neck to the tips of his ears. “Me?”

You let out another soft laugh as you shift, mirroring his sitting position. “Yeah, you. I thought you were avoiding me.”

He shakes his head, collecting himself as tendrils of hair slip out of place. “Not at all. Too busy being an idiot, apparently.”

Your smile grows, as does his uncharacteristic nervousness. It’s hard not to tease him, just a little. “Aw, you’re too pretty to be an idiot.”

His laugh hits your ears, even louder than the music. Prettier too. 

criticism is welcome as long as it’s kind ✮⋆˙

i’m very new to writing ✮⋆˙

[egcdeath]

going the extra mile

pairing: patrick zweig x reader

summary: patrick takes care of you after a rough day at work. 

word count: 2k

warnings: domesticity, established relationship tooth rotting fluff, so much fluff you might have to visit your dentist, brief mention of alcohol, eating, baths, mentions of sex but no explicit scenes, so sappy, very lightly edited

author’s note: this fic is part of my succession au (previous part here) but you don’t need to read it to read this! all you need to know is that patrick and reader are engaged. 

“Honey, I’m home!” you called out as you stepped through the door of your shared apartment, voice a little flat from an exhausting day. 

What began as a joke after you first moved in with Patrick quickly began a critical part of your evening routine, where whoever got home from work later called the cheesy phrase out to the other person, then was excitedly greeted at the door. It was a cute routine and something for you to look forward to after a long day at work—much like the one you just experienced.

Just as you predicted, Patrick appeared at your door shortly after you announced your arrival, beating your equally excited cat by just a few seconds.

“Hey, baby,” he greeted you warmly before entering your space to give you a quick forehead kiss. “How was your day?”

“Stressful,” you huffed, allowing Patrick to take your work bag and hang it up for you. You squatted down to pet your cat, who was now enthusiastically rubbing her chin on your shin.

“I figured it would be. I know big presentations aren’t your favorite,” he acknowledged, ruffling your hair from where you were petting your cat. “So I picked up a bunch of food from that Italian place you like. Want to change into something comfortable then eat?”

“Oh Patrick,” you sighed in relief, looking up at him with love in your eyes. A huge feast was exactly what you needed after such a rough day. “You might be the best fiancé ever.”

As promised, when you returned to the kitchen after putting on a satin pajama set—one that Patrick randomly gifted you early on in your relationship—a variety of takeout boxes sat on the counter from one of your favorite restaurants. You didn’t even think that they did take out, but Patrick must’ve convinced them somehow. Knowing that he would go out of his way to do something like that for you made you want to grab and kiss him. 

You grabbed what you wanted then sat down on your couch, not even bothering to care about marinara stains that might end up on the very expensive piece of furniture. At that point, your comfort mattered more than any material items—a sentiment that you were sure that Patrick would agree with. 

Your fiancé joined you not too long after you sat down, bringing you an offer of focaccia and a glass of wine. 

“You know me so well,” you practically purred, a soft smile on your lips as you gladly took the glass of wine from him. 

Patrick smiled back at you in response, not outwardly acknowledging your praise, but the light dusting of pink on his cheeks letting you know that he appreciated it anyway. You always loved seeing the effects your compliments had on him, even if he didn’t immediately speak his mind. 

“Do you want to watch a movie? Want a foot massage?” he offered, remote to the television already in one hand. It was sweet how he seemed to be going down a checklist of all of the things he knew you liked after a long, stressful day. 

“I think I just want to enjoy your company for now. Maybe an early debrief? Tell me about your day?” you suggested, setting down your glass of wine to take a bite of the food on your plate. 

“My day was pretty boring, to be honest,” he sighed. “We did some run-throughs of Glenn’s speech, then went back to the office and got some boring work done that you don’t want to hear about.”

“Maybe I do wanna hear about it,” you challenged, sitting up slightly straighter to indicate your interest. “Or maybe I just want to hear you talk a little more?” you added, figuring that it would be better to be honest. 

Information about the campaign Patrick was working on would probably go in one ear and out the other, but his voice was always a comforting, grounding thing for you. After having such a busy, stressful day, you couldn’t think of a single better way to unwind than to hear Patrick talk endlessly to you. 

Being the supportive fiancé that he was, Patrick did exactly that, telling you about all of the ins and outs of his day until you finished eating and drinking and were halfway into a food coma. 

Sensing your sleepiness, Patrick paused in his storytelling. “I was gonna run a bath for you, but I wanted to wait so it didn’t get too cold while we ate. What do you think?”

“I think I want to marry you right now,” you gushed, thrilled at the prospect of a warm bath to help you fully unwind from the day. 

As promised, Patrick set up a bath for you, complete with a candle-lit room and the soothing aroma of a bath bomb. You sat in a fuzzy robe and watched from your bedroom as Patrick set up the bath for you, flattered by his commitment to giving you a relaxing evening. 

After he was satisfied with the bath he put together for you, Patrick retrieved you from your bedroom and led you to the tub, as if you didn’t already know where it was. 

“Just yell for me if you need anything,” Patrick told you, letting go of the hand that he was holding.

“What if I need something now?” you questioned as you shed your robe and stepped into the warm, soothing water of the bath.

“What do you need?” he asked curiously, already preparing to get whatever it was that you wanted. 

“Well, I don’t need it, but it would be nice if you joined me. If you want to,” you added shyly, still worried about accommodating your partner years into your relationship. Patrick wasn’t always in the mood to do super romantic things, but after giving you such a nice night, it seemed far more likely that he would accept your offer. 

Your request was received even better than you expected, with Patrick making quick work of stripping and getting into the tub behind you, before letting you recline against his chest comfortably. 

The two of you sat in the tub for a long time, occasionally talking about whatever came to mind, but mostly unwinding in silence and sharing the intimacy of having skin-on-skin contact. 

Once again, you were sure that you could fall asleep right then and there, relaxed by a tiring trifecta of your dinner, the warm bath, and your fiancé’s comforting presence. 

“I never wanna get out,” you sighed contently, turning your head to dreamily look at your partner. 

“I don’t either, but I’m starting to worry that if I stay any longer, my skin’s gonna start falling off,” he showed you his pruning fingers to prove his point. 

“Ew,” you said simply, that being all you needed to hear to get you out. Besides, the water had gone cold a long time ago, and you were itching to lay in bed. 

“I want to get out, but I don’t think any of my muscles work anymore,” you explained as you watched Patrick wrap a towel around his waist after stepping out of the tub. 

“Is this your way of asking me to carry you to bed?” he asked with a hint of laughter in his voice. 

“Depends. Are you offering?” you fluttered your eyelashes at Patrick as if that would somehow sweeten the deal. 

Patrick gave you a wordless grin, one that told you that you were about to get exactly what you wanted. He helped you out of the tub and carried you to bed as he promised, before setting you down and tossing some pajamas at you.

After he cleaned up the bathroom, Patrick joined you in bed, where you were chewing on your bottom lip as you answered a few work emails. 

“Put that away,” Patrick gently chided you, shutting your laptop for you. “They can have you tomorrow. Let me have you for now?” 

You couldn’t argue with that logic, not protesting when Patrick took your computer and set it on the nightstand on his side of the bed. Though you really would like to get more work done, your partner was accurate in his assessment that nothing would change if you answered that night rather than in the morning, other than your peace of mind. 

Once your laptop was out of the way, Patrick wasted no time pulling you in for a passionate kiss, which felt like the perfect way for you to end your night. As his hands eagerly roamed your body, you thought about how this was something that you both earned, with Patrick treating you to such a lovely evening, and you needing this one final action to complete your night of relaxation. 

Just as Patrick found his way between your thighs, your heated moment was interrupted by the dejected sounding meows of your cat at the door, wanting to be let into the room. Both of you groaned, knowing that if you didn’t address the angry furball waiting for you, you really wouldn’t be able to enjoy your night. 

“We’ll pick this back up in the morning,” he promised you as he got out of bed. 

“I’m gonna hold you to that,” you laughed, sitting up and pulling your discarded nightgown back on while you watched Patrick open the door for your pet. Predictable as ever, she jumped into your bed and sat down where she always liked to sit between you and your fiancé.

“This has to be the most spoiled cat in all of human history,” Patrick commented as he sat back down next to the two of you in bed. 

“Whose fault is that?” you teased as you pet the purring feline. Though he would never admit it, Patrick somehow loved your pet even more than you did. You often found him holding and cooing at the cat, or doing research on new toys and puzzles to enrich her.

“We share responsibility for it,” he dismissed, causing you to giggle. 

“Sure,” you replied, not even bothering to hide the incredulity in your voice.  

As the two of you sat in bed, you settled into your typical evening routine, with Patrick reading a book beside you and you catching up with your friends over text. 

Out of the blue, your partner spoke up, grabbing your attention. “You still haven’t told me about how the presentation went.”

You groaned aloud and turned to look at your fiancé, reading glasses perched on his nose and an open book laid on his chest. His beauty, even in a moment of not being all put-together, felt like it should be a crime. 

“It wasn’t my best work,” you confessed. “It was kinda my fault. I’ve been so preoccupied with all the wedding stuff, that I basically just let Art throw together the presentation. I just felt so unprepared, but it’s fine, I guess.”

“I’m sure you did better than you think you did,” he assured you. “And if you didn’t, that’s also fine. It’s over, and I don’t think anyone’s gonna remember that you were a little unprepared.”

Though you’d reassured yourself with similar words, it was nice to hear it coming from your partner. 

“You’re right. Presentation aside, thank you for making me forget about the real world and all of my problems for a little while,” you leaned over and kissed his cheek, and felt your cheeks warm as Patrick followed up your kiss on the cheek with a real kiss. It amazed you how even after years of being together, he was still able to give you butterflies. 

“That was the goal,” he was obviously happy to see that this evening of sweet actions had the intended outcome, based on the wide smile on his face. 

You bit your tongue to hold back a sappy love confession, knowing that Patrick surely wasn’t in the mood to return you one, but you couldn’t think of anything else more obvious than the mutual love you felt sitting in that bed, thoroughly pampered after a rough day. 

As you laid there next to your grinning fiancé, you couldn’t help but wish that your wedding would come even sooner, so you could look forward to endless nights of domestic bliss. 

[atleastpleasetelephone]

Kinktober Day 1 - Dirty Talk

Pairing: Glenn Tyler x reader

Word count: 1K

TWs: Not much really, p in v sex but it's all very romantically written tbh.

Kinktober masterlist

You’re trying to spend some proper time studying in the library, but unfortunately Glenn decided to come with you. Glenn is very distracting, even when he’s not trying to be. Those pouty red lips, shining blue eyes, the way his clothes cling to all the right bits of him…you’ve gone off in a daydream thinking about him more times than you can count. And today he’s trying to be distracting. 

“What’re ya thinking about?” He whispers, his lips right next to your ear. 

“Keats,” you reply, sharply, staring down at the textbook you’re desperately trying to read and make notes from. 

“You’ve been on that same page for the past ten minutes.” 

“You’ve had your hand on my thigh for the past ten minutes,” you hiss back. 

He smirks. He likes winding you up, particularly when you’re in public. He thinks you blushing is the cutest thing in the world. 

“You don’t like it?”

You huff. “I’m trying to study, Glenn.”

Glenn chuckles and slides his hand up your thigh a little. “Licence my roving hands, and let them go, before, behind, between, above, below.”

You squeak. He’s murmuring John Donne in your ear in that sexy low Southern drawl of his. This is a whole new level distracting. You know you’re blushing and you push his hand away and put your hands over your face. 

“Stop it!”

He grins, loving seeing you like this. “How blest am I in this discovering thee!” 

“Glenn!” You try to fix him with your best furious glare but your heart is racing and your face is bright red. 

He just carries on grinning, so you turn back to your book and try to carry on reading. But all you’re doing is staring at the page, thinking about kissing him, imagining his hands all over you. A moment later, you feel a hand back on your thigh again. There’s a tingling between your legs and you can’t think straight at all. 

He presses his nose against your cheek and then mumbles into your ear again. 

“As souls unbodied, bodies uncloth’d must be.”

You bite your lip and he starts to gently press kisses to your jawline. 

“We’re in the library!” You whisper, unable to stop yourself from giggling. 

“We could get out of the library…” he suggests, his hand creeping under your skirt. 

You squeeze your thighs together and somehow blush even more. This whole study session is ruined now anyway…

“Okay, okay, you win.”

He giggles and nuzzles your cheek. “C’mon. Let’s go back to mine. We can study Keats there.”

***

It turns out that Glenn was quite serious about the Keats. You’d just assumed he was lying. But when you get back to his dorm and he turns the lights down low, after kissing you thoroughly and pulling you under the bedclothes, he starts with the poetry again. 

His voice low in your ear, his fingers working on unbuttoning your dress. “I cry your mercy, pity, love! Aye, love! Merciful love that tantalises not, one-thoughted, never-wandering, guileless love, unmasked, and being seen, without a blot!”

You whimper. He’s always romantic but this is taking it to a different level. He pulls his own shirt and pants off quickly and suddenly you’re tangled together, hot breath and exploring fingers, both only in your underwear. He rolls his hips against you and you feel the hardness between his legs. You’ve never actually done it, only kissed and fooled around.

“O! let me have thee whole,” he murmurs sensually in your ear, making shivers run up your spine. 

“Glenn,” you whisper. 

“...all, all, be mine!”

His hands take your wrists and pin them above your head as he rolls himself against you again, making your head spin. 

“Yes,” you moan softly. 

He lets your wrists go, staring into your eyes deeply. 

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

He bites his lip, his hands running down your body as he moves to pull your panties off. 

“That shape, that fairness”, he’s looking up at you as he says the words, and then, “that sweet minor zest,” he dips his head down and licks a stripe between your legs, making you wriggle and groan. 

“Of love,” kissing your clit and then all the way up your body to your chin, “your kiss,” he takes the time to kiss your lips properly, then sits up and quickly removes his own underwear. 

He takes both of your hands in his as he continues, “those hands,” kissing them all over, “those eyes divine,” staring into your eyes and kissing your cheeks. 

You stare back at him, completely overtaken by lust and love. He reaches to unhook your bra and you help him slide it off your arms. He’s staring down at you with the same unbridled lust you’re looking at him with. 

“That warm, white, lucent, million-pleasured breast,” he starts to kiss your breasts in turn, watching you as he does it. Then kissing turns to fondling and licking, then sucking on nipples.

“I want you,” you whisper, hoarsely. 

You’re aching for him. He touches you a little and then slowly starts to push inside, lying right on top of you as he slowly thrusts in and out. Your legs wrap around him as you sigh with pleasure. His tongue explores your mouth as his hips roll into you like the sea. He feels it when you’re getting close, that familiar feeling of a body tensing, and his lips move back to your ear. 

“Yourself, your soul, in pity give me all,” he groans as he struggles to hold back his own orgasm. Wanting you to come first. “Withhold no atom’s atom or I die.”

You whine as you feel pleasure rise inside you and finally peak, his name falling from your lips like a prayer. He follows soon after, holding you against him as he shudders and sighs. 

“Glad you came home from the library?” He teases, when you’ve both come round a bit. 

You stroke his cheek. “That was so romantic. You made it really special.”

His face turns serious. “I’m glad, honey. I wanted it to be special.” He kisses you, and then his cheeky little grin returns. “And I even got some studying done!”

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[millermouth]

The Promise of Us: Chapter 7

“What’re we gonna feed it?” Daryl’s voice cuts through the void of chaos and crying, his tone steady but urgent. Rick stands, his gaze distant, shock settling deep as he processes the loss of his wife.

“Do we even have anything a baby can eat?” you ask, moving closer to Hershel as Carl gently hands the newborn to him.

“The good news is, she looks healthy,” Hershel replies, his weathered hands carefully holding the baby, “but she needs formula—and soon—or she won’t survive.”

“Nope, no way,” Daryl interjects, his voice gruff with determination. “Not her. We ain’t losin’ nobody else. I’m goin’ on a run.”

“I’m coming,” you say firmly, holstering your gun and preparing to move without hesitation. You catch Maggie’s eye as she steps forward, her voice raw from crying, but still resolute.

“I’ll be your backup,” she says. You give her a nod, appreciating her strength.

“I’m coming too,” Glenn adds, his tone leaving no room for debate.

“Okay, think where we’re goin’—Beth,” Daryl says, pulling the younger girl over to the side. You follow them, your senses on high alert despite the exhaustion.

Daryl leans down to whisper to Beth, his voice gentler than usual. “Kid just lost his mom—his dad ain’t doin’ so hot.”

“I’ll look after him,” she promises, her big blue eyes brimming with worry but filled with resolve. She catches your eye, and without thinking, you pull her into a tight hug, holding her close.

When you pull back, there are unshed tears in her eyes, and you bite back your own, refusing to let them fall now. There’s no time for that. You have a job to do.

“Somebody get to the fence! Too many are piling up out there,” you shout over your shoulder, feeling the weight of responsibility pressing down on you.

“Glenn, Maggie, vámonos!” Daryl shouts. But before you can move, Rick suddenly lunges for his hammer, taking off toward C Block without a word. Daryl barely glances in his direction, barking orders to the others. “Get the gate! C’mon! We’re gon’ lose the light!”

You fall into step beside him, your heartbeat syncing with the adrenaline pumping through your veins. As you run, Glenn calls out, “There’s a store nearby with a baby section—”

“No, it’s already been cleared,” Maggie interrupts, shaking her head.

“Any place that hasn’t been completely looted?” you ask, reaching the nearest car. Daryl pulls open the side door for you, his movements quick but careful as he hands you his crossbow. You take it, hopping into the car, but leaving the door open to hear the rest of the plan. 

“We saw a sign, a shopping center just north of here,” Glenn adds as Daryl slides into the front seat.

“There’s too much debris on that road, a car can’t get through,” Maggie says, her voice edged with frustration.

You lock eyes with Daryl, and without saying a word, you both know the solution. The motorcycle.

“I can only take one,” he grunts, throwing his poncho around himself.

Maggie steps forward, “I’ll go,” her voice steady despite the wear of the day. But Glenn stops her, gently placing a hand on her arm.

“Maggie,” he say softly, meeting her gaze, “You’ve been through enough today.”

She hesitates, then sighs, her shoulders dropping slightly, “The two of you work better in tandem anyway,” she mutters, handing you her backpack. “It’s like you guys can read each other’s damn minds sometimes— you go.”

You give her a small, grateful smile, securing the backpack over your shoulders. Daryl revs the bike, the familiar roar of the engine filling the air, and without another word, you climb on behind him.

With a final glance back at the group, you hold on tight, and the two of you take off, the wind whipping past as the world blurs around you.

❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥

Daryl pulls the bike to a stop near a chain-link fence, the rusted metal surrounding what looks like an abandoned daycare. The overgrown lawn is dotted with a jungle gym, the swing set creaking eerily in the light breeze. His eyes narrow as he scans the area.

“Company’s close,” he grunts as you swing your leg off the bike. “Stay tight—got ammo?”

You nod, and with that confirmation, the two of you make your way up to the side of the building, staying low and quiet. You cup your hands against a dusty window, peering inside. It’s a scene frozen in time—cribs, changing tables, all the remnants of a world long gone.

Breaking the window with ease, you climb inside, landing on the old, worn carpet. The bright blue walls are covered in children’s art projects, colorful reminders of a life once lived. A TV sits in the corner, the decorations still neatly arranged, as if the place is just waiting for someone to return.

You shrug off the backpack Maggie gave you and start grabbing anything that looks remotely useful for a baby—diapers, wipes, clothes. You rummage through cabinets and drawers, not letting yourself dwell too much on the haunting stillness of the room.

Daryl climbs in through the window behind you, his presence steady as always, and leads the way down the narrow hallway. You follow close, careful to avoid stepping on anything that might make noise. The air is thick with quiet tension as you move, your ears alert for any sound out of place.

There’s a faint rattling ahead. As you quietly enter another room, Daryl turns to you, the flashlight clamped between his teeth casting a soft glow over your face. His blue eyes flick toward you before he pushes open a door that leads into a kitchen.

The rattling comes from a lower cupboard. You move toward it cautiously, your fingers tightening around the handle. You glance back at Daryl, who gives you a nod, and with a quick breath, you yank the door open.

A hissing sound erupts from inside. You lock eyes with a possum, its beady gaze flashing in the light just as Daryl’s arrow flies, hitting it square in the heart.

“Hello, dinner,” he mutters with a smirk.

“You’re so gross,” you roll your eyes, unable to suppress a smile. “That is not goin’ in my bag.”

As you cross the room to check another cupboard, your breath catches when you find exactly what you’ve been searching for—containers of baby formula, untouched. You could almost start singing Hallelujah. 

You turn to him with a small smile on your face, “Lookie here,” you say, stuffing the packages into your bag. You meet his gaze as he pulls the possum up, but when his eyes land on you, you can see the sadness in them. You can see past his eyes that he has the events of the day on his mind. The people lost.

“Dare…” you begin, your voice quiet, “about Carol–”

But before you can say more, Daryl is suddenly crossing the space between you, his crossbow left on the ground behind him. His hand moves with purpose as he pushes you gently but firmly against the counter. His lips crash into yours, catching you off guard, but there’s no hesitation in the way you kiss him back. It’s raw, the kind of kiss that says more than words ever could. His hands grip your waist to pull himself against you, and for a second, all the fear, the loss, and the uncertainty dissolve in the warmth of his touch.

You know him well enough by now to understand this is his way of saying everything’s going to be okay, his way of telling you he’s alright without having to speak about the pain he’s holding onto. When he finally steps back, breathless, he brushes his knuckle along your cheekbone—something he’s been doing more lately, a soft, almost sentimental gesture that always makes your heart skip. His eyes, stormy and pained, linger on yours, and for a brief moment, all you know is to hold onto him as long as you can.

“We gotta get back,” he says, his voice rough, but there’s something soft behind it, something steady.

You nod, knowing this is enough for now.

❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥

The road ahead is dark as Daryl drives the motorcycle toward the prison gates, the roar of the engine loud in your ears, sending vibrations through your body. Axel and Oscar stand at the gate, pulling it open just in time for Daryl to ride through, the bike rumbling into the yard. He parks by C Block, and you dismount, your legs stiff from the ride.

Inside, the only light comes from the moon filtering through the high windows, casting a pale glow on the group gathered around Carl, who cradles the crying newborn. You shrug your bag off your shoulders, swinging it onto the table. “Beth? Maggie?” you call out, your voice slightly breathless. They rush over, immediately digging into the supplies.

Beth is the first to stand beside you, her hands moving quickly through the contents as you open the formula and tear into the new bottles you found. From behind, you hear Daryl’s low voice asking about the baby, but you don’t turn. You’re focused, moving with urgency to get the formula ready.

Finally, with the bottle mixed, you turn to hand it over—and freeze.

Daryl’s holding the baby. His strong, muscled arms cradle her with a tenderness you’ve never seen. The sight of him, this rough-edged man who’s faced down death a hundred times, holding something so small, so fragile—it catches you completely off guard. Your breath hitches, and for a moment, it feels like the world tilts on its axis.

Beth gently takes the bottle from your unmoving hands, stepping forward to pass it to Daryl. But your eyes don’t leave him, your chest tightening with a swell of emotions that are so strong, they almost overwhelm you. Daryl, the man who is always ready for a fight, looks at the baby with such care, feeding her as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“She got a name yet?” he asks, his voice gruff but softened by the warmth in his expression. His gaze sweeps the room, landing on you. The smile falters for just a second when he catches the look on your face, something unspoken passing between you. But then the twinkle in his eyes returns as he glances back down at the baby.

“Not yet,” Carl replies, shaking his head. “I was thinking... maybe Sophia.”

The name hits you hard, tugging at the corners of memories buried deep. Sophia. It felt like a lifetime ago when you were all searching for her in those woods. Carl continues, his voice quieter now, listing the names of those lost: “Then there’s Carol, too. And… Andrea, Amy, Jacqui, Patricia… or Lori, I don’t know.”

Daryl listens, his attention now fully on Carl, though the baby remains cradled securely in his arms. He’s quiet for a moment, then a smile slowly spreads across his face as he looks back at the baby. “Yeah? Would you like that? Little ass-kicker?”

You can’t help it—a real, unexpected laugh bursts from your mouth, the sound surprising you as much as it does him. Daryl’s head snaps up again and his eyes lock onto yours, the glint of surprise mirrored in his expression. But it’s the softness, the way his face lights up at your laugh, that makes your heart swell even more.

“Right? That’s a good name, right?” he continues, turning back to the baby with that same quiet warmth, “Little ass-kicker, huh? You like that, sweetheart?”

❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥

The next morning, the sound of locusts hums through the open windows, a constant reminder of the world outside. You sit up in the guard tower, eyes scanning the yard below as the early morning light stretches across the prison grounds. From your vantage point, you spot Daryl walking slowly, his steps deliberate as he approaches a small cross stuck in the ground.

You watch in silence as he kneels down, something small in his hand. He places it carefully at the base of the cross, lingering for a moment before standing back up. It’s only when he moves away that you notice the small white flower resting at the bottom, a quiet offering to someone lost.

Your heart tightens as you watch him make his way back to the yard. Without thinking, you rise, leaving the tower to meet him at the bottom of the steps just as he reaches the gate.

“Mornin’,” you say softly, your voice gentle in the stillness of the early hour.

He grunts a low hello, his eyes flicking up to meet yours briefly before shifting away. There’s something quiet in his expression, a heaviness he’s not putting into words.

You don’t need to say anything more. Without hesitation, you step closer and slip your arm around his waist, drawing him into you as you both turn back toward the prison. The gesture is simple but full of understanding—no words needed as you guide him inside again, both of you silently sharing the weight of everything left unspoken.

A few hours later, breakfast is a quiet affair. You quietly stir your oatmeal, the spoon scraping lightly against the bowl as you sit on the steps leading up to the warden’s office. Daryl is sitting on the step below, his back resting between your knees, his presence a quiet comfort. The clinking of silverware against bowls echoes softly through the room as everyone eats in near silence, the weight of the morning heavy in the air.

Your attention shifts when you hear footsteps approaching from across the room. Daryl’s head tilts up too, both of you watching as Rick enters.

“Everybody okay?” Rick asks, his voice subdued as he surveys the room.

“Yeah,” you answer softly, offering a small nod. “We are.”

“What about you?” Hershel asks, his gaze steady on Rick.

Rick’s eyes are distant, vacant, as he approaches the table where Glenn, Maggie, Hershel, and Carl sit in a quiet huddle. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days.

“I cleared out the boiler block,” Rick says quietly.

“How many were there?” Daryl asks, breaking the silence that had settled around him all morning.

Rick’s eyes flicker toward you both. “A dozen. Maybe two.”

You suck in a quiet breath, your stomach twisting at the thought of him facing that many walkers alone. There hadn’t even been a gunshot.

“I need to get back,” Rick mutters, already turning away. “Just wanted to check on Carl.” He pats his son’s back, his touch brief and mechanical, before he heads toward the door.

“Rick—we can handle taking out the bodies,” Glenn stands, his voice gentle but firm. “You don’t have to do everything.”

Rick shakes his head, his movements stiff. “No, I do,” he says, but he doesn’t stop moving until he reaches you and Daryl on the stairs.

“Everyone have a gun and a knife?” Rick asks, his voice low, but there’s an urgency behind it. You glance around the room, mentally counting the weapons each person carries, before Daryl responds with a nod. “Yeah. But we’re runnin’ low on ammo.”

“Maggie and I were planning to make a run this afternoon,” Glenn adds from behind Rick. “Found a phonebook with some places we could hit—look for more formula and bullets.”

“We cleared out the generator room,” you tell Rick, hoping the news might ease some of the burden he’s shouldering. “Axel’s working on it in case we need it.”

“We’re gonna sweep the lower levels too,” Daryl chimes in, his voice steady, grounding.

Rick nods, already half-turned to leave. “Good. Good,” he mutters, his words rushed as he strides out of the room again.

Hershel calls after him, concern thick in his voice, but Rick doesn’t stop. He’s already lost in his own world, slipping further into the weight of everything he’s carrying.

Your hand lands in Daryl’s hair softly, brushing it with your fingertips, and you feel him sigh beneath you. 

Once everyone finishes breakfast, Daryl stands, stretching slightly before turning to you. “I’m gon’ go check on the boiler block, make sure everythin’s alright,” he says, his voice low. You nod, knowing he’s not expecting you to come with him. He needs space right now, and you understand that instinctively.

You reach for his bowl and spoon, stacking them with yours when Oscar approaches, offering to join him. Daryl nods in quiet acceptance but pauses before leaving, his eyes lingering on you. His fingers brush gently against the side of your face and you lean into the touch, just for a moment, letting the warmth of it settle in before he drops his hand. Without another word, he turns and heads off with Oscar.

You rise from the table, gathering the empty bowls in your arms, preparing to take them outside to clean. As you pass by, Beth smiles warmly, the baby nestled safely in her arms. You return the smile before heading toward the door, Carl trailing behind you, collecting scraps and bits of trash from the table without a word.

As you work, you glance over at him, watching how he’s methodically picking up the trash, his face drawn and serious. “Hey,” you say softly, not wanting to push too hard but needing to ask. “You doin’ okay?”

Carl pauses for a moment, his hand stilling as he picks at the ground. He doesn’t look up immediately, but eventually, he gives a small nod. “Yeah,” he mumbles. “I’m fine.”

You can hear the weight in his voice, the unspoken emotions lying beneath the surface. But you don’t push, knowing he might not be ready to say more. Instead, you reach out, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, letting him know you’re there. “If you need anything… you know where I am,” you offer, your voice calm, steady.

Carl looks up at you under the brim of his hat then, his eyes meeting yours for a brief second before he nods again. You go back to scraping the dishes, the quiet moment between you stretching on, a shared understanding settling in the space. Carl stays close, helping as you finish the task in silence, and you can’t help yourself as you pray for just one good, normal day.

[faerghusfucker]

Drabble idea: Dimitri and Raphael talking about grief?

i actually had loads of fun with this one!!! this was such a wonderful prompt i love these two together. their support chain should’ve been more like this i feel like, especially since their backstories have a LOT in common.

Small Talk

cw: parental death, grief

"Hey Dimitri! Wanna get something to eat? I'm staaaarving!" The familiar sound of Raphael's voice boomed from behind, just as Dimitri was headed to the front of the cathedral. Choir practice had always been difficult for the crown prince, but it was especially hard when the Professor had him do it with Raphael. He didn't mind Raphael as a training partner, but he had a tendency to be a bit much as an… anything else partner. Still, he gave him a practiced, princely smile.

"You can go on without me, Raphael. I was planning on praying while I'm here." He said politely.

Raphael nodded, as if remembering something. "Right, I forgot how you noble types like to pray. I'll meet you at the dining hall, yeah?"

"Yes, I will catch up with you there. I wouldn't want to keep you waiting."

Raphael took that as his cue to leave, waving at Dimitri as he exited the cathedral and made his way to the dining hall. Meanwhile, Dimitri found himself a spot near the front of the cathedral and started his prayer, as was routine for him on his free days.

Merciful Seiros, please ensure that the souls of my father, my mother, my stepmother, Glenn Govan Fraldarius, and all who were lost in Duscur find peace in the heavens, and give me the strength to avenge their souls by any means necessary. Also… please give me the patience to study for my next certification exam.

When Dimitri arrived at the dining hall and took his seat, he found that Raphael was already halfway through his meal. He didn't mind though, especially since he knew that Ingrid had given Raphael more than a few lectures on his manners. He wasn't one to be a stickler for those types of things anyway, since he often needed to remind himself of them.

Raphael greeted him with a warm smile, as always. "Heya Dimitri, how was praying?"

"How… was it? It was fine, I suppose. I tend to pray for many of the same things every time, so there is not much variation." He chuckled at his attempt at humor, which didn't seem to land judging by Raphael's expression, which was more confused than anything else.

"Huh… y'know, I've never really prayed before. My folks were never devout like that. Whaddaya usually pray for?"

Dimitri wasn't used to that question; maybe asking such things was normal in Leicester? "Oh, I tend to pray for my family. It, ah… it brings me some comfort. I'd feel terrible praying for anything else."

"Riiiight, I forgot you lost your folks too!" Raphael spoke in a tone entirely too eager for what he'd just said, and Dimitri couldn't help a chuckle despite how grim it was.

"Yes, my, um, folks did pass away. You and I are alike in that way, it would seem." He thought out loud.

"Sure are! But, wait, you said you'd feel terrible if you didn't pray for them. Why's that?"

"Well, in Faerghus, they say that the dead cling to the living the more they were loved. And… the people I've lost were loved dearly. I would never forgive myself if they were to be forgotten."

"Really? I've never thought of it like that," Raphael took another bite of food. "The way I see it, my parents would've just wanted my sis and I to be as happy as we could! Doesn't do anyone any good to live in feelings like that."

Dimitri opened and closed his mouth, trying to figure out how to articulate his bafflement at this mindset. "I have found that to be easier said than done. Especially considering what happened." His voice dropped to a mumble in the last sentence.

Raphael hummed quietly. "Yeah, that makes sense. It's real hard to bounce back from stuff like that. Maya and my Grandpa keep me going most of the time. You've probably got someone like that, though."

Did he? Dimitri wasn't sure. Technically, he still had friends, but it had been so long since they'd treated each other companionably that it almost felt wrong to refer to them as such. Felix had no desire to look him in the eye, Ingrid was mad at him for discouraging her devotion to chivalry, and Sylvain was so keen to continue his skirt-chasing ways that he'd taken to avoiding him whenever possible. He wanted to call Dedue his friend more than anything, but the man was so keen on reducing himself to a retainer that it felt impossible to do so in earnest.

"That is… rather remarkable, Raphael. I'd never considered that moving on could be anything other than a solitary battle."

Raphael beamed, a smile Dimitri only wished he was capable of after everything. "Nah, it's no big deal. We've all gotta work together to keep each other afloat, yeah? Even you."

That managed to coax a smile from him. "Yes, I suppose even me."

[thespiritssaidso]

idk if you've seen the shawn and Ikea plushies mood board but if you could make a blahaj themed psych fic i would really like that

I got this ask. Four whole months ago. And I’ve been working on it. For four whole months. I am so sorry for the wait, anon. 

Blahaj

Summary: Shawn gets a package. Gus isn’t exactly thrilled when he sees what’s inside. 

Notes: Been a while since I’ve posted my writing (7 months), seasonal depression and writer’s block and doomscrolling-on-TikTok grabbed me by the ass and made me their bitch. Anyways, here’s some fic, it’s mostly dialogue and took me too long to write

my very first request!!! Hope you like it, tumblr anon. Sorry it took so long to write, i got stuck on a few of the smallish details

—————

“True or false: Glenn Close would’ve made a better Ellen Brody than Lorraine Gary.” Shawn sat in his special rolly chair, feet on his desk and legs crossed as he picked through a Chinese to-go box. 

It was a slow day at the Psych office, as was standard for them when they’d finished a high-profile case for the police. Shawn and Gus always took the day they got their paycheck from Chief Vick to chill in their office, eating takeout and talking about nothing in particular (or, on the rare occasion, assisting clients that weren’t the police department). 

Gus didn’t even need to look up from his own food to answer. “False. Next question.”

“Great, just making sure.” Shawn took a large bite of lo mein, and asked his next question before he’d even finished chewing. “Which movie was better: ‘Jaws 3’ or ‘Jaws: The Revenge’?” Miraculously, no noodles left his mouth as he spoke around them.

Gus hadn’t noticed, too busy sifting around his stir fried rice with a spoon and thinking of his answer. “Neither of them, the first is and always will be the best. Anyone who says otherwise is either blind or a liar.” 

“Amen to that. Now, if Martin Brody hadn’t been so scared of the ocean, do you think he’d have gone after the shark himself fifteen minutes into the movie, or thirty?” 

Gus paused a second, and asked, “Shawn, not that I mind, but what’s with the Jaws themed questions?” 

Shawn raised his hands (one of them still holding his chopsticks) defensively. “What, am I suddenly not allowed to?” 

“That’s not what—”

“Gus, are you trying to squash my inquisitive mind? That is unbelievable, and frankly, I am offended you’d do such a thing.”

Gus gave him a look. “Are you done?” 

“Yes. Now, I’ll ask you again: would Brody—”

A knock on the door startled both men. From where they sat, neither could see who was outside; the blinds had (for once) been shut, only the outline of a slouched figure holding a large box giving any indication there was someone there. 

Gus didn’t even have a chance to stand up before Shawn shot out of his seat and to the door. “That’s for me! I’m expecting a special package.”

“‘Special package’? From who?”

Shawn didn’t answer, instead opening the door to a bored-looking postman holding a clipboard and a large ratty cardboard box that seemed to be held together by scotch-tape and prayers. 

“I’ve got a parcel for Shawn Spencer?” The postman’s face never shifted, seemingly content in staying dead-eyed and neutral.

This behaviour didn’t deter Shawn’s excitement in the slightest. “I wasn't supposed to get a ‘parcel’, whatever that is. I am looking for a package though.”

The postman rolled his eyes, ignoring Shawn’s statement and simply handing him the clipboard. “Sign here.”

Thirty seconds later and Shawn was dragging the tattered box into the Psych office, one end held up in the air and the other scraping annoyingly against the wooden floor. 

Putting his takeout down on his desk, Gus eyed the box. “That better be the new TV and remote you promised you’d buy after you broke our old one.” Gus was referring to the event that took place exactly five nights ago, when he and Shawn had Watcher of the Woods on. The same night Shawn screamed at the top of his lungs — accompanied by Gus of course — and threw the remote he was holding at the tv, where both objects broke upon impact. Now it sat in the corner of the room, in front of the closet, screen splitting straight down the middle before bursting into a spiderweb of cracks near the top where the remote had made contact. 

“Nope!” Shawn grunted as he hefted the package up and onto his desk. “It’s something even better. Toss me your box cutter, Gus? Por favor?”

Gus dug through his own desk drawer and tossed Shawn the tool he’d asked for. “Shawn.”

Shawn eagerly began cutting at the tape holding the cardboard flaps closed, sticking his tongue out as he did so. “Yeah?” 

“What’s in the box.” It wasn’t a question, even if it was phrased like one. Gus was ordering Shawn to tell him.

Shawn flipped the lid open and grinned at the sight inside. “Gus, I present to you: our very own,” he pulled out what was inside, “Blahaj!” 

The plush hung limply from Shawn’s hold, who had his arms wrapped around its middle. The dorsal fin was squished against his chest as he held it up proudly to Gus.

Gus was unimpressed with the toy, and he made sure his facial expression showed as such. “Shawn, what have I said about buying useless stuff with our money? Money we’re supposed to be using to pay Psych bills?”

“Oh pish-posh, Gus. He’s not useless! He encapsulates who we are, who Psych is!”

“Really? And what’s that?”

“Well obviously, it’s…” Shawn went quiet trying to think of a good answer, pursing his lips in thought. “I’ll get back to you on that.”

“I’m sure you won’t,” Gus quickly countered.

“But that’s not the point, far from it. The point is that we can keep him here in the Psych office! Look, I can set him right…” Shawn took a few steps to the lockers, “right…” backtracked after a moment, “over…” went towards the large bay window before changing his mind again, “here…?” then finally making his way to the couch, “here!” He sat down on the couch with a huff, Blahaj still held tight in his clutches. 

Gus remained unimpressed. “Shawn, you are not keeping that thing here.”

“Why not?” Shawn whined, standing and leaving behind the Blahaj on the couch. “He’s just as safe here as we are!”

The Blahaj tilted slightly from where it had been sat by Shawn — sitting upright against the back of the sofa — and softly settled on its side. Shawn put it back in its original position, making sure it stayed put this time, going so far as to point a finger at it the moment it started tilting sideways again. Somehow this method worked, the stuffy remaining sitting up while slightly crooked. 

Gus donned the look of a parent tired of dealing with an obstinate child. “You never lock the door behind you! What if someone breaks in and steals it?”

Shawn tore his eyes away from the Blahaj — eyes that were making sure the toy stayed put — and delicately put a hand to his heart in a touching gesture. “Aww, Gus! You care about his safety?”

“No! I just know if it goes missing, you’ll be insufferable for the next three to five business days!” A fair statement from Gus, considering certain events that had transpired recently — of which Shawn and Gus promised to each other to only refer to as ‘The Pasadena incident’ and never ever speak of again, even when threatened with death. 

“You mean ‘inconsolable’.” Shawn corrected him.

“No. I meant ‘insufferable’.” Gus stood his ground.

“That’s mean, Gus.”

“No, what’s mean is you buying that thing without consulting me. How much did it cost, anyway?”

“Not a single dollar.” Shawn stated proudly. “It was a gift to me from… someone who doesn’t know I have it…” his voice trailed off with every word he spoke until he was mumbling. 

Gus’ eyebrows shot up. It didn’t take a genius to figure out how Shawn got the Blahaj. “You stole it?! From who?!” He was able to answer his own question when a memory from a few days ago surfaced. “You took it from that dead lady!” He stood up from behind his desk and began pacing anxiously around the office.

Just three days ago, Shawn and Gus had walked in on a particularly gruesome murder: one Mary Contrary (Shawn had thought the name was amusing, Gus had not), death by a very lengthy stab wound reaching from the chest area to the stomach. Gus had to immediately excuse himself, and even Shawn had felt a bit of bile rise at the sight — of course, he’d choked it down like a champ and profiled the imminent area for clues. 

It had been a fairly cut-and-dry case; all signs pointed to the ex-boyfriend — and not the suspiciously easy ‘this is obviously someone being framed’ types of signs either, real signs that Shawn could be 400% sure of. Of course, as per usual, no one believed his ‘vision’ and arrested the innocent, extremely scared and confused roommate who was only in the wrong place at the wrong time. She was kept in holding for a solid 24 hours until more unmistakable evidence had shown up the next day that continued to point towards the real murderer. The SBPD was able to find and arrest the guy within 36 hours of finding the body (after releasing and formally apologizing to the roommate).

But that wasn’t important. Not really. Shawn had other things to do. Like convincing his friend to let him keep the Blahaj. “Oh come on, Gus. It wasn’t like she was going to need it anymore, or want it. It’d be kind of hard to do that when you’re dead—”

Gus didn’t budge. “That’s not the point! It was right next to her body at the crime scene! There was blood all over it!”

“First of all: that’s an exaggeration. It was just a tiny spray,” Shawn held up his pointer and thumb and pinched them together in emphasis, “over his dorsal fin and a splotch on the head! He wasn’t soaked in blood.” (Unlike the poor stuffed bear that had been flush next to the body and was quite literally drenched in the stuff.)

Gus made a disgusted noise from the back of his throat and covered his mouth with a tight fist. He tried clearing his throat, and then resorting to the Lamaze breathing technique in an attempt to calm himself.

Shawn had the audacity to look concerned. “Woah, hey buddy. You’re looking a little pale, you might want to sit down—”

Gus cut him off. “I’m fine, Shawn.”

With that confirmation from his best friend, Shawn continued. “Second of all: I had him cleaned by a professional. There’s not a single drop of blood on him or even in him. You could barely tell it was there in the first place!”

Gus stopped his pacing next to the couch where the Blahaj sat. “Oh really? Who? Who did you get to clean a bloodstained Blahaj?” He picked up said toy and began gingerly inspecting it, checking for any sign of impurities. There were none to be found. True to Shawn’s word, whoever cleaned it had done a very thorough job. They’d even somehow managed to make the fabric softer than it would be when on the shelves (not that Gus would know anything about that, it wasn’t like he visited the Ikea aisle housing Blahajs just to touch them because they felt nice, or anything). 

“Woody, obviously.” Shawn said bluntly. 

Gus threw the Blahaj away as if it had suddenly caught fire. “You had the coroner clean this thing?!” It landed on the armrest of the chair with a soft floomf and then tilted over the edge onto the floor, landing on its back.

“You know anyone else named Woody?” Shawn made his way over to the Blahaj and picked it up once more. “And be careful with him, he’s very sensitive!”

“Yeah, and so am I! Sensitive to you getting Woody of all people to clean your toy that isn’t even yours in the first place!”

“Why are you so hung up on the fact that I got our good pal Woody to clean it? He’s had to have done… something like this at least a thousand times, what with him being a furry and all.” It made sense to Shawn: big furry/soft fabric that won’t fit in a washing machine needs to be washed somehow. Bathtub, maybe? Shawn didn’t really feel like questioning Woody’s methods at the moment, only satisfied that he’d gotten the job done spectacularly. 

“That doesn’t help as much as you think it does.” Gus resumed his pacing. “You do realize we have to give that thing back to that poor dead woman’s family, right?”

Shawn gasped over-dramatically and clutched the Blahaj closer to his chest. “Gus, don’t be a broken tv—”

“You mean the one that you broke?”

“Semantics.” 

“That’s not what that means.” 

“Says you.”

“Me and the English dictionary!”

“Oh come on Gus, that thing’s gotta be real dated by now.” 

“It’s as reliable as it was when it was published.”

“But isn’t the English language constantly evolving and changing?”

“You can’t change the definition of a word, especially if that word is ‘semantics’. You can only add multiple meanings.”

“Isn’t that exactly what I’m doing?”

“That’s different! Nobody except you uses the word ‘semantics’ in that context, ergo, it’s not a widely accepted definition.”

“Gus, I can’t with you right now.” 

“That makes two of us.”

Shawn decided to steer the conversation back to the original topic. “Anyways, we can’t give him back, not right now at least.”

Gus put his hands on his hips. “And why not?” 

“Because I got him from evidence, obviously.” Shawn said it so nonchalantly, as if he were describing the weather and not admitting to committing a third-degree felony: stealing/tampering with evidence acquired from a crime scene. 

If possible, Gus’ heart rate spiked higher than it already was. “You WHAT?!” 

Shawn gave no indication to show he noticed his best friend’s heightened anxiousness. “So we’d have to wait for a better opening if we’re even going to hope to try and sneak him back into the station.”

“What’s with the ‘we’? As far as I’m concerned, I’m putting myself as far away from being associated with you on this as I can, especially now that I know you stole this from the SBPD.” Gus put extra enunciation on each letter of the acronym.

“I’m using the royal ‘we’.”

“Since when?” 

“Since now. Besides, I already named him!”

“You named it?”

“Yes, I did. Say hello to Martin Brody.” Shawn pinched the plush’s right fin and waved it at Gus. In a timbre that sounded nothing like the famous main character, he said, “‘Sup, Gus. It’s me, Martin.”

That got Gus to straighten up a bit, in the way he usually did when he was slowly warming up to one of Shawn’s (usually hare-brained) ideas. “Like Roy Scheider’s character in ‘Jaws’?”

Shawn, still holding on to the shark fin, pointed at Gus. “You know that’s right.” 

“Hey, that’s my line!”

For the second time in the last ten minutes, the two were interrupted, this time by the buzz of Shawn’s phone. It reverberated obnoxiously against the wood, the vibrations moving it ever so slightly closer to the edge. One look at the caller ID told them it wasn’t going to be anything good for them. 

Shawn and Gus looked at the phone, then at each other, back to the phone, and back to each other. 

Gus broke the momentary silence first. “You pick it up.”

“Why do I have to?!” Shawn’s voice raised up a pitch. 

“Because you know damn well why Lassie’s calling us! And it’s not because he feels like looping us in on a new case.”

“How do you know that for sure? Maybe he’s had a sudden change of heart.”

“Name one time we got a call from him that didn’t completely entail him yelling at us for something stupid you did.” Gus saw Shawn starting to genuinely think about his rhetorical question, and quickly added, “I’ll answer that: he hasn’t.”

Shawn broke from his momentary trance and tutted. “Come on, son.”

Gus tutted right back. “You come on, son!”

What ensued was what one might call a ‘tutting war’, both idiots making short tschs at the other in quick succession, each one more sharp than the last. In the midst of their fight, the annoying ringtone Shawn had assigned to Carlton (the beginning of Fire Your Guns by AC/DC) died, but was quick to start up again. 

As it continued to buzz away irritatingly, Shawn and Gus moved on from their tutting war to a different battle, one that was more likely to ensure a true victor: Roshambo. 

The phone buzzed another three times before a victor was announced.

Gus triumphantly pumped a fist exaggeratedly, while Shawn slumped in defeat as he stared at his scissor-fingers that had lost against Gus’ rock.

Reluctantly, Shawn picked up the phone, delicately pressing the call button as though it would explode. “Yyyello?”

“—is the last time, if he doesn’t answer—” Lassiter’s voice on the other end barely came through the receiver, as though he’d had his head turned away as he spoke to whomever was nearby (probably Juliet, from the way he was speaking) but stopped mid-sentence when Shawn answered. “Spencer, you have exactly thirty seconds to explain why the hell you thought it would be a good idea to steal from evidence.” He practically growled into the receiver. 

Shawn mimed faux ignorance, despite the fact he was on a phone call, and could be seen by no one except Gus and a random person walking outside their office who — Shawn saw this happen from the corner of his eye — happened to glance in through the Psych window. “Lassie, I have no idea what you’re talking about, and frankly I’m offended—”

“Cut the crap, I am not in the mood for games right now.” Lassiter cut Shawn’s scripted spiel that had already been used on Gus. “I’ve got three very angry women over here demanding to know why I can’t give them back their sister’s toy.”

Shawn’s face pinched. “Oh Lassie, don’t— don’t say it like that, it makes it seem so dirty.” 

Juliet’s voice piped up from the background. “Shawn, please. You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”

Shawn perked up when he realized the junior detective was also on the other side of the phone. “Hi Jules! Can you do me a favor and tell Lassie to stop being a meanie-meanie-bo-beanie and let us keep Martin Brody?”

“Martin Brody?” The confusion in her voice was clearly evident, even through the awful quality their phone produced. “Like Roy Scheider’s character in Jaws?”

“Exactly! See, you get it.”

“No, just the opposite, actually. Why not name it Alex Kintner?”

Shawn seemed genuinely affronted by her suggestion. “Because if he’s Alex Kintner then that’d make me Martin Brody, and Gus would be stuck being Ellen Brody.”

Gus shrugged at the idea. “I’m not mad about that.”

Right when the conversation was about to take a whole new, more fun and interesting turn, Carlton stopped it with metaphorical road blocks, switching from the fun side road back to the boring main one. “Why are you indulging him?” 

Juliet’s affronted tone was easily heard through the receiver. “I’m not, I’m just curious. Look, Shawn. We need that Blahaj back—”

“O’Hara, I can handle them.”

The resulting silence was almost deafening, and the boys knew it meant Juliet was giving Lassiter her best ‘I know you did not just say that to me’ face. 

Carlton fumbled as he searched for the more correct words to say to his fellow detective. “I mean… you handle the victim’s sisters. I will take care of these two numbnuts.”

A pause. Then, “Better. Shawn, Gus, no fooling around anymore. This is serious.” 

Shawn (unnecessarily) saluted. “Can do, Jules. Serious Shawn reporting and ready for orders.”

Shawn and Gus didn’t need to hear the clack of Juliet’s heels as she walked away to know that she had left. Carlton’s tone said it all.

“Spencer.” 

“Lassie-doodle.” Shawn replied in a sing-song tone. 

A growl from the other end. “I am not in the mood for one of your asinine nicknames.”

“Lassie, come on, let’s not bring up the Prawn.” 

If whiplash could be translated through sound waves, Shawn would’ve been getting an earful of it. “The what?”

Gus, who was also just as confused as Lassiter, slowly realized exactly what Shawn was referencing. “Oh, my god. That wasn’t even sorta close.” 

Now Shawn was the confused one. “Really? I thought that was right on the money.” 

“No, he said ‘asinine’, not ‘District Nine’!”

(In all fairness to Shawn, it was an easy mistake to make. His mind was still on the movies they’d watched last night — consisting of Jaws and Freaked as well as District Nine and Watcher of the Woods — before their marathon was cut short by… well, you know why.)

“Well, what does asinine mean?” 

“It’s used to describe something as incredibly childish or foolish, like the nickname you gave Lassiter.” Gus, ever the human dictionary/thesaurus/encyclopedia, informed Shawn. 

“Really? I thought it was juvenile at best.” 

“Juvenile is a synonym for asinine.” 

“What do synonym rolls have to do with Lassie’s nicknames?” 

“Syn— you mean cinnamon rolls?!”

“Isn't that the bunny from the Sanrio-verse?”

“His name is Cinnamoroll, not cinnamon roll!”

“I’m 74 percent sure I’ve heard that both ways.”

The two were, once again again again, cut short. “Would you for once in your life shut up and let me speak?!” 

Shawn — who’d lost interest in the angry head detective to titter with Gus — turned his attention back to the phone. “I’m sorry Lassie, I just enjoy the sound of my own voice too much. It’s like a chorus of angels ringing bells. Which doesn’t make sense, since bells are generally known for being loud and abrasive.” 

“So, it is you.” Gus concluded.

Shawn tilted his head, offended. “Gus, don’t—”

Gus didn’t let him get more than those two words out before saying, “Nuh uh, Shawny-boy, you already used your ‘Gus, don’t be’ for the day.”

Shawn realized this was in fact true, and smacked his lips disappointedly. “Maaaaan.”

Lassiter continued as if neither Shawn nor Gus had even said anything. “If I had it my way, you two would be sitting in a holding cell waiting for a 10-year jail sentence to fall on you—”

“Not to be rude—” Shawn interrupted, rudely. 

“Since when are you not?” Gus interrupted Shawn’s interruption. 

Shawn candidly ignored the comeback fired at him from his best friend. “— why don’t you have it your way?”

“Because,” Carlton groaned for a solid two seconds before taking a deep breath and continuing, “O’hara felt you two needed ‘another chance’, and convinced the Chief as well. I tried to change her mind, that doing this was a monumental mistake—”

Yet another interruption from the fake psychic. “Let me guess: she told you to kick rocks?”

Gus unhelpfully began adding on to Shawn’s guesses. “To go take a hike?” 

“Pound sand?” 

Had they been there in person, Shawn and Gus would have seen a magnificent display of Carlton’s insulted expression. “What? No! No, because unlike you, Chief Vick is professional and doesn’t resort to juvenile turns of phrase in order to tell someone that they’re suggestion is ‘appreciated yet won’t be taken in for consideration’.” The last line sounded repeated, as though he’d already heard it and was parroting.  

“So, you’re saying you’re wrong.” 

“Do not put words in my mouth, Spencer.” 

“Alright, Lassie. But only because it’s a gross, disgusting, and frankly unsanitary practice.”

Gus lightly smacked Shawn on the shoulder. “Dude, you need to stop.” 

“Hey!” Shawn flinched away from the attack. “And what do you mean, ‘stop’? I’m only getting started. I’m on a roll here! A Cinnamo-roll, if you will.”

“I will not.”

“Really, Gus? You’re ending the Roll? Just like that? Have you no heart?”

“I don’t care!”

“Fine, but just know that you killed the poor little bunny and not me.”

“What?”

“Right. Where were we?” 

Shawn’s question was answered quickly by Lassiter. “The chief is giving you a second chance for some reason, yada yada— But! If you don’t get here in the next two hours — which has now become one hour and… 53 minutes — I have been given full permission to personally book the both of you for stealing from the police and tampering with evidence. Please give me a reason, Spencer, I swear I will. With great enthusiasm.”

There was a short click before the line went dead, filling the office in a terse silence.

Shawn was quick to fix that. “Wow. Lassie’s definitely in a good mood, we got a whole two hours, normally we’d be lucky to get one.”

Gus gawked in disbelief. “We’re lucky Juliet somehow convinced him to even call us in the first place! You know, had we been some random dudes that weren’t in any way affiliated with the police, we’d be having this conversation in orange jumpsuits right now.”

“Well, I guess we just have pretty-privilege.” Shawn flashed a smile when he said that, being sure to show off what he deemed to be his ‘chick magnet’.

Gus didn’t address what Shawn said. “And also, I know for a fact Lassiter didn’t just mention he’d have me arrested for something you did.” 

“You’re right, Gus. He said he’d have us both arrested, which means we could potentially share the same cell depending on how good our behavior is—”

“Nope. Nope. Nope. You are returning Martin Brody, whether you like it or not. Because, again, I am not getting arrested for your dumb decisions. Period.”

Shawn looked sullenly at Gus. “…Can I drive?”

“No.”

—————

Notes: Imagine taking five months just to write a 4K word oneshot, couldn’t be me

Where the fuck is the writing energy I had back in October where is she bbg come back I need you I’ll treat you right this time I swear

a03 link

[walkingtalkingsomething]

Summary: In a world where the living have long since surpassed the dead in threat level, Tess Foster had made it one of her top priorities to keep her distance unless absolutely necessary. However, after a bad encounter leaves her barely standing, she may have no choice but to accept the forced company that is suddenly thrust upon her. A Daryl Dixon x Original Female Character sloooooooooooooow burn story that I would call largely platonic. A 'They have a Thing™️ but just don't know it' kind of deal

Chapter 23: On a Wing and… Applesauce

Chapter Warnings: Rick Grimes' Paranoia, Auditory Hallucinations, Brief Mild Language

Word Count: 4,906

Aaron came to several minutes later and was immediately pounced on by Rick once again. Questions about the flare gun, who was it to signal, how many of them were out there. Aaron continued to do himself no favors by saying it wouldn't matter how many people he said were out there since he wasn't going to trust his word anyways. When Rick wouldn't budge on the guilty verdict he'd already assigned to the man, Aaron proposed driving them all there, to show them in person and prove what he was saying was true. It was then that Michonne put her foot down, going head to head with Rick and telling him he could be as certain as he wanted about this being a set up but she wasn't, and she wasn't giving up on the chance of something good until she was. Maggie was quick to back her up, Glenn immediately volunteering to go out with them to search. And though Tess didn't much feel like her opinion was warranted or wanted, she silently nodded along from where she stood, earning her own appraising look from Daryl that she missed.

Knowing full well he had officially been overruled, Rick enlisted Abraham and Rosita to join the group as well and told the remaining members to team up in groups of two to check the surrounding area and look for signs of people, traps, anything. Tess had assumed she was part of that group, checking she had her weapons on her and going to tell Luke that she'd be back soon and to sit tight, but Rick cut her off and informed her there was no need.

"You're stayin' here, with me." 

She was just barely able to bite her tongue, not appreciating being benched, again, by this man she had chosen to follow. For his teen son at that. She understood his skepticism over the whole thing, knew it couldn't be easy to shoulder the weight of keeping everyone safe, trying to trust people when you've been so brutally burned so many times. And that didn't even include the things they had gone through before she met them. But the fact that he was being so blatant in his newfound distrust in her, like he had to keep an eye on her really pissed her off. She had thought, just maybe, that by now she had proven herself to him, to all of them.

After getting a hold of her anger, she made her way over to Luke, taking a seat by him on the hay bale he was sitting on and wrapping an arm around him, pulling him a little closer to her side and selfishly using him as a way to ground herself a bit more. He snuggled into her side, still obviously drained from the last few days. Weeks. Whatever it had been. They watched silently as Rick did another round of shifting through Aaron's belongings, all the while Aaron refusing to give up on the hardened man pacing around in front of him. Luke watched on with rapt attention, at one point turning and tugging on Tess' shirt to get hers. She looked down with slightly raised brows, letting him know she was listening.

He pointed at Rick. Mad?

Tess sighed, her eyes following Rick as he began crushing up acorns in a bowl for a fussy Judith.

She shook her head a little as she leaned down so she could murmur in his ear. "Yeah buddy, but only because he's /worried./ He just wants to keep everyone /safe./ "

Luke looked back to Rick, then a long look to Aaron before returning his gaze to Tess once more and pointing at Aaron.

Bad?

Tess looked to the tied up man, still begging with Rick, and shook her head lightly. 

"No, I don't think so."

It was then that Judith's fussing turned into a full on crying session, the noise making an already on edge Aaron start to panic about her cries bringing the dead their way, knowing Rick would leave him there to die with no remorse. He tried offering the applesauce to feed to her, perking up Tess' ears as she remembered she could be feeding some of that to Luke as well. She was about to get up to grab one of the jars to split between the kids when Rick beat her to it, taking the jar and bringing it to Aaron and demanding he eat it first to prove it hadn't been tampered with, an insinuation that made Aaron noticeably horrified.

"You think I'm trying to poison your baby daughter? I'm tied up and you've already expressed a willingness to stab me in the head, how would cruelly killing your daughter in front of you in any way help the situation?"

Rick shook his head adamantly, trying to latch onto any reasoning he could conjure up about how this was simply a trick. "Maybe she doesn't die. Maybe she gets sick and you're the only one who can help her and I just lose."

Tess couldn't help but close her eyes in empathetic frustration. She knew she was, naturally, being a bit of a hypocrite, considering the things she passed up on doing before based on that simple 'what if?' floating around her head, but she wished there was a way to reach Rick and get him to understand that, for once at least, this was not a fight he needed to be geared up for.

"I am the only one that can help her because I have applesauce and we all win."

Rick stared him down for a few tense moments before shoving a spoonful of applesauce in his face, a silent demand that he take the first bite as proof of his honesty. A move that had Aaron palling even more.

"I hate applesauce," he blanched more when Rick responded by simply shoving the spoon closer to his mouth, that almost wild look Tess had seen glimpses of entering his eyes and she couldn't help but rise to her feet. "My mom used to make me eat foods I didn't like to make me more manly. Salmon patties, applesauce, onions...she was a very confused woman who tried her damndest. I just bring the jar to show that we have apple trees nearby!"

Rick just leveled him with a cold look followed by a clear threat. "Like you said, you'll be the first to go."

Tess had enough and, though she would never dare try to compare herself to the badass warrior, decided to take a page out of Michonne's book and just put her foot down. Repercussions be damned. She marched over to the two men, taking advantage of their distraction and swiping the spoon out of Rick's hand, earning a disgruntled warning of 'don't' and shoved it into her own mouth before he could protest anymore.

She made a face, never being much of an applesauce fan herself, and handed the spoon back to Rick, doing her best to not quake under his heavy stare. 

"It's just applesauce." she said lowly, earning a disapproving look before she saw the cave in, him reaching to test his own bite and finally deciding it was safe. He jumped up and rushed back to the table where the jar was sitting and began feeding Judith, giving her the spoon with a gob of the mixture on it for her to nibble on. He then grabbed the second jar, holding it out for Tess and nodding towards Luke as explanation. Tess took it with what she hoped came across as a thankful look, walking back over to Luke and opening the jar for him, handing him the extra spoon she swiped off the table and watched as he gingerly dug in. She hated the fact that he was so used to going hungry that he automatically knew he had to go slow without her telling him so.

As the kids ate Aaron spoke up again. "The community is big enough. We can find you a place to live that even when she cries," he looked to Tess and Luke then. "If he wants to run around screaming with the other kids," he brought his focus back to Rick. "No one, nothing can hear it outside the walls."

Rick continued his now slower pacing, gazing upon Judith in his arms enjoying her applesauce, to Tess and then back to Aaron with an almost blank expression.

"You got forty three minutes."

Fortunately for Aaron, he didn't need the full forty three minutes. About twenty minutes after the applesauce fiasco the group patrolling the surrounding area returned, all with nothing to report. And it wasn't too much longer after that that the others returned with not only no news of ambushes or other fishy findings, but a whole stockpile of food and supplies as well. One would have thought that that would be it, this was the proof needed for Rick to see this was real and this was the something they had all been searching for. But he surprised everyone when he upheld the cold demeanor and informed Aaron that this stuff was now theirs, whether they decided to go with him or not.

"What do you mean? Why wouldn't we go?" Carl asked, genuinely confused.

"If he were lying or he wanted to hurt us," Michonne interjected softly, again working to get through to the man before her. "But he isn't, and he doesn't," She then squared her shoulders, shifting back into no nonsense mode and glancing around to everyone as she spoke, making sure she was being heard clearly. "We need this. So we're going. All of us. Somebody say something if they feel differently." she ended with a challenge.

There was a moment of everyone looking at everyone else, the silence finally being broken by Daryl's grunt from where he sat on the floor.

"I don' know man, this barn smells like horse shit."

Rick gave him a long look, one of their silent conversations taking place before Rick looked around at the rest of the faces of their group.

With a lowered head and sigh of resignation, he looked back to his followers with a nod.

"Yeah. We're goin'."

Tess felt a bump on her leg and looked down to see Luke giving her an excited smile that she did her best to return. She wouldn't deny she wanted to check this place out, give it a shot, but she also wanted to manage expectations should things not work out.

There was one more slight stand off when the topic of this place's location came about. Rick refusing to leave and arrive in the middle of the day without knowing just where he was going and taking his family to, and Aaron refusing to give up more than which road to start on. When it was clear they were locked in a stalemate Rick made it final. They would leave in the evening, which wasn't the most appealing idea to a lot of them, Tess included, but it was settled and everyone was told to get something to eat and to try and rest some if they could.

Despite there being plenty with the stockpile taken from Aaron's RV, Tess was going to wait until everyone else had gotten their choices first. Seeing as Luke had already had the applesauce she felt a little greedy jumping up to get more. After a few minutes though Daryl walked by, handing Luke an open can of Spaghetti-O's and her a small box of cereal, along with a bag of jerky and pack of crackers for the two to share. Naturally she was surprised and he was gone before she could say thank you, but when he sat down in the corner with his own can of beans, he glanced up and caught her eye so she brought a hand up.

Thank you

He gave a minute nod and went back to his meal. She tried to do the same but the first bite of jerky she went to nibble on she felt that familiar chill run up her neck before the barely there whisper started in. Had she been fully with it she would have known to be expecting it after her heated interaction with Rick, but she hadn't been and she wasn't so the surprise had her dropping the bag of jerky in her hands. Luke looked, giving her a mild look as she shrugged with a muttered 'opps' while she bent down to pick it up.

Rick might have warned them it would be a long night, but it seemed it would be a long day for Tess as well.

She spent most of the day tucked in the small room in the barn. She hadn't had any desire to step foot in there after the discovery of a starved walker when they first swept the place yesterday, but Luke had gone snooping around and found a five hundred piece puzzle he had gotten very excited about. She wasn't quite sure why, it was nothing special, just a landscape photo of some beach, but he had been absolutely bubbling with excitement over it so she happily joined him. Some of the others joined them throughout the day, namely Noah and Tara. Noah spent a good bit of time chatting with Luke, going on about one particular Halloween where a late start due to his mom working overtime led to a late night trick or treating run where most of the houses they went to just dumped their remaining candy in their bags, resulting in a literal candy mountain when they came home. Tara mostly just teased him in her Tara like way about her being faster at finding the right pieces than him, leading to a mini face off. They even took little breaks in between to practice sign language with him. Carl also stopped by for a few minutes but quickly lost interest in the mundane activity. The boy reminded her so much of those young soldiers you'd see who were always itching for battle. She spent quite a bit of time lamenting in her head the fact that he was forced to grow into such a personality.

By the time nightfall came around and Rick gave the order for everyone to pack up their things, minimal as they were, they had just finished up, Luke eagerly bringing everyone one by one to see and Tess watching on warmly as even the most stoic of their group came to humor the boy. Even Rick gave him a small congratulatory pat on the shoulder before resuming leader mode. But of course he was most interested in Daryl's opinion, to which he got a grunt and a high five that left him beaming.

They were informed they'd be leaving in two groups; Rick, Michonne and Glenn would take Aaron in his car, leading the RV where the rest of them would be. Tess sat herself and Luke down on the bench by the back room, Luke knocking out almost immediately after refusing to nap at all during the day and leave his puzzle. Tess, who also hadn't slept a wink, felt how heavy her own eyes were and how bleary her sight was after spending the day staring at small puzzle pieces. By the time the RV got moving she could no longer keep them open and felt herself slipping into unconsciousness. She was just about out when a sudden shrill cry had her jumping back to alertness. She glanced to her right into the room where Carl was pacing around with Judith. She watched him struggle for a few minutes before she carefully rose up and gently laid Luke down fully before walking into the room.

"She givin' you trouble?"

Carl spared her a glance before going back to bouncing Judith. "I don't know what she wants. She's eaten, her diaper has been changed, she doesn't want to go down for a nap..."

Tess walked over to the slightly frazzled boy, putting a light hand on his back and gently running a hand over Judith's head, letting out a small hum as she did so.

"It's probably got more to do with us than her."

"What do you mean?" Carl asked quizzically.

"Everyone's stressed out, uptight, nervous about what we might be walkin' into. She can pick up on that and it's makin' her anxious about the weird energy floatin' around," she held her arms somewhat hesitantly, her incident with Rick still lingering in her mind - as well as that damn chill and unwanted whispers. "Can I?"

Without a second thought Carl carefully transferred his squirming sister to Tess' waiting arms. She let out another sharp cry at the motion but went back to whimpers and snivels as Tess began bouncing her lightly.

"Is that it, hmm little Miss? All of us silly adults gettin' on your nerves?"

They were met with disgruntled garbles.

Carl let out a massive sigh and Tess could see how worn out the boy was and how trying to calm Judith was draining him.

"Hey, I can watch her for a bit if you want? You should get somethin' to eat," she leaned in some and lowered her voice. "You didn't hear it from me, but I have it on good authority that Eugene is a crap blackjack player, and they're currently playin' for some pretty high ticket snack items out there."

Carl gave a small smile at her attempt at light-heartedness, but then his face went serious again.

"No, I, I can't ask you to do that."

Tess couldn't help but smile some. "You're not askin', I'm offerin'," When he still looked unsure, she tried a different tactic. "Besides, it's more of a trade. I can handle her for a bit and you can keep an eye on Luke for me. What do you say? Deal?"

He debated for a moment before finally giving in, unable to hide the relief on his face. Not that Tess would dare point that out. He went to leave but turned to Tess.

"Thanks, Tess."

She gave him a small smile, "Don't mention it."

Her full focus went back to Judith who looked to be on the verge of a full meltdown watching her brother walk away.

"Shh, shh, shh, it's ok, he's not goin' anywhere. I know, everything just feels funky, don't it?" Judith started to calm down at the question, face still scrunched up with crocodile tears and lightly punched against Tess' chest with a balled up little fist to showcase her agreeance. "It's sucky, believe me girl, I know," she softly rubbed the child's back as Judith tucked her head under Tess' chin. "But if you can just put up with us for a little while longer, I think things are gonna get better for us. Think you can hold on just a little bit longer?"

The whimpers and angry garbles died down, replaced by minor coos and small hiccups every so often. Tess began lightly humming Baby Mine, not particularly sure why seeing as the movie Dumbo - where she first heard the tune - messed her up so much as a kid. But Judith seemed to enjoy it so she continued. She was interrupted by the RV's sudden sharp swerve.

She gasped as she lost her balance, arms tightening around Judith and holding her head protectively against her chest as she started stumbling before she was able to shift her weight just enough to have her falling on the edge of the bed rather than the floor. The RV swayed a few more times before straightening back out again, Tess releasing the breath she'd been holding and little Jude releasing a new string of cries.

"Yeah, I agree." she mumbled as she stood them back up and swiftly made her way out of the room. Carl met her at the door after having helped Luke to sit up, eyes immediately accessing Judith before holding his hands out for her. Tess gently transferred her back over to her brother while inquiring what happened.

"A herd, they were able to clear a path up ahead but we lost sight of where they went." he explained nervously while he adjusted his sister to rest on his hip.

Tess leaned down and brought a hand up to the side of Luke's face. "Ok?" He answered with a nod as he wiped the remaining sleep from his eyes.

They drove along for several minutes, trying to figure out where they were aiming to go when a flare going up was spotted. Hoping that perhaps it was from their missing group members they followed it to the outskirts of a small town. The water tower was their only point of reference so they headed that way, turning down an alleyway that led to an old warehouse. They quickly took notice of a small cluster of walkers congregating around an old junk car and it didn't take long to figure they were after someone. Daryl, Abraham, Rosita and Sasha jumped out and dispatched of the dead efficiently before locating the injured and frightened man trapped underneath. They were able to get his leg unpinned, and after he introduced himself as Eric - Aaron's partner and the one who had shot the flare - got him settled inside where Maggie checked him over and deduced it was a broken ankle, enlisting Tess' help to get it splintered and wrapped. While they worked with him the others started checking around the place, making sure it was clear and safe. When the building and the perimeter were secure, Daryl took post outside, hoping to catch wind of their still missing people.

Roughly an hour went by before they showed up. The whistled tune that Daryl would cast out every few minutes was finally answered and Daryl gave three knocks on the window to inform everyone. Tess and Maggie, who were still sat with Eric, were alerted to their arrival by Aaron shouting for him. Maggie jumped to her feet, eager to set eyes on Glenn while Eric called out for Aaron, letting him know where he was. They gathered and reunited as a full group once more just as the two men did. When Aaron came back out, clearly overcome with emotion and gratitude, he thanked them all for saving Eric by insisting he would do whatever he could to repay the un-repayable debt when they got home, announcing the location of Alexandria as a show of faith and trust.

And, after a long and trying day, Aaron finally put his foot down when Rick tried to insist he and Eric stay separated for the night, just to be cautious. It seemed everyone thought things might come to blows when Glenn stepped in and, after a hushed conversation, was able to convince Rick to ease up. A watch schedule was set up, Abraham volunteering for first watch while everyone else started picking their designated sleeping spots for the night. If all the fuss and excitement of the day had been good for anything, it was that Tess was able to get Luke set up and asleep within minutes of laying him down. The very first really bad spell they had ever gone through together had the boy so worn out he slept any second they weren't actively moving and it had stressed her out to no end, freaked out over how much he was sleeping and how hard it was to wake him up. Now she was just relieved he could take advantage of every spare second to cram some rest in. 

She wished she could have done the same.

She was going on forty eight hours of no sleep and she wanted nothing more than to close her eyes and relieve them of the burn that wouldn't let up, but every time she tried she'd be interrupted, and no amount of knowing that the culprit wasn't real helped. A few hours into the night she gave up and took over for a groggy Tara when she went to relieve Sasha on watch duty. She perched herself up on a transformer box on the side of the building, got comfortable and tried to focus on the faint noises of the night as opposed to the intrusive ones in her head.

She was set to be out there for two hours before having Glenn take over, but when the time rolled around she let him be, refusing to cost him any sleep when she'd just be staring at the ceiling anyways. She was in the middle of trying to recall what movie the nearby water tower reminded her so much of when she heard the squeak of the warehouse door opening and closing, followed by light footsteps that preceded Daryl turning the corner. He walked by her, giving a disapproving look before continuing on, going down the entire length of the alley before making his way back. 

"Ya were 'spose ta wake someone to switch off." he said as he leaned against the wall near where she was sitting.

She tried to mask the guilty tone she felt her voice now carried under his stare. "I know, but I'm not gonna be sleepin' anyways and I was good to stay out here."

Daryl spared her a long look out of the corner of his eye, wondering if she was aware just how full of shit she was or if it was just that ingrained in her, that much of an automated response to be 'fine'. She had been closed off since her little row with Rick that morning, and he definitely didn't miss how off she'd been since they had settled in at this warehouse. More fidgety than normal, would suddenly glance off to the side as if answering someone who called her before quickly readjusting her focus when she'd catch herself...he wasn't judging, but her head certainly wasn't as cleared up as she tried to play off in the barn.

He thought of trying to send her in again, give some bullshit reasoning involving Luke as persuasion, but before he could get a word out it happened again. He clocked that barely there flinch, the embarrassment that crept onto her features as she realized she had an audience, the frustration as she tried to play it off. He let her have a few minutes before speaking up.

"Ya know," he began softly, gentle in a way that still amazed her to hear come out of him. "Tha' ain't ever gonna stop if ya don' get some actual sleep."

She felt her cheeks heat up in a way she was sure he could spot even in the dark, expelling a huff of air. "I know," she brought her legs up and folded them under her, running her hands up and down her thighs to stave off the nervous energy. "Except, I can't sleep because I keep hearing it," she let the silence between them stretch on a moment before adding, "Woman always was persistent."

He said nothing but gave a small nod, allowing that to be the end of it if she didn't want to discuss it further. But the more the minutes passed the more she felt that uncomfortable itch set in and the need to fill the silence.

"And besides, you're one to talk, you know? Do you ever actually sleep at all? Anything much more than a quick power nap?"

She was going for casual teasing but was promptly put in her place by his response.

"I ain't the one seein' ghosts."

She turned his way and was met with a pointed look, but one filled with understanding nonetheless. She waited for the defensive prickle to rise within her but it never came. He wasn't badgering or accusing, he was just stating a fact that she couldn't deny. That was fair. She could allow that. But then a thought occurred to her - 

Speaking of ghosts...

"You never finished your story."

"Wha' story?"

"Said you got hurt when you guys were stayin' at Maggie's farm, somethin' 'bout your brother?"

She felt his unease more than she saw the discomfort on his face. Several moments went by and she began thinking she had overstepped started chastising herself in her head. Of course he didn't want to talk about it. If he had he would have brought it up again himself. She was just being nosey and pushy and -

"Jus' think," he paused, trying to gather the words he wanted. "Sometimes ya need ta hear it, whatever it is, an' it needs ta come from the person with the most impact, give ya the motivation to overcome whatever's goin' on jus' ta spite 'em."

"...A different kind of nightmare fuel, then?"

A snort. "Yeah, somethin' like tha'."

Daryl hopped up onto the box next to her, laying his bow across his lap as he brought out some jerky to pass between them. At some point Tess closed her eyes just to give them a rest, and when she next opened them the sun was peeking over the buildings and she found the sweetest form of hypocrisy awaiting her: Daryl, who had stayed up the remainder of the night on his own on watch duty just so she could get those few hours of sleep in without having to wake her.

unneeded trivia: the movie tess is trying to recall is what's eating gilbert grape

divider credit:@saradika-graphics

[headknight-oh]

The Second Library of Alexandria

Old Dogs

Summary: Finally getting around to writing the first chapter of this thing. Finally settled on the name Finn for the OC. Anyways, here's Finn and Daryl's first encounter.

Warnings: Merle being Merle. That's pretty much it. Enjoy!!

The new arrival hadn’t been around long, maybe two or three weeks. Glenn had found them in a cemetery of all places, or at least that’s what that kid Carl had been saying. They’d locked themself inside with those that had been dead for ages to escape the new dead that now roamed the world. It was poetic, or macabre, or stupid, likely all three, but it meant that they’d survived long enough to drive their beat-up car full of instant ramen and trail mix to join the forming group at the quarry. They’d carved out a space for themselves in the group dynamic, mending torn clothes and weaving nets to help with fishing. A week or so ago, they’d started watching the children while they worked, telling them stories, watching them play, giving them little lessons in math or history or whatever the kids had asked about that day. Apparently the parents had liked the idea of a doctoral student giving their kids a sense of normalcy by emulating school. Daryl suspected that the kids liked the idea of playing with the new arrival’s dog while they talked more than they liked the lessons.

Their dog looked like a mutt, a mix of husky and something smaller. She’d stayed close to her owner for the most part, occasionally playing fetch or tug-of-war with Carl or Sophia or curling up with her head in one of their laps. She was gray around the muzzle, perpetually panting in the humid heat, but still alert.

Or at least that’s how it all seemed. Daryl had yet to talk to the new arrival or meet their dog. Not that he particularly wanted to, but the idea of petting a dog was a pleasant one. It had been a while since any animal he touched was alive. 

This must have been why the feeling of a wet canine nose sniffing at the back of his hand startled him so much. He pulled his hand back, turning quickly. The dog backed up, head tilting, before dropping down on her front paws, tail wagging excitedly. She let out a low husky grumble, pawing at the air in front of him then backing up again into that downward pose.

He smiled a bit, huffing a laugh. “Wanna play, dog?”

The dog hopped forward, gently biting at his shoes. He dropped to his knees, playing with the dog. His fingers ran through her fuzzy coat, pinching at her one drooping ear gently and receiving an excited rumble from the dog. He became aware of the smile plastered on his face then. It felt strange on him. He cleared his throat, smile dropping, and shifted to gently petting the dog. She licked at his hand, rolling onto her back. He took the hint and began scratching the dog’s belly. Her foot thumped happily in the dirt.

A pleasant laugh cut through the happy grumbles from the dog. “Looks like you have a new best friend, huh little lady?”

Daryl turned his head toward the voice as the dog rolled over excitedly, bounding towards the voice. The dog’s owner bent down to greet their pet before straightening up and waving. “Hey. I’m Finn. And I see you’ve met Nova.” As if on cue, the dog, Nova, nosed at his knees, grumbling for more pets. Finn laughed again. It felt strange and out of place in the quarry. “You’re one of the Dixon guys right?”

He nodded, grunting. “Daryl,” he said as he took them in fully for the first time. They were shorter than he thought they’d be at a distance.

“Daryl,” they repeated. Their eyes scanned his face with a strange intensity. He had to look down at the dog to avoid their gaze. “I’ll try my best to remember that. I’m shit with faces though.”

They were quiet then for a moment. When he looked up again, they were still studying him, brows furrowed. He stood and brushed the dirt from his pants, internally squirming.

“The fuck you starin at?” He gestured in the air in front of him, turning his gaze away again. He could still feel their eyes burning a hole through his skull.

This seemed to shake them out of some deep thought. “Oh. You.” They shook whatever remaining fog of thought sat in their mind. “Sorry. Nova doesn’t usually like men. But she’s absolutely infatuated with you. Aren’t you, old lady?”

The dog barked happily a few times, coming over to lick their owner’s hand then bounding back over to Daryl and nosing at his hand again. Finn laughed again.

“She's actually how Glenn found us. She saw him outside the cemetery gates and got so excited. I’ve never seen her run up to a strange man like that before.” Nova, apparently dissatisfied with the amount of attention Daryl was giving her, jumped on her hind legs and rested her front paws on his stomach.

It was Daryl’s turn to laugh this time. He ruffled the dog's fur around her muzzle and leaned his face down to a barrage of wet dog kisses.

Finn smiled as they continued. “And now she’s all over you. I’m trying to figure out what it is about you that she trusts.”

Panting heavily, Nova fell back down on all fours before turning in a circle and laying at Daryl’s feet. The old dog was tuckered out.

Daryl shook his head. “Ain’t nothin special. Dog’s probably jus happy to see a living person is all.”

“I don’t think so,” Finn replied. “She really doesn’t like Sophia’s dad. And she hates that Shane guy. Dogs just have a good sense of character, I think.”

There was a pause again, a silence where Daryl felt the weight of their gaze rake over him. They probably didn’t even realize they were doing it, looking for more clues, more data, trying to figure him out. But either way, Daryl felt his stomach churn uncomfortably. He shifted from foot to foot, worrying at a hangnail. At his feet, the dog yawned loudly. It was getting late; the sun began to sink towards the horizon, painting the sky red and purple. He heard Finn take a few steps forward and turned his head to see them bending down to rouse the dog at his feet. Closer up, Daryl could see all the piercings littered across their face and ears, the tattoos on their arms and legs, the glasses that slipped down the bridge of their nose.

“Alrighty,” they exclaimed when their dog finally stood up to stretch. They pushed off their own knees, straightening up. Their eyes found his once more, studying again for a moment. They extended their hand. “It was nice to officially meet you, Daryl. If you need any clothes or shoes or bags fixed, I’m your guy. Might just ask that you entertain my dog while I sew, though.”

Daryl looked down at their hand then at their face, upturned towards him. Their eyes were studying him again. He looked away as he grabbed their hand and shook it. Their fingers were cold, even in the heat of summer.

“You should come eat dinner down by the fire with everyone tonight. I know you and your cousin? Brother? Husband? Whoever? I know y’all don’t usually eat with everyone, but Carl asked for a story. And I got like half of Beowulf off the dome. It’ll be fun.”

Daryl scoffed. “Yeah. Fun.” He vaguely remembered being assigned Beowulf beck in high school. Not that he read it, but the parts the teacher read in class were boring as hell.

“What? You prefer the Iliad? I got that one on tap too. Or Twelfth Night, if you're feelin nasty about it.” They laughed at their own joke. He stayed silent. “Alright. See you around, Daryl.” They took a few steps before whistling for their dog and turning to wave. “If you got any fireside theatre requests, let me know. I’ll make your dreams come true, baby.” They chuckled again at a joke only they seemed to get.

Daryl watched them for a bit as they made their way back towards most of the tents. A minute later, he heard nearby branches rustling as Merle came out of the woods. 

“Who were ya talkin to,” the older Dixon asked. 

“The newbie,” Daryl replied, still watching them as they made it to the fire pit. 

Merle followed his gaze, scowling. “That fukin dyke the Asian kid brought back? We already got enough of the wrong kinds here. We don’t need no more. Tell her to fuck off next time. Or send her my way. I’ll fuck the dyke right out of her. Fix her up real nice.” He let out a low whistle and laughed. 

Daryl shook his head. “Don’t be gross.” He was used to his brother making lewd comments to and about the women around, but this one felt wrong. Maybe because Finn's dog had liked him so much. He didn’t know.

“What?” Merle grinned. “You already called dibs or something? You wanna be the one who breaks the dyke?”

Daryl’s ears grew red and he turned to his tent. “Just fukin leave it.”

Merle grinned and pulled him back with an arm around the shoulder. “Oh woah there, little brother. Didn’t mean to offend. You keep them dibs on that dyke. I’ll give you some pointers. So you don’t freeze up like last time, huh?” Merle cackled at that. 

Daryl pushed his brother's arm off, his face now scarlet. “I said fukin leave it Merle. It ain’t like that.” He stalked towards his tent and grabbed his crossbow and a bag. “I’m goin out,” was all he said before he disappeared into the tree line, Merle’s laugh following him until it faded. His face was still warm when he came to a stop under a big oak. 

His brother could be a lot sometimes. Especially in situations like these when he didn’t know when to quit. As the sky began to darken, Daryl briefly considered heading down to the fire for dinner with everyone. Dinner and a show apparently. But he knew if he did, he’d never hear the end of it from Merle. So instead, he stood and walked back to his tent to turn in early for the night. His brother was passed out with a bottle of something when he returned. 

Daryl crawled onto his sleeping bag, zipping the tent door shut behind him. He laid down and threw his arm over his eyes, trying to sleep. It didn’t come easily. He still remembered the way the dog's fur had felt under his fingers, the way her slobber had gotten on his hand and face. He liked that dog, and that dog liked him. A lot. It felt nice. He shook his head and turned on his side. He found himself looking at a shirt he’d thrown in the corner weeks ago when it had gotten snagged on a branch and tore a hole in the back. He remembered Finn saying they’d fix his clothes. They’d fix anyone’s clothes, but still.

He closed his eyes and began to drift to sleep. At least he had an excuse for next time he wanted to pet the dog.

[baddieland09]

May I please request a TWD fic where the reader joins the prison after the woodbury war and stays silent until Carol finds them crying. Including dialogue “i don’t have anyone anymore” “you have me”

You’re never alone

-

Carol x Fem reader

Summary:after the attack on Woodbury you have never been the same always quiet and by thereself

Word count:

Warnings:Angst,Fluff,death um i don’t know what else really

Authors note:I didn’t know if you meant like found family or relashonship wise so I didnt found family but if it was something else in mind Im sorry😭 tell me and I’ll fix it

-

It had been a couple weeks since the war between Rick and his group and Woodbury everyone I knew and cared for was dead including my family It hurt a lot knowing I’d never be able to have memory’s with them again

I remember after the war I had woken up in a large room stairs and food around, tables and one big door to a bigger room cells

I was scared I didn’t know where I was or who I was with or if I was safe I then remember a person named Rick coming in with two other people Daryl and Glenn

I remember them asking a lot of questions my name,who my family was,how many people have a killed,how many walkers have I killed I was hesitant to answer but with the threat of going outside by myself I answered short worded answers

After that they let me in and it has been another 1 week after that and I wouldn’t talk to anyone just stayed in my cell and did my chore’s

It was currently dinner time and I hadn’t come out to eat yet I wasn’t hungry I don’t know why I just wasn’t in fact I felt sick to my stomach

I just quietly went outside I wasn’t supposed to be but I did it anyways like most nights I did it helped me clear my head

I walked around the outside of the prison ignoring the groans and moans of the walkers outside of the fences I kill a couple then just go to a different area

I climb onto a higher area of ruble just thinking about everything life had changed so fast I didn’t know how to deal with it I was still young

I hear a noise and look around it wasn’t a walker but it sounded close and human like so I quickly climb down trying to run back inside

I didn’t know if it was someone trying to hurt me or just another memeber of Ricks group coming outside maybe to keep watch I don’t know but I quickly climbed thru a window going back inside

I went back to my room seeing a couple people stare at me but I didn’t care I enjoyed my time alone and I didn’t owe anyone a explanation about where I was or what I was doing

I sit on my bed rubbing my eyes and deciding I’d go to bed because what else is there to do

The next day I got up a little early still seeing the sun was rising the orangey hue making me shield my eyes as I leave me cell quietly

I look for some food finding some left over from last night hearing a noise from behind me I quickly turned around scared it would be a walker who got in

Instead I saw carol she was one of the first people to talk to me and was always nice to me but I really didn’t talk to her or anyone for that matter

“I saw you outside last night you know youre not supposed to do that it’s dangerous” She says

I nod grabbing the leftovers and take a bite chewing then swallowing the food

“So?” I said she rolled her eyes at that

“You need to be at least more safe if you’re gonna go out like that bring a gun or knife and more than one” She corrects me

“I already have those” I then tried to correct her

“This is the most I’ve heard you talk since you’ve got here” she laughs a little

I went back to my room eating the food like a starved man I just didn’t like being around a lot of people at the moment

It was dinner once again and I came downstairs deciding for once to join them even if I didn’t talk just going to eat or get my food and leave

I got my food and went back to my room eating the food before sneaking back outside once again not knowing someone saw me and then them deciding to follow me

I sat on the ruble again just thinking back to it how wrong it was how everyone I knew had died how it was too late to go back and change what happened

I sat there and began picking at the skin around my fingers a habit I had picked up since the beginning of the apocalypse I just wanted my old life back but I couldn’t and I had to get over it and THATS what I always told myself

I feel myself start to tear up I try to hold it back telling myself it wouldn’t help and also I didn’t want to attract any more walkers there already was

It was to late tho as I began crying into my sleeve trying to cover myself everything was to fast I missed my parents I missed my freinds I missed everything it wasn’t fair I was just a kid

I didn’t notice someone getting closer as I kept crying hitting the jacket because I was getting louder I didn’t hear the footsteps or anything

I could feel someone’s eyes on me and quickly grabbed my knife as I wiped my eyes turning my head quickly ready for the worst

I see carol thats the face I saw

“G-go away leave me alone” I tried to push her away but in that moment I didn’t want too

“Are you okay?” She said with so much concern and THATS all it took for me to break down again turning my head away from her in embarrassment

Those three simple words was all it took for me to break I hear her walk closer and sit beside me waiting for me to say something and I couldn’t I just kept quiet trying to stop crying

“It’s okay you know to cry you went thru a lot” I hear her say as I wipe my eyes but I was still crying as I feel more tears on my waterline

“I-it’s not okay tho” I quickly say

“I don’t have anyone anymore” I say as the tears roll down my cheeks

“You have me”

I quickly started crying again I feel her wrap her arms around me rubbing my back as I cried into her jacket holding onto her like a little kid

“Im here for you know whether you like it or not”

I just nod and she kept her promise

[decarabiandivorce]

Til my voice grows tired, I only ask for your embrace.

okay @cashewally-sarcastic when you said Nameless Bard playing the lyre for the ffd au my mind went crazy <3

Anyways here is some Red-haired warrior and Nameless Bard cringe :3 featuring Venti and Amos

He could never forget the smile his friend had when he played that lyre.

It reminded him of the day that they met when he acted as courier between the city and desolate wilds.  The bard sang and sang until his voice began to fade, and he had realized he stood still for the entire day. The wanderer was just another member of the audience, a sword for those who needed protection.

They didn’t talk that day. Nor the day after that. Nor the days or weeks after that.

Yet whenever he wandered back into the city, delivering supplies from the snow-drifting clans to the isolated city, he would spend an hour or so listening to the bard.

There weren’t many musicians in that city, he realized around his fourth visit. Unlike the other nations he had been in, there weren’t people playing the drums on the street corners nor the piano being practiced near a window. It was as if the source of all music came from a single boy with pale blue eyes.

To speak so eloquently was a skill, and the bard smiled as his audience gifted him with coin and cuisine. It was a kind the smile, the one without malice nor bite. He talked a bit with some of the kids, letting them pluck his lyre’s strings.

It was routine.

Until it wasn’t.

“Mister Warrior,” The bard spoke to him around his fifteenth visit. “There is snow on your cape.”

“There is.” He replied.

“Mister Warrior,” the blue eyes looked so wide, “Do you come from outside?”

Then a new cycle began. While the man had coin and cooking, the accounting of a record would do just the same. He told the bard the vast seas of Liyue, and how their mountains were as tall as the very tower they were under. He told of fishes so large that they could swallow a great sword in one fell swoop.

The bard chuckled with delight as he went over every detail, staying quiet as he absorbed every word. As he held the warriors hand and the lyre in the other, the warrior knew that this was no ordinary fellow. He didn’t know what to say when his story was done and silence blanketed them both. To ask about the fellow’s family? To ask what it was like to live under such tyranny? It would do harm to be persistent so soonly met.

But there was one question that had been burning in his heart since the day he listened to the lyre’s master, “O’ Bard, what is your name?”

Then there was something else in that man’s eyes, a child-like mischief, “Oh? You make sure to secure yourself a front row, yet my name you do not know?” He giggled at the warrior, “Guess.”

“Guess?” The flame-haired man barked, “There are a million different names one can go by!”

“And you have millions of seconds to try and try again.” Spoke the bard.

He stared at the person, that kind smile revealing itself to be that more mischievous than a wind sprite, “You can’t be- fine. Are you…. Named after a plant?”

“A plant? In this city?” chuckled the bard.

“Dose it start with a vowel or consonant?”

“Those aren’t guesses.”

“Do I have to say your last name, or-“

“Oh!” The bard laughed and laughed, a chime in the soundless city, “You are so…. Ahahaha! I’ll give you a hint, it’s a lot more obvious than you think.”

Day by day. Night by night. Song by song the warrior returned.

The Gunnhildr clan requested his assistance in transporting some wool they received, to be a bodyguard for a meeting with a Lawerence. Yet as the high priestess, a young women with soft blonde hair, argued with her equal- a lady clad in jewels and dancing hues, his mind wandered to that bard.

“Is it Josh? Adam? Orville? Blake?”

“Do I look like an Orville to you?” The bard giggled during their 21st meeting.

“Cyrus. Gwen. Vergil. Glenn.” “Fine names they may be, but none of them are me!” his laughter was the brightest in the entire nation. His head would tilt just slightly, and his braids would follow alongside it. There was a strange allure to it all, one that kept him as captive without song. Or perhaps this was a song on its own, one without a tune or notes.

“Erik.”

“No.”

“Wendy?”

“Nope!”

“Did I say Blake?”

“Yes you did my dear friend!” The warrior tried keep his heart steady at the words, “Are you running out of names? Then do you wish for a hint?” He nodded, smiling as the bard began to play, “It’s closer than you think, a mouse beneath a sink. It is right in front of you, don’t you worry. It is something that exists within the heart of every being. The name I have- one not in any record, it the name I made for myself- of my own accord.”

Ragnvindr sighed as he tried once more, then concluded the day- determination in his core.

25th, 28th.

32th. 34th.

The time moved on, meeting after meeting, as he tried to list out anything that would fit those qualifications. What could be in plain sight, perhaps sun right in front of him night after night?

“I give up, “hissed the warrior, his arm around his friend’s waist as he did so. “What could be matching such a saint’s voice? No name spoken in human tongue could be of worth.”

The bard laughed, “Well if you must know… the name I have shared so freely with other is the very song I sell. For my name is Carmen, you see and that is song in it’s entirety.”

Ragnvindr stared at Carmen, the only person he had felt such a closeness with for a long long time, and punched him on the shoulder. “Carmen…” He repeated like a prayer, “Carmen… it fits you.”

Carmen grinned as he rubbed his shoulder, “Of course I have used other names in the past, if you were to guess those a point I would award. Himmel like the sky in my eyes. Ventus like the wind that surround by life. Names are the shortest poems one can give, and Carmen is the name what which I live.”

Even after that game was finally done, the meetings between the two were not undone. Stories were spoken, and from then on Ragnvindr knew- the boy in front of him was no sheep. A contender against the very wolves that threatened his home, the bite beneath that silver tongue was a sight to behold. Hawks and eagles were this man’s kin, for the soul of a fighter shined within.

“Soon, I will see that sky,” Carmen muttered as he pressed his face into Ragnvindr’s coat, his voice muffled by the fur.

“I don’t doubt that,” He replied, “I would be more than willing to take you with me the next time I leave.” His friend stiffened, as if he was struck. “Hm?”

“That would be easy,” Carmen’s words were soft now, an air of uncertainty and one other emotion contained within it, “To leave Mondstadt and never return. To fields of yellow and trees that could reach the moon. Yes, that would be nice.”

Carmen’s eyes no longer looked a soft blue, but instead a cold steel, “But I am sorry, dear warrior, I can not leave. Not yet.”

“What could possibly lead you to stay here? In this sunless city of drab and dreary? Shouldn’t a bard such as yourself yearn to make the world your muse?”

He could feel Carmen play with the ends of his red hair as he replied, “Fly fly fly, like a bird in the sky to a ship in the sea. A branch within it’s beak, hope for only those in misery.” He did not chuckle, “This is my home, for the people of Mondstadt need me. They need a song in their steps to help them throughout the day, and while I do need food in my stomach, their smile is all the pay I need.” He brushed Ragnvindr’s bangs aside, “I…. I am planning something. Would you help me?”

Silently, the warrior nodded.

Carmen reached into his pocket, and a small little paper folded into a flower emerged from it, "Pray repay me with hope and a smile, and stand with me to welcome the day when the storms blow no longer."

He held it gently in his hands, his eyes widening,

“Carmen.. what are you planning?”

“Be my warrior, my dear Ragnvindr. Please, I beg of you. Let me see Mondstadt shine with the sun you speak of.”

“I….”

“Ragnvindr….”

“Carmen...”

“…” Ragnvindr’s heart wavered for just a second at Carmen’s silence. The calculating look he had for penning words and analysis was on full display. The eyes of a beast more fearsome than Lupus Boreas was in front of him, and what was worse was he was not after his blood nor his flesh- but his heart and will.

“I do. I promise to stick by you, til the very end.”

--

Whispers of the rebellion snuck into every conversation, tiny non-verbal cues to not let the wind carry their voices. All of it composed by a lyre playing bard, the one who is sitting right besides him holding a small creature.

“What is that.” Ragnvindr asked, pinching its weird feather ears. “It looks evil.”

“It’s not!” Carmen cried out, “His name is Venti!”

“Venti,” Ragnvindr looked, “You named him Wind. Is it cause he can fly!”

Carmen ignored his words as he slowly pet his friend, “He is like one of those birds.”

“I can assure you, he is not a bird.” Ragnvindr grumbled into his palm, “Seriously where did you even get such a thing.”

Carmen gasp and held the creature tightly, “Don’t you dare call Venti a thing! He is a wonderful little wind wisp!”

--

Ragnvindr’s frown turned into a scowl, “A wind wisp. As in. A wind elemental being. When we are going to have Windblume soon.”

“Yes.” Said Carmen, “Well I think its going to take a couple months or so before the final date is settled, Venerare is still handing out ‘props’ to the people.” He hugged the little wind wisp some more, before his smile graced his face. “I wrote another song! May you lend me your ears?”

“Of course,” Ragnvindr said in-time with a chirping from the wind wisp. Venti said on top of Ragnvindr’s friend’s head while Carmen began to tune his lyre. Soon enough he was set to play a song. It was a lullaby, one that whispered of smelling baked goods in the air and spices from afar. As the notes dwindled out, Ragnvindr thought of the cinnamon sticks from down south, and internally promised to buy a jar for him.

Amos was the next person Ragnvindr befriended, even then he would have called that a generous statement. She was Decarabian’s wife to him at first. Then she was Carmen’s other friend. Then she was a pretty good hunter. But a friend? He would have to think about that a bit more. Friendship was something sacred, more divine than the lord of the city. To call a person he had spent time with but not laughs with a friend… hm.

Yet he could not fault her with anything. The way she took care of herself was perfect. The way she took care of other was perfect. In another time and another life they would never have interacted and perhaps would have never even known each others names. She would stare at him sometimes, her eyes drawn to his hair like so many other Mondstadters.

Her hands were soft. Her heart was soft. Her eyes however, colder than snow.

His hands were rough, his heart closed off, and Ragnvindr would never listen to what Carmen said about his eyes. Calling them a kind hearth amidst the winter. Foolish.

“Is there something wrong with my form?” Ragnvindr muttered to her as he practiced his swings in the courtyard. The gales have been getting rougher with Amos now permanently out of the tower, for her spouse was growing desperate.

“I have never seen such a style before, I apologize if I stare.”

Ragnvindr grunted in response, taking the statement for what it is. “Have you ever held a greatsword before?”

She looked nostalgic, “A long time ago. A lady who’s hair was darker than night wielded such a blade. Her family had long since departed and she was going to head out. She was the first to leave, to read the writing on the wall in the midst of the war.”

“Any clue where she went? Perhaps I know of her decesenednts.”

Amos laughed, but it was not a happy laugh, “As if she would tell me. Even so, to befriend someoe’s kin just because I knew their ancestors centuries ago dose not seem fair. Their lives are their own and to bind them to the actions of another… I shouldn’t. It wouldn’t be right.”

Ragnvindr swings and she rambles, occasionally grunting in response, “That tone of yours…. You sound like you don’t miss her.”

“I do miss her. As I mentioned its been years. I.. have made peace with that. I made peace a long time ago. It’s fine.”

The practice dummy was beginning to break, “We can change the subject if you want.”

“….”

“….”

The duo stood in silence, the only noise being the rustling of wind and the practice of form. Amos played with her hair as she fiddled with the string of her bow, the only gift from her lover she refused to part with.

Ragnvindr readied his stance once more, the movements becoming routine and clockwork. He grumbled, knowing that relying on such muscle memory could make unpredictable movements his downfall.

“Fight me.” He whispered, Amos’s head snapping up as he dose. “Fight me, “ he repeats himself , a little louder this time.

“I don’t want to shoot an arrow though you.” She smiled.

He laughed, “Then pick up a sword and I shall pick up your bow. You could even use a lance if you want.” Her eyes glanced over to rebellion’s hidden armory, amusement dancing on her face as she imagines using such weapons after so long. Perhaps things wouldn’t be so bad. Perhaps things will be okay.

--

It all comes crashing down like a stack of cards.

A mission gone wrong, intel not accurate. His back is against a wall with a squad of about thirteen men besides him. Carmen is staring at him, that look in his eyes tells him all he needs to know.

“What ever you are planning don’t do it.” He wants to say. He wants to shout and scream at his friend, but they all know what’s behind the corner- blocking their only way out.

Pale blue eyes already look glassy and dead as the bard reaching onto his chest and plucks the metal flower Ragnvindr gave him for their rebellion’s anniversary-placing it on the warrior’s chest. The hesitation in Carmen’s actions as he raises a finger to his mouth only worsens the pain in Ragnvindr’s chest. He hates this. He hates this so fucking much.

Quietly, Carmen makes it to the edge of the corner, and dramatically walks into the tyrant’s gaze. The remaining rebels manage to crawl though a window as their leader talks to the tyrant, his heartbeat pounding in his ears preventing him from listening to what they were saying. He just needed to trust his friend, even if it kills him inside.

Venti and Amos are asking him what happened as the squad recovers from the failed mission. They see Carmen’s symbol. They don’t want to believe it, and neither dose Ragnvindr.

Still, the Windblume must survive, even if its leader’s heart does not.

--

The announcement shatters them.

It shatters everyone.

--

Venti keeps asking why everyone looks so mad when he asks about Carmen.

--

He and Amos aren’t fighting! They aren’t!

--

--

Venti is gone.

--

He wants to storm that tower with Amos. “That would be easy,” he thinks, the dream of taking all away from this panopticon. To leave Mondstadt behind and say fuck you to all that scowl at Carmen’s face. Where the four…three… of them could sit on the deck of a harbor without care.

Yet there were still rebels who believed in them, and that’s what made it hurt even more. Perhaps if everyone simply abandoned their ‘traitorous’ leader, then things would be a clean cut. No. Gunnhildr was adamant that Carmen was innocent. That Decarabian’s machinations were working on them all and that without sunlight, sleep, substance, and song they were all starting to succumb.

His song. His wonderful wonderful song.

In the distance howling winds and the turning of the gales, he could make out the softest hints of a harp. It wasn’t a lyre, but he could feel in his heart that it belong to Carmen. Call him delusional. Call him insane. That was Carmen playing in the tip of the tower, playing a song without a name.

He doesn’t talk on those days, the audience within him not wanting to break the performer’s spell. He feels as if he was back then, just two people meeting on the street with duties of so routine. Yet whenever he wandered back around the city, delivering supplies from the snow-drifting clans to the very few rebels that remained, he would spend hours or so thinking of that bard.

Amos gets him, she understands his hurt. Perhaps far too well, for the one with her heart on her sleeve has given up trying to yell. She cries and sobs into his arms, until he is also weak in the knees. He holds her like a lifeline, another one taken from her by divinity.

Days and days pass, and the nights feel the same. The world around him is as grey as the stones, perhaps another side effect from it being so long without sunlight. The tower feels larger, and he is so small. The tiny spirit of hope that used to beg for fruits from him now shot by an arrow by ones Ragnvindr called friend.

That person was drinking on the edge of bridge, not caring a bit about what they did. Was it because it was so long ago? Or perhaps the alcohol had darkened their soul. The flame of rebellion and blasphemy raged in Ragnvindr’s heart, for he knew that his friend would not want him to taint the rebellion by killing it’s members. That part was soon quelled with the memory of Carmen’s adoration for Venti, how the wolf in sheep’s clothing would be quiet stabby.

It's so easy, such a simple action to do. He was already intoxicated, so a simple push was all he needed to do. Fall from the sky, like the wisp that they killed. Ragnvindr wishes he could sink that low, but he knows himself and his morale code.

He feels frustrated every day, as more and more complain. He tells them to shut up and behave, and they call him a lapdog for a master who is away. For once Amos is the one to tell him not to storm the tower, but he sees in her eyes the thoughts of retaliation. Another announcement comes that day, from the man he hates the most and his best friend right besides him.

He looks healthy, his cheeks never looked fuller but all that doesn’t matter with his now cold eyes. “What happened to you?” He wants to shout, but instead he clutches at the flower on his chest, desperate to not throw such a sacrifice away.

Decarabian places a hand on Carmen’s shoulder, blabbering about how wonderful his son is to the crowd. He can’t read the room, nor tell from the rebel’s hooded glances the emotions boiling within. Amos grips his hand tight, but before he could retort she gestures to a group of people- rebels in their own worth. They see Carmen as bad as his ‘father’ and driven to desperation the people will slaughter. Amos’s sharp gaze catches their movements, as their hold their swords and lances with gazes murderous. He can’t take it anymore. He doesn’t give a shit, when the world itself turns back on someone so perfect.

That night the warrior prays for forgiveness, of a festival for a dawn is something he cannot gift him. Windblume- what a joke. A terrible irony. What use was love when the one he cares about the most was suffering? To save the people of Mondstadt without any adoration was always the goal, but to see them turn their back on the one that sparked that fire made his eyes darker than coal.

Hand in hand they walk to the front gates of the tower, not caring whoever sees them. He can only hope the letter towards Gunnhildr and Venerare was enough, for there was too much rage in his chest to wait to say ‘I am sorry’ out loud in front of both of them. He followed right behind the silver-haired archer as the two of them walked up step by step.

Together they opened the doors, and their fates were set.

--

Carmen looks so peaceful as he plays the injured Venti a tune. Ragnvindr can not help but stare at his friend, as if he was the sun and the moon. He missed this. He could never put into words how much he missed him.

He was using a harp. Ragnvindr tried not to smile as he knew he was right. It was Carmen that played those notes.

He hadn’t asked about the state of the rebellion. The returning of the flower was all the confirmation he needed. Did his friend yearn to take his offer all those months ago? As much as he knew his friend, he could never read his thoughts. They were like a language written by the ancients that made the ruins all across Teyvat, and only Venti was the archaeologist.

Carmen buried his face into Ragnvindr’s new coat, this one with the symbol of the storm god on it. It wasn’t as fluffy as the one he used to wear, but it was okay. This was all okay.

He ran his hand down Carmen’s back, a part of him still in disbelief that the bard was right in front of him.

“I’m sorry.” He mutters, hugging Carmen tight.

“It’s… fine… You just…cared….” Carmen did not cry, but the faint glimmer in his eyes told him all he needed to know. Venti burrowed himself between the two men, Ragnvindr’s face softening as the wind wisp leaned into the warrior’s palm. Carmen watched as his friend held up Venti like a vase of glass and yawned.

“Perhaps I should sing you the lullaby this time?” Ragnvindr asked.

Carmen shook his head,” Do you even know a lullaby?”

“I’ve been reading some of them.... while you were gone.”

“Oh.” Carmen held Venti tight, “I… am not in the mood for stories.”

Ragnvindr’s heart sank.

He should have arrived sooner.

Carmen brushed Ragnvindr’s hair away from his face, “Tomorrow… let’s do something. Not a story- something real.”

There it was, his Carmen. The bags under his eyes and the crown on top of his head may have suggested otherwise, but Ragnvindr knew that it was still Carmen underneath all those fancy layers.

“I can’t wait to accompany you.” The knight smiled as he pulled Carmen into an embrace. “That man… is going to let me take you into the town tomorrow.” Ragnvindr closed his eyes and felt Carmen’s breathing and his heartbeat. Sure, it was pacing a lot faster than normal, but he had to believe it wasn’t out of fear.

“That sounds wonderful.” Carmen spoke softly. “I don’t have my lyre anymore… so no playing for the crowds.”

“Mh.”

Carmen tried opening his mouth to say something, but all that came out was a yawn.

He was tired.

So tired.

And to lay within his warrior’s coat while holding Venti and Ragnvindr?

It…

It left a bitter taste in his mouth but perhaps… it would be okay…

…

.

The prince of the tower closed his eyes, sealing the fate of all the rebels in and out of Mondstadt- as the last star of hope became complacent.

[sammygrace]

Clandestine | We Are One

Series Masterlist

Four Days Later

The winter air at Hilltop bites at Phoenix’s cheeks, but she barely notices it. She’s sitting on the frost-dusted grass outside the small trailer she and Daryl have been sharing with Jesus, Maggie, and Glenn.

Daryl sits with his back braced against the trailer’s siding, one leg stretched out, the other bent at the knee. Phoenix is settled between his legs, her spine pressed lightly against his chest as she methodically sharpens her knives on a whetstone. Daryl watches her hands, those nimble fingers scraping steel against stone with a precision that both calms him and keeps him awake at night.

Maggie appears with two chipped plates balanced on her palms. She offers them each a small smile, the corners of her eyes crinkling despite the darkness that clings to all of them lately. “Eat up while it’s hot.”

Phoenix slides off her perch in front of Daryl and scooches to his side, plates propped on their laps. It’s a meager meal — a half-baked potato, a wilted carrot, and an apple each.

Then, without a word, Daryl plucks the apple from her plate and drops his carrot onto hers instead. Her breath catches. She feels his eyes on her profile as she ducks her head and hides her smile behind a sharp bite of carrot. He knows she’s allergic — stupid thing to feel warm about, but she does anyway.

They don’t speak. They just eat. A hush that’s almost comfortable drapes over them like a blanket.

They’re finishing up, brushing off crumbs and licking salt from their fingers, when a shout tears through the quiet: the guard on the lookout tower bellowing that the Saviors are here.

Phoenix feels her heartbeat stutter, old adrenaline racing to the surface. Enid appears out of nowhere, wild-eyed, hair half-tucked into her hat. “We have to hide Maggie,” she pleads. “They can’t see her, or you guys.”

Phoenix is already on her feet, Daryl too, close behind. But Maggie shakes her head, pointing at her rounded stomach — she knows they’ll never make it to the escape hatch before Simon or whoever’s here comes sniffing.

Enid guides Maggie toward the back of the big house but changes direction at the last second, pulling them toward the root cellar. The stale smell of earth and old roots hits Phoenix’s nose as she ducks under the low beam, following the others into the shadows.

Above them, Gregory’s voice drifts down, slick and false as ever. “Simon! Didn’t know we’d be graced by your presence today.”

Phoenix clenches her teeth, feeling Daryl close behind her. She edges toward the small opening in the cellar door, peering out. Daryl’s chest brushes her back — warm and solid and here. She feels safer and angrier all at once.

Maggie tugs them deeper into the shadows when the sound of boots creaks overhead. Enid’s voice rises — she’s trying to stall, buy them seconds. But heavy footsteps scrape closer, cellar doors groaning as they’re pulled open. A silhouette blocks out the pale morning light.

Phoenix’s stomach twists into a hard knot. Herman. Of all the bastards Negan could’ve sent sniffing around — it had to be Herman. The last time she’d seen him, he’d stood by grinning while Negan told Dwight to lock Daryl back up. Her fingers fumble for Daryl’s hand. When she finds it, she squeezes tight, feeling him squeeze back just as hard.

Herman’s boots clomp across the dirt floor. Shelves rattle as he rips through crates, muttering about missing jars. Daryl shifts beside her, his knife unsheathed, blade glinting like ice. Maggie’s hand shoots out, grabbing Phoenix’s wrist, wordlessly begging her to keep him calm. Phoenix digs her nails into Daryl’s palm, silently willing him to hold. Just a second longer.

Finally, Herman snorts, shoulders drooping. He grabs a bag of onions, muttering curses, and stalks up the steps, cellar door slamming behind him.

The tension snaps all at once. Maggie rounds on Daryl first. “You almost killed a Savior for no reason.”

Phoenix snaps right back, voice a low, vicious growl. “Wouldn’t have been for no reason.”

But Maggie shakes her head, the steel in her voice matching Phoenix’s own. “And you think Negan wouldn’t have retaliated? You want to win the war? Then pick your moment. Otherwise, we lose before we even start.”

Phoenix bristles, but she doesn’t argue. The truth tastes bitter on her tongue.

Twenty minutes later, the cellar is empty again. They slip outside, boots crunching in the frosty dirt. Daryl spots Jesus by the big barn and stalks over, Phoenix keeping tight to his side.

“Where’re Sasha and Rosita?” Daryl asks, voice low but hard as a blade.

Jesus looks around, his face slowly morphing from confusion to disbelief. "Oh shit."

|

Three days later, they’re crouched in the trees outside Oceanside. Moonlight filters through the branches, catching the lines of tension etched across every face. Tara had told Rick about the stash at Oceanside, and it hadn’t taken long for a runner from Alexandria to bring word to Hilltop. So now here they were: Jesus, Phoenix, and Daryl setting up makeshift explosives to block off any chance of retreat while Aaron and Eric keep watch from a dune crest.

Phoenix’s fingers work fast, wrapping the wires and checking the charges. Every few seconds she glances up, eyes flicking to Daryl who’s bracing a stake in the damp earth. She watches his shoulders move under his jacket, steady and certain, and her pulse calms just enough to keep working.

A quiet voice cuts through the stillness — Eric, shifting his rifle strap, looking like he wants to say something he’s rehearsed all night. “I finally get it,” he murmurs, looking at Aaron. “Why you keep fighting. Why you go out there. You were right.” He smiles, soft but sad. “I want us to have something left after all this. I want to be around to see it.”

Aaron touches his arm — a brief squeeze that says everything words can’t.

Nearby, Jesus is pacing in the sand, boots grinding tiny furrows. He runs a hand through his hair, jaw tight. “I should’ve stopped them. Rosita and Sasha. I knew they’d try something reckless, but I didn’t think it would be then. Right then.”

Phoenix sets down a spool of wire, wipes her dirty fingers on her jeans. “Jesus, you couldn’t have known. And you couldn’t have stopped Sasha if she wanted to go. None of us could.”

Daryl snorts under his breath, not unkindly. He yanks the last fuse tight, stands up to brush dirt off his hands. “Sasha’s a damn good shot. She’ll be fine. She’ll get her ass back to Hilltop if anyone will.”

They go still at the sound of a distant commotion. Rick’s group is rounding up the Oceansiders, voices sharp in the night air. Phoenix watches from the brush as the residents are assembled, wide-eyed and trembling. Rick steps forward, hands spread wide. “We’re not gonna hurt you. But we need to fight. We all do.”

Then Natania appears, dragging Tara forward, a gun jammed into her ribs. Phoenix’s gut twists. From the treeline, Michonne calls out a warning: the dead are coming.

A gun clicks behind Natania’s head — Enid, steady as stone. But it’s Cyndie who steps in, knocking her grandmother out cold. Enid lowers the gun, chest heaving, eyes wide as the walkers break through the brush.

There’s no time to think. Phoenix bolts to Daryl’s side, knives drawn, the two of them moving together like old dance partners. The combined groups stand shoulder to shoulder — Oceansiders and Alexandrians alike — cutting down walkers until the clearing is carpeted in corpses.

When it’s done, Beatrice claps Rick on the shoulder, dirt smeared across her cheek. “Take the guns. But we’re not coming with you. Not yet.”

Rick nods, eyes flicking to Natania as she’s dragged to a log to sit, fuming. Phoenix breathes through the ache in her shoulders. They’d done what they came to do — it would have to be enough.

They return to Alexandria late that night. The gates creak open to Rosita’s grim silhouette. She waves them in, eyes dark with something Phoenix can’t quite read.

Jesus is the first to speak, voice hopeful but tight: “Where’s Sasha?”

Rosita looks away, jaw clenched. “Inside,” she mutters. “We have a visitor.”

Phoenix’s stomach drops. Daryl stiffens beside her like a dog scenting blood. They follow Rosita to the prison cell near the back of the church, boots echoing on cold stone.

Behind the bars sits Dwight — sullen, bruised, and waiting.

Daryl lunges, eyes wild, but Rick’s hand is already braced on his chest. Phoenix grabs his arm, fingers digging in, her voice low and sharp: “Not yet.”

Rosita crosses her arms. “He says he wants to help.”

Phoenix scoffs, the sound bitter. “Yeah, I bet he does.”

Rick doesn’t flinch. He levels his gun at Dwight through the bars, voice calm as ice. “Okay,” he says, thumb brushing the hammer back. “On your knees.”

|

The next morning, the air in Alexandria is thick with unease. The sun is just breaking through the mist when Rick, Phoenix, Daryl, Tara, Rosita, and the others gather in front of the Alexandria prison cell where Dwight waits. Phoenix stands just behind Daryl, arms crossed, her eyes sharp on Dwight like she’s picturing how best to gut him.

Inside the cell, Dwight leans against the wall, his shoulders slumped but his eyes oddly steady as they flick between the angry faces staring him down.

“You’ve got some fuckin’ nerve sitting there like you’re one of us,” Tara spits, her voice cracking as she takes a step forward. “You killed Denise! She was—she was good. And you—” Her hands tremble at her sides.

Dwight’s mouth opens but no words come out for a moment. Finally, he turns his bruised face to Daryl, then Phoenix. “It wasn’t supposed to be her,” he mutters. “That bolt— it was meant for Daryl.”

Phoenix lets out a low, humorless laugh. “Oh, that’s real sweet. Just my partner instead, huh?” Before anyone can stop her, she grabs Dwight by the collar and slams him back against the wall, her knife flashing in her hand. “You think ‘oops, wrong person’ makes it better? You think that forgives it?” she hisses, pressing the blade just under his jaw.

Dwight winces but doesn’t flinch away. “I’m here because I want him dead too. I want to help you. I want Negan gone.”

Tara’s eyes flash. “Kill him, Phoenix. Do it.”

The room feels like a held breath. Daryl doesn’t say a word, but he watches Phoenix’s trembling hand, his own resting on her shoulder.

She exhales slowly and lowers the knife. “You don’t deserve the easy way out. Not yet.”

Dwight draws in a shuddering breath. “Negan’s coming tomorrow. Three trucks, at least twenty men. You’ll never get a better chance to take him out while he’s here.”

Rick, standing near the barred door, tilts his head, weighing him like a caged animal. “And why should we trust you?”

“Because I’ve got nothing left,” Dwight says. His eyes look dead when he says it. “Sherry’s gone. All I got left is revenge. You want him dead, I do too.”

Phoenix sneers. “And you’re the big hero now? You think that makes up for everything you’ve done?”

She steps back, scrubbing a hand over her face. Daryl brushes her shoulder as he passes her, his eyes on Dwight. “When this is over,” Daryl growls, voice low, “I’m gonna kill you myself.”

Phoenix nods, her jaw tight. “And I’ll help.”

The cell falls into tense silence until Rick finally speaks. “Fine. You’re gonna help us pull this off. But if you’re lying—”

Dwight’s laugh is empty. “If I’m lying, you’ll already be dead.”

Outside, the day passes in a haze of preparation. Alexandria’s walls are thick with tension as the Scavengers arrive in a shuffling procession of garbage trucks and bicycles. Phoenix leans on the gate with Daryl, her arms crossed tight, eyes narrowing when Jadis swaggers up to Rick.

Jadis stands too close, her voice like nails on a chalkboard. “We lay with you after, Rick?”

Rick’s jaw tightens, and Phoenix scoffs, muttering under her breath, “Try it, and I’ll feed her that stupid helmet.”

Later, Daryl, Phoenix, and Aaron are wiring the explosives onto the empty cargo truck just beyond the gate. The smell of gasoline clings to Phoenix’s gloves as she crouches in the dirt, the wire trembling in her hands.

Daryl’s shoulder brushes hers as he works. “It’ll work,” he says, not looking up.

She glances sideways at him, a small, dry laugh escaping her. “Funny. Didn’t know you were an optimist.”

He just shrugs. “Got you, don’t I?”

Before she can answer, a whistle from a Scavenger at the gate makes them look up. The Saviors’ convoy is visible on the road, dust billowing behind them.

Phoenix grips the detonator so tight her knuckles whiten. “Here we go.”

Negan’s caravan rumbles up like the promise of a storm. Rick stands at the gate, Jadis crouched at his feet, hidden from view. Phoenix stands at Daryl’s side behind the truck, her heart slamming against her ribs.

Eugene’s voice drifts over the hush. “Rick. I’d advise you to lower your weapons. Surrender.”

Rick’s eyes flash with betrayal. “Where’s Negan?”

Eugene lifts his chin. “I’m Negan.”

Phoenix’s lips peel back in a snarl. “You spineless, goddamn—”

Rick gives her a quick glance—a silent order. Phoenix flips the switch on the detonator.

Nothing.

A beat of shocked silence. Rick’s eyes flick down to the detonator, then back up—just in time for Jadis to spring to her feet, gun aimed square at his chest.

In an instant, the Scavengers pivot, guns drawn on the Alexandrians.

Phoenix whirls to Daryl. “Fuck! They double-crossed us.”

Negan saunters out of the truck, Lucille swinging at his side. “Rick! Buddy! You look like you just shit your pants.”

Phoenix’s eyes dart to the truck as it opens—revealing the cache of now-useless explosives.

Jadis opens the gate for the Saviors. The tension crackles like a downed wire.

It all happens at once.

The coffin comes off the flatbed. Negan knocks on it, his grin wide. “Got someone who wants to say hi.”

Rick’s jaw locks. “Show me.”

Negan taps Lucille against the lid. The casket door swings open—Sasha, now turned, lunges, sending Negan sprawling.

Gunfire erupts. Phoenix and Daryl duck behind the truck, firing at the Scavengers. She feels a bullet graze her arm but doesn’t stop.

Above them, Michonne screams as she grapples with Farron on the balcony. Phoenix sees her silhouette through the window, fists pounding.

Somewhere behind her, Rosita cries out. Phoenix twists—Rosita clutches her side, blood blooming through her shirt. Tara hauls her away, firing back at a retreating Scavenger.

Negan’s roar cuts through the chaos. “Put Plan B into action!”

Smoke bombs hiss and explode, plunging the yard into a swirling haze. Phoenix coughs, pressing closer to Daryl as they push forward, firing.

Through the haze, she sees Carl kneeling beside Rick. Jadis shoves them both to the ground. Phoenix charges forward, but a Scavenger tackles her, slamming her shoulder into the wall. She bashes the butt of her gun into his temple, kicks him away, and barrels through the smoke.

She skids to a stop behind Rick and Carl just as Negan raises Lucille. Rick meets her eyes—his are wild, unbroken.

“You think you’re gonna win?” Rick snarls at Negan. “I’m gonna kill you. Not today, not tomorrow… but I will.”

Negan just laughs, rearing Lucille back—

And then Shiva’s roar splits the air.

Phoenix jerks back as the tiger leaps, claws slashing, ripping a Scavenger off his feet. Carol and Ezekiel appear at the gate, Kingdom fighters pouring in behind them. Maggie and Glenn charge with Hilltop fighters, rifle blazing.

Phoenix grips Daryl’s arm as he appears beside her, blood spattered, grin sharp.

“Go!” he shouts.

They push into the fray together, guns blazing. The battle is a blur of blood and smoke. Shiva’s roar echoes through the yard. Phoenix elbows a Scavenger in the throat, grabs his gun, and fires at a retreating Savior.

Negan’s convoy roars away, bullets hammering the side of his truck. He flips the middle finger through the haze.

The battle ends as the sun dips low.

In the graveyard, Gabriel stands before Sasha’s fresh grave. Phoenix’s hand slips into Daryl’s as they stand together, heads bowed. His thumb brushes over her scraped knuckles.

Rick, Maggie, and Ezekiel stand together on the podium, their voices strong in the dusk.

“We are not broken,” Maggie says. “We are one.”

Phoenix looks up at the flickering torches, the faces of their people—Alexandria, Hilltop, Kingdom—all together, all ready.

Daryl leans down, brushing his lips over her temple. “We’re ready, Nix.”

Phoenix squeezes his hand tighter, eyes locked on the horizon.

“Yeah,” she says. “We are.”

Previous Chapter < > Next Chapter

[scarisd3ad]

Invisible string

(Part of the to the end and back series)

Pairing - platonic!glenn Rhee x fem!reader

Summary - who knew that a pizza delivery boy you met 2 months before the apocalypse began would end up being your absolute best friend.

Warnings - regular twd warnings

Masterlist

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A/n - just a little fic that takes place before the timeline of the main fic! Also, s3 ep1 should come out this week or next! also I love adding more depth to the readers character like I never really said where readers grandparents farm was but it's in the same town as Hershel's might also write a fic where reader and Maggie meet when they were younger!

edited

I sat in my boyfriend's living room, my face buried into Jack's chest as he talked to the pizza place on the phone. This was a rare occurrence, us spending time together. He lived in Macon while I lived in Atlanta for school, so we only did this once every month. "Yes, just one medium pepperoni. 12.49? Alright, yes, that's fine, thank you, yes, yes, alright," he says before hanging up the phone. I look up at him, and he looks down at me before pressing his lips to my forehead. "they'll be here in 30 minutes," he says before pressing play on the movie we were watching before we decided to order pizza.

 About 30 minutes later, a few knocks are on the front door. Jack is about to get up when I pat his chest. "I've got it," I whisper. he takes his wallet and hands me a 20-dollar bill. I get up and walk over to the door. I unlock the deadbolt and the door's primary lock before opening it. In front of me is a guy probably around my age with a black hat with the words 'pizza palace' embroidered and a pizza delivery bag in his hand. "Um, one medium pepperoni that will be 12 dollars and 49 cents," he says. I nod and hand him the bill. "keep the change," I say as he passes the warm pizza box to me. "Thank you. Have a good day," he replies as he stuffs the bill into his pocket.

 "no, thank you..." I look down at the badge pinned to his chest, Glenn. "Glenn"

 August 28th, 2010

"No, Jack, please, you can't go down there," I cry; we're stuck up on the roof of an apartment building after the world has presumably gone to shit. Down below us, the streets are crowded with people trying to escape the city and the crazy people within. I don't know what's happening, but everyone is going crazy, biting and attacking people. It was something straight out of a horror novel. "I've gotta get us something to eat, honey. I'll be right back," he whispers as he cups my face. "I-I'll go with you. Please don't leave me," I cry out. "Please, Jack, I don't want to lose you too." 

"Alright, but we've gotta be fast, okay?" he says, grabbing my hand. We were going down into one of the empty apartments below. We couldn't stay here anyway. Maybe we could hunker down in one of them until the government figures out what the fuck is going on. There's no one in the building as we walk down the blood-covered hallways. We assumed there was no one until we saw a group of those crazy people stumbling down the hallway. "Jack," I whisper as I back up, "Go, you go, I'll find you, I promise." 

September 27th, 2010

It's been a month since the world ended. I waited a few days for Jack to find me, but he never did, so I assumed he died and left. I had to go. The building was starting to become overrun with what I call walkers. I'm stumbling down some road, I don't know which, but I know I'm out of the city. I'm covered in blood when a jeep pulls up before me. "Are you bit?!" I look up at the man in the car. I don't know if I should trust him, but I shake my head. "c'mon, I've got a group up near the quarry." I get into his car despite the concern that fills me. "Shane, my name is Shane." I don't answer at first; I'm shaking from pure fear. "I-I'm y/n," I whisper. 

We arrive at Shane's camp; there's a big RV parked far back near a bunch of tents while the group huddles around a fire. Shane helps me out of the car. "Found her out near the road, scared to death," he whispers to a lady I assume to be his wife. I take a seat near the fire and stare into it. I'm traumatized. I've seen so much death in the past month that every time I close my eyes, I see every single replaying in my mind. "I'm Glenn." I look to my left to see an Asian guy I've sworn I've seen before. I remember that name, voice, and face, but I just can't figure out where I know him from. He smiles at me, and it is comforting to see someone smile. He wears me down until I tell him my name. "I'm y/n," I whisper; he smiles again. How could he smile during this? "Where are you from?" he asks. I let out a sigh as I looked over at him. "Um, I'm from Senoia but moved to Atlanta for college," I say.

My grandparents owned a farm out in Senoia, while my family lived in a small town about 40 minutes away, but I spent most of my life in Senoia. "Cool, cool country shit," he whispers, which makes me laugh, "Yeah, I guess my grandparents did own a farm, so country shit." I look into his eyes, studying his face a little more before asking, "Have I met you before?" he shrugs. "I do. Maybe I did deliver, but out in Macon, so..." Pizza delivery, the guy that had delivered our pizza when I had gone out to Macon to visit Jack. I don't know why I remembered his face. Maybe we were supposed to meet again, and my brain ensured I remembered him. perhaps it was an invisible string tying us together.

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[autisollie]

OLLIE’S WALKING DEAD DR BACKSTORY

wanna preface this by saying I honestly have no idea how to use tumblr, I mostly just lurk here but I decided to make this anyways !!

anyways I haven’t shifted here (or like, anywhere) yet but I figured I’d share some stuff about it

basic backstory:

my name’s Ollie Ford, and my father is Abraham Ford. I grew up splitting my time between New England USA with my mom (where I grew up in this reality,) and Houston, Texas with my dad. When I was a baby, I was kidnapped by an ex-military friend of my father’s and experimented on for a few months before being rescued. it ultimately did nothing— or so we thought at the time

I was just finishing up my first summer as a counselor at a summer camp in Georgia when the apocalypse hit, and headed to Atlanta to try to stay safe and figure out a plan— an ill-timed phone call there led to my father believing me to be dead as the chaos erupted around the phone booth I was standing near

Glenn and T-Dog rescued me and got me out of a bad part of Atlanta, but I decided not to join them in the safe zone, since I had a bad feeling about it, instead waiting in King County GA, which was where he was supposed to pick me up from and our agreed-upon meeting spot from that chaotic phone call. there was only one (actually a multitude, but that doesn’t matter,) problem:

he thought I was dead.

so, I ended up waiting for weeks with no sign of him. along the way, I rescued a bitten man and adopted his german shepherd, Maisie, gathered supplies, and learned about the world I now lived in. after having a few close calls, I decided to try to raid the empty hospital…

and that’s when I met Rick.

we soon ran into Morgan and Duane, and it became clear to me that I couldn’t stay in this town much longer— who knew if my father could even make it? so I left a note and one of the police radios behind for my father at the camp’s sign, took the other one, and headed off to Atlanta.

the plot was relatively similar from there— we escaped Atlanta and I reunited with Glenn and T-Dog, I stayed at the quarry camp, went to the CDC, stayed at the farm while Carl recovered and Daryl looked for Sophia, was then on the road for nearly nine months, helped clear the prison, helped face the governor, and checked my radio every so often while beginning to enjoy my life at the prison.

then the governor fucked that up (and got what he deserved from Michonne a few minutes later…)

some things went slightly differently: hershel never got bitten and had his leg amputated when we cleared the prison, and the governor’s attack with michonne sword was sloppy enough that he was able to dodge while tied up (ridiculous, I know)

that’s when things got weird— well, weirder.

he got bit making his way back up to the prison to maggie and beth, and I got bit several times in the chaos— both of us knew we were going to die, and that it was pointless trying to leave the prison, so we just made a break for an empty cell block.

it was obviously depressing and shit, but we didn’t die, so it’s fine. I fell asleep staring at a clock, but I didn’t turn, and instead woke up to find my bites healed, which is insane, obviously

hershel and I are both like wtf, and after a bit, we not only realize that I could heal his bite wound to an extent, but that I also have superpowers (op and kinda dumb, ik)

I’m a lot stronger, and have unbreakable skin like Luke Cage (I did end up infodumping about marvel to Hershel, but the whole powers thing gave me an excuse)— there’s other stuff, but I’m not going to go into it here (though if anyone sees this lmk if you want me to make a post abt it)

(also, about the powers thing— there’s NO WAY I would shift here without shit like this, my oblivious ass would not be paying attention and end up getting torn apart two seconds in)

anyway, the two of us escape the prison only like an hour after Glenn and Tara (unknowingly, ofc) and start heading off in a random direction

I eventually make the connection between what my father told me about what happened when I was a baby— and the fact that one of the workers managed to avoid jail, and left the states to go to France, where we learned the virus started from the CDC

we unknowingly head in the direction of Terminus but our path skirts around it just enough that we don’t run into the herd or any of the destruction.

basically, picture my with one earbud in, humming, skipping along a railroad track right by a sign that says TERMINUS, THOSE WHO ARRIVE, SURVIVE in huge letters and not even noticing it through the entire journey

Hershel has a better excuse because he’s older and has slightly worse eyesight, plus he was enduring me infodumping about stuff (he loves me anyway) and therefore wasn’t paying attention. we both just got insanely lucky that we were headed in the same direction as the group AND managed to avoid Terminus

anyway, my first shift, I wake up in the early morning in a run-down house (I say house, but it’s more of a glorified shack) that Hershel and I camped out in for the night. we gather our things, pick a direction, and start walking for about 30 minutes before we stumble across the clearing where gabriel’s church lies

my father abraham, my future wife rosita, eugene, tara, glenn, and maggie were literally about to get onto that bus and leave when we show up

(side note, rosita and abraham were never together, she’s about 20 in my dr while I’m 18)

obviously, they don’t leave because I refuse to leave without Daryl, Carol, and Beth if they find her, and my father’s not just gonna leave his long-lost child, so…

we end up having a much bigger group to rescue Beth and she turns out okay, and then we start to make our way to DC !!

lmk if anyone want me to post more about this bc I can

[fandomficsnstuff]

The Hilltop

(Warnings: Slight angst mixed in with fluff, a hint of more angst and Gregory himself is a warning because he’s a slug with a very punchable face and attitude, so yeah lol, fuck Gregory)

Note: This is not meant as romance, this is the OC growing up with the Survivors (Rick’s Group), though there might be some Carl x OC later on. Might.

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

Daisy was quiet as she got up into the RV, her bowstring fixed, bow ready, backpack with her, arrows tied to the backpack in a make-shift quiver, her dagger strapped to her left thigh, a gun resting on her belt, another knife on the other side of the belt, a few bullet in the small satchel tied to the strap that was around her left thigh and an automatic rifle with her. Compared to the others, she looked practically vulnerable, just a handgun and a bunch of knives and a rifle, besides the bow and arrows, of course. “You sure that’s enough?” Jesus joked but Daisy just looked straight ahead at him with an emotionless expression “I don’t need guns to kill you” she just stated plainly before looking down at her bow, making sure everything was as it should be. “Why do I get the sense you’re probably more dangerous than everyone else?” he joked nervously and she looked back up at him, putting her bow aside, signaling that he had her full attention “my mom shot up drugs while pregnant with me, and after. My dad dealt drugs and shot them up himself, I’ve never had all of my vaccinations and I’ll probably die because of it, or some walker tears me apart before I can blink. I don’t really have anything to lose, that’s all” she stated casually, a few heads turning in the RV and she leaned back in her seat, looking around at them “what? No one is alive to make some kind of cure anyway” she muttered bitterly, Maggie frowning at her “Delilah” she said softly, enough to get the girl’s attention and when she did, her look softened, her eyes moving to Maggie’s stomach before looking back up at her “I’m sorry… I didn’t-”

“It’s alright, just-... don’t think like that too much, alright? Don’t get stuck in your own head” Maggie advised with a soft smile, Daisy nodding softly, making Maggie smile “you should get some sleep, you always look so tired these days…”

“I’m alright… hey, can-... can I move in with you guys?” she asked hesitantly, Rick and Michonne looking at her with a frown, though Michonne was actually able to turn to look at her since she wasn’t in the driver’s seat and behind the wheel “why? You’re the one who wanted to stay with us to begin with…”

“Yeah, just-... Carl and I-... don’t really work well… I don’t want to stay in the same house as him” she muttered bitterly, Jesus frowning at her “why do you think you won’t survive long? You’ve made it pretty far from what I can tell-”

“I don’t think I’m immune to bites like I am to scratches” Daisy muttered casually, everyone turning their heads to look at her, making her scoff “what? It doesn’t matter now, so why hide it?” Daisy asked with a quiet voice, Jesus frowning with shock and disbelief “what do you mean ‘immune’?” he asked with shock, Daisy scoffing as she rolled up her pant leg, showing him the scratches “got that when I was like eleven or something-”

“Eleven ‘n five months” Daryl spoke up without thinking, all eyes turning to him and he noticed, scoffing “what? I can’t know how old my niece is?” he asked rhetorically before looking out the window again, Maggie smirking “you countin’ the days too?” she teased, Daryl scoffing at her and she grinned at Glenn, even though Jesus was still frowning with disbelief and shock “but-... these scratches, they’re from a dog or something, right?”

“No. I crawled up a tree to get away from walkers-”

“So you scratched yourself on a tree-”

“If you’re going to interrupt me you might as well just stop asking me questions” she snapped, Jesus swallowing the lump in his throat “but-... you’re-...”

“Yeah, and the only two guys who could make something with it can’t do it. One is dead and the other is a lying son of a-”

“Delilah!” Daryl warned, Daisy quieting down as she looked down. “It doesn’t matter, anyway… there’s no one who could do anything with me… my blood doesn’t work either… we tried that…-”

“Deanna was already bitten’, pie, she was already dyin’, one way or another with that leg of hers, too, maybe it has to be before they die or get bit” Maggie tried, a smile on her lips that Daisy just frowned at “no one is going to willingly get bitten or scratched to test that… besides, I don’t want any needles-”

“So what, you’re going to cut a hole in your arm again and hope a tube will fit in it?”

“It was the best I could do” Daisy muttered bitterly to Rick’s question, Daryl frowning at her “you did WHAT?!” he snapped, Daisy turning a little more pale as she looked at him “I thought it was worth it if it helped her…” she muttered, her hand covering the crook of her elbow without realizing it, covering the small scar that was there, even though it was already covered by the fabric of her sleeve, Daryl scoffing “gonna take away yer knives too if you ever do somethin’ stupid like that again” he muttered and Daisy scoffed, leaning back “great, then we can test if I’m immune to bites too-”

“Delilah!” Daryl snapped and she restrained herself to not groan or roll her eyes, simply looking in his direction and he scoffed “go ter the back of the RV.”

“But-”

“Now!” he snapped, Daisy scoffing as she got up, about to grab her things when Daryl stopped her “nuh-uh, leave ‘em.”

“What?! But what am I supposed to do then if I can’t-”

“No, you ain’t doin’ nothin’ in there except not actin’ like this, now go on, get” he ordered and she glared at him but stomped off, Daryl groaning as he looked back out the window “brat” he muttered and everyone but Jesus knew he didn’t mean it. “So, she’s your niece?” Jesus asked, Daryl glaring at him “shut up” he muttered before looking back out the window again.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Daisy was quiet as she sat on the grass while Maggie guarded Jesus, Maggie sighing softly “you really wanna stay with me and Glenn, pie?”

“Yeah, maybe I can help with the baby, I’m pretty good with Judith…”

“Why? I thought you and Carl got along really well?”

“Do you know the last time he’s actually talked to me like we used to before we got here? And not just ‘hello’ or something like that. Months. It’s been months and he didn’t even realize it had been that long, or that he hadn’t even talked to me…”

“I’m sure there’s a reason for it-”

“Yeah, her name’s Enid” Daisy muttered bitterly, getting up, taking out her knife from the sheath that was strapped to her thigh, walking over and mindlessly sticking the knife into a wooden post, clearly a bit bored. “Enid? I-”

“It’s-... I’m not mad at her, it’s not like I don’t like her, I’m sure she’s really nice and all but I just-... I don’t mind him being friends with her, but he forgot about me, that’s all” she muttered, Maggie sighing softly “don’t worry too much ‘bout it, pie, alright? It’ll pass, you don’t have to move out-”

“No, I do… I don’t want to be in that house with him if I don’t exist anyway. He was literally the reason why I wanted to stay with them and not uncle Daryl and Carol” she muttered, Maggie giving her a sympathetic smile “I know, pie…”

“And now my uncle thinks I’m insane…”

“He don’t-”

“Yeah, he does!... I-... I just-... thought it’d help, you know? That maybe, somehow, I could still do something with this, with me, my life… I-I’m not stupid, okay? I know it’s not that simple but-... what if it was? What if it was and I just-... didn’t do anything because I thought it wasn’t that simple?” she blabbered, Maggie sighing softly “I know, pie. And your uncle doesn’t think you’re insane, he’s just worried. I know you don’t like needles and doin’ what you did was just your way of doing that…”

“Yeah, we couldn’t exactly make a pit-stop at the infirmary to grab some needles and empty blood bags” she muttered, Maggie smiling at her “I know… but I also understand why he’d react like that. None of us like the idea that you hurt yourself, even though you didn’t think of it like that, alright? Just-.. promise you won’t try that again and that’s it, okay?”

“I promise… it didn’t work anyway” she muttered, Maggie giving her a sad smile “I know how much you wanted it to, pie…” she muttered and Daisy nodded, taking a heavy sigh before sheathing her knife again, leaning against the post “whatever” she muttered, Maggie sighing softly.

As the others came back out again, Daisy frowned at all the new people, her hand going to her gun but Daryl shook his head as he approached “nah, ‘s alright” he muttered and she nodded, hesitating before pulling him aside as the others got in the RV. “I didn’t-... I didn’t do it because I wanted to or because I felt like it, I just-... I-I’ve seen momma shoot up and I remembered it to be in the crook of her elbow and that guy at the CDC took from the elbow too and I just thought that if it worked, IF it worked, it-... no one would have to get sick, no one would have a fever and then die and then come back and hurt and kill everyone and-” she sighed heavily as she cut herself off “I didn’t hurt myself because I-.. liked it… I just-... I wanted to help and I didn’t know how else… I mean-... giving blood to people is supposed to help them, right? It’s what they do at hospitals and all that and I just-... I hoped it’d work, you know…? That the fever would go away and that-... she wasn’t dead while she was still breathing” Daisy pleaded quietly, Daryl studying her before scoffing, pulling her into a brief but tight and secure hug. “Don’t ever do somethin’ stupid like that again, alright? Don’t matter if you think it’ll help, promise me you won’t” he whispered and Daisy hugged him back, nodding as she smiled a little “I promise, uncle Daryl” she muttered, Daryl nodding as he parted from her, studying her before ruffling her hair, making her giggle as she pushed his hand away “I’m not five anymore!”

“Damn straight, yer bagged ya first deer at the prison, you’re an adult now” he teased as they walked towards the RV, Daisy smirking up at him “damn straight I am” she fired back and he scoffed, ruffling her hair again and she pushed his hand away and hurried ahead a little while giggling and smiling, getting up into the RV, turning to Maggie who smiled at her “you two work things out?”

“Yeah…”

“Good. Now sleep, you look exhausted” Maggie encouraged and Daisy scoffed but with a smile “you’re already like a real mom” she muttered, Maggie chuckling as she watched Daisy sit down, looking out the window and she smiled “Daisy-”

“It’s okay, I’m not tired” she stated with a soft smile, Daryl sitting down next to her “I am” he muttered and turned to lean against a wall, throwing his legs up on her lap and closed his eyes, smirking when she scoffed and shook her head at him, having opened one eye to look at her before closing his eyes, not really sleeping, but Maggie was right, she looked exhausted, so maybe if she saw him sleep, she’d follow suit and nod off, or something.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Daisy didn’t even wake up when the RV got stuck in the mud, her mouth a little open as she leaned against Daryl’s shoulder, the large man completely unbothered by it, at least she was finally sleeping, relaxing and letting herself rest. Daryl grunted a little when he realized he had to wake her up, turning to look down at her, his hand gently shoving her shoulder and the second her eyes opened up, he grabbed her hand before she could pull the knife out of it’s sheath on her thigh, Daisy looking around before relaxing, having reached for her knife out of instinct. “‘S alright, c’mon” he urged and she nodded, yawning a little, closing her eyes which looked adorable. She stood up, smiling at Maggie as the others got out “c’mon, pie” she urged, smiling at Daisy who smiled back at her, walking out of the RV after her, walking ahead a little to stand next to her uncle before halting completely at what she saw, her eyes widening a little and her brows furrowed. “That’s us, that’s the hilltop” Jesus announced and walked ahead, Daisy turning to Daryl who gave her a hesitant nod and she walked with the others, Daryl keeping her in his sights at all times. “What’re you worried about?” Maggie asked, Daryl looking at her, studying her as they both walked before looking ahead at Daisy again. “You know, you’ve been what her mom wasn’t. You’ve been there, watched her grow up and all of that, ‘n that shit on the way to Washington before all ‘f y’all met us in Atlanta at the hospital? You get her…” he started, Maggie smiling at him with joy “but?”

“Nah, no ‘but’... just wanted to mention it, wanted ter make sure you knew it. She feels like that too, you know. Don’t imagine she’d let you call her ‘pie’ if she didn’t” he teased and Maggie chuckled, shrugging “she’s a good girl. She’s strong, smart… and she’s got quite the memory” she added with amusement and Daryl nodded with a smirk “yeah, like she remembers every damn thing.”

“It’s good to remember. It’s healthy, so long as she doesn’t stay too much up in her head, lookin’ too far back instead of ahead, you know?”

“Nah, she don’t. She just remembers ‘s all. A shame she don’t remember any of the good things, though… before all of this. Don’t think she remembers her grandparents… they were real good people, they took care of her, they weren’t fond ‘f my brother, her dad, but they let us visit, you know? They didn’t allow drugs, or alcohol. No cussin’ ‘n all of that. They said they liked me, though… they was good people. They tried to get custody of her when she was three, I think, but they lost for some damn reason… They tried” he concluded with a small nod, Maggie smiling at him “you did, too. You’re a good man, Daryl, and an even better uncle. I don’t know if that little girl would be who she is today if it hadn’t been for you. She’s a bit guarded, sure, but she warms up to people. And when she does, she sticks by them, through thick and thin. It’s lucky that we have her with us” Maggie admitted, Daryl nodding as he kept his eyes on her, looking at Maggie when he felt her staring and he scoffed at her smile, looking ahead again “I ain’t gonna cry or some shit if that’s what you want” he joked lightly, Maggie chuckling “and here I was hopin’” she teased with a grin, Daryl merely scoffing at her with a hint of a smile on his lips, Maggie giggling lightly before falling back a little to walk besides Glenn.

“Stop right there!” Daisy lifted her rifle, stepping a few steps back to stand next to her uncle as she aimed at the other one atop the wall, the one Daryl wasn’t aiming at, that way they both had them should they do anything stupid. “What? Are you gonna make us?” Daisy fired back, Jesus quickly holding out his arms and facing the group, trying to get them to lower their arms “Jesus, what the hell is this?!”

“Open the gates, Cal. Freddie’s hurt” Jesus ordered before turning back to the group “look, sorry about these guys. They get antsy standing up there all day doing nothing” he stated calmly as he faced those two atop the gate “they give up their weapons. Then we’ll open the gates-”

“Why don’t you come and get them, then?” Daisy asked with a scoff, raising the rifle a little more to have a much better aim as the doctor they had found from Jesus’ group hurried forward “gentlemen, look, we vouch for these people, alright? They saved us out there!”

“Lower the spears” Jesus ordered tensely right after the doctor spoke, Daisy turning her head to glance at her uncle before looking at Jesus as Rick walked forward “look, I’m not taking any chances. Tell your guy Gregory to come out here-”

“No” Jesus turned around to face Rick, Daisy taking a step closer to him “don’t you see what just happened? I’m letting you keep your guns-”

“You’re not letting us do anything” Daisy said calmly yet with distrust, Jesus sighing heavily as he turned to face her “we ran out of ammo months ago” he admitted quietly, first to her before looking at Rick “I like you people. I trust you… trust us” Jesus asked, turning to look at Daisy who just glared at him once more before looking back up at the people atop the wall with spears, narrowing her eyes a little at them. “Tell them to lower those sticks and we’ll lower our weapons” she demanded stiffly, Jesus sighing heavily and Rick hesitated before stepping towards her “Daisy-”

“I’m not lowering shit if they don’t.”

“Language” Glenn scolded over his shoulder while still having his rifle aimed at those atop the gate and Jesus sighed heavily. Again. He turned to Rick and Rick gestured above his head, Daisy’s family all lowering their guns except for Daisy, a fiery look in her eyes and Rick glanced at Daryl with a pleading look. The archer noticed and sighed, gently nudging his niece with his elbow, his crossbow still in his hands “hey, they ain’t gonna do nothin’, a’ight? I ain’t gonna let ‘em, this ain’t going down like that” he stated quietly and Daisy waited a few seconds before lowering the rifle, looking up at Daryl who nodded “that’s it. C’mon” he urged and she walked in front of him like he urged, the gates creaking as they were pulled open, revealing the community inside.

[stunt-lads]

hello my friend !!! offering you a strange question here.

so, question. you like to speak about werewolf/vampire tropes, but what about a Frankenstein type situation? out of all your pairings, which pair do you think would create their partner from scratch? maybe raise them from the dead? would the raised character despise their creator?

Oh, FUCKING. Do you think Daryl would bite someone just to keep them around? Do you think Negan would bite someone just to KEEP them? Can you imagine 'hating' this man and having him be your maker? Who do you think would accept the change willingly? Who would fight against it? I am rambling. Do you see my brain.

Theres a lot going on in this ask so i hope I answer everything!

Typically I don't find Frankenstein-esque monsters sexy so I don't focus on them, but I will say, the element of reanimation is really good. Especially ESPECIALLY if it's someone the person loved.

Imagine Rick bringing Lori back or Negan bringing Lucille back, imagine their wives hating being alive again, hating to see all the things they've missed and who their husbands have become. Despising the men they are now and breaking their hearts by pulling away from them.

And even looking at it nonromantically, imagine Rick bringing Carl back and Carl is furious. Absolutely livid. I just???

Yeah reanimation and the dissonance between creature and creator is DELICIOUS and I'm gonna be Thinking about it from now on tbh

As for the second part of this...

I think early season Daryl wouldn't, he's too stubborn and headstrong, but then he loses his friends, his brother, he feels responsible for Glenn's death, yeah I think Daryl would absolutely turn someone to keep them around forever. Even if they hated him he'd know they were safe.

As for Negan though...yeah it would be a power trip for him to turn someone. He'd do it specifically to show them that they're entirely indebted to him and will never be able to escape him. Even if they hate him and run off, they're only alive because he wanted them to be.

And I think, as far as fighting or embracing it would go, it depends on the person AND who is turning them.

I think after losing Carl, Rick might be more easy to break but he'd still fight it (especially if it was Negan) and try to desperately hang onto his humanity.

But Maggie losing Glenn would be the opposite. I feel like she'd want to be a monster if given the opportunity, regardless of who turned her. (Of course then she'll eventually have a dilemma of outliving the rest of her family so there's that too)

Anyway yeah I see ur brain and I'm loving ur thoughts

[sexiestpodcastcharacter]

Not the same anon but I assume they're mostly referring to those posts I keep seeing on dndads blogs that will provide propaganda for Glenn, an "epic takedown" for Carlos and then a link to the poll. It's very annoying and maybe helping their vote numbers but definitely not other fandoms' opinion of them...

As of now I think it's just the one that was deleted (saying something's wrong w you if you find carlos hot) + the teeth gap thing nd calling him ugly qhoch just feels. Weird. Yucky Anyways, thank you, and also I'm really sorry about this, you should take some time to yourself after this because i imagine this is. quite stressful jfknf

EDIT: I have been notified that the block-quoted ask came from a separate Anon.

(Context. See also this post, this post which is about a now-deleted comment you can see my response to on the Glenn vs Carlos poll, and although it wasn't referenced in the ask this post is also relevant.)

Yeah that was a nasty comment.

On it's own I think the tooth comment is fair game but of course nothing exists without context and people making arguments for Carlos's sexiness or unsexiness based purely on his physical features when we live in a racist society that both holds up eurocentric white-supremacist beauty ideals as the standard and objectifies people of color both as undesirable and dangerously sexual (see the Latin Lover and related tropes)("dangerous" because of the threat that people of color will seduce good moral white people and sully the bloodline) is certainly A Choice.

Taking the military-cemetery quote literally is something that is honestly in Night Vale's style, but also yeah plenty of people find gap-tooth smiles sexy. Also I thought someone's response to that comment being "biting you. biting you so many times. hope this helps." to be really funny.