#TWD angst

[dan-the-womans-blog]

Title:A Fight For Survival

--

In the desolate wasteland, the abandoned warehouse stood as a grim reminder of the world’s collapse. Its skeletal remains were dimly lit by the weak light seeping through broken windows. The oppressive silence was occasionally broken by distant groans and the shuffle of the undead, signaling the encroaching danger.

Daryl Dixon was slumped against a rusted metal pillar, his face a mask of pain. A severe wound along his side had him barely able to move, his bow resting uselessly on the floor beside him. His breath came in labored gasps as he tried to stay alert despite his injuries. The warehouse had become a trap, overrun by walkers, their guttural growls growing louder with each passing moment.

You, a skilled survivor and his steadfast companion, had been through countless perils together. This time, however, the stakes were higher. Daryl’s injury left him vulnerable, and the threat was imminent. You were determined to protect him. With a deep breath, you readied yourself, gripping a makeshift weapon—a metal shard attached to a sturdy stick.

The first walkers appeared, their groans filling the space with a chilling certainty. Without hesitation, you sprang into action. The clash was immediate and fierce. Each movement was a blend of desperation and precision, your weapon cutting through the encroaching threat. The walkers’ unnatural, jerky motions made them unpredictable, and every successful strike was met with the unsettling sounds of crumbling flesh and bone.

Daryl’s eyes, usually so steely, now held a mix of fear and frustration. He tried to rise, but pain kept him grounded. “Leave,” he rasped, his voice barely audible over the chaos. “Save yourself.” But you weren’t about to abandon him. You pushed through the throng of walkers, defending him with every ounce of strength you had.

Amid the battle, you carved out a temporary safe zone. The weight of your task was immense, each decision a matter of life or death. The relentless walkers seemed to multiply, their numbers overwhelming. Your focus was laser-sharp, every swing of your weapon purposeful and driven by the need to keep Daryl safe.

Slowly, the tide of battle began to shift. The walkers' numbers dwindled, their advance slowing as their bodies accumulated on the floor. You could feel your strength waning, but the sight of fewer walkers gave you renewed energy. With the immediate threat reduced, you hurried back to Daryl’s side.

You knelt beside him, breathless and worn. “We need to get you patched up,” you said, your voice shaky but determined. Daryl looked at you with a mix of gratitude and relief. The battle had forged an unspoken bond between you, a testament to the trust and reliance that had deepened over time.

Carefully, you assisted Daryl to his feet, guiding him through the wreckage of the warehouse. Exhaustion was evident in every step, but the silent understanding between you made the journey bearable. As you reached a safer corner, the immediate danger had passed, leaving a heavy but welcome silence.

In that moment of quiet, the severity of your situation and the strength of your connection became clear. The world outside remained perilous, but together, you had faced another deadly challenge and emerged stronger for it.

Request if you want something different 😊

[darylscarollolz]

Til my dying breath

Carol Peletier x reader

Genre: Angst

Warnings: blood (no detailed descriptions just enough to get a vision), wounds

Summary; Carol and y/n get separated from their group because of a horde of walkers

Request: carol and reader getting split up from their group because of a horde of walkers. reader gets hurt while they’re trying to get away but doesn’t say anything until they have a moments rest. “carol” “not now” “Carol please” “I said not-“ and that’s when Carol notices just how injured you are

Word count: 573 (this came out shorter than intended if you want a part two I’ll def make one)

The stress of being separated from your group is terrifying. Coupled with the fact that the cause was a horde of walkers is nothing short of gut wrenching. I was skilled with a gun but if Carol hadn’t been by my side there was no way I would’ve made it out alive.

“Hey Carol..” I was still looking down at the wound, my blood soaked shirt up in my bloodied hands.

“Not now.” Her voice was firm; like she was lost in thought. Scared if I talked it would pull her out of whatever she had been deeply stuck on.

“Carol.. plea-“

“Y/n. I said not now.” she cut me off, turning to look at me with a dark expression in her eyes. Those same eyes immediately softening as a pant of worry shot through them. I forced a smile, trying to take a step towards her but I immediately collapsed.

Carol rushed to my side, her eyes filling with tears as I felt her drag me gently into her lap. Her hands pushed into my side, desperately trying to stop the bleeding.

“You’re gonna be fine…” She mumbled through tears. I think it was more for her reassurance than my own. Things were beginning to blur as I got dizzy; her voice sounded far off.

“Help!” I could hear her scream but she sounded so far away. “For gods sake someone!” Before I knew it my hand was reaching up to press against her cheek, blooding smearing across it. I could feel her shallow breathing as her hand came up to mine. “You’re gonna be okay…”

The pain was excruciating now. Her touch doing nothing to soothe it, if anything her hands against it only created more pain. I winced as I tried to move, my attempts being futile.

I could hear Carol still calling out for help but her voice only grew more distant than it was. Seconds felt like minutes and minutes felt like hours as I laid there in her arms. She held my hand to her face like it was a lifeline.

There was the distant found of footsteps pounding, getting closer and closer. My vision had blurred now; smiling up at Carol as the footsteps began to pound by my head. That was the last thing I remembered before things faded slowly. The last thing I heard was Carols sobs.

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

First angst wooooooo

Sooo I’m sorry I slacked for so long 😭 literally no excuse I just forgot-

But it’s here now!

I felt like it felt longer as I was writing it, and I was satisfied until I saw the word count. Now because of that if you want a part two to see what happens after I will put it on my list!

I hope this is what you were looking for ML 💕

[xoxo-sarah]

And what if I said I was going to write Daryl angst based off this photo???? Huh? What then??

Update: it's posted! → The Fair ←

[th3-3d3n-g4rd3n]

pls!! michonne x fem!reader reader risking their life and maybe did smth stupid and michonne is upset at them. “you are not disposable! we need you and this? this stuff cannot happen” angst pls and thank u

sobbing rn

☆彡༄

michonne x gn! reader

cw: reader's little brother just died, self-destructing

264 words

☆彡༄

Pain coursed through your chest as you held on to what was left of your little brother, the boy who you'd practically raised as your own since your parents died when you were 17. You didn't know what to do with yourself, all you knew is that you couldn't sit here and let anybody else die. So, what else could you do other than hurl yourself towards the hoard that killed your brother, machete swinging wildly.

"[Reader]! NO!" you heard Michonne shout after you (as she was the one comforting you over your loss) but, even if you wanted to, you couldn't turn back now or you'd be eaten alive so, you keep swinging aimlessly. That was until she came racing after you with her sword at the ready and practically decapitated a whole hoard of 6 in 1.

"They were my kills Michonne. You shouldn't have done that" you warned her. "So what was I supposed to do? Let you get eaten?"

"Yes."

"Oh yeah, because you're so much use to us when you're dead!" she yelled back, "look, I get it. You're grieving, we've all been there. But, you have to understand that you're not disposable! We need you and you cannot die so cut this shit out. Okay?"

You nod meekly as tears cascade down your cheeks, staining your shirt below. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Just don't get yourself killed, okay?" you nod again. "Come here..." she says before pulling your head to her chest and allowing you to holler out a heartbroken sob. "I don't know what to do, Michonne."

heyyy baby, sorry this isn't very long but I hope I did the idea justice regardless <33

-love, eden !!

[enidette]

ONE FOR ME

warnings :: reader gets injured, me tryna replicate eugene language

ron anderson x reader

being from rick’s group gave you many opportunities; to fight the dead for the families who can’t. it was decided that you would go with glenn when he had to attend runs. this had pros and cons for you. pros, you got to keep up your skills and go back to what you’d — ironically — consider more home than any of the mansion-sized houses in alexandria.

cons, you could die. get hurt. any negative possibility from before could still happen, so why did you agree to go on the runs in the first place? when there’s the safety of alexandria waiting for you? there’s one simple, stupid answer. ron anderson.

after being out there for so long, away from anyone your age other than carl, you had no idea how to deal with little teen crushes.

especially ones on boys with a girlfriend.

so you’d take your chances going back to the nostalgic smell of decaying flesh and the sounds of the dead gurgling on, probably, their own blood.

what made things worse was ron’s reciprocated attention and affection. it made you feel awkward. you didn’t know how to portray your feelings properly, how to respond to his advances. and then you remember enid, and your brain really short-circuits.

“hey,” you hear ron’s breathless voice behind you, turning around to see him jogging towards you. “another run?”

you shrug, “we need things.” he squints his eyes to look at you through the sun, shooting you a sad look. he takes your hand and pulls you away from the gate and your team. your hand feels like it’s on fire, you hate how this boy makes you feel.

“can’t you stay for once?” the look in his eyes and sincerity in his voice has your face heating up. you nibble your lip nervously before wiggling your hand out of his grasp. you try to not dwell on the dejected look on his face.

you give him a tight-lipped smile, “i don’t know much about relationships, but i don’t think you should be holding another girl’s hand.” he opens his mouth to protest when you start to walk away. “and i can’t stay, they need me!”

he watches you get in the car with glenn, heath, and nicholas, sighing and waving at you. causing you to look at him blankly before the car is disappearing down the road.

ron laughs at your behavior, turning around as eugene shuts the gate. he hears the metal clash before eugene’s voice calls out to him. “i can feel the thickening tension of teenage romance budding between the two of you.” ron tilts his head at him, brows furrowing at the random interjection. “it’s palpable.”

you didn’t expect that interaction with ron to throw you off so much, but you have to admit, it was nice having someone care for you. the group had always had their own cliques; maggie and glenn, rick with michonne, carl, and judith. sasha with tyrese, carol and daryl. you were stuck on the outside.

the closest to that you were beginning to have was noah, and he’s gone now.

and nearly, you were too. the run was going alright, you all had gone into a pharmacy and you were instructed to look in the back where the prescription medications were. while the others took on the convenience store items and over-the-counter meds. you were blazing through the labels, looking for what glenn instructed you to find.

“cillin, cillin,” you mumble to yourself, looking at the ends of the words on the bottles. you needed to find antibiotics, and your head was so clouded with teenage feelings and confusion that you didn’t hear growling behind you.

a hand reaches out and grabs your shoulder, causing you to whip around and grab your knife. you stab the walker through the eye, mouth agape. you look around to see you had knocked a shelf out of place in your frenzy. one that was holding a door with a broken knob shut. hiding a room full of walkers.

you back away with wide eyes, shoving a bunch of medication from the nearest shelf in your bag. you’re sure you could use it for something, maybe your possible death wouldn’t be a waste.

you trip over the decaying arm of the walker, watching as it slides across the floor. you land with a grunt, an odd sticky pop sound ringing in your ear accompanied by a newfound pain in your shoulder.

you’re unable to hold in a yelp at the pain, using your opposite arm to push you across the room. walkers start to crawl towards you, and you take the opportunity to stab whichever one you can reach. you accept your impending doom and tiredly try to take out the herd, but the more they stack on top you, the harder it is to reach.

gunshots fly through the air and everything becomes a disgusting blur. bodies of the dead falling to the ground before the pile of them on top of you are flung off and you’re being hauled over someone’s shoulder by your bad arm. you make a noise of pain you couldn’t hear before your vision goes black.

you blink your eyes, staring up at the white ceiling above you. you know you’re home, well, in alexandria. you turn your head and recognize the infirmary. that’s when the searing pain in your arm becomes obvious once more.

“i think it’s a severe muscle tear,” you hear denise say, sitting up with a small wince. glenn and ron are in the room, both of their attention’s on denise. “it’s really intense, sudden pain, it must have made her blood pressure levels drop. that’s why she fainted, but she’ll be fine with rest.”

ron laughs humorously, “i don’t think ‘rest’ is in her vocabulary.” your heart tugs at the sight of him, standing there, waiting for you to wake up.

“i guess you know me well.” ron and glenn turn around in surprise at the sound of your voice. you send them weak smiles as the three come to your side.

glenn gives you a soft smile, squeezing your hand, “i didn’t know what happened, i wanted to stay here until you woke up.” you give him a thankful nod, watching as he tells denise something about maggie before retreating to the door.

denise stands awkwardly by your side before patting your shoulder. you grimace at the pain shooting through you, “sorry- i just… i’ll just go look at the books again.” she stammers before going back to her studying corner.

you and ron share a look before laughing, “poor thing.” you mumble, fiddling with your fingers. it hurt to move your bad arm at all.

ron’s hand comes up to yours, intertwining your fingers. you go to repeat what you said earlier when he cuts you off, “for the record,” he smiles, kissing your knuckles. “you’re the only one for me.”

[hardbeingcasual]

heyyyy, i read your carl fic and was wondering if you would write another one but with Rosita this time? One where its angsty and based in s11 where she dies 🫶

THE WAY THINGS GO! / R. ESPINOSA

♪ THE WAY THINGS GO, BEABADOOBEE / TWD MASTERLIST / MASTERLIST

summary — when rosita gets bit, the reader can’t help but wish it was her in rosita’s place.

warnings — death, normal stuff for twd, short story

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

You never took the news well, finding out Rosita was bit, it hit you like a ton of bricks.

You never got to tell her how you really feel.

You couldn’t help but wish you were in her place, she had her whole life ahead of her still, she had to raise Coco, she can’t grow up without her mother, she already lost her father.

Then theres you, you had nothing, your family was dead. All you had left was Rosita, she was your purpose.

There she lay, almost lifeless. You couldn’t help but get teary eye as you looked at her. She insisted you sat next to her, so you did.

“Don’t cry.” She tells you, but you can’t help it, how do you gain the courage to tell her how you feel when shes on her death bed?

She grabs your hand and rubs her thumb over your palm, her bloodshot eyes meet with yours, her tears falling down her cheeks, you lift your hand to wipe them.

“You know I love you, right?” She says with such sincerity, her voice hoarse.

Your lip quivers at that moment, your tears falling like a storm, you shake your head “I didn’t think you’d feel the same.”

“Of course I do.” She sits up a bit, leaning her forehead against yours, her hand fully connecting with yours now. “Take care of Coco for me okay?”

“Rosita I can’t.” You dismiss her but she wasn’t having it.

“Please, I want to know shes in good hands, I trust you.” You catch her eye, before nodding, letting out an agreement.

“I’ll protect her, my life depends on it.” You promise her. After loosing Rosita, you cannot let Coco get hurt. She’s your priority now, no matter what. She’s the last piece of Rosita you have.

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#TAGS @icebergiounge @nfrvampire

[the-dixon-effect]

Lover, you should've come over

A/N: i had this idea a while ago just never got around to writing it. it's v fluffy, a little angsty and just the right amount of trauma, and the title from jeff buckley ofc. hope you enjoy lovelies :')

era: season 6, pre-Negan Alexandria

prompt: "Ya don't ever have to say sorry. Not to me."

summary: Y/N is feeling particularly affected by her past trauma sometime during the group's transition to the suburban atmosphere of Alexandria.

words: 1.5k

pairing: Daryl Dixon x f!reader

warnings: self-harm, anxiety, suggestive

9pm The garage; dark, gloomy, the perfect hiding spot.

The rest of the group was having dinner, courteously cooked by Carol, in the dining area of your shared house. Rick was right, it was going to take some considerable time before everyone properly adjusted to the strange atmosphere of the unaffected suburban paradise that was Alexandria. It seemed, however, that despite the incredible amount of time your people, your family, had spent surviving outside these walls, everybody was fitting in just fine.

The houses were strange, untouched, and the people even stranger. It was like this tiny pocket of the new world was a time capsule, a preserved artefact of an ancient time, all but forgotten to most. It felt like if you were to get too close, immerse yourself too much, the time would come when this place would come crashing down, and bring you down with it. Not only did this place feel like a fever dream about the old world, it also brought back certain memories from the past that you'd tried so desperately to leave behind.

So here you were, an empty seat at the dining room table. You pressed your back against the wall and hugged your legs to your chest. You wondered if they would even notice you weren't there.

Almost-silent sniffles were the only sounds that filled the dim room. The last of the daylight filtered through the tiny gap between the garage door and the ground. You rolled up the sleeves of your flannel shirt to reveal a checkerboard of familiar scratches and cuts, only half visible due to the distinct lack of light in the room. Your head rolled backwards, almost on its own, and hit the wall with a thud. Your eyes swelled with tears just as quick as the memories had come flooding back.

Maybe it wasn't this place. Or the people. Maybe it was just you. No point running now, you thought. You can escape from everything and everyone you love, but you'll never escape yourself, a part of you tried to tell yourself. No matter how far you run, your past, your scars, they will always remain.

9:30pm Despite Y/N's assumption that her absence at dinner would go unnoticed, she was wrong. A certain archer's eyes searched for yours but failed to meet them across the table. "Where's Y/N?" he asked, filling the silence. When all he received was a fleeting glance around the room from members of the group, he swiftly returned to his former position of silence.

"She's probably over at Aaron and Eric's. I heard they were having a couple people over for dinner tonight," said Michonne, a little dismissively.

Daryl shared your feelings about this strange community, and he too understood your lack of trust. Even before adjusting to the end of the world, he certainly would have felt uneasy in a place like this. People like him, like you, they're not supposed to be living in a place like this, pretending to forget about the world outside the walls. Paradise is no place for us, he thought.

Once dinner was finished and the chatter had died down, Daryl slipped off in an effort to find you, and he couldn't help but worry.

9:45pm After searching the whole damn neighbourhood and finding no one who knew where you were, he started to assume the worst. What if she left, ran away somehow? What if she went on a run and got hurt? No, no, he couldn't lose you, not when the both of you had just got here.

Suddenly he remembered the conversation he had with you last night, out on the porch. The stars were out, and for the first time in what seemed like forever, you could look up and admire them in somewhat safety. And they were beautiful. And the two of you sat and talked and talked and just watched those stars. He loved to just listen to you, in truth, he wanted to hear all your stories. Even the bad ones, the regretful ones, perhaps he just needed to hear your voice. He thought back to something you'd said, and his mind suddenly went overdrive with worry. A particular memory you'd recalled, and said that you'd never told anybody this before, alluding to an especially bad habit you'd broken. Could that be... self-harm? He was pretty sure he'd seen those marks on your arm, or he saw something, at least, that wasn't caused by walkers.

He started to go over every single place in his mind where you might be hiding, doing more harm to yourself than good by not speaking up. Your bedroom, the attic, the basement, the yard, the garage. The one place the rest of the group wouldn't think to look for you, if they even came looking at all, you thought. Except for Daryl, who had been working in there on his bike all day.

You could even sense it now, the oil, the tools, and the summer heat, even in the nighttime. As you thought of him, the whole place started to feel like him. You weren't even sure if you liked it or not, the familiar fondness you'd developed for him, but despite your loveable manner, you were so determined to be alone. To not appear as some anxious little presence going about the place.

The door swung open and the first thing you noticed was the light that streamed in, illuminating your tear-stained face.

"Y/N! Y/N, are ya' in here?" You buried your face in your hands as you approached the archer, weakly.

"Hey, hey, what's goin' on?" he drawled. Daryl placed his torch down and stepped a little closer to you, not in a threatening, fearsome way, but in an intimate way, a way that felt like you could be safe with him.

"Can- Do you think you could shut the door?" you said, sniffling a little as you spoke. He followed your request and returned to where he stood before, deep blue eyes locked on your pitiful face.

10pm It felt like there was nothing to be said, no way to express your feelings in a way that somebody could understand. It would be just perfect if, in this moment, he was able to read your mind somehow. Hesitantly, you rolled up your sleeves as you had done before and looked straight up at him with those wide eyes. It was a sight to behold, that was for sure, and if he could put aside every ounce of sorrow he felt just looking at the scars, he was grateful to be the one who you came to.

"This place, it's like- it's like a well," you were struggling to speak. The tears were flowing now, and you felt embarrassed to have this much emotion on display. "Couple days after we got here, I just started to remember, you know. The stuff you don't wanna remember. Just feel trapped, you know," your voice seemed to trail away as your closed your eyes. Nothing to be done now, you supposed.

When you looked up at Daryl again, you were suddenly overcome by a rush of guilt. "Oh no, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Daryl..."

He pulled you into a tight hug at once and whispered into your soft hair that he held so gently. "No, no darlin'..." he spoke. "Ya' don't ever have to say sorry. Not to me." Perhaps if you were thinking straight you would've tried a little harder to appreciate the moment. His distinct scent, the notes of sweet cigarettes, pinewood and thunderstorms. Instead, you cried into his shoulder as his other hand rubbed gentle lines up and down your back.

You pulled away from the embrace, keeping your arms draped around his neck. He was captured by those pretty eyes of yours, though glassed over completely, and held the silent eye contact. He lifted his right hand and softly held your arm, tracing your goosebumps with his calloused fingertips. And you just stared up at him, looking for the reassurance in his eyes that you knew you would always find.

Sensing your pain, Daryl brought your forearm to his lips and pressed sweet kisses on those same self-inflicted scars. You gazed up at him and mustered the best smile you could, as a sign to continue. You slipped off your flannel shirt revealing the little white t-shirt that you wore underneath. Moving further up the length of your arm, he planted soft kisses on your shoulder, and then your neck. The intimacy brought more overstimulated tears to your straining eyes. The only thing you knew how to do in this moment was simply grip him tighter. "Never let me go," you whispered.

Perhaps you didn't need to be alone after all.

[digitallangell]

Five More Minutes

Daryl x Gn!Reader Drabble

The sun streamed through the shades covering you two from the outside world and illuminated the face of the man next to you. He was still sleeping, but you knew he would be up soon as the sun was just emerging from the horizon. His arm had found you in the night and was now draped across your middle, holding you in the embrace you have found comfort in so many times.

Quiet moments where hard to come by in the apocalypse, so you cherished these few minutes of peace in you and Daryl's shared before starting the day.

The subtle rise and fall of his chest and his closed eyes was the calmest you ever saw him, and you tried to memorize every detail of his face in these minutes before life started up again.

Soon enough the urge to let him sleep was over run by the urge to touch him, and your hand moved from its position next to you and traveled his dark umber locks, pushing a few messy strands away from his face. Daryls nose twitched at the movement and his fingers tightened around your side, almost reassuring himself you where actually there before he blearily opened his eyes. As soon as he did his eyes closed again in a yawn.

"Morning sleeping beauty" You chided.

Daryl grumbled slightly but you could see the ghost of a smile hinting at his lips.

"Mornin'" His gravely voice was quiet, still weighed down by sleep. Arms stretching as he made a move to get up for the day his hand leaves your side and you frowed.

"Can't we just stay in bed a little longer?" You knew you both had jobs and duties to attend to, but you couldn't help yourself from wanting just five more minutes in bed with Daryl. After a second of silence he let his body fall back onto the bed next to you.

"If someone's pissed I's late to the council meeting m' blamin' you" He draped his arm around you again and you gladly cuddled into the comfort of his chest.

"Fair trade"

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

“The hell d’ya want?” Daryl growled. He didn’t even look up at you, just kept messing with his crossbow across his lap.

You felt wounded by his tone but tried not to take it personally. Finding out Sophia was dead had hurt all of you, but Daryl seemed to take it harder than anyone but Carol. “I—I don’t know. I just—things are tense back over there,” you said, gesturing vaguely back toward the camp close to the farmhouse. Daryl had removed himself from it and was spending his time far away from the others. “Shane and Rick are arguing about everything it seems like...” you stopped and leaned against the tree trunk next to his tent. He stayed silent.

“So?” he growled. This time his eyes flickered up to you and they were steely and guarded. “The hell ya talkin’ to me about it for?”

You gulped and frowned at his response. This was far harsher than usual for the archer... You struggled for something to say, at a loss for how to respond to his hostile tone.

“I got my own damn problems without figuring out you and everybody else’s bullshit,” he snapped at you. “I been takin’ on shit that ain’t mine to deal with since ya’ll showed up at the damn quarry! Maybe Merle was right. Other people are more damn trouble than they’re worth.”

You shook your head. “This isn’t you talking, Daryl. I know you’re upset but—”

He stood up abruptly. “What the hell d’ya know ‘bout me? Not a damn thing! Yer just like the rest of ‘em,” he said, flicking a hand in your direction. “Ya only want me around to watch yer ass and put fuckin’ food on yer plate. Tha’s the only reason ya want me around, to make sure ya dun get fuckin’ bit or starve to death. Well, ‘m sick of it.”

Your jaw clenched and you fought with angry and hurt tears rather unsuccessfully. You knew he was hurting profoundly, but this was too much. “That’s really how you feel?” you choked out.

He glared at you, a turbulent ocean in his eyes. “Yeah. That’s how I fuckin’ feel,” he growled. “Merle was right. We shoulda robbed that damn camp and moved on.”

You recoiled, stunned by what he’d just said and sick and angry all at once. You’d flinched back almost as if he’d physically hit you, and when he saw that his stomach tightened into a knot and twisted. Regret. Instant regret. But the damage was done. He saw the muscle in your jaw tense and the angry tears in your eyes. “Fuck you, then,” you said. You turned, and he watched you stalking away all the way back across the open field, back to the others.

Shit. Why the fuck had he done that, to you of all people? Fuck. Why am I such an asshole? He collapsed down onto his camp chair and put his head in his hands, swirling, stormy emotions welling up in his chest and pushing on his lungs. 

Prompt: “Fuck you, then.” A/N: early show Daryl could be such an explosive, angry dude. Understandably so, but OUCH. C’mon, Dixon. Y/N is here to help... Ya gotta deal with those feelings, babe...

[oldermenaremyreligion]

The Walking Dead

Rick Grimes

Daryl Dixon

[b3ans0up]

What about them negan.

[cappucinolia]

“How does it feel, Daryl?”

“Huh?”

“What did it feel like when you saw Maggie again and Beth never did?”

[xoxo-sarah]

ugh daryl or rick x reader but the reader is reading shy and they yell at the reader and the reader cries 😣😣 but comfort and stuff

Bunny

↝a/n: not really sure if this lives up to your expectations, but this is the first time I've written for TWD openly.

↝pairing: platonic!Daryl Dixon x reader

↝ Warning: reader getting yelled at, mention of Carl's death, reader's nickname is Bunny (platonically!), not proofread

↝⎙ 4.30.23

You were walking behind Daryl, talking his ear off about the comic you had found in an old, broken down store. You hadn't really realized how much you were talking and who you were talking to. Carl used to listen to you ramble on and on about the comics, but he saw where you came from. Daryl had never been one for them. A squirrel crawling up a tree caught his attention. He brought his bow up, aiming until you went through one of your fits, your voice going up an octave as you got excited. The squirrel scurried off.

Daryl had swung around, glaring at you through his eyelids. "Do ya ever shut up? There just went our dinner because you can't be quiet about a stupid comic book!" He had never raised his voice at you. Sure, you've seen him angry, but it was never directed towards you. He saw you as his own, never wanting to hurt you.

"Bunny,"

"Fuck you." Any trace of a tear was gone, replaced by a straight face. You walked right past him, in the direction that the squirrel had gone off to.

He went after you, kicking himself. He knew you hated getting yelled at. It was like an off switch for you. All excitement had been drained from your eyes.

He waited, giving you space, where you weren't in his line of sight, but he could track where you went, seeing your footprints in the dirt.

As he was walking, he stared at the ground until your shoes were in front of his. He looked up, seeing you holding the dead squirrel by its back legs. "Here's dinner, asshole." He caught the squirrel as you threw it.

Daryl watched your face as you looked deep into the flames of the small campfire he had made to cook the meat of the squirrel and keep you warm in the Autumn night air.

"Bunny, look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell at ya. I just hadn't found any food for ya and when I did, it ran away."

Daryl has never been one to apologize, but always been one to grumble and mumble back. But he couldn't just let you off thinking he wasn't sorry. He wouldn't be able to live if something were to happen to you and you ended up thinking he wasn't sorry. He'd blame himself for yet another death.

"Whatever."

"Don't do that." It's the teen angst, he had to remind himself. Carl went through it, he knew. "Don't 'whatever' me, damnit." There wasn't any fire behind the curse, he almost sounded desperate for you to know he didn't mean it. He felt it was his fatherly duty to keep you alive, feed you.

"It's okay, Daryl, really. I get it." Your facade disappeared, along with your posture. Your body folded in on itself, knees to your chest. "I just don't have anyone to talk to about them, anymore, ya know."

After Carl died, it was as if your world crumbled. He was like a big brother to you, and now he is gone.

You felt arms around you, bringing you into a hug. The warmth around you was comforting but it was new. He had never hugged you before. It was a fatherly hug, one he wished would take all the negative thoughts away; one to fix everything that has ever gone wrong. "Well this is a first."

He pulled back slightly, halfheartedly glaring at you as he grumbled. "Not a word to anybody, got it?"

•2021-2024 by xoxo-sarah on Tumblr•

•My work is not to be translated, copied, modified, and/or reposted on any other site without my permission. [!I don't give permission!]

[unadulterated-syd]

thinking about doing a twd au where the government was still around having gone overseas to escape the apocalypse. I'm thinking their motives would be A. survival, and B. warning other countries before they had to experience the apocalypse.

Anywho, point being, the government gets help and clears out all the zombies and moves all the survivors into protected homes in an attempt to go back to "normal" (including new protocols for dealing with death because obviously they could get a new hoard of zombies)

Anyone interested in that? There will for sure be plenty of angst. 🤧

[celest1all]

opening requests for the walking dead, no smut tho :)

[baseballbitch116]

You Die

Warnings: Angst

Includes: Rick, Daryl, Negan, Shane, Glenn, Carl and Paul

Rick:

He wouldn’t be able to think at first when he hears the news. He’d stare at the person for a while, almost waiting for them to say they’re joking, for you to come out and surprise him. He’d end up falling over, sobbing hysterically, and after he couldn’t cry anymore, he would get furious, going out and killing dozens of walkers. He would be broken for weeks, struggling to keep going on with his responsibilities.

Daryl:

He would stare at the person in shock, his lip quivering as tears threaten to fall. He’d holler at them, blaming himself and whoever you were with for not protecting you better, screaming for them to tell the truth. he’d go on a rampage, killing everything he came across, until he couldn’t take it anymore and collapsed, sobbing against a tree, begging for you to come back.

Glenn:

He would fall over, the pain too much to bear, crying hysterically. He’d lock himself away for at least a few days, unable to do anything unless it was kill walkers. He’d scream and punch walls and call out your name, praying you come back to him.

Negan:

When he’d hear, he’d get mad, possibly even killing the messenger. He’d go on a total rampage, killing everyone and everything, beating things with Lucille and destroying walkers, until he ran out of energy and was forced to realize that he would never see you again, falling against a car and crying as he called out for you.

Shane:

He’d pace back and forth, rubbing his head and starting to speak but pausing, unsure of what to even say. He’d end up walking away, heading off into the woods to take his rage out on the walkers. He’d collapse on the ground when he grew too tired, feeling like his heart was being ripped out, beginning to sob into his hands.

Carl:

He can’t even comprehend it. He just walks away, leaving to be alone, to try to wrap his mind around the fact that he’ll never see you again. And then it hits him, and he can’t stop silently crying, choking on his sobs, trying to stop the pain.

Paul:

He is broken when he hears the news, so stunned he can’t even move or breathe. He chokes out questions, trying to figure out what to do, blaming himself immediately for not being there. The second he is alone, he breaks down, falling to the floor holding onto something of yours and crying until he can’t breathe.

—

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