#dwight doesnt take anyone’s shit

[harry-leroy]

👀 (I love your writing a lot :D)

Hi! Thank you so much for this:) (And thank you for that lovely comment on my writing, that made my day! ❤️) I apologize that it’s been a few days - normally I’ll send out and ask meme and then I’ll get crazy busy again as soon as I get asks (never fails!). But I hope you enjoy this - so this is some Dwight/George content for you. @upstartpoodle wrote this gorgeously heartbreaking fic about a scenario where George was actually taken to an institution, which I’ve also been thinking a lot about throughout watching S5, and especially after reading that fic. I’m gonna leave it under a cut because angst and it’s kinda long! Enjoy :)

“Might I examine him?” Dwight asked one of the other doctors, indicating George Warleggan out of the room full of shells of men. The man in question was standing by a small window, holding onto the wall and looking down at the floor with exhausted eyes. George appeared to stand apart from everyone else, though one could argue that Bedlam wasn’t much of a place for friends.

“To what purpose?” the doctor asked.

Dwight took a moment to comprehend that the man was nearly telling him no, which seemed absurd. He could barely look at the others in the room without feeling nauseous. If he could bring every one of them back to their homes he would, but he came there with a mission.

“I believe that he is fit to transition to being under my care,” Dwight said. “He was once a Member of Parliament. His family is quite well-known. It does not seem fit that he should be treated by a public hospital,”

The argument pained him. It didn’t seem fit for any of these men to be treated by a public hospital, especially one that treated its patients so terribly. Again, he had to think on when Cary had called him to Trenwith just two days before, looking himself somewhat ghostlike.

“Bring him home,” Cary had said. “Do whatever you can. They deny us when we go to visit. Valentine has been ill for some time now after George was taken and -“

It was not like Cary Warleggan to ramble, as he was generally known as being a man of few words. The man seemed to catch himself in the act. He took a breath.

“For God’s sake, just tell me he’s alive,”

It was then that Dwight understood that Cary had very little say in George being taken to an institution. None, in fact. The carriage had come to Trenwith without any warning. Faster than Cary or Valentine could comprehend, George was given a heavy dose of laudanum and dragged out of the house.

“I will do what I can,” Dwight’s heart ached even as he remembered the conversation. “Both for George and for Valentine,”

Dwight blinked the memory away as the doctor swung open the door to the room, allowing him to go get George and take him out and back to his little room down at the end of the hall.

He approached George slowly, taking him gently by the arm without saying anything at first. George turned around with incredibly slowness, losing his balance as he did and nearly falling, though Dwight held him steady.

“Mr. Warleggan,” Dwight began. “Come,”

“Where are we going?” George asked, his voice soft, tone exceedingly cautious and almost childlike.

“Home,” Dwight said, swallowing the urge to shed a tear at George’s state. He could feel it like a knot in his throat and under the back corners of his jaw.

“Oh,” George said, his constitution growing weaker with every moment he stood. Dwight noticed that he was trembling. His wrists were rubbed raw and they looked bonier than normal. His cheekbones were more defined. He hadn’t eaten, Dwight knew.

“Come,” Dwight began to walk forward, trying not to look at the other poor souls in that room. It reminded him almost too much of a certain French prison. In Dwight’s condition back in those days, he might have slipped into a similar place as his patient. He shuddered a little at the thought. George was slow to follow but eventually he did, looking at his feet and sometimes around at the other walls as he walked. Dwight was disheartened to see George’s stubborn pride beaten back into an innocent docility.

Once they had gotten to the door, Dwight nodded to the other doctor who had let him retrieve George. He felt his patient’s shakiness under his own arm where he held him.

“It’s alright,” Dwight said as he turned back to George.

George’s body took it like an order. Though still quite timid, he fought to control the trembling that had overtaken him, lest he get beaten again for continuing to show any weakness. What resulted was a kind of stiffness, a kind of position where the body settled when trying to convince itself and trying to persuade others that it was really alright.

“A little further, Mr. Warleggan,” Dwight became even more cautious upon seeing the man seize up. Once the other doctor began to follow, George kept moving for fear of being punished if he did not.

“Good,” Dwight said, trying to be encouraging, something he would have never tried had George been under his care for any other illness.

George’s room down at the end of the hall was nearly blocked from the light, though the setting sun gave them something to work with. There was a small bed made of straw in the corner. Next to it on the floor was a worn down piece of chalk and eighteen white lines marked down on the wall above it. It was, Dwight assumed, when the man stopped counting the days.

George stood in the middle of the room, unsure of where else to go or what else to do with himself. Dwight took the opportunity to begin his examination.

“Look at me for a moment, Mr. Warleggan,” Dwight said, his voice soft and gentle, almost as if he were talking to Caroline. George’s eyes turned towards the doctor with an incredible sense of lethargy. They seemed to have a difficult time focusing on Dwight as he blinked several times before looking in his general direction. Dwight took George’s wrist, the patient shying away from his touch. In George’s mind, he was prepared to be strapped down to a chair or chained to the wall once again, like he had been for the past two days. The only reason he was allowed some socialization today was that he had finally cried himself to sleep after hours of weeping and struggling. He was allowed out because he was now quiet. Dwight’s touch also aggravated the wrist’s broken skin, causing George to bite his tongue.

“I’m sorry,” George said, hiding his wrist from Dwight and tasting blood in his mouth. “Please, just don’t...”

He trailed off, now unsure of the sentence or the direction it was meant to be going in.

“It’s alright,” Dwight said. “If you will allow me to take your pulse,”

It was then that Dwight realized he needed to have much more patience than he might have expected. George normally wasn’t a man for patience and the conversations with him when he was healthy normally didn’t require much effort in that department, unless one were Ross Poldark. It wouldn’t be long before the man would start asking after George, so Dwight felt as though he had to hurry.

George extended his arm out this time, his fist still closed, though not tight. The two men exchanged a brief second of eye contact before George turned away, looking with blank eyes at the floor.

The pulse was quick, nearly unstable. Dwight felt his eyebrows furrow. As he held the red, angry wrist, he felt George start to tremble again.

“Has he been given any sedatives since his arrival here?” Dwight asked the other doctor, who had been watching their every move.

“Mr. Warleggan,” began the doctor, using the name as a point of mocking from how Dwight had used the same phrase earlier to address George. “refuses to take them. We find that other methods are better to keep him from hysteria,”

“Like chaining him to the wall?” Dwight said without a moment’s hesitation, staring straight into the doctor’s eyes. George looked up at this and tore his hand away from Dwight’s, keeping it now for himself. Out of his peripheral, Dwight could see George trying to rub his wrist as if to soothe it.

“George is mad. He needs restraint. He needs to keep his animality in check. What kind of place do you think we run here?” The doctor stepped forward.

“What George needs is kindness. What he needs is patience. You ask me what kind of place I think this is, and I think quite honestly that it is closer to Hell than to any kind of saving grace from madness,” Dwight spoke, the bitterness in his heart from what he had seen in the short time he had been there catching up to his tongue. “What other methods has George had to endure? What other tortures has he had to suffer through? When is the last time you checked his pulse? He’s -“

Dwight stopped when he noticed that George’s trembling had worsened. He was cowering slightly, feet turned away from the two men. His paleness had gotten worse. In this movement, George’s shirt had shifted slightly, exposing the skin on the upper back, on which Dwight saw parts of deep, bruised wounds. Wicked cuts surrounded by splotches of blue and black.

For the first time in a long while, Dwight winced. With quick resolve, he took George by the arm and looked back at the doctor, rage sitting on the throne of the irises.

“He’s coming back with me,”

[crzcorgi]

A Sign of Thanks

Second Part to Little Lost Soul

2000 words

Warnings ~ Negan language, bit of angst (reader is selectively mute), no smut in this part

Tags are at the end. Want on or off my taglist? Just drop me a note!

  After Fat Joseph took y/n down to the kitchen for some fruit, I decided I fucking needed to have a talk with Simon.

 Picking up my radio, “Simon, get your ass to my quarters now.”

 A few seconds later, “okay, boss. Anything I need to know right now?”

 I sighed, “yes, if your ass isn't here in less than 5 minutes you'll be enjoying the rest of your fucking short life at the southern outpost.Got it?”

 “Got it, be right there.”

I had to get to the bottom of what was happening with y/n. Which fuckwad had put her on custodial duty in the fucking basement? Where was she sleeping? Where should we move her for her safety? And most importantly, who were the fuckity fucking monsters that were harassing her, and how should we punish them?

 Soon, I heard a knock, just under 4 minutes, good fucking job, Simon.

 Opening the door, I stepped back, letting Simon enter the room. He stepped towards my desk, looking at me for fucking permission to sit.

 “Sit.” I went around and sat in my chair, leaning back a bit.

 “So, why the urgency, Negan?”

 “Y/N, I need some fucking info on who are the shitheads that assigned her the shittiest job available in the Sanctuary?”

 “Well, that would be…” Simon cleared his throat “Either myself, Dwight or Franklin.”

 “So, who the fuck was it? Was your little 'mmmhhmmm’ your way of saying you are said shithead?”

 He looked over the desk at me, his hands fidgeting. “Uh, no, not me. I'm pretty sure it was Franklin. But sir, I don't think anyone knew at that point that the girl was mute. She seemed capable enough.”

I closed my eyes, trying to fucking keep my cool. “Capable enough? What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

 I could see Simon shifting in his seat, nervous. Good. “Well, I guess, cause she didn't argue when we gave them their assignments. Most people put up a bit of a fuss. When she didn't we figured all was fucking a'ok with 'er.”

“So that made her 'capable’” Dear fuck, I used those fucking air quotes, but I was fucking done with incompetence.

 “Okay, just chalk this up to another fucking job I have to take over. Next, find her a room, alone.”

 “We don't have many single rooms, 'cept maybe downstairs there could be one.”

 I squinted, “Downstairs? As in the fucking basement where Dwight and his merry team of fucktwats are? Yeah, you set that up right now, perfect fucking place for a tiny girl, who can't communicate, who's scared of her own fucking shadow. Just the fucking ticket, Simon! Get right on that shit.”

 I was fucking fuming.

“Uh, yeah, well there is a room, locks and all. But uh…”

 “Fucking spit it out Simon!”

 “It's your private room”

 Fuckity fuck. I had a room made up for my wives and I to have our little fucking private fuckfests. I hated them in my main room. And fuck, whenever I tried screwing them in their bedrooms, invariably one of the others would come a knocking, looking for a little of their own Negan time.

 I let out a breath that I had been holding in. “Okay, clean it up. Make it look nice, not like it's a room for fucking. Make it her’s.”

Simon tipped his head at me. “You sure boss? I mean you were pretty adamant about having that separate room for your wives.”

“Did I stutter Simon? Yes, I'm fucking sure. And after you're done with that I have another thing we have to fucking handle. Get that room done this afternoon, including moving her things in. Let me know when that fuckers done. Got it?”

 “Got it, Negan.”

 I stood, waiting for Simon to stand. “Get on it.”

 He hesitated, turning to look at me with a questioning look.

 “Out with it Simon.”

 “I'm not trying to beat a dead horse, but why all this,” he gestured with his hands, “for this girl? We've had plenty of odd females make their way through the Sanctuary doors and you haven't given them a fucking glance. Why her?”

 “Cant say I even fucking know myself, man.But there is something there, something about her. But even without my fucking strange attraction, the way she was, is, being treated is fucking deplorable. And I need to get to the bottom of it. Okay?”

 “Okay, I'll get on fixing up her room.”

 As Simon walked out, closing the door, I walked over to my bed. Lying down, boots and all, I was too old for all of this shit. I must have fallen asleep because I was suddenly awakened by doll, standing by my bed, big eyes looking at me like she'd seen a fucking ghost. She turned and started to run out of the room.

 “Sweetheart, y/n, don't go, it's okay, I'm not mad!” Surprisingly, she stopped, turning hesitantly to look up at me, then glancing back down at her clasped hands.

 “Did Joseph let you in here to clean? I know he said you were pretty upset you couldn't fucking finish.”

 She looked back up at me, nodding her head yes. Fuck, she looked so scared. Jesus what exactly had happened to her?!

“I tell you what, I have to take a shower, why don't you finish up your cleaning and I'll be out of your way. But if you need anything at all, just knock on the door, okay?” I slowly moved towards her, wanting to lock the door behind her. As I neared her, she quickly wrapped her arms around herself and started whimpering, her eyes darting around looking for a quick escape.

 “Oh fuck, sweetheart, I'm not gonna touch you. I just wanted to lock the door so we won't have any unwanted fuckheads entering unannounced.” Mostly, I was concerned about my wives.

 She started shaking her head, quickly moving towards the door. Without thinking, I reached out, grabbing her arm to stop her from leaving. She swung around, her right fist connecting with my cheek.

 “Jesus, fuck! Shit, you've got a damn nice right hook there doll” I was rubbing the spot now. “You fucking hit better than most men!”

 I figured she'd run, but she actually stood there, glaring at me. “If looks could fucking kill, doll, I reckon I'd be fucking dead, huh?” I snickered, still running my fingers over my cheek, feeling it beginning to swell.

 “Well, I've got to go take my shower, maybe splash some fucking cold water on this. You just do your thing, and we'll keep the door unlocked, okay?” It hadn't fucking dawned on me that she might think I was locking her in, not locking someone out. “And doll, I'm fucking sorry I scared you, that wasn't my intention.”

 She looked at me, nodding once again. She seemed to have lost the death glare, but was far from relaxed. Smiling at her, I went to my bathroom, shutting the door.

When I was finished, I came into the room, surprised, and a touch disappointed to see y/n was nowhere to be seen. I was hoping to talk with her, see if I could get her to fucking trust me.

 Grabbing a clean tee out of my closet, I sat on the edge of my bed, thinking. Why is she so scared? What happened to her exactly? How could she survive in such a fucked up world? Why do I fucking care so much?

 I didn't even notice that she had somehow reappeared, right in front of me, making me jump.

 “Good fucking god doll, are some sort of fucking ninja?! You're going to give an old man a heart attack.”

 Did she just fucking giggle?!

 She came closer, extremely close, she sat next to me on the bed. I didn't dare move, even a fucking fraction of an inch. She looked up at my, holding her hand out with what looked like an ice pack.

 “For me, doll?”

 Nodding her head, she brought it up to my cheek, placing it gently there, holding it.

 Taking a chance, I turned my face just enough to take in her face. She seemed so into holding the pack on my face, I'm not sure she even noticed me staring. She had y/e/c eyes, so bright and beautiful. Her features were so fine, like a doll. Her y/h/c hair was long, but she wore it up, it was shiny, silky, my fingers itching to touch, run through it. Her lips, soft, so red without the benefit of lipstick.

 When I came back around to her eyes, I realized she was looking back at me, not with a frightened look, but I could have fucking swear she was smirking.

 “Caught me, sweetheart.”  Winking at her, she didn't look away, her gaze still meeting mine. “So, does my face look any better? You really nailed me darling!”

 Shifting her gaze to the ice pack, she pulled it off, investigating the bump. I couldn't help the involuntary flinch when her soft fingers touched my face. She pulled back, but I don't think from fear. She stood up, glancing around the room as if searching for me something.

 “Do you need something?” I asked.

 She walked over to my desk, grabbing a pen and a piece of paper, tipping her head sideways.

 “Sure, be my guest.”

 She started writing something, then walking back over, handing it to me.

 I took it, realizing that I hadn't even thought of asking her if she communicated this way. Fucking stupid of me.

 Mr. Negan, I'm very sorry for the punch, it doesnt look as bad as I'm sure it probably feels. :(

 Thank you also, for letting me work upstairs. I didn't want to complain, but downstairs, well, it's just not a good…fit for me.

 You're very kind to me, and I so appreciate it. Most people, especially men, are not so kind.

 I'll leave you now, and again, sorry!

 Y/N Y/L/N

 She started towards the door, picking up some of her cleaning supplies. She turned to smile at me. She did something with her hand, her fingers.

 I stood up, walking to her. “Sign language? What was that sign, can you show me?”

 She grinned, taking my hand, placing my fingertips on my lips, then moving my hand down a bit, pointing towards her. Then she moved my hand to the side of my face, making my fingers fold down to my palm, kind of like a little child waving.

 “Oh, fuck! I get it, it's goodbye, right? But whats the finger kissing part?”

 Smiling, she mouthed, thank you.

“Well, I think I should be thanking you, doll. My room has never looked better! And thank you,” I tried signing at the same time, “for teaching those signs. Maybe you could teach me more.”

 She nodded, then turned to leave, as I opened the door, stepping aside to let her through, Simon appeared.

 “Rooms all set, Negan.” He looked at y/n, an awkward smile on his face.

 “Good timing. Thanks.”

 “Didn't you have something else to discuss with me?”

 “Not now, I'll call you when I'm ready. Just go along your merry fucking way.” He was grating on my fucking nerves.

 “Okay, I'll be around. Goodbye miss.” He nodded at y/n.

 Smiling at Simon, she looked back to me. I could swear her fucking smile grew.

 “So, I have got a little surprise for you, sweetheart, it's kinda a perk that comes with the new job.”

 She looked a bit confused, but still smiled. She followed me down the hallway to her new room.

 I noticed the door was open, thinking Simon just left it that way.

 As I stepped inside, about to signal her to enter, I realized one of the Saviors was still working on putting some new curtains up. He turned around, stepping down of the ladder.

 “Oh, sir, sorry, just finishing the curtains. Hope everything's okay?”

 Just as he began talking, I heard doll, make an almost squeaking sound. When I turned around, she was over halfway down the hall.

 Turning back to look at Tad, I saw a look of fucking shock on his face.

 And I knew why.

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[izthecannibal]

We’re Not Too Far Gone (Part 3) - Carl Grimes Imagine

Part 1

Part 2

Part 4

requests: could you do a multi chapter fic where like the reader is like 14?? and like negan takes her from hilltop to raise her as his own but she doesnt like him so she runs away and she gets captured by like dwight and thats the part where glenn and michonne are also captured aswell and they get to the lineup and thats where negan notices her and ricks group are “ shookt ” and when carl tries to hunt down negan and fails he ends up meeting reader during the tour and they form a great friendship??

and about the “ negans daughter” thing can you make the reader really close w jesus and he gets really upset when negan takes her away?? thanks aha

pairings: carl x reader

a/n: i’ve been reading the spider-man comics and i’m so in love with peter honestly why can’t guys my age be like him... also i’m not super happy with how this came out but you know the next part should be better 

word count: 1,383

tagged users: @deeindarkwonderland @namelesslosers 

“If you think any amount of pain you can inflict on me will make me wish I was dead, you don’t know me one damn bit,” you spat. Your body still shook, but no longer out of fear. You were fuming with rage, and your heart was beating abnormally quickly, making your jaw shudder. 

Negan feigned shock, placing his hand over his heart. “My, oh, my! I knew you were a sassy one, but jeez... You sure know how to mouth off.” Negan’s face reflected one thing, and one thing only: He was pissed. You were alike Negan in the sense that you didn’t back down. 

“I’m just getting started,” you replied, gritting your teeth out of habit. Negan chuckled at the ground, then stood back up. He wandered back towards Rick, glancing down at him like a king talking to a servant from a pedestal. He swung his bat from off his shoulder and aimed it at Rick’s chest. Rick stared blankly past Negan, seemingly distracted and unstable. 

“Give me your shit, or I will kill you.” Negan smiled devilishly, leaning back and laughing a little at the reaction he was receiving from Rick. “Today was career day.” Negan bobbed the bat up and down as he began to walk towards you again, pointing its end at each person he passed along the way. 

“We invested a lot so you would know who I am and what I can do. Little Miss (Y/N) over here has seen a lot of what I’ve created first-hand, but I can confirm that she has no idea in the damn world what I’m about to show all of you sorry bastards.” 

You flinched when you heard your name fall from his vulgar lips, hating the way it sounded as it rolled off his tongue. Thankfully, Negan turned away from you, and back to Rick. He repeated his actions, pointing the tip of the bat at him. “You work for me now.” 

Negan firmly planted his large boots in the ground and pointed the head of his bat at each of you individually. “You have shit, you give it to me. That’s your job. Now, I know that is a mighty big, nasty pill to swallow, but swallow it--you most certainly will. 

Negan had seemingly forgotten you were there, for he was so focused on getting Rick’s attention and keeping it. “You ruled the roost. You,” Negan paused, sighing through his teeth before continuing, “built something. You thought you were safe.” 

A boy wearing a cowboy hat with a gauze pad covering his eye stared in shock at Rick with his mouth wide open. His eyes followed the bat up to Negan, and then settled on you. His mouth closed as you looked him in the eye. Shivers went up your arms. Whether they were from the freezing cold air or not, you couldn’t tell. 

“I get it,” Negan rambled. Your eyes darted towards the short brown-haired woman, who gagged silently. “But the word is out. You are not safe--Not even close. In fact, you are pegged... More pegged if you don’t do what I want, and what I want is half your shit.” 

You knew it was coming. You had already gone through this at the Hilltop. It was heartbreaking the first time, but it wasn’t nearly as suspenseful. You weren’t there when Negan found out about your community. You had only heard of what happened in the stories that Jesus told you. As far as you were concerned, nothing this extravagant happened to anyone in your group. 

You were at Negan’s mercy like never before. Half your supplies had been taken by him, then you were taken, yourself. You had almost escaped, but he was too good for you. If Negan’s third time was a charm, you were as good as dead. 

“And if that’s too much, you can make, find, or steal more, and it’ll even out sooner or later. This is your way of life, now. The more you fight back, the harder it will be. So, someone knocks on your door,” Negan paused once again, pacing slowly towards you. 

“You let us in. We own that door. You try to stop us, and we will knock it down.” Rick blinked as Negan jutted the end of his bat towards his head. “You understand?” Rather than answering, Rick stared blankly past you. His face was almost as pale as the woman next to him, only he showed no expression. It was like he was unaware of how much weighed on his response to such a simple question. 

Negan leaned forward and put his hand to his ear. “What?” he whispered. “No answer?” Negan stood up straight and dragged his fingertips over his chin, through his beard. “You don’t really think that you were gonna get through this without being punished. Now, did you?” His indiction of each word grew more and more powerful with each word he said. 

“I don’t wanna kill you people.” Rick’s breathing sped up, and yours followed suit. “Just wanna make that clear from the get-go. I want you to work for me. You can’t do that if you’re dead. Now, can you?” Negan’s head turned towards you painfully slowly. 

“For you, my dear...” Negan said excitedly. He sauntered in front of you and squatted to your level. “I’m not sure what to do with you, just yet... Anyone got any suggestions?” He turned on his heels to face the group, who were all staring at you questionably. 

You tilted your head down, and a tear fell from your eye onto your leg. You wiped your face quickly, unaware that you had even begun to cry. Your thumb began tapping your thigh--a nervous habit you had developed over the years. 

“Alrighty, then. I guess Lucille shall decide her fate... if none of you are willing to compensate.” Your eyes eyes widened exponentially as Negan raised his bat above his head. You couldn’t make a sound, but the boy who you had glanced at earlier shrieked before Negan could crash the bat on top of your head. 

Negan smirked and halted his motions, allowing Lucille to rest on his shoulder. He spun quickly to face the boy, whose face had been drained of all color, aside from the pink that splotched his cheeks and nose. “Alright! Now, things are starting to get exciting!”

Negan chuckled to himself, then focused on Rick once more. Like he wasn’t completely willing to take your life. Like he didn’t just make your heart thrash momentarily. Your breaths were quick, and you were sobbing at that point. Your eyes trailed up from your shaking hands to the boy who sat across from you. You couldn’t help but stare, for it was your only way of acknowledging his bravery. 

“I’m not growin’ a garden, but you killed my people--A whole damn lot of them. More than I’m comfortable with, and for that... For that, you’re gonna pay.” He darted his head back to you again, and you dropped your head instantly. You gave up. You were at his mercy, and you were willing to do whatever he said you needed to. 

“So. now... I’m gonna beat the holy hell out of one ‘a you.” He replaced his grip on Lucille and spun her in his hands. “This... This is Lucille, as (Y/N) is very aware, and she is awesome.” Your shoulders shook when he said your name. 

“All this... All this is just so we can pick out which one ‘a you gets the honor.” Negan paced back and forth, passing over each person in the line. He stopped in front of a man with red-orange hair. To your surprise, he didn’t cower down. He stood up off his heels and raised his chin, almost like he was challenging Negan. 

“Huh,” Negan sighed. He ran his fingertips over his chin once again, shaking his head. “Ugh, I gotta shave this shit.” He left the red haired man and strolled over towards the boy. You shook your head warily, sobbing once more as Negan stepped closer to him. You didn’t know the boy, but he saved you. The least you could do for him is make sure he got out of this alive, to return the favor. 

[leviathaxn]

cyd right when shit gets dicey, he doesn’t intentionally get split up from dwight but shit is bad in the city there’s fucking chaos and dwight winds up going to help emily with some shit so cyd is on his own. and then it gets worse and cyd wants to go find dwight but the military decides to destroy too much shit and he has to bolt. so he runs and he runs and he’s got some things on him, he nabbed a bag of dwight’s with some things in it and that’s what hes got but the city burns for days and days and he cant go back so he has to keep going and between people panicking and everything else he can’t make much headway towards anywhere familiar and he has to just take off in a random direction and hope for the best. So he’s making his way and days go by and he’s way further away than he realises and he doesnt have a clue where he is but he’s still hopefyl. he still thinks he’ll be able to circle back and find emily, find dwight, they’ll be able to find a way to manage together. But then the days keep going and he gets more and more lost and he’s coming across more of the dead and less people that are still alive and it starts to sink in that maybe things arent gonna go how he’s hoping. He finds some people here and there, learns the hard way that he himself is better off than tagging along with anyone cause nobody can be trusted and he doesn’t have enough to keep getting fucked over. He’s getting a heavier and heavier feeling in his gut as the days turn to weeks and things get more bleak and he realises after happening on a sign that he’s oncredibly far away and wouldnt know how to get back if he tried. He’s a better scavengar than a hunter and he learns quickly just how to get away with shit how to be more cautious be more aware keep his eyes open sleep less be on alert because any given moment he could find himself in a shitty position he may not be able to get out of He gets wearier, more numb, but he’s fraid for more reasons than he can count and it leaves him feeling raw and he hates it but he ignores it and keeps going. He makes it enough, even between bouts of dehydration and exteeme lack of sleep on top of so many other things but he gets the sinking feeling that he’s not gonna make it. he’s always had help, always had someone with him, he can function on his own but he dobts whether he can actually survive and tha tthought sends him into a legitimate panic attack that makes him bolt and just run and run and in the midst of that he finds himself surrounded because he didnt pay attention and he almost thinks it’d be easier to just let himself get bit, but he still has that hope that he can get back and find dwight so he fights and fights but his stupidity put him in a situation too much for him to handle and he’s wide eyed breathing hard and nearly collapsed on the ground when he hears a whstling noise followed by a sickly wet noise and a thud and when he looks down the walker that was on him has a bolt through its eye 

[izthecannibal]

We’re Not Too Far Gone - Carl Grimes Imagine

Part 2

Part 3

requests: could you do a multi chapter fic where like the reader is like 14?? and like negan takes her from hilltop to raise her as his own but she doesnt like him so she runs away and she gets captured by like dwight and thats the part where glenn and michonne are also captured aswell and they get to the lineup and thats where negan notices her and ricks group are " shookt " and when carl tries to hunt down negan and fails he ends up meeting reader during the tour and they form a great friendship??

and about the " negans daughter" thing can you make the reader really close w jesus and he gets really upset when negan takes her away?? thanks aha

pairings: father figure negan x reader, best friend/ guardian jesus x reader

a/n: i’ve written this about four times now so i hope my laptop doesn’t delete this one lol

word count: 1,575

tagged users: @deeindarkwonderland 

"You like it?” Negan asked, placing his hands on your shoulders. He stood behind you, leaning his head to whisper in your ear. You ignored him, finding that silence was your best defense mechanism against him. You were a mix of disgusted with how the women he lived with pranced around like sex dolls and in awe of how beautiful the room was. You hadn’t seen furniture like that in person ever, even before walkers roamed the earth. 

Negan took you from the Hilltop while he was on one of his weekly visits to take your supplies. One of his wives had been bugging him about wanting a kid, and you seemed to be perfect to him. “Take a seat, and I’ll bring out your new mother,” he ordered. You sat down on the nice couch, huffing at his mention of a ‘mother.’ 

Negan was full of shit if he actually thought you were ever going to call her that. The closest thing you had to a parent was Jesus, who took you in under his wing when your family died. He and you were both lone wolves before you met each other. He became your best friend and guardian. 

A woman followed Negan towards you, where her facial expression resembled anything but happiness. Negan smiled at her hopefully, begging for a response. The woman looked at you with disgust. “This is (Y/N),” Negan said gesturing for you to stand up. You crossed your arms leaning back into your seat. 

“She’s older than I thought she was going to be,” the woman complained. She acted as if you weren’t a few feet in front of her. 

“Same here,” you replied wittily, glaring at the woman. Her eyes widened with rage, and she looked back at Negan like she was waiting for him to do something. 

“I asked for a kid, not a bitchy teenager,” she blurted out, balling her hands into fists at her sides. 

“(Y/N),” Negan sighed, “Why don’t you go ahead and wait outside.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes dramatically to assure that she noticed, and walked out the doors. 

For the first time since you arrived at the sanctuary, you were alone. Negan always made sure either he, himself, or one of his Saviors was by your side at all times. You felt a rush of relief roll over you as you recognized your new freedom. You looked in each direction before quickly walking down the hall, trying your hardest to act like you had a purpose. 

You found a large steel staircase that you recognized and flew down it without a second thought, gripping the handrail for stability. On the ground floor, there were way too many people to count. Some were eating, others were talking, and a group of about twenty men sat around a table, discussing something seemingly important. 

You noticed a group of people leaving the Sanctuary, and began walking with them, trying your hardest to blend in. There didn’t seem to be a leader of the small crowd, and the conversations were only between two or three people, so you weren’t able to hear where they were going. You didn’t care, though. They were leaving, and that was all that was on your mind at the moment. 

You were walking down a road that you recognized from when Negan drove you to the Sanctuary in his truck when a small group of walkers--maybe three or four--caught your attention. A woman with red hair reached into her belt, but you stopped her. 

“Don’t worry about it,” you offered. “I got this. I’ll catch up with you guys.” She didn’t argue, and the group continued down the road. You pulled out your small knife from your belt and efficiently killed all the walkers, then ran a bit deeper into the forest to hide yourself. You ran as quickly as you could in the direction of the Hilltop. 

Your run slowed down to a quiet walk as you heard voices ahead of you. You had no idea how long you had been running, but you were almost positive you weren’t close enough to be home already. Maybe Jesus sent a group out? Or maybe Negan’s group caught up to you? Amidst the trees, you could see two people. An Asian man with floppy, black hair stood across from a slim, dark skinned woman with long, thick hair that fell down her back. 

“We just got stuck with each other,” he said. The woman looked at him sadly, and he looked away from her. “We were lucky.” He paused, shaking his head slightly and breathing in deeply. “We’d figure it all out together. I felt like we did... After everything, we did.” He shook his head again, staring at the fallen leaves on the ground. “The world’s not what we thought it is.” 

You wondered what this man was talking about--who he was talking about. 

“Hilltop, the Saviors... It’s bigger.” Your eyes widened, and you gasped a little. A whistle sounded from among the trees, and you ducked down, drawing your knife. The man positioned his gun in front of him, and the woman grabbed the handle of a long sword out of its sheath on her back. 

Within your immediate line of sight, you could see five men, all with their weapons aimed at the two people. As far as you were aware, they didn’t notice you. You recognized one of the men by the scar on his face, which you assumed was from being burned. These men were Saviors, and they weren’t gathered here coincidentally. They had probably been following you since you left the group on the main road. 

“Hi,” the man with the scarred face said monotonously, aiming his gun at the Asian man. He seemed to bite the inside of his lip as he readjusted his gun beneath his shoulder, lowering the weapon. They held their hands down at their sides in surrender, and they were easily taken to the ground by Negan’s men. 

The man’s and woman’s hands were tied behind their backs, and their mouths were tied shut with gags. They were forced onto the ground as the Saviors began to start a fire. You hadn’t even noticed how dark it was getting until your eyes ached in the presence of light. 

You hadn’t moved since you heard the first whistle. Your feet were planted still, for you were more scared than you had been in a while. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see a man in a black leather vest with a crossbow and a woman with a cap and a large gun creeping up behind the Saviors. You wondered if these people were with the two hostages, or if they were more of Negan’s men. 

Before you could stop yourself, you were creeping towards them. The woman noticed you first, aiming her gun at you. You shook your head frantically, holding your hands up. She nudged the man in the vest, nodding at you. You shook your head once again, trying to inaudibly tell them that you weren’t one of the Saviors. The man and woman creeped towards you, and away from the group. 

“Where are you from?” he asked bluntly. The woman still had her gun aimed at you, but you couldn’t blame her. You could never be too certain that someone wasn’t out to get you. 

“Hilltop,” you whispered, trying not to draw attention to the three of you. “Negan took me, and I got out.” They looked at each other with their eyebrows raised. “Where are you from?” 

“Alexandria,” the woman said. Your eyes lit up at the mention of the town they came from. Jesus always told you how amazing Alexandria was, and how he was going to take you there sometime. 

“Oh!” you said excitedly. “Do you know Jesus?” They looked at each other once more. They seemed to be gaining trust in you. 

“Yeah,” he said. “We know Jesus.” He dropped his weapon and stuck his hand out. “Daryl.”

You tossed your knife into your other hand and shook his. “(Y/N).” 

“I’m Rosita,” the woman said, still aiming her gun at you. You smiled uncomfortably at her. “How old are you, kid?”

“Does anyone really know anymore?” you asked smartly. “I’m probably fourteen or fifteen. I was little when all this started.” Daryl and Rosita nodded. “You know them?” you asked, gesturing at the two hostages. 

“Yeah,” Daryl replied. “Glenn and Michonne. You help us get them, and we’ll get you back to the Hilltop. Yeah?” You nodded in agreement. Even if these people were bad, you had nothing to lose. The three of you crept towards the glowing fire. 

The man who was tied down, Glenn, noticed you three, and your eyes darted back to Daryl. He held up his finger to his lips, telling him to stay quiet. Glenn, though, began to groan, gaining the attention of the Saviors.

“Hi, Daryl,” a man said. You turned your head slowly to see the man with the scarred face holding a gun to the back of Daryl’s head. Rosita put one of her hands up, holding onto her gun with her other hand. You quickly tucked your knife into your belt before raising both your hands up slowly. There was a man behind each of you. 

The sound of a gun firing echoed through the woods, and you dropped to your knees.