#like some fucked up baseball bat with nails and barbed wire

[goosebearies]

drew the slugkitties how i mayhaps imagine them ... :3

(sorry if some of these designs look eerily similar to how some other people may draw them? not sure exactly if they DO, but if they do then its just unconscious inspiration lol)

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

Do you like the idea of a yoongi x reader in the zombie apocalypse? If not that’s completely fine! I really like your tuxedo book too! 💜

warnings: language, violence (graphic descriptions of zombies getting bashed), angst (at the undead situation), fluff at the end

--

“Fucking shit, you’re a psychopath.”

“I’m a psychopath? You have got to be kidding me, I’m keeping us alive!”

“What do you think this is, Dead Rising?” he hissed, swinging the shovel hard and crushing a skull with a loud crunch.

“You have to be creative to survive in this god-forsaken world!”

You swept the end of a long metal pole configured with an axe attached to the end with barbed wire and duct tape, slicing off another head with a sickening splutter of expired blood.

“You want the bat with the nails or not?” you gritted out, holding both weapons, realizing that not being two handed was really fucking up your accuracy with your axe-spear, so it would be fucking fantastic if Min Yoongi got over calling you a psychopath and just fucking took the wooden baseball bat covered in nails.

Yoongi rammed the head of the shovel into a decaying skull and the rust gave up, popping it off, and leaving the spade sticking out of a very dead, still walking old man.

“Damnnit, yes, give me the murder contraption, I can’t fuck–”

You shoved the handle of the bat into his hands, ignoring his continuous swearing as you finally gripped your makeshift axe spear with two hands, using a myriad of techniques that you had only ever learned in video games, but how the fuck could you to know that zombies were going to show up in Korea because some lunatic released some weird pathogen in a subway and turned rush hour into undead hour?

Your fuck-of-the-night violently smashed two skulls together into the side of the stairwell of his own apartment building.

Neither of you had any idea it was going to be this bad.

Mostly because you two had been asleep.

Yeah.

Okay, technically, not the entire time, but the rest of your time was occupied. Neither of you paid attention to the news or social media. Yoongi had been your fuck-of-the-morning, fuck-of-the-afternoon, and fuck-of-the next-night.

What? It was the weekend! He was good!

“Well, this is more effective than I thought,” Yoongi grumbled, smacking a rotting young woman’s jaw off before caving her skull in. His black hair ruffled, covered in flecks of blood and gray matter.

“I told you!”

He growled in annoyance and continued on his way with you up the stairs, clearing out the zombies that had wandered in here, not a swarm, but still a whole fucking lot and, after seeing a number of them in pajamas and house clothes, you got a sinking feeling in your chest.

“Shit, did some sap bring home their undead wife or what?”

You couldn’t think about it, couldn’t think about how you just crushed a child’s skull and slammed them unceremoniously into the pile of bodies you were creating, couldn’t think about the moms and the dads, the grandparents and the cousins, but you suspected Yoongi’s guess was right.

And that was a very, very sad thought.

“Is anyone here not undead?” you muttered, noticing the quiver in your own voice.

Yoongi’s back touched yours. He was in front because he knew where he was going. You were behind him, holding up the rear. In front of him was his own apartment hallway, the undead lining up to die by nail-bat and axe-spear.

“The survivors have probably left,” he replied gruffly, his deep voice strained.

He pressed his back against yours, letting you feel his shuddering exhale.

“I’m glad you got a head on your shoulders, even if it’s full of video games.”

You almost laughed even though it wasn’t exactly a good time to laugh.

“You almost screamed at me when I picked up that box of nails and ran with them.”

“No normal person does that shit.”

Yoongi turned his head and pressed his nose to your hair, inhaling a deep breath. You stiffened, tingles running over your skin. It almost seemed normal. Almost. Except for the snarling dead people trying to eat your and Yoongi’s guts.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Fucking stinks in here.”

“Y… Yeah…”

You had fucked Min Yoongi, what, five days ago? Six days ago? Knew him for a couple of weeks thanks to some insistent friends forcing you two on a date. You thought the most surprising thing was both of you having sexual chemistry, but, no, the gods had other ideas, such as making you two bond by executing an entire zombie horde.

Yoongi said your name, softly, full of the kind affection that one develops in dire situations while desperately clinging to humanity.

“You got my back?”

You answered in the same tone, stuck with him now, but it wasn’t bad.

In fact, it was great.

“Yeah, I got your back.”

You held your axe-spear and he held his nail-bat. At least they weren’t Rage zombies. They were slow, stupid, and died instantly with a bonk to the head. And so, you and Min Yoongi tore your way through the undead, smashing skulls, destroying bodies beyond recognition, trying not to think of how beautiful these lives were before this, trying not to think how one mistake could have caused all this, trying to pray, hope, dream that there was an end as blood, guts, and brains flew into the air, splattering onto the wallpapered walls, staining them forever and ever, trying not to retch at the stench.

“I knew it.”

You jammed your axe into the last skull and there was a spluttered groan as the decaying young woman crumpled. You tried not to look as the bloody dress she was wearing fluttered, skewed legs collapsing with a sick crunch. It was obvious due to her small frame.

She had been pregnant.

You looked up and Yoongi was breathing hard, staring at his apartment door.

His normally pale skin was a little pink from exertion, black hair wild and dirty, dark brown, cat-like eyes fixated on the piece of paper taped to his front door of a very poorly drawn… something. Circles and lines and boxes with arrows. It appeared to be in red Sharpie. At the bottom right-hand corner, you could recognize a lineup of six stick figures and an oval circled next to them, as if one was missing.

“Who the fuck drew this?” Yoongi grunted, plucking it off his door. “Obviously not Jungkook, otherwise I would actually understand.”

“Who?”

He scrunched up his face and jammed the paper under his armpit, taking out his keys from his jeans.

“My friends. Come on, get in here. Maybe you can figure out what would be useful and then we can go meet up with them… once we figure out what the fuck this shit is supposed to mean.”

He grabbed your hand and pulled you close.

All of a sudden that meant your face was in Yoongi’s face.

He looked down at you, surprised at his own action, and you blinked back, startled.

Seconds passed.

A brain separated from its cavity peeled from the hallway wall and plopped onto the ground.

Both of you winced a little at the sound.

Still, Yoongi seemed determined to say something.

“I’m…” he whispered, leaning his forehead against yours. “I’m glad I’m not alone.”

His whole body was trembling. You could feel it from his hand and his head.

“I’m glad I’m with you,” you breathed. “Otherwise, I’m pretty sure I’d be dead.”

Yoongi chuckled. “Nah, not you. I watched you hammer nails into a wooden baseball bat with a brick. You would’ve been fine.”

“But lonely is worse than dead.”

His eyes found yours, dark brown and grateful.

“Yeah. It is.”

Yoongi pressed his lips to yours and you tilted your head to deepen it, savoring the kiss of survival.

-

cont. 2021.06.06 — hyung, where are you?

--

drabbles masterpost | masterpost

[artificialqueens]

Bitch Fight, Ch.2 (Multi-Ship) - Lita

Welcome to the world of Femme Fatale Wrestling. The future is female, and we're here to prove it.

A/N: Wow! I genuinely did not anticipate the level of love that people have had for this fic, and I am INCREDIBLY grateful. This story is very much my baby at this point, so it's nice to know that other people are as here for this story as I am.

Now, quick warning - I would very much recommend reading up on what hardcore/deathmatch wrestling is (if you're not already familiar) as a primer to reading this chapter. This is the only one that particularly features this specific style of wrestling, but it sounds a bit insane to the uninitiated - I wouldn't say you necessarily need to watch any matches to get the idea, but googling a definition might be an idea. The promotion I have Adore working for here is essentially early days CZW, if that means anything to anyone. 

Anyway - onwards with the bullshit, hope you enjoy it! &lt;3<3

TW: Blood, violence

 CHAPTER TWO: FUCK HER UP

Bianca couldn’t say for sure what she’d expected - needless to say, she hadn’t come into this with high hopes. But this was dismally bad, even for what limited presumptions she’d made. 

For one thing - it’s just after midday on a Sunday. Any wrestling show this early in the day, in broad daylight, seems absurd to her - especially in the Florida heat. There’s a training ring set up on the tarmac of a deserted parking lot in front of the decaying corpse of a closed-down Sears; a couple of trucks parked in a circle around it, and a crowd of maybe fifty people if she was being generous in her estimation. Bianca gives serious thought to turning around and going home there and then. She purses her lips - taking a deep breath and walking closer to the ring. She couldn’t have herself disappointing the one solitary fan she seemed to have accumulated in twenty years of wrestling. 

The noise from the place is bizarre - it’s loud. In the apparent absence of any description of loudspeaker or sound system, there’s no music playing. But the low hum from the audience occasionally mounts to a bellow, cheering and screaming for whatever’s happening in the ring. She still isn’t close enough to see properly. 

She walks up to ringside. There’s a ladder on the other side of the ring, balanced against a tree, and Bianca can tell from where she’s standing that one of the turnbuckle pads has been hastily duct-taped into place, a chunk of sharp metal sticking out of it. She’s unable to restrain from grimacing. 

She hadn’t been expecting anything fancy by any stretch, but there’s a guy tied up in the ropes, wearing jeans, and a t-shirt that she imagined had been white at some stage in its life, now bright red and soaked through with blood. A second dude stands over him, in a green singlet; one hand full of his opponent’s long hair, wrenching his neck back as his other grinds a cheese grater into his already-bloodied forehead, laughing maniacally as he does so. Fucking hell. Definitely not in Kansas anymore, Bea. 

There’s shit all over the ring - coils of barbed wire; piles of bloodied thumbtacks; and the shattered remnants of what was at one stage a table in one corner. There’s a heap of metal folding chairs and baseball bats on the outside - some of which are wrapped in barbed wire, or have bent nails haphazardly sticking out of them; cardboard boxes filled with what look like fluorescent light tubes stacked next to it. This is a fucking hellscape - Bianca can’t help but wonder what the hell she’s walked into.

What  age did she think Adore had been? Twenty-one? Twenty-two at most? Scarcely old enough to drink, at any rate. The guy who’d just had his face grated seems to have gotten the upper hand; kicking his opponent’s knees out from under him and untangling himself from the second rope. They lock up in the centre of the ring - the canvas worn through in places, ratty and bloodstained - and after a couple of minutes of pushing and shoving, Singlet Irish-whips T-Shirt into the corner; Bianca wincing and T-Shirt doubling over as his back makes hard contact with the exposed metal. 

She’d worked bloody matches before - seldom on purpose, granted. But accidents happen, and if you start bleeding from anywhere above your eyebrows, it’s on like a tap and doesn’t stop for hours. She remembered once, a couple of years ago, Trinity had caught her with the heel of her boot and split her eyebrow open mid-match - she’d thought she was just sweating an abnormal amount, until she got back to the locker room, and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, in a full crimson mask. But this was just violence for violence’s own sake - whose genius idea had it first been to bring a cheese grater to the ring? Bianca refused to even take chair shots at this stage if she could avoid them.

Singlet has taken a light tube each hand, and he smashes them over T-Shirt’s head in quick succession. T-Shirt drops to the ground, wailing in pain, and Singlet grabs him under the armpits and drags him into the centre of the ring to eat the pinfall; T-Shirt limp and lifeless, sprawled out on the middle of the mat. Someone outside of Bianca’s line of vision rings a bell, and Singlet slips quietly through the ropes to exit, amid a sea of nondescript noise from the crowd. A couple of equally bloodstained guys enter the ring - Bianca assumes she missed their matches, or at least she fucking hopes she did - to scrape T-Shirt off of the floor; half-helping and half-dragging him out of the ring, before returning to clear some of the debris from the previous match. 

Bianca had questioned whether or not the lack of  sound system would cause issues with announcing people to the ring, and she’s quickly discovering that it won’t, as a tall, muscular bald guy in a high-vis vest and tattered wrestling tights steps into the ring with a bullhorn in hand. His voice blares and cracks through the thing as he announces that the next match is to be contested under Last Man Standing rules; the match can only end when one wrestler is unable to get back to their feet for a count of ten.

He introduces the first competitor to the ring - a mountain of a man in cowboy boots and a butcher’s apron, most of his face covered by soaking wet hair where it’s not obscured by his enormous beard. Bianca clocks a beer gut hanging out over his jeans. According to the ring announcer, he’s 347lbs, and from Milwaukee, Wisconsin - by Bianca’s estimation from where she’s standing, he’s at least six foot five. His name is apparently Dahmer. Bianca curls her lip. Adore’s match better be the one after this, because she’s not sure how much more attempted murder via kitchen equipment she can stomach. 

“And his opponent, making her way to the ring from Azusa, California, weighing in at 121lbs - Adore Delano!” 

Bianca’s stomach turns a backflip. No fucking way. 

But no, that’s sure as shit Adore bopping her way down to the ring; her hair tied into two braids that fall to the bottom of her ribcage. She’s wearing a red vinyl crop-top with a ripped-up fishnet undershirt; cut-off grey denim shorts, the bottom of her asscheeks just peeking out, and scuffed Doc Martens, not a knee or elbow pad in sight. Bianca flinches at the thought of how much skin she has exposed. She steps through the ropes, doing a quick lap of the ring to wave to the audience, grinning like a little kid on Christmas.

Bianca wants the ground to open up and swallow her - purely so she doesn’t have to watch this mess and deal with that crap being on her conscience forever if nothing else. But Adore spots her in the sparse crowd - visibly gasping as she stands on the second turnbuckle, waving to her excitedly, turning to the guy in the high-vis to point to her and yell ‘THAT’S MY FRIEND!’ Bianca gives her a cursory wave; putting her head in her hands and groaning. 

The bell rings, and Bianca is watching through her fingers as Adore attempts to lock up with Dahmer, who pushes her away with one hand. She tries again to the same result, only to then fling her entire body weight at him, and bounce off of him like a ping-pong ball - her opponent not moving even an inch. She stands across from him, shaking herself off and attempting to plan her next move. He’s at least a foot taller than her, and watches her with no hint of human expression on his face as she ducks out of the ring to the pile of assorted weaponry, re-entering with a steel chair wrapped in barbed wire. 

Bianca had learned several hard lessons in all of her years of wrestling; one big one which stuck out in her mind in this particular moment was ‘never bring any weapon into the ring that you wouldn’t happily have used on yourself’. Because, according to Murphy’s Law, that’s exactly what’s going to happen, and it usually sucks. She’s still struggling to watch as Adore - still with that ridiculous, childish smile plastered across her face - grips the chair, lining it up for a shot to Dahmer’s stomach. She hits it with what looks like every ounce of force she possesses, and Dahmer doesn’t flinch. Adore’s eyes widen. She attempts to back away - her opponent making his first move of the match - grabbing her by the hair and throwing her into the ropes. Adore stumbles, trying to advance towards him, before eating an enormous clothesline, hitting the ground with a soft ‘thud’. 

She gets up to her hands and knees; Dahmer has the chair in his hands now, and cracks her stiffly across the back with it, flattening her once again. Bianca feels slightly sick. As Adore stands up - thank fuck she stood up - there are already spots of blood visible on her back, alongside the red welt from the chair shot. He picks her up, and Bianca quickly turns her attention to her phone - confident that Adore is otherwise occupied enough that she won’t notice. 

Bianca’s eyes stay locked on her Twitter feed, as she attempts to gauge what’s going on in the ring based on the crowd noise. Not well, judging by the ‘Fuck her up, Dahmer, fuck her up’ chant that’s started. Every time she looks up, she seems to regret it. She’s already watched Adore take multiple chair and kendo stick shots - more than Bianca would like to the head - and get suplexed into a pile of thumbtacks. Dahmer is throwing her around like a ragdoll, and she’s yet to get more than about three consecutive seconds of offence in. Even when she does, it’s never more than a weak kick or punch - she seems to be well-equipped to take punishment, yet has no idea how to dish it out. And yet every time without fail, she gets back up - and fucking somehow, she’s still smiling. 

A pane of glass has been set up against one corner of the ring - Dahmer has Adore lifted up for a powerbomb, and Bianca looks back to the ring just in time to see her go straight through it. The glass shatters, Bianca inhales sharply, and Adore lands crumpled in a heap against the ringpost, groaning in a pile of shattered glass. Dahmer steps back - apparently finding a referee willing to risk life and limb in that fucking death-trap of a ring was too much work, so in the absence of one, the crowd counts for him as he raises his fingers one at a time. Adore is already stirring - attempting to push herself to her feet, but unable to find anywhere to put her hands down that isn’t covered in chunks of glass. She’s covered in it too - there’s flecks of it in her hair and all over her clothes. 

The count is at five, and Adore is now kicking and screaming - trying to get up, but her legs are refusing to cooperate. She’s impressively badly busted-open - her face and arms are so covered in blood already that Bianca can’t figure out where the hell it’s coming from. As she’s counted out, she screams in frustration, flailing her legs and shaking the ropes. 

“You fucking assholes! I’m fine, look-” She finally hauls herself up to her feet, about thirty seconds too late; her knees trembling. She holds herself upright on the ropes - she’s bleeding a concerning amount, it’s pooling on the mat. “Restart the fucking match, I’m fine!” 

Her yelling is met with a chorus of boos, amid a sporadic ‘You suck’ chant. You’re clearly not fucking fine, Bianca thinks. That sick, uneasy feeling in her stomach that appeared when Adore entered the ring still hasn’t gone - if anything, it’s worse. The ring announcer in the high-vis is back in the ring; grabbing a struggling Adore around the waist and lifting her a few inches off the ground, dragging her kicking and screaming out of the ring - Adore flipping off the audience as she goes. 

Bianca isn’t fully sure what she’s doing as she shoulders her way through the sparse crowd - following the trail of blood that Adore had left in her wake. Something within her seems to have decided that Adore is now her problem - clearly nobody here gives anything adjacent to a fuck about her wellbeing, so somebody has to. Little shit.

**********

“Holy shit!” Adore exclaims. She’s sitting cross-legged on the hood of what Bianca assumes is her van, the same battered red Transit from the night they met; still drenched from head to foot in blood. Bianca sighs. The younger woman has a can of PBR in one hand, and a roll of duct tape in the other; there’s a small heap of bloody toilet paper next to her, a feeble attempt having been made at locating the source of her bleeding. Which is, from what Bianca can tell, most of her. There’s a gash about six inches long down the length of her upper arm that Bianca really doesn’t like the look of. “You came!” 

Bianca gave a small nod, hifting her weight from one foot to the other somewhat uncomfortably. “Are you okay?”

“Fucking awesome,” Adore smiles. She’s slurring her words a little, struggling to focus her eyes in the same direction. She flails an arm out towards the skinny leather-jacketed guy standing next to her, trying to get his attention. “Hey Chainsaw - this is my friend Santerìa. She’s a wrestler too.” 

Chainsaw turns around; he’s shirtless under his jacket, chest scored with layers of scars. He extends a hand to Bianca - she misinterprets the gesture as a handshake, and cringes as he goes in for a fistbump, stuffing her hands into her pockets awkwardly. Adore is otherwise concerned by picking thumbtacks out of her thighs - there aren’t too many still stuck in her, but every time she moves, Bianca catches a slight glimpse of silver somewhere new, and starts to feel queasy. 

“Hey.” 

“Chainsaw runs the show,” Adore explains between gulps of her beer. She offers it to Bianca, who pushes it back towards her. The can is also slick with blood - Adore looks insane, and it would be almost funny were it not for the fact that the stuff seemed to be pissing out of her. “Isn’t this cool as fuck?” 

“Sure,” Bianca says impassively, before turning to Chainsaw. “Are you sure she doesn’t need to like, go to the hospital?” He shrugs, disinterested in the conversation as he wanders aimlessly off in the other direction; pulling two crumpled twenty-dollar bills out of his trunks and handing them to Adore as he goes. She promptly stuffs the cash into her bra. 

“Fuck no, I’m fine.” Adore adds. 

Bianca looks around - she doesn’t even want to know what the hell is going on in the ring right now, but she knows for a fact that the crowd are starting to lose interest. How the fuck do these people justify this shit to themselves? Bianca had worked her fair share of crappy shows in high school gyms and bingo halls, and while in the long run, she was more than likely mortgaging years of her life and the eventual functionality of her body on wrestling, at least the worst she ever had to deal with after a match was a few bruises or a stiff neck. She could count on one hand the number of matches she’d had that ended in ER visits. Two concussions, a broken orbital bone, and a torn ACL in the space of twenty-four years wasn’t bad going by any means. This just seemed...excessive. She knew that this kind of backyard deathmatch garbage went on, of course - but seeing it happen in person somehow made it feel all the more sick.

“Okay. Adore, this is- hold on, what the fuck are you doing?” She had been trying to plan her next move - or, more specifically, what the fuck to do about Adore - until she turns to see the younger woman wrestling with the roll of duct tape; one end in her mouth, as she attempts to tape that gnarly-looking gash in her arm shut  

“Chainsaw said I could get a rematch later,” she shrugs, turning her attention back to the duct tape, in a vague attempt to keep what remained of her blood in her body. Bianca had a sneaking suspicion that she had nicked an artery - the blood was pouring out of that cut, and showing little to no sign of stopping. 

“Chainsaw is a fucking idiot,” Bianca replies bluntly, snatching the tape out of Adore’s hand. No way was she about to stand around and let that happen. “Honey, this is your van, right?” Adore nodded. “Do you have the keys?” 

“Nah, they’re in the ignition, why are- hey, put me the fuck down!” Adore was oblivious to what was going on until Bianca grabbed her around the waist; hoisting the younger woman into a fireman’s carry over one shoulder. Adore thrashes around, punching her in the back and flailing her legs, yelling incoherently in protest. “Hey, you made me drop my fucking beer! What the fuck are you doing, you crazy bitch?” 

In her somewhat weakened state, Adore is struggling to land anything on Bianca. 121lbs seemed like it may have been an exaggeration - Bianca was sure she owned underwear that weighed more than Adore. She opens the passenger door and bundles Adore into the front seat - slamming it shut before Adore has a chance to escape, before running around to the driver’s side and getting behind the wheel herself. She locks the doors. 

“Are you trying to fucking kidnap me?” 

“I’m taking you to the emergency room.” “No!” Adore protests, trying to force her way out of the car as Bianca starts the engine. “That’s pussy shit - I wanna finish my match!”

“You lost your match. Suck it up and shut your mouth, I’m trying to help you here.” Bianca rolls her eyes, pulling out of the lot. The van has an alarming number of miles on it, and the engine seems to be protesting moving even a little - as she merges with the rest of the traffic, it seems reluctant to do anything faster than forty.

Adore kicks the glove compartment, sticking her bottom lip out like a toddler. That cut on her arm is still bleeding like fuck, and showing absolutely no signs of stopping. Alongside that, there’s a few others on her face that are a little concerning - her right eyebrow is split horizontally;  a gash running along the parting of her hair still with visible shards of glass in it. 

“Here,” Bianca pulls her t-shirt off  over her head, passing it over to Adore. “Wrap that around your arm - I don’t know if it’s gonna do much, but it’ll at least stop your seats getting wrecked, and it’s probably more useful than fucking duct tape.” Adore sticks her tongue out at her, but obliges. A dark red stain seeps through the grey fabric alarmingly quickly, and Bianca floors it - the van protesting, but finally kicking into a semi-reasonable speed. “And for the love of god, put your fucking seatbelt on.” 

“Fuck you.” Adore pouts. 

“Look, I know you think this is ‘cool’ or whatever, but nobody thinks you’re a hardass just because you get thrown around and bleed a lot,” Bianca sighed. 

“Nice boobs,” Adore retorts, eyeballing Bianca. She’s wearing a lurid neon green sports bra that doesn’t quite fit right, pushing her tits up to her collarbones. “And you might not think I’m cool, but other people do. I’m really fucking cool.”

“Sure thing.” 

“My dad was a famous luchador,” Adore blurts. Her words are getting more slurred - the last thing Bianca wants is for her to pass out on her. Trying to keep her semi-present, Bianca humours her. 

“Really? Who?”

“El Santo.” Adore gives a smug smile; Bianca lets out a loud, obnoxious cackle. 

“Really? No fucking way.”

“Yes fucking way.” 

“Adore, how old are you?” 

“Twenty-four.” 

“You’re dumber than you look,” Bianca says matter-of-factly, readjusting her hands on the steering wheel. Adore has all manner of crap suspended from her rear-view mirror - she can make out a seemingly decorative assortment of parking tickets that have been skewered through a hoop earring, about three rosaries, and a Barbie doll with its legs ripped off. 

“Nah, it’s true - my mom said so.” Adore’s speech is getting slower; she’s chewing over her words, blinking slowly and hazily. They’re still ten minutes from the ER. Adore is just now showing the first sign of pain that Bianca has seen from her as they go over a pothole and her body jolts suddenly. She screws up her face, hissing. 

“I’ll believe that when I see your birth certificate.” 

“It’s probably in the back somewhere - I can go-” Adore tries to launch herself out of her seat and into the back of the van - from what Bianca can tell, she’s probably sleeping in it; pillows and blankets all over the place, amid balls of dirty clothes and empty cup noodles. Bianca grabs her thigh, pulling her back down. Adore grins wickedly. “Ooh - harder, daddy.”

“Stop it,” Bianca says sternly. 

[darlinrogue]

matthew found himself getting anxious at every all elite pay-per-view. but something about this specific revolution—— this specific main event had him more worried than usual ‘exploding barbed-wire death match’… it had problems written all over it. biting nail after nail, cuticle after cuticle. “since pac’s going after the tag titles, adam’s next in line for kenny” he heard tony khan say from the headset in guerilla. matt’s heart stopped, right then and there. he had to find adam.

Matt

A few hours before the show Adam had scoped out his vantage point. A seat in the back on the ground floor at Daily’s Place. High-up, but not too far away. Even better it was an empty section. After his match with Hardy, Adam changed into street clothes, crept-out from backstage, and took his seat. While the street fight with Darby and Sting played on the big screen, the ring crew set-up for the so called, “Exploding Barbed Wire Death Match.” The crew wore thick leather gloves. They maneuvered pieces of hardware, metal, and explosives to the floor. Bryce looked like the marshmallow man from Ghostbusters. It was, without a doubt, the most elaborate, inane match idea Adam had ever seen. He never delved into that Death match shit. An occasional no DQ with chairs and table settled Adam’s need for violence, but this was next level. 

And it was the exact kinda bullshit that Kenny would come up with. 

The construction of a wrestling ring had always fascinated Adam. In his teenage years he shadowed production crews to shows. From them he learned how to square a ring by measuring the diagonal, how to lay down the boards, roll out the pads, and lash down the mats. Then, tightening the ropes and tying in the turnbuckles. For the cheaper productions, duct tape repaired holes torn in the apron. All the little things he didn’t have to do anymore now that he was a ‘star.’ Part of Adam missed the days on the indies when he’d show-up a day early for set-up and leave late for tear down. Get to watch a show for free that way. Somehow, watching the AEW ring crew bind explosive barbed wire around the ropes didn’t make Adam feel very nostalgic, though. Instead something cold settled in the bottom of his stomach. 

Adam had brought a beer out with him and he brought the bottle to his lips. He watched the pyro tech guys rig-up the explosives with lines of electric wire. The ring crew were filtering out. The fight on the screen was winding down. Adam glanced over though as someone approached on his right. Wedging himself between the seats and coming down the row was Matt Jackson. He’d changed back into a gray, AEW jacket, his hair twisted into a quick and dirty bun. All he had for Adam was a half-smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He shoved his hands in his pockets and his throat bobbed, not meeting Adam’s gaze. Instead he focused on the dust laden concrete beneath his feet. Adam shifted in his seat, coming forward, elbows pressed into the arm rest. Matt chewed on his lip and then gestured at Adam’s hand. 

“You okay?” He asked, thinly. “Matt worked you over good.”

“Oh, yeah, it’s fine,” Adam said. “Just sore.”

He looked down at his hand. An athletic trainer had wrapped it in bandages and popped him a couple ibuprofen. There was nothing broken, just some bruising and swelling. Adam’d have to get an X-ray sooner rather than later, though. After the match high ran down though it hurt like a mother. Matt and Adam stared at each other for a second, before Adam tilted his head to the side. An indication and invitation for Matt to sit. Matt sunk into the chair beside Adam, hands rubbing over his knees. His fingers pattered over his thighs and he shifted, exuding nervous energy. When he settled back into the chair it was like he was sitting back into the barbed wire in the ring.

“Congratulations, on beating the carny though,” Matt offered with a small laugh. “You guys had a good match. What are you going to do with the money?”

“Oh, yeah, uh, well I was thinking,” Adam began, he put his beer on the floor by his feet and leaned back. “I need a new lawnmower and there’s enough to pay off the mortgage— I don’t need much else so like, I told them to just, just to give the rest to some cause. Someone mentioned the public schools in Jacksonville? I liked that, so that’s kinda what we went with.”

“Seriously?” Matt breathed. “That’s amazing, Adam.”

“Fuck, I don’t want that money anyway, makes me feel dirty,” Adam admitted. He sucked on his cheek. “Chris and MJF didn’t beat you up too much did they? Ya’ll pulled it out, but it was kinda brutal to watch.”

“Oh, so you watched our match?” Matt noted. They looked at each other and something warm sparked in Adam’s chest. “Takes more than a baseball bat to keep me down. Besides that’s nothing compared to— to all this.”

Matt’s voice rasped as he flicked his finger towards the completed ring. Adam followed his gaze and got what he meant. It wasn’t the barbed wire or the explosives. It was the anticipation of seeing Kenny in the middle of that ring. Kenny, bloodied and burned and hurting, with his life on the line. There was a long, long list of shit that could go wrong. And Adam and Matt shared in common a worry wort gene. It was in their nature to look at a set-up like that, then let their minds run to all the terrifying possibilities. It was the inner instinct of ‘older brother’ in them. The shit going on Matt’s mind had already crossed Adam’s a half-dozen times. 

Injury, pain, and even death, were the risks of their sport, everyone who stepped in the ring had comes to terms with their mortality.  It wasn’t often though that Adam sat down for a match and was fully level with the idea that one of his oldest friends may actually die. It was a ‘holy shit’ moment, this was how far they’d come. Well over a year ago Adam remembered the way Kenny’s voice cracked over the phone when he talked about Mox. The desperate, twisted edge in his tone, jagged as broken glass. It was obsession rolled with a fragile mental health teetering over the abyss of fear, anxiety, and depression. All Adam had done was stand back and watch as Kenny was crowded to the cliff. Then, Adam witnessed the merciless hand shove Kenny over. And now, at the bottom, body and mind broken over the rocks, Kenny challenged Mox to an Exploding Barbed Wire Death Match. The entire Elite had hit rockbottom in the past six months at least once but none of them had involved explosives. 

“Kenny’s gone off the fucking deep end, man” Adam observed, like he was commenting on the weather. He picked-up his beer from the floor and took a sip. “This is batshit. You let him do this?”

“It’s not like he asked us?!” Matt protested, his hands fluttered around him. “TK approved it and you know, it’s his show. Besides, it’s not exactly like Kenny is talking to us right now.” 

Adam shifted in his seat. He and Kenny hadn’t been on speaking terms since October. A long run of almost six months as they awkwardly avoided each other in the hallways. Of course, Adam had his handful of ignored, attempted phone calls and double texts from back when the tag-team broke-up. He’d kept abreast of the Elite’s crazy drama and then felt quietly grateful he wasn’t apart of it. Forsaken doors, Barbed Wire Death Matches; literally everything to do with Don Callis, Impact, and the Good Brothers— no thanks. Adam got why he was out of the loop, though. Kenny getting sick of his shit and kicking him out of his life was inevitable as it was deserved— But, Kenny wasn’t talking to the Bucks either? That was a red flag. Shit, Adam shouldn’t be worried about Kenny, grown ass man that he was but—Adam took another sip from his beer and returned it to its spot by his feet. Yeah, he was kinda worried about Kenny.

“Why are you even out here?” Matt asked, an edge of accusation in his voice. 

“Shit, I dunno, figured if my old tag-partner was gonna get blown-up I should at least be here to witness it?” Adam speculated, with a shrug. The buzzing crowd indicated the end of the Street Fight that Adam had been ignoring. Whispers of anticipation floated through the arena. “Maybe— I just got some shit on my mind. Trying to figure out what comes next.” 

“You’re in the rankings,” Matt blurted-out. Adam glanced at Matt and met his eyes. His face was stricken in the stark lights and his throat bobbed. Music hit, Mox’s theme, moments before Adam could even think up an answer. 

Mox wasn’t a bullet point on Adam’s list of relations. He was just a guy he occasionally saw backstage or in production meetings. They’d been in a ring once before. Adam kinda saw him as this hardened badass with a devil may care attitude. A weird, enigmatic guy with a prickly attitude and a hardened reputation. The flash of a silver flask, drawn from Mox’s inner jacket pocket, spoke to Adam though in a way few else in the arena would get. He understood the motivation behind the deep drink Mox indulged. If a guy like Jon Moxley needed alcohol to steady his nerves, then shit, it was really that bad. Kenny’s entrance then, was a nail in the coffin. He dressed subdued, in jeans and a shirt instead of elaborate gear. No bullshit spiel from Justin Roberts, just his music, and the belt. Adam worked his jaw and took some solace from his own beverage. Besides him, Matt shifted and squirmed, his thumb at his mouth gnawing on his already bitten down nail.

Before Ring of Honor shipped him off to Japan, Adam was never into Japanese wrestling. His library of matches included the DVR recordings of WWF matches, the local shit you could get on the TV, and eventually, the various indie shows across the South-East he attended. It was all catch wrestling, some technical shit, and whatever the Hardys were doing. Death matches, likewise, were a joke in the schools and shows he attended. “How many commas?” Was the refrain for what it’d take to get an average wrestler to do something as stupid as involve barbed wire in a match. Therefore, a Japanese, Exploding, Barbed Wire, Death Match, was completely out of Adam’s wheel house. He had no idea what to expect. What he got when the bell rang was totally outside of the realm of his imagination. 

It was the little shit: Kenny was dead serious, Mox made the sign of the cross, and the methodical, slow pace they set.  It was all physical strength as they jostled, tied-up with each other, all too aware of the limitations of the ring. After a year as his tag-partner, Adam was familiar with Kenny’s style. His explosive speed, how he worked the ropes, and his overwhelming energy. This was a different Kenny, almost uncomfortable in the confines of his cage. Close calls, pushing, prodding, biting each other, trying to force the other into barbed wire they treated with the respect it deserved it. Mox beat Kenny with every instrument available and Adam knew the way Kenny writhed was genuine. When Kenny sent Mox into the far ropes and a flash of fire sent billows of smoke into the arena, Matt gripped Adam’s hand like it was an instinctive reflex. He squeezed, hard, pressing his fingers around Adam’s palm. Pain shot-up Adam’s arm like a bolt of lightning. Adam hissed and reached over to pry Matt off his injured hand. 

“Jesus, Matt,” Adam hissed. 

Matt murmured apologies and yet his grip just switched to Adam’s wrist instead, which wasn’t much better because Adam’s whole arm was sore. Since apparently Matt needed to cling to something, Adam hooked his whole right arm around Matt’s shoulders. Then reached his left hand over to grip Matt’s hand. It was awkward and the armrest dug into Adam’s ribs but Matt rested his head in the crook of Adam’s shoulder, so it worked. Their fingers interlaced and Adam could only imagine how fucking goofy they looked. If the cameras happened to pick them up in the crowd they would never live it down. At least, Kenny had his footing in the match, he was in control, working over Mox, looking for that pin— Adam wasn’t sure if he was rooting for Kenny or not. Or, if he just kinda wanted this to be over because it was evidently mentally ripping Matt to shreds. 

Wanted this to be over, the belt out of Kenny’s hands, and somewhere else, where it couldn’t be between them anymore. 

Blood and smoke, broken hardware, torn skin. Kenny in the ropes, blinded by the dust, begging for water for his burned eyes. Matt’s breath, high in his throat, turning his face into Adam’s shoulder. And Adam just watched. He watched and forgot about the beer warming to room temperature by his side. A pressure built in his jaw, and yet, he couldn’t look away. No clear thoughts surfaced, nothing solid, or real. Just ideas, images, tangled together with the scene before him like the barbed wire wrapped around Mox’s arm. He didn’t allow himself to settle. Didn’t allow himself to latch onto anything, just let it all drift, staying in the moment of the violence, pain, and brutality of two men literally trying to kill each other. The sight of Kenny’s blood, red, crimson, staining his white shirt, and marring his pale skin burned Adam’s vision.

He thought back to Full Gear. The way he could tell Kenny was in his head. Always a half-step ahead. And that whole match Adam was working his ass off just to keep-up. Trying to wiggle his way into opening, taking advantage of every opportunity like a life line. He’d watched that match back a hundred times and he could every single one of his mistakes. He found a new error to fixate on each time he hit the replay button. The truth was that physically, Kenny had no significant advantage over Adam. In fact, Adam knew he had all the benefits of superior strength, better cardio, and youth. In skill, there was nothing dividing them— After that tag-team run, Adam knew he could hang with Omega. What kept Adam back, what left him behind, in the shadow of Kenny was himself. His own tangled thoughts and anxieties, burning a hole in his heart. He had stared-up the lights, like a crashed angel, and kinda accepted that final pin.

Like, he just gave-up, after bearing the burden of a year from hell. Let it all roll off his shoulders. Atlas shrugged, and the world shattered. And in the midst of broken glass, he had rebuilt. With no end goal in mind. Just, kinda up, kinda forward, one step at a time, gazed fixated on his toes so he didn’t slip in his own blood, and not ahead, and now he was looking at the ring. Accepting the smoke and blood and tears and sweat, the desperate men swinging punch-drunk as the ten minute warning sounded. It was an observation, he could note it, and let the moment past. Adam was in the rankings, number three last Tuesday, maybe higher next Tuesday. It didn’t mean anything, it didn’t have to mean anything. 

Didn’t have to do anything but just sit here and hold Matt. 

When the Good Brothers rushed out to the ring Matt sighed and laughed, but it was high-pitched, shaking his head. Adam watched Mox go through the chair in a One Winged Angel but all Matt was muttering was that he ‘couldn’t take this anymore.’ He didn’t want to see the ending, but he did hear the three count, and Adam admitted that his masochist desire had puttered out. So, he pushed Matt to his feet and they slid through the rows to escape the arena. Outside, fresh air, cool and tinged with the taste of the metallic city, brushed against Adam’s heated face.  Matt walked to the curb outside Daily’s place and collapsed. He sat there, breathing hard and fast, head between his knees, some, strangled, broken noise erupting from his throat. Adam shoved his hands in his jean pockets and sat down next to him. A lot of noises erupted from the arena behind them but the sounds muddled with the traffic, sirens, people, nothing distinct.

“Hey,” Adam whispered, reaching for Matt’s shoulder. He placed his hand in the crook of Matt’s neck and gathered him closer to his side. Matt was still hyperventilating and so Adam ordered firmly, but not unkindly, “dude, slow down. Take a deep breath. It’s okay, it’s over.”

Matt’s entire body trembled and Adam had half a mind to break six months of radio silence by calling Nick to tell him to come get his brother. Instead, Matt collapsed against Adam, burying his face in his chest as for the first time in probably an hour, he breathed. Every tensed muscle unraveled beneath Adam’s hand as all the fight left Matt. Tears tracked trails of dust down Matt’s cheeks and Adam hummed, low in his throat. It was something content, a pleased purr. He always liked feeling useful, needed, relied upon, and to have Matt physically leaning on him like this— felt good. It felt right. He’d been dropping the Bucks and Kenny, fumbling like an idiot, for a while now. Maybe now, when he felt a little stronger, a little more firm, he could hold them right. 

Maybe— 

Maybe, and the thought trailed off without conclusion. 

“I hate this, why can’t it just be over,” Matt gasped into Adam’s shirt. “Why can’t we— why can’t we just, just be friends again?! We should never have left Japan. This shit wouldn’t have happened if we hadn’t made this damn company. AEW was supposed to be fun, and all it did was just—just tear us apart.”

Against Adam’s thigh, Matt fisted his hand, nails biting into his palm. Adam placed his chin on top of Matt’s head. He didn’t respond to his question because he didn’t have an answer. No response that was adequate. Just a recap of all their broken dreams and failures. Matt knew the story. He didn’t need Adam to try to fix this. Adam couldn’t fix this but he could be here. He could do that. 

“I want things back to how they were,” Matt admitted, and his voice was softer, but hitched with a sob. 

“I don’t,” Adam said. 

Matt stiffened under Adam’s arm. And Adam had a feeling the thoughts that came to his mind weren’t the most gentle thing to say to Matt as he spiraled off a panic attack— but they were maybe the things Matt needed to hear. 

“I hated being in the EVP room,” Adam continued, and his voice shook. “I hated living in your shadows. I hated watching you guys go out with Kenny and be in his corner, while I always had my matches alone. I hated— I hated being the weak link. I hated never feeling like I belonged. Like, I never deserved to be your friend.”

“Hangman—” Matt pulled back to look at Adam, his eyes wet with tears. 

“No, no, Matt listen,” Adam insisted. He hooked his hand around the back of Matt’s neck. “This shit, would’ve happened in Japan, or NXT, or Ring of Honor, no matter where we went. Because wherever you go, there you are, and we carried our baggage here.”

“I just had no idea we made you so miserable,” Matt confessed. “That we made you—”

“Dude, I made myself miserable,” Adam laughed, interrupting him. “All up in my head and shit, and I’m done with that. I’m done with the bullshit and the drama. Maybe, I’m not the best, but I just wanna—I wanna focus on, I don’t know, having fun? Doing what I can. Forget about the stupid title.”

“So, you’re not going to challenge Kenny?” Matt asked. He reached for Adam’s face, pressed his palm to Adam’s cheek. Adam shivered under his touch, tongue darting out to wet his lips. 

“I don’t know,” Adam admitted. He ducked his head but Matt smoothed his thumb over Adam’s cheekbone and forced him to look up again. Forced him to meet Matt’s dark eyes, and Adam had no choice but to think, Holy shit, I love him. So, he whispered and confided, “I don’t know if I can.”

“I think you can,” Matt said. He inched closer so they were thigh-to-thigh, he tilted Adam’s face down to knock their foreheads together. Adam could hear the smile on his lips. “Someone has to knock some sense into Kenny. I don’t want to see my best friends fight but—”

“Matt,” Adam sighed. His hand reached across to Matt’s opposite hip. 

“What?” Matt asked. Adam nuzzled his nose into his cheek. “Adam?”

“Nothing,” Adam smiled. 

And he couldn’t help but to wonder why Matt believed in him when no one else did. What he saw that he recognized as potential. Matt’s patience as Adam strayed and wandered— that the frustration, read more as worry now than anger. And it was Adam that Matt sought out tonight. And Matt wasn’t shoving him away as he leaned in, the ghost of his breath on Matt’s bottom lip. Then, Matt’s phone rang and he was cussing, digging into his pockets. He checked the collar ID, noted it was Nick and murmured bashful excuses to Adam before answering. Adam leaned back on his hands, scratching his boot heels against the pavement. 

“Hey, man,” Matt intoned, a hand running through his hair. HIs voice was still raw and he swallowed hard, putting on a mask of cool, stoicism for his little brother. “What’s up?”

Adam heard the low rumble of Nick’s voice on the other side. Chewing out Matt for vanishing during production. TK needed them ASAP, and Matt was nodding, promising he’d show-up soon. He just needed some time to get some fresh air. 

“Is everyone okay?” Matt asked, and Adam leaned forward to hear the response.

“Yeah, everyone’s okay, Kenny, Mox, and fucking, Eddie? He ran out there right before the bomb went off, the idiot,” Nick grumbled. “But it was a fucking dud. It didn’t go off at all— the fans actually boo’ed, I can’t tell if TK is furious or relieved. I mean, Kenny made it so I don’t know what we expected—”

Adam choked on a laugh, leaning his elbows on his knees. His entire shoulders shook as cackles broke out of his chest and he covered his mouth to hide the noise. Adam barely registered Nick asking Matt who he was with before Matt hung-up the phone. Matt shook his head and then he was laughing too, breaking the tide of all the bundled, nervous fear that had held them. Adam knew in his head there was way more shit to work out between them. That they weren’t out of the woods yet and his heart was too tender, too fragile, to take another break but— it felt better. 

In some ways, it almost felt good, and ‘almost good’ is a state Adam hadn’t been in for a long time. 

“You should uh, go do your job,” Adam suggested. 

Matt pushed to his feet and Adam stood too. He felt that awkwardness, the unacknowledged weirdness of almost making out with your not-best-friend, or the fact that they’re supposed to hate each other right now. All the crap that was still between them, all the land mines of conversations not yet triggered. Maybe, they were untangling the barbed wire. Closing the distance inch-by-inch, and it was magnetic, almost inevitable— but Adam wasn’t sure if he was ready to stand beside Matt. Maybe because he was afraid of being hurt again. Maybe because he was dead terrified of the air in the EVP room when he was swallowing all his words. Maybe, because he had always walked behind, and never beside.

He asked Matt, last year, for a little more time, and apparently, he still needed a little more yet.

“Yeah, uh, talk to you later, I guess,” Matt managed. When he breathed there was a shutter, the residuals of his panic attack. Adam figured if he was with his brother, he’d be fine. Nick would take care of him. Adam worried about a lot things but he never worried about the Bucks because they always had each other. 

“Yeah,” Adam nodded. “See ya.”

Matt turned back to the arena first. Adam stood there, watching him walking away and refusing to let his thoughts roll over it. 

It is what it is. 

[too-weird-for-main]

Humanized Symbabies comic stuff:

-WEAPONS:

Carnage has a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire with nails poking out of it

Riot has a big fucking hammer that just so happens to have “BIG FUCKING HAMMER”written on the handle

Phage has brass knuckles except they’re like... incredibly big spikes

Scream has a dagger strapped to her thigh and throwing knives

Lasher has a cool cyber goth themed whip I’m really proud of it actually

Agony... I really don’t know. A handgun, probably. Mostly she’s the snark of the family. She takes after her dad, kills people with words.

And Sleeper is LITERALLY A BABBY HE HAS NO WEAPON

DESIGNS/VIBES:

Cause I’m really indecisive and I tried WAY TOO HARD on Carnage and Riot and the rest look bad in comparison so I’m not putting the pictures up yet

Carnage is a sexy goth gf. She wears a crop top and high waisted pants cause that’s my favorite thing ever. And a cropped biker jacket. And REALLY BIG STOMPY BOOTS and she has a big ponytail and it’s dark brown with bright red highlights. They all have highlights of their theme colors.

Riot is SO GAY AND SO PUNK. I literally drew them wearing a sew-through plunging v neck top under a denim vest covered in pins and patches and those fuckin hot topic pants with all the random like hang-y straps and shit all over them. And big stompy boots. And the pants have more patches on them. And some fishnet is thrown in there too.and like five necklaces. And their hair is like black at the roots and it fades to silver and it’s wavy and shoulder length.

Phage is So scene emo. Blue hair with orange stripes. Emo bangs. Darkest skintone of the kiddos(with Vampire Bitch Carnage being lightest) cause I have a Big Thing for characters with brown skin and blue hair and PHAGE’S THEME COLOR SHPULD HAVE BEEN BLUE THE MAC N CHEESE BULLSHIT NEEDS TO G O. But anyway they wear an oversized hoodie and stupid too long flared jeans and converse and they look like they just rolled out of a dumpster.

Scream is... yellow. Looooong blonde hair and she wears stuff that’s like, pretty but comfortable and I drew her wearing like... a mustard yellow tank top dress with some leggings and riding boots. She’s the only prep in this family of goths.

Agony is the Goth Chick with the Bobbed Hair with Purple Highlights and Glasses. Does she needs glasses? Is it just for the drama???? Who knows.

Lasher is this horrific mix of a Gym Dude and cyber goth???? Like he wears a muscle tank...... but it has like green glitchy stuff on it, and he has on goth boots and those headphones with the ears??? And he has stupid hair. Like an ultra mullet. His ponytail goes to his thighs but you wouldn’t even notice he has it cause so much of his hair is just cut in random lengths. And there’s neon green stripes in it.

Sleeper is literally a baby astronaut. His hair is brown and curly with like 2 colors of green striped in it. I don’t know his eye color cause I haven’t drawn him with his eyes open. It’s probably gonna be green.

HOBBIES/JOBS/ENRICHMENT ACTIVITIES OTHER THAN MURDER:

Scream is a singer! She can’t perform live at large venues cause some of the Symbiote stuff still applies so big ol speakers are a no-no but with the use of holograms one day she might. But for now she just vents via music about how she keeps dating shitty women

Carnage mostly just follows Cletus around... her life is focused around being the actual problem child of the Brock family so it’s either being with her boyfriend or talking about him.

Lasher is a Gamer Bro. Probably does YouTube or something. Blood is 40% Mountain Dew at this point.

Phage is an emo artist, does some 3D modeling and stuff, is trying to help Scream set up hologram concerts

Agony is a writer and is trying to follow Eddie’s legacy but really her talents lie in poetry. Wait fuck. I made her that one Pokémon character. Fuck. She’s just Shauntal! Fuck! Oh well.

Riot... their daily activities include 1. Making a scene at breakfast. 2. Trying to start a fight 3. Running off to go tell their shitty boyfriend about how much they hate their family for not letting them goad them into fights. 4. Actually get into a fight with Eddie cause NO DATING RICH BOYS IN THIS HOUSE! YOU CANT BE PUNK AND DATE A RICH BOY THATS NOT HOW IT WORKS RIOT”but dad I love him!” FO YOU LOVE HIM OR DO YOU LOVE HOW HE’LL BRING YOU HOMELESS PEOPLE TO EAT???????

Sleeper is currently learning to count to ten and say his colors! His favorite words are “no” “food”, butchered versions of his siblings names: “Cah-age!” “Asha!” “Tage!” “Aggy!” “Sceem!” “I-iot!” (Is he saying Riot? Or Idiot? The world may never know) and of course... Mama (Eddie is Mama, unfortunately the others have picked up on it and have started calling him mom just to annoy him)

[queenborhapreaderships]

Wherever Loyalty Lies

Fandom: The Walking Dead

Ship: Daryl Dixon/Reader (with a hint of Negan/Reader)

Word Count: 4.9k

AO3 link

Description: “When Rick’s group abandons you after you’re hurt, Negan’s men find you in the woods and take you back to The Sanctuary. Negan takes a very special interest in you. You're more or less his favorite. How do you adapt to this new life while still trying to make sense of your past one? What happens when you come face to face with your family that left you all alone?”

***

“Rick!” you cry out in pain and grasp at your side, trying to find and apply pressure to where the bullet ripped into your skin. “Daryl! Glenn!” You call desperately, crawling towards where you last saw your group disappear into the trees in an attempt to flee the massive herd of walkers right behind you. You finally find the wound and squeeze, flinching at the pain it causes.

Glenn didn’t mean to hit you, he really didn’t. It was a normal supply run. Until it wasn’t. You were all out gathering provisions and trying to find food to supplement Alexandria’s ever-dwindling supply. When you heard the groans, you all thought that you could take them because there weren’t too many walkers. Nothing you hadn’t taken out before. Unfortunately though, those initial walkers were only a small taste of what was to come. Once the real body of the hoard appeared from the trees, it became evident that there was no fighting them, their numbers were overwhelming. Daryl nailed a few in the head while Rick and Glenn shot at anything too close for comfort.

As you were all running away from the growing threat, you tripped on your own feet, stumbling and letting out a yelp in surprise. Glenn could only assume you were being attacked, so he whipped around and fired, striking you right below your ribcage. You were in too much of a daze to see what happened next, beyond your supposed family completely ditching you in favor of the shelter of trees.

A groan snaps you back to reality, although you’re unsure if it came from you or the walker right behind you.

“Shit” You mutter under your breath, attempting to stand up to find safety. After a grueling five seconds, you hobble to the dilapidated gas station that rests beside you. You hope that maybe if you can find the bathrooms, you can wait it out and try to find your way back to Alexandria and ask what the fuck happened. Within seconds, you find them and slam the door shut, collapsing down behind it.

You hiss in pain as you begin to examine the damage done. Realizing the bleeding must be stopped if you want to survive another night, you slowly reach up and start unhooking your arms from your favorite sports bra. You shimmy it down your abdomen, in hopes that the pressure it provides is enough to tide you over until the hoard clears. You remind yourself, your chances of coming out of this alive are highest if you stay awake, but you can’t seem to help your eyelids drifting shut.

You awake suddenly to the sound of voices and heavy footsteps. The hoard must’ve cleared, but how long were you out? You look down at your makeshift bandage, and to be honest, it’s not looking very good. Rick, Glenn, and Daryl must not have come looking for you. You frown and try to stand up to avoid being trapped in, but you’re instantly dizzy and collapse back down in a heap. “Must be the blood loss,” you murmur to yourself. Unfortunately, your failed attempt at a graceful exit brought the attention of the men stomping around over to you.

“Hey, Dwight, did you hear that? Get your ass over here.” a voice calls out. You hold your breath, knowing people these days are rarely a good thing. Especially in groups. The footsteps grow louder and you shrink away into a stall, hoping to avoid being spotted. Your feet disappear from sight just as the door the bathroom is kicked open.

“Probably just a raccoon or something,” a gruff voice replies.

“I don’t know, man, I could’ve sworn I heard something bigger” The men stalk further into the room. Someone begins kicking the stalls open and your heart drops. This is it, this is the end, you think to yourself. After all this time, everything you’ve been through, everyone you’ve met. You’re gonna die, bloody and alone because your family left you for dead. When they reach you, it’ll all be over. Not even taken out by a walker, which is ironic after everything you’ve been through. Eventually, they reach your stall and kick it open, just like the rest.

“Oh, now what do we have here?” one of the men chuckles to himself. He’s got long blonde hair and he looks like something straight out of a Tim Burton movie. The man by his side is shorter but looks just as strange with a bushy mustache resting upon his face. Mustache man reaches to pull out his gun, but Tim Burton character stops him.

“Whoa whoa whoa there, Simon, don’t you think the boss would like to take a look at her?” So mustache man is Simon, which means Tim Burton character must be Dwight.

“Yeah, we need all the brownie points we can get” Simon snorts as he steps forward grabbing your arm roughly and dragging you out of the stall. You bite back a groan as a surge of pain shoots through your side. The men don’t seem to care.

“Oh come on, you pussy, there are doctors where we’re taking you. You’ll be fine,” Dwight says, but for some reason, his words aren’t exactly the most reassuring thing in the world. You stumble along, remaining in Simon’s grip the whole time. Once you get outside, he flings you carelessly into the back of their truck and once again, you can’t help but slip into a blood loss-induced sleep.

~~~

You awake with a start, shooting up in what appears to be a hospital bed? That doesn’t make sense. You look from left to right frantically, trying to gather your bearings. Then the events of the past 5 hours hit you like a load of bricks and you lie back down slowly, pulling at your arms that you now realize are cuffed to the side of the bed.

“Nice of you to finally join the land of the living” calls a voice from the other side of the room. The irony of this statement isn’t lost on you. “Now I’m sure you’re confused as to where you are, what’s going on, so on and so forth. Answers will come soon enough, my dear. All you need to know now is that you are alive and you will continue to be so if we change your bandage routinely” You glance down at where your bra was once your lifeline. It has been replaced with a real bandage and what you assume to be a few stitches underneath.

“I... uh… thank you?” you stutter out, breathlessly, still trying to process what exactly is happening.

“You’re one of the good ones, aren’t you?” he says almost wistfully, coming in closer to inspect your face, brushing a few locks out of your line of vision. “There aren’t many of you left in this world, especially not here”

“Where is here?” you press on cautiously

“Your new home” he answers. Well, that’s not vague, you think to yourself. You shake your arm, rattling the cuffs.

“A little help here, maybe?” you ask, a small shimmer of hope still in your voice despite your meek circumstances.

“I would if I could, but I’m not the one calling the shots”

“Who is?”

“Negan” and with that, the strange man walks out the door.

~~~

After a few weeks, well, to be honest, you weren’t sure how long it had been. After what felt like a few weeks of living out of the hospital room via the doctor, you’ve finally regained almost all functionality the bullet took away from you. The doctor walks in and gives you a smile, that looks partially like a grimace. You wonder what’s up.

“So it seems you've recovered enough to meet the man upstairs,” the doctor says, almost cynically. After all this time, you’d actually grown rather close with him, being your only human interaction and all. Of course, you were annoyed that you were being held against your will, but in all reality, you couldn't complain. You were being fed well and regularly, but you also couldn't help but be extremely curious as to why this group took you under their wing when you had nothing to offer in return. You snort and think to yourself, this must be what Stockholm Syndrome feels like.

All the alone time you had left you only with your thoughts. You couldn’t help the anger, confusion, and hurt bubbling up inside you whenever you thought about how your so-called friends left you for dead. There had to be some kind of misunderstanding, right? Well, whether that be the case or not, it doesn’t change the fact that they left you and didn’t even check back up to see if you survived. If they don’t need you anymore, you don’t need them.

“Ahhh, so I finally get to meet the infamous Negan?” you ask, but before the doctor has a chance to respond, the door flies open and a booming voice echoes throughout the room.

“Now is the (y/n) that I’ve been hearing so much about? Let me tell you, you are, in fact, just as stunning as I’ve heard” you were too flustered to respond. There’s something… off about this guy, you think to yourself. Something that may be contributing to that feeling is the large baseball bat he’s carrying that’s covered in what appears to be… barbed wire? What the fuck? “What? Cat got your tongue?” he asks, encouraging you to speak up. You swallow the lump in your throat and try your best to sound confident.

“No, it’s just finally nice to meet the man behind the madness. I mean that in the best way possible, of course” you laugh, backpedaling from a statement that could be perceived negatively. “I really appreciate you taking me in and all, I don’t know how I could ever make it up to you,” you say, humble in front of this man who basically prevented your death, multiple times. He was intimidating, yes, but that isn’t to say he’s not surprisingly attractive.

“I could think of one or two ways,” he says, raising his eyebrows, leaning in, and winking at you. You can feel a blush rise upon your cheeks. Really? This man is hitting on you? He could have anyone in this camp, being the leader and all, and he’s coming on you? Something doesn’t add up. You really want to know where this is going, so you decide to play along.

“Ohh, and how’s that?” you say, in your best seductive voice, although it might be a little rusty from underuse considering it’s only the motherfucking apocalypse and all. You don’t really know what you’re getting yourself into, but getting in close with the leader is never a bad thing, is it? Negan whips around and points the bat at the doctor.

“Would you give us a minute alone please?” Enunciating every syllable, as if his life depends on it.

While he phrased it as a question, you were getting the vibe that it was more of a direct order. The doctor doesn’t have to be asked twice, he nods to you and removes himself from the room. This man has a clear aura of authority, what he says goes. You make a note of this before speaking to him again. He turns back around and his eyes wander up and down your body.

“Now, by this point, I’m sure you’re aware that I find you exceptionally beautiful, so I have a proposition for you. How would you like to be my wife?” At this incredibly blunt statement, your eyes widen and you choke on your words, the previous confidence you built up completely gone. “Oh, it’s a good deal, I promise. I’m hot shit around here, so I could get you practically anything you want. Plus… you’ve got access to all the alcohol you could ever want” He was right, that’s not exactly a bad deal. I mean, hell, what’s your alternative? You’re not sure, but you’re sure it’s not as pleasant.

“I… I would be honored,” you say, confused and, to be honest, a little awestruck.

“Well that’s just fanfuckingtastic,” Negan says, a shit-eating grin glowing on his face. He steps over to help you up out of the hospital bed. “Now, if you’ll come with me, I can show you around, and we can get you dressed” He walks you out into the hallway and up the stairs. You look over the ledge at the large room below you. There are people who appear to be working, all dressed in rags, looking miserable. Yeah, you definitely picked the long stick.

As Negan walked through the halls people, his men, you assume, would kneel and avert their eyes. That’s when it really set in, how much power this man has. You can’t fuck this up, you don’t get the feeling he’s a very merciful guy. Finally, at the top of a winding staircase, you reach Negan’s room. The minute you step in, you understand. The room is filled with 12ish absolutely stunning women in black, sleek dresses.

“What? You didn’t think you were the only beautiful girl left in this shithole of a world, did you?” Negan asks, wryly. A brunette girl sitting on the couch throws you a sympathetic look. “Follow me, let’s get you into your dress”

~~~

You emerge back into the room with the other girls, looking gorgeous, as Negan has told you. Multiple times. He certainly is quite the flirt, you think to yourself.

“Now ladies, I’d like you all to give your newest sister, (y/n), a warm welcome. I’ll be back tonight” he says and with a wink and a slap of your ass, he’s gone. You stand frozen, like a deer in headlights, extremely confused about the events of the last hour. The girl from the couch seems to catch wind of this and she walks over to you.

“Hey,” she says in a soft voice “Do you wanna come sit with me? My name’s Ariel. I might be able to answer some questions or help you get settled in, whatever you’d like” her eyes are soft and movements gentle. You give a faint nod and follow her back to the couch. She pours you a glass of red wine and takes a seat. “Welcome to Negan’s man cave,” she says, disdain evident in her voice. The two of you chat for a while. She talks you through the ins and outs of being one of Negan’s wives. Sex whenever he wants and you can’t have any sort of relationship with another man, Negan gets very jealous very easily. That’s not a side of him you particularly want to see, so you can live with that. In return, you get food, shelter, and safety. This is the first time you’ve had that since, well, before the apocalypse. To survive in this world, it looks like you’re just gonna have to suck it up because you could be starving to death right now.

~~~

You live on like that for a while. Your weekly…. meetings with Negan have been constantly growing in frequency. From what you can tell, he really really likes you. He’s started bringing you downstairs and out of the mancave to come with him as he strolls around The Sanctuary because he “just likes your company, (y/n)” You’ve gotten used to his authority at this point, and it almost… turns you on? You try not to think about it too much. You’re safe and content with the turn your life has taken and that’s all that matters. Sure, you think about your old group a lot. You miss Tara, Michonne, Maggie, Carl, Carol. You miss everyone. Especially Daryl. You two had shared your first kiss the week prior to your split from the group. It’s something that has been budding since Atlanta, but you had just now gained the confidence necessary in order to make the first move. You loved him, you really did. They were your family for 7 years, but they left you. That was their decision, and if they don’t need you, why burden them with your presence? You groan and roll your eyes. You’ve gotten too far in your own head again. Where’s Negan? He’ll definitely distract you in one way or another. You’ve reached the point of familiarity around The Sanctuary where all of its guards and men know you. They know to give you whatever you want or let you go where ever you want, or there will be hell to pay.

You walk around The Sanctuary for a while, Negan nowhere in sight. Eventually, you decide to check out front. You make your way past the front door guards. With a curt nod, they step back and let you take your leave. Just as you’re walking down the steps you hear a voice and turn around.

“Oh, uh, (y/n), Negan is out by the driveway packing the truck for his next pick up. If that’s who you’re looking for, that is.” the guard offers with a smile.

“It is, thank you so much,” you say “I’ve been looking for him forever, I really appreciate the help” Is he… blushing? Wow, you must have a lot more influence around here than you thought. You continue on your way, smiling softly. You see Negan in the distance, Lucille slung over his shoulder, he saunters around like he owns the place, and well, he does. His eyes eventually drift over to you.

“Ahh, (y/n), my favorite little girl! It is so good to see you right now” he comes over to you, kissing you softly on the cheek. “You know what? I’m sick of dealing with all of these men on my own, how’d you like to come on this run with me? No pressure, but I’d sure love to have you along for the ride” It’s not like you’ve got anything better to do, plus, you’re always curious about that Negan does on all of these mysterious outings. Guess it’s your turn to find out.

~~~

After around an hour-long drive, the trail of trucks finally comes to a halt. You look out the window and see what appears to be a camp, and of decent size too. Why are the saviors here? You’re completely oblivious to the absolute hell that these people have been subjected to by the hands of your people, but you were about to find out.

“Negan, where are we?” You ask, looking around with a curious look in your eyes.

“All in good time, my love,” He says and steps out of the truck, offering you his hand to assist your descent. You take it and follow him through the gates. There’s a group of 5 men out to meet the saviors, but the rest of the streets are completely dead. You furrow your eyebrows and glance up at Negan. He gives you a smile and turns to deal with the men before him.

“Ah, so I see when I say give me half of your shit, you actually expect my men to go in and get it, because sure as fuck don’t see half of your shit waiting for me” He raises his eyebrows expectantly and is met only with silence and averted eyes. “Now that would really be going the extra mile, but if you want these brutes rifling through your shit, fine by me” He throws the five a wicked grin and waves his hand, signaling his men to begin searching. So, Negan’s power extends beyond The Sanctuary, apparently. Negan grabs your hand and pulls you over to the side.

“Any questions?” He asks, voice genuine.

“I just, is this where we get all of our stuff? Just… taking it from other groups?” You ask

“Well of course not, darling. You don’t think we actually need this worthless shit, do you?” you shrug, he chuckles softly. “All I’m really doing here is flexing. Showing these people who’s boss” you hum in understanding and he plants a kiss on your forehead before walking away to check on his men's progress.

You wander back over to the trucks and avoid contact with anyone who isn’t from The Sanctuary. This other camp, The Orchard, you believe it’s called, didn’t do anything to deserve Negan’s wrath. You’re sure of it. Negan is good to you, that’s for certain, but you can’t seem to ditch this feeling in the pit of your stomach that this, all of it, is just wrong. But then again, it’s your life. You don’t really have any choice except to embrace it, and shove down all of your doubts, however reasonable they may be.

~~~

It’s been months and you’ve tried to expose yourself to Negan’s excursions as much as possible in an attempt to become numb. Now, you can’t exactly guarantee how successful your efforts have been, but the thought is there. So, when Negan asks you if you want to tag along today, you go willingly, even though it’s practically dusk. After a 30ish minute drive, the trucks pull over and you look out the window, confused. There’s no gate or fence or community anywhere. You step out of the truck and walk around.

The minute your eyes reach the group completely at Negan’s mercy, your heart drops. Suddenly it's hard to breathe. There they are. Your old family. You’re completely frozen. Negan hops out of the truck, as usual. Your palms begin to sweat. He walks around the truck to open the door for you. You still can’t move. You’re just staring at them. All of them. They look… horrible. You’re not used to this. Not at all. They were all so strong. Negan, you think. Negan must have done this to them. Looking at them, with their heads down, completely at the mercy of these tens of men with guns. Lots and lots of guns.

“Come on, hon,” Negan says, offering you his hand. You snap out of your daze and tentatively take his hand. Just like usual. But. This isn’t just like usual.

Members of Rick’s group begin to look up, all seeming to have a similar reaction to you. Utter disbelief. Your eyes skim the row. Carl and Rick and Maggie and… your breath stops in your throat. Daryl. He’s cowering down, shawl wrapped around his shoulders. He is not okay. You swallow down a lump and take a few steps forwards.

“(Y/N)...?” a soft voice calls out. Your eyes shoot to the origin. Glenn. It was Glenn. His eyes are wide, a mixture of relief and betrayal rest clearly upon his face. “You’re… you’re alive?” He asks, incredulously.

“(Y/N)” Negan shouts. “You know these assholes?”

“I… They…” You stutter, mind reeling to find an acceptable answer that won’t piss him off. “Remember when Simon and Dwight found me in that gas station? With the bullet wound? Well. That was courtesy of these guys” You gesture wildly at the line. “I rode with them before ya’ll saved me,” You say, emphasizing the last two words, knowing it had to have stung Rick, Daryl, and Glenn. But, looking back on the past year or so in The Sanctuary, you can’t very much bring yourself to care.

But there it is again. That creeping sensation of… what? Loyalty? You’ve been trying to shove it back into whatever crevice of your mind it crawled out of, but it’s absolutely ruthless. Memories keep unwillingly flooding back to your mind. When you had each other’s backs. When you were a family. Family. You don’t notice you’ve begun to cry until you taste the salt gathering at the corners of your mouth. You’ve known that the power Negan holds is wrong for so long, and you’ve been ignoring it out of self-preservation. But it’s more than that now. It’s them. It’s your family. You snap out of your trance and glance back over to Negan, pacing in front of the line, sadistically twirling Lucille. That’s it. You can’t take it anymore.

“Negan, stop” You shout, the strength in your voice surprising even yourself. His eyebrows shoot up and he turns on his heel. He seems to be taken aback, which, clearly doesn’t happen very often to a man of his standing. You know you can’t show any weakness now. There’s no going back. You look from Negan to those kneeling, looking back up at you with hopeful eyes. That solidifies what you’re about to say. That makes everything worth it. “Negan. This isn’t right. This is… this is…” you struggle to find the right word. “Evil. This is evil. And. I know you. I know you can be gentle. You can be generous. But. You can also be evil. These people,” you say, glancing over at the group. “These people are good. They don’t deserve what you” you stop yourself, “what we are putting on them. We can survive without, whatever this is. This cruelty.” You say, looking him in the eye the entire time. He’s frozen. You’ve never seen him like this before. You understood that you meant something to him, you were his favorite, maybe the best fuck. But, if you had the power to silence him, maybe you had more influence and control than you realized initially. Finally, after a long pause, he speaks up.

“(Y/N), you know how it works. You know I can’t let these people go, what would that say about me? What happened to my badass bitch?” He looks at you, wanting to appear strong in front of his men, but only you can see the uncertainty in his eyes. You walk up to him, only inches apart now.

“Negan. Please. Anyone but them, just, anyone but them” your voice soft but firm. You look up into his eyes, hoping he can see how serious you are. He closes his eyes and swallows. He didn’t reject it immediately, so, that’s a good sign. He looks at his feet. “If you hurt them. I’m leaving. You can kill me, I don’t care, but I cannot be anywhere near the man who killed my friends. The man who killed my family” You make eye contact with Daryl when speaking the last word. His eyes haven’t left you since you began to speak. He still means everything to you, despite how much you tried to deny it. “You do this. You lose me. That’s how it’s gonna be” You’ve never seen Negan look more conflicted in your few years with him than at this moment. You’re hoping that throughout the time you spent together that you got into his head. At least enough to save everyone. Negan regains his composure and turns to his men.

“Hey. Get the hell outta here and give us a minute, will ya?” he orders and nobody has to be asked twice. While everyone gathers behind the trucks, Negan takes your hand and walks you over to the treeline. A part of you is worried, is he going to punish you like you’ve seen him do to so many others? Any sense of fear is immediately gone when he puts his forehead to yours, caressing your cheek. His eyes are shut, and he appears, almost, vulnerable?

“Negan, I…” you start but are cut off by his piercing gaze.

“It’s okay. I… Damn, girl. I really care about you. And ain’t you go around telling nobody I said that. But. If it would make you happy, you can. You can go with them. Now don’t get me wrong, I ain’t gonna be leaving them alone. But. I won’t kill them either” Negan turns away and you’re completely blown away. You were expecting a fight. This man is evil. But. You’re attached. What that says about you, you don’t know. You step forward and hug him from behind, interlocking your fingers and resting your head upon his shoulder.

“Thank you” you whisper, barely audible. “You saved me. And I’ll never forget you” he turns around and falls into your arms, his head burrowed in the crook of your neck.

~~~

The last truck disappears from view and you turn around. You’re alone now. And it’s so much harder than it was before. Before you could hide behind the guns and the men and you could hide behind Negan. But now? Now you’re alone, and you’re looking at your past head-on. You’re terrified. Will they take you back? Or turn their back on you like they did so long ago. You glance from everyone back to the ground.

“Um… well… hi guys?” you stammer out “Long time no see?” you flinch. Long time no see? Really? That’s your opening line? Everyone is frozen. That’s it. You assume it’s over. You close your eyes and clench your fists. You begin to turn around when you hear ruffling to your left. Your eyes shoot to the source. It’s Daryl. He’s grabbing his side in pain, but he’s standing nonetheless. He limps towards you with a sense of urgency and he reaches you with his arms wide open. You embrace, and it’s like everything in the world that was ever wrong is now right. He’s got all of his weight on you, entrusting you with all of his being. Everything isn’t going to be immediately okay again, you know this. But right now? Everything is perfect.

“I fucking missed you, baby girl” he spits out, gruffly. All you can do is hug tighter, amazed that you went so long without the most important thing in your life.

“We all missed you,” Rick says, from the side. You look over and see everyone either nod or hum in agreement. Tears begin to fog your vision. Finally. Finally, you aren’t settling. Finally, you’re happy. Finally, you’re home.

***

This was the first fic I ever wrote back in 2017. God. Wild. Time is absolutely fake. Anyway!

My inbox is open and I’ll write for any fandom I’m in! <3

[writtenwinchester]

Promises - Negan x Reader

Writer: Jillian

Word count: 2174

Warnings: ANGST, slight fluff, attempt rape, memories of rape, murder, Negan.

-

Everything ached, no matter what you did, you sat, you ran, you walked, you spoke, something had to ache.

Your throat was dry, dehydrated. Those few months ago after you screamed your lungs out you never felt the same afterwards. You felt like everything ached.

The fact that you didn’t have shoes did not help your situation, your feet were cracked and bleeding from the cold forest floor and from walking such a long distance. But you kept walking.

There was a town you enjoyed, mostly because it was empty. You only stayed in the area for food and an actual bed to sleep in, nothing more. Though, lately you’ve heard trucks, people, men, mostly. They were doing whatever it was, but you wanted nothing to do with them, so you moved every once in awhile to a house they’ve already checked and hide if they came by.

Often on days, you’d watch them, like your own little reality tv show. You never caught names, though often a man would be with them, usually a leather jacket and baseball bat wrapped in barbwire from what you noticed. He seemed to be.. the leader? He yelled often, sometimes shoving the others around and pointing at places. You made a mistake onetime, watching them as they pointed at the house which you sat in, in which he looked over and made exact eye contact with you for a second, until you ducked down.

Your heart raced, you fucked up. But you never watched them after that, afraid of getting caught or seen. Afraid of much more. Though, the thoughts of anything else made you clench your fists and start breathing heavily, enough to the fact your nails dug into your skin and that you had to close your eyes and count to ten.

Your head ached, groaning as you placed the pillow over your head to cover out the noise of banging on the door. Then, you heard footsteps. Instant panic set into your body as you rushed up from the bed, glancing out the window as you whispered a quiet “fuck.” Before glancing at the door, seeing the door knob twist as you dived under the bed, your bottom lip trembling and closing your eyes, trying to imagine yourself anywhere but in this situation. No, anywhere but there. You’re not quiet sure how long you stayed under the bed, but the moment you heard the door from downstairs close, you were on a move. Grabbing your back from the closet, opening the door before bumping into a hard broad chest. You froze, too scared too move, though you got the courage to glance up and meet yourself with a pair of green eyes and a white toothy grin. You went pale, panicking and backing up into the room, the man had a toothpick in his mouth, stepping into the room with you with a smirk on his lips. “Calm down girlie, I ain’t gonna hurt ya.” “Move.” You growled, avoiding any eye contact as the man stepped closer towards you. “I don’t think so.” Your eyes glanced towards the door, you tried, you really did, and you ran. But by a pull of your hair you landed right back in the room on your rear. You refused to look up. You refused to look up and watch him take off his belt and demand that you do something so disgusting you’d rather kill yourself. Though, you heard more feet walking. “Mason, you find anything?” The man standing in front of you grumbled, “yeah just this bitch.” You took a deep breath, before they continued speaking, saying that you should be taken to Negan or how you could be of use. All of a sudden the man above you grabbed your arm, instantly, you slapped him. “Do not, fucking touch me.” You went to stand up on your own, though he grabbed your shoulders and you thrashed, hitting him, yelling as his chest was up against your back, pinning you to a wall where you instantly got quiet while you heard him chuckle behind you, his breath on your neck. “Nice and quiet now girlie, or there’ll be some punishment. Alright?” You nodded slowly, breathing heavily in panic as he lead you outside by your arms.

The moment you got outside, you winced. The sun hitting you directly in the face before you were shoved to the ground, scratching your palms as you groaned and let out a grumble of “fuck you.” In the moment, a pair of boots came into your vision from the floor, causing you to glance up at meet with a hair of enchanting brown eyes and a smirk. “Well I’ll be sweetheart, you look like shit. I would’ve mistaken you as one of the dead if you didn’t speak!” You stood to your feet, wiping the dirt from your hands onto your jeans with a grumble. “I’ve seen you before, haven’t I?” You looked at him, eyes narrowed, though you stayed quiet. He licked his lips and grinned, “I saw you in that damn window, didn’t I doll?” You glanced at the floor, looking at the baseball bat he had gripped in his hand. “Answer me doll.” “Yes.” You mumbled, he smirked “she speaks! What a fucking surprise.” He chuckled, looking back at you. “This day just keeps fucking getting better and better.” The man in front of you had a charm to himself, though from your history, you just found it disgusting. “Sweetheart let me introduce myself, I’m Negan.” He gave you a toothy grin and a chuckle, “We’re the saviours, we got a camp that I would just fucking love to bring you right on back to..” “No.” “No? Doll, you didn’t even let me fucking finish.” “I said no, now leave me be.” Negan chuckled, swinging his baseball bat in his hand, “it ain’t gonna be that easy sweetheart. See I know you’ve been taking supplies from these houses,” your eyes met his and you glared. “I was here before any of you assholes. I didn’t and nor do I want trouble. So leave me be.” Negan chuckles with a smirk, “where are your manners sweetheart?” “Where are yours?” He hissed, “careful what you say there sweetheart, before that pretty little fucking mouth of yours gets you in trouble.” “What the hell do I got to loose.” You grumbled, kicking at the dirt beneath you “I’m not going with you. Ever. I don’t care if you’re here, I don’t care what you do. But don’t fucking touch me and leave me be.” Negan walked closer, right up to your face with a smirk. “Alright sweetheart, it’s a promise.”

Throughout the two months the trucks came and went. You never talked to any of them, though some have yelled at you, but you never saw them the next day. One thing that shocked you the most, was when there was a knock at your door on the first week.Instantly reaching for the gun by your nightstand, the door opened, you were ready to shoot but a pair of hands went up “hold on there doll, don’t fucking shoot.” Negan chuckled, stepping into the room as you slowly lowered your gun, he tossed a bag onto your bed “thought you might want those. Sense your cloths don’t even seem to fucking fit you.” Your eyebrows furrowed, walking over to the bag, gun still in hand as you quickly looked through it, only clothes, just as he said. “See? I promise nothin’ sketchy sweetheart. Now will you put that damn gun down?” Hesitating, but giving it a second thought you placed the gun right back on the nightstand where it was before. “Why?” Negan hummed, walking around the room looking at the small things you collected and placed in your room. “Why what, sweetheart?” “Why the clothes?” “Ya know doll, the first time I met you it was cold as hell outside. Just looking at you made my balls freeze. I don’t know how the hell you did it.” He chuckled, giving you his classic toothy grin as you mumbled a small ‘thanks’ and took the bag holding it to your chest, watching him as he explored your room, before leaving and glancing back to give you a wink.

Honestly, you weren’t expecting it. Another man, no, a different one, was in your room, going through your stuff and you had just come back from a run. You saw the trucks outside and managed to get in without seeing or talking to anybody, but you yelled at him. Negan specifically told people that your stuff was off limits. “Hey! What the fuck are you doing?” You pulled the bag from his hands, glaring as you placed it back where it was the man narrowed his eyes, clearly not impressed “who the fuck are you?” “This is my shit! Who are you?” And just like that, you were shoved up against the wall. He smelt of cigarettes and alcohol, just like them. His hands were dirty and he had a smirk on his lips, just like them. He touched you, and took off your clothes. Just like them. You started screaming when he threw you on the bed, though he hit you to keep quiet or to “shut the fuck up” as he said. Your head hurt and things went dizzy after you took more blows to the head, he turned you over, pulling your knees up underneath you so your rear was up further in the air. You couldn’t do anything, because everything ached. All you could hear was the unbuckling of his belt as it fell to the floor with a thump along with his jeans, his pelvis grinding against your rear until your door broke open, angry yells that you couldn’t make out, everything would go dark, in and out as you were pulled into a strong set of arms, taken outside along with the man that attempted to rape you dragged behind. You watched, as one flash from another, the man’s head get bashed in with no other than that barb-wired baseball bat. It was a gory sight, though you’ve seen worse, it still made you sick to your stomach. Whoever was holding you up, you pushed them away, as you started puking out onto the ground and coughing while the world started spinning, or were you falling? You couldn’t tell, because things went dark before you made a decision.

When you woke, you groaned, your head ached which caused you to wince. “Hey sweetheart.” The voice made you panic. Instantly pull away from the person until you realized who it was, Negan. Over the months you’ve grown to enjoy his company, trust him more than any body else you’ve met in the damaged world so far. “Negan.” You mumbled, though your voice was hoarse and it made your head worse, causing you to wince once again. But realize the weight on tour shoulders and glance to see that he had given you his leather jacket. “Yeah babydoll, it’s me. You don’t gotta be scared, I promise I won’t hurt you.” You looked up towards him. “Promise?” “I promise.” Crawling forward, you laid back into Negan’s side as his arm went around you and kissed the top of your head “fuck, I’m so fucking sorry you had to have that happen to you sweetheart. I wish I was there sooner, I wish I never allowed that fucker to go on the run.” He grumbled into your hair, your eyes brimming with tears as you bit your bottom lip to hold them back. “It’s okay..” “no, no it’s fucking not and don’t you say that.” You closed your eyes, letting a few tears fall as Negan took a sharp inhale “Y/n you realize he tried to fucking..” he went quiet, not knowing which words to say, so you just nodded. “I know.. he, uh- he’s not the first.” You mumbled, fiddling with the bedsheets as he glanced down at you “the hell you talking about sweetheart?” “There were others. They.. they promised us a sanctuary, a warm bed, food.. but..” more tears ran down your face, sniffing as you wiped them with your sleeve while Negan stayed quiet and listened. “We were kept in cells like prisoners, and they’d.. come in sometimes but you never knew if they were feeding you, or..” a quiet sob left your lips, stopping you from finishing the sentence as you placed your hand over your mouth and turned closer into Negan’s side for more comfort. He wrapped his arms around you, running his fingers through your hair and kissing the top of your head. “I’m so sorry babydoll, I’m sorry those fuckers ever laid a hand on you.” You choked on your sobs, clutching his shirt and holding him tighter, “I- It’s why I never went with you..” Negan’s face softened and he sighed “sweetheart I would never fucking let anyone touch you.” “You promise?” You whispered. “I fucking promise.”

-

Honestly this was my first time writing for Negan or TWD so I hope ya’ll enjoyed :))

Feedback is great!

[official-negan-blog]

A Different World

Fanfic Request: Can I make a request where a girl loves the walking dead and loves Negan and suddenly on a stormy night, the power goes out in her apartment and suddenly the lights go back on and the t.v. comes back on but to the Simpson or something like that instead of the walking dead. And she heard something behind her and it's negan. She freaks and fandoms. Explains the whole world he is in and he sleeps on the coach. She goes to her room get all hands with herself cus of negan. Negan sees and then smut.

Warnings: Smut, swearing, sex

It was that time of the week again -- a new episode of The Walking Dead would premier tonight. You grabbed a bowl of popcorn and hopped onto your cozy couch to settle in for the next hour. The fact that it was storming outside made your apartment feel even cozier, sheltering you from the ominous thunder and lightning.

You flipped on the TV and began watching the new episode, focusing on every scene, and getting aroused every time Negan came on screen. God, he was sexy. You wished so badly that you could have a night with him. It would be filled with wild and kinky sex.

As you become further lost in your day dream, a huge flash of lightning appears right outside your window, the brightness blinding and thunder deafening. A millisecond later, everything stops working -- your tv turns off, the lights in your apartment go out, and your microwave clock is no longer lit up. 

You sit there in the darkness for a moment, still shocked, and considering what to do. Before you even decide whether to take a shower in the dark and wait for the power to come back on, or just go to bed, everything turns back on. You sigh in relief, knowing that no electricity meant no air conditioning and without such, it wouldn’t been a very uncomfortable night. 

You turn your attention back towards your TV, no longer showing The Walking Dead. Instead, you see The Simpsons playing. 

“This isn’t what I was watching”, you mutter confused. You grab the remote and change the channel, but can’t seem to find The Walking Dead again. Puzzled, you go to your TV menu hoping to find some sort of answer.

Just as you start to browse through the TV menu, you hear footsteps and some light shuffling in the kitchen.

“Hello?” you call out, suddenly terrified that someone had snuck into your apartment earlier and just stayed hidden after you walked in from work.

You hear the footsteps head toward the living room, where you lay, and in comes a man dressed in a leather jacket, holding a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire. It took you a moment to realize that it was Negan. 

You blink hard and rub your eyes, making sure you weren’t hallucinating or processing the current situation incorrectly. When you opened your eyes again, nothing changed -- there he stood, just as he was before you shut your eyes.

You stand up immediately and back away from him, gripping a pillow out in front of you, ready to smack him if he came at you, still wondering if it was some sort of strange prank.

He looked just as confused as you, however, as he furrowed his eyebrows looking around your apartment, and then back at you.

“I hate to be rude, Doll, but I'm incredibly fuckin’ confused right now. Not one moment ago I was at the Sanctuary, ordering some of my men around. Where the fuck are my men, anyway? And where the fuck am I?!”

Your heart is beating fast in both terror and awe. You didn’t know how to act or what to say, especially as the current situation became more and more real as the seconds ticked by. 

“I’m as confused as you are”, you manage to say.

“Where the fuckity fuck am I?” he says, a mixture of anger and confusion.

“New York City”, you say back immediately.

“Fuckin’ how?”

“I don’t know. But you’re here, and there’s no zombie apocalypse, and everything is normal here. Well, relatively normal. The recent election this past November has kinda been a curve ball for this world.” 

“And just how the fuckin’ hell did I end up here?”

“I don’t know. Really. I didn’t do anything to cause this. There was a huge strike of lightening just outside my apartment and then you just sort of showed up. I thought someone had broken in, and I guess I technically wasn’t wrong. Not that I have a problem with seeing you in my apartment.” 

He ponders this for a moment before focusing on you.

“Well, I suppose I can’t be too disappointed. Anything is better than trying to survive at the end of the world. I’ve ended up in a universe with regular plumbing and no food shortages.”

You start to consider your next move. He couldn’t just walk out and leave. He’d have no place to go. Sure you being attracted to him worked out in his favor, for if it was some creep, you would’ve kicked him out the moment you saw him.

“I think you should stay the night. I, um, have a black t shirt from my ex and it’s the only men’s item I have in this apartment, but I think it’ll fit you. Unfortunately I don't have any pajama pants”, you say awkwardly. 

“That’s alright, Doll. I sleep in my boxers.”

You dig the t shirt out of your drawer and bring it back to him. He unzips his jacket and takes it off, along with his red scarf and t shirt. You watch him hungrily, staring at his toned abs and biceps, decorated with tattoos. You bite your lip as his muscles flex with every movement.

He slips the shirt over his head and sits down on the couch, next to where he placed Lucille.

“You can sleep on my couch. It’s really comfortable,” you say, not wanting to seem too desperate or aggressive for his attention. You couldn’t believe that you were trying to play hard-to-get with a supposedly fictional character-turned-real. You wanted to face-palm right there.

“On your couch? Darlin’? I was hoping I’d be able to sleep somewhere else, and WITH someone else.” 

He winks at you and grins, showing his perfect white teeth while scratching his bicep. Heat pools between your legs and you know it’s only a matter of winks, smiles, and other flirtations gestures before you jump his bones.

“I think it’s best you sleep here tonight because I’m, um, a bit of a bed hog and I’m terrible at sharing a bed with other people. But I’ll see you in the morning! Goodnight!”

You run into your room to avoid further temptation and awkward confrontation. But you leave your door open so he doesn’t think you’re angry or standoffish. As you laid on your bed, you thought of him, his abs, his beard and what it would feel like against your skin, and his deep, husky voice that dripped with masculinity.

Reaching down your pajama shorts, you begin to touch yourself, rubbing your clit and pretending it’s his tongue. You get really into it, letting out quiet moans and heavy breaths, moaning his name quietly.

Suddenly you hear someone clear their throat and you open your eyes and see Negan standing in your doorway, leaning against the frame. You gasp in horror and pull your hands out of your shorts and close your legs, hoping he didn’t see any of what just happened even though he obviously just did.

“You need any help with that, baby doll?” he asks, before he runs his tongue across his lower lip. 

“Um, it wasn’t what it looked like”, you said trying to cover up what just happened.

He chuckles darkly.

“Doll, I can fuckin’ see your wet fingers from over here. I know exactly what filthy thing you were just doing. I even heard you moaning my name. Don’t try and hide it from me.” 

His eyes turn lustful, pupils dilated, eyes glazed over, as he stalks towards you. You’re breathing increases and you feel the heat between your legs immediately return, your tight cunt begging for his cock. 

He reaches your bed and slowly leans over you, one hand by your head and the other one lightly grazing your hip. He lowers his face to yours and his nose lightly brushes against your own. You feel his breath against your mouth and he smells like mint. He must’ve been chewing gum just before he arrived in your apartment.

He tests your reaction by planting a light kiss on the corner of your mouth. You let out a faint moan and he leans back in, this time planting a kiss right on your lips, and then the third time opening his mouth and running his tongue across your bottom lip.

You eagerly wrap your arms around his torso and pull him against you as you open your mouth, inviting his tongue in. He slips his tongue past your teeth and runs it against your own. The feeling of it against your own drove you while and you wrap your legs around his waist. 

You feel his growing arousal through his boxers against your lower abdomen, making you yearn for his cock even more. You reach up and pull the black t shirt off of him and run your nails down his back, most likely leaving red lines for the next morning. 

He wraps his arm around your lower back and pulls up, exposing your chest and neck, where he plants delicate kisses. You hear a growl deep within his chest as he bites harder against the skin on your neck, a delicious blend of pain and pleasure.

He gently helps you sit up before pulling off your shirt, removing your pajama shorts as well. The hair on his chest tickles your skin, arousing you even more. He begins to move down your abdomen, planting kiss on it along the way down, before finally pushing your panties to the side and licking a wet stripe up your already-dripping cunt.

Your legs shake as you let out a louder moan. 

“You want me to eat this pussy, baby girl?”

“Please, Negan!”, you say breathlessly.

He quickly dives in, running his tongue along your folds and across your clit. Soon he adds his fingers, which make a lewd wet noise as they move in and out of you. You grab at your bed sheets, desperately trying to ground yourself in the pleasure that enveloped you.

“Fuck! I’m gonna cum!” you cry out, your back beginning to arch off the bed. 

He continues his motions, the feeling of his beard against your skin adding to the pleasurable sensations. Soon you come undone, releasing all over his hand and face as your body convulses and twitches. 

He comes back up to where your face is and gently kisses your collarbone, sucking yet another hickey into it.

“I want you to fuck me, Negan.”

“Don’t worry, Doll. That’s exactly what I plan to do”, he says, a smile spread across his face. 

It was an unusual smile. One that seemed to show a sense of compassion and tenderness, things you never really saw from him on TV. He was still Negan, but the angry undertones seemed to wash away minute by minute.

He reaches down and pulls off his boxers, all your clothes peppered about your floor, dispersed amongst each other. He gently parts your legs and wraps them around his torso as he guides his cock into your entrance.

“Shit, Doll. You’re fucking tight. I don’t know if I’m gonna last long with a pussy this tight.”

He begins to thrust in and out of you slowly, letting you adjust to his large size. His thrusts are met with your moans and whimpers as his cock massages your walls without missing a millimeter. He fills you perfectly.

“You take my cock so well”, he says softly, placing your legs on his shoulders, the new angle making your toes curl with ecstasy. 

“Oh God, Negan. That feels so fucking good.”

“I know, baby doll”, he says with a little chuckle. 

You feel your orgasm building up again, approaching fast. He feels you begin to tighten around his cock.

“Already, Doll? Aren’t you a horny lil’ thing.”

“C-c-cum. I need to cu--oh god, Negan! I’m coming!”

He wraps his hand around your throat, squeezing the sides gently, enhancing the pleasure of your orgasm as you descend into a delicious darkness. He picks up his pace, chasing his own orgasm that isn’t far off. 

His hips begin to stagger in rhythm as he cums, groaning as he fills you with his thick cream. Thrusting a few more times, he finally pulls out and collapses next to you, exhausted.

“Okay”, you say, taking a pause to catch your breath, “I guess you can sleep in here with me.”

The two of you get cleaned up and crawl under the covers and he wraps his arms around you as you fall into a peaceful asleep on his chest. But he stays awake because he wants to watch you sleep, your steady breaths pulling him into a much more desired reality. 

@negans-network

@ask-kakashihatake

[youcanbreatheyoucanblink-blog]

Devour Me (part 2)

Read part 1 here! :)

Summary:  After being imprisoned at a colony that used women for only their bodies, Scarlet battles through blood, fire, and pain to get her freedom back. And who better to give that back to her than the man who taught her how to fight in the first place? 

Chapter Summary: Scarlet finds herself in a new place with new people, having to recall old memories (a certain barbed wire baseball bat also makes an appearance)

Word Count: 4,410

Warnings: Suggestions of rape (please don’t read if that’s a trigger for you, I care about you all), language (duh)

Thank you to my comma queen @i-am-negan-trash​ for being my beta!!! I appreciate you!

The feedback from part 1 was so great! The love I have gotten so far has made my angsty little heart so happy! Please keep the feedback coming! If you would like to be tagged or un-tagged, give me a yell! 

Also, the smut is coming. I repeat, the smut is coming. So stick around.

The best kind of burn is a slow one.

“Please don’t let them take me, Scarlet! PLEASE!” a female voice sobbed out, cracking on the last word.

Scarlet covered her face with her hands. As she moved, the thick chains binding her to the wall behind her clinked. The sensation of the cold metal was contrasted by the warm trickle of blood trailing down her arms from the wounds the shackles had gouged into her wrists. Each movement sent a sharp jab through her bones, but that pain was nothing compared to how she felt listening to her neighbor, Emily, plead.

“Please, Scar, please. Help me. I don’t want to go there,” Emily continued. Scarlet could hear her desperately pull on the thin sheet separating their bunks. She knew that if she looked, she would be able to see Emily’s crippled silhouette being projected onto the fabric by the moonlight coming in through the windows on the other side of the warehouse.

Instead, Scarlet remained frozen, her breath warming her palms as they pressed against her face. Her legs were cramping in their folded position underneath her. She felt like she had been sitting in this position for days.  

“Are you even listening? Please. I can’t do it again.” Emily’s sobs began to sound garbled, as if she were speaking underwater. Scarlet heard her scratching her nails against the sheet before slapping her hand against the cement floor.

“Scarlet, Scarlet, Scarlet,” Emily’s voice chanted her name like a prayer, her voice hanging on each syllable for life.

“Scarlet. Scarlet. Scar--”

Emily’s voice suddenly wavered. It sounded deeper all of a sudden, first very subtly, then it changed completely.

“Scar...let.”

It was a man’s voice now, drawn out and quietly annunciated, as if whoever was speaking was savoring her name in their mouth, not wanting it to pass over their lips. It was painfully familiar.

“Scaaarlet,” the voice crooned, tying her insides into knots of desperation. “My Scarlet, mineeee.” The last bit was nearly growled, causing her skin to prickle in both fear and excitement.

She slowly moved her hands from her eyes and turned to face the sheet and saw that a tall, lean shadow of a man was etched into it. The image was so well-projected that Scarlet could see the smallest details of his outline, from his boots to the facial hair covering his jaw. His clothes were skin-tight, leaving little to her imagination. Scarlet took in a shaky breath and laid her hands down at her sides.

He bent slightly backwards at the waist and cocked his head in curiosity at the clink of her chains. In his right hand he had a long, somewhat slender weapon that he slowly raised. As he moved, Scarlet realized it was a baseball bat, though it looked somehow deformed near the top--jagged and dangerous-looking. He reached it forward and touched the sheet. A small metal spike protruding from near the top of the bat tore through the fabric and, as he dragged it downward, continued to tear straight through with such ease, that it might as well have been nothing but butter separating Scarlet and her now-silent neighbor.

Eyes wide, Scarlet realized the bat was adorned in barbed-wire as she saw moonlight glint off of it when it reached the floor. It left behind a huge gash that opened and closed like a gaping mouth as the sheet moved softly in the air. Scared, but too curious for her own good, she leaned forward slightly, in hope of seeing the man wielding the bat.

“Not too fast, sugar. Let me get a good look atchya first.”

---------------

Scarlet opened her eyes with a gasp. As the images and sensations of her hyper-realistic dream slowly faded away, she came to her actual senses. She was on her back, swaddled in blankets and lying in a bed. Sweat dotted her forehead,and she felt it drip down her temples. As a reflex, she went to raise her hands to her face and realized she could only move one arm. Ripping the blanket away from herself in panic, she saw that her right arm was tied up in a sling. She wiggled her fingers and felt relief wash over her. She laid her head back and breathed a heavy sigh.

Where the fuck was she?

Her pulse thrummed in her throbbing lips, and the feeling of her breath traveling up and down her throat hurt, as if the air itself was sparked with bits of burning ash. She reached up to her face with her good hand and winced as her fingers pressed into a healing cut running over both lips.

While gingerly tracing her mouth, she tried to understand her situation. Her mind felt as broken as her body did--all she could remember was heat: hot blood, hot dirt, hot air, and hot pain. Running a quick mental assessment over her body, she still felt the heat, but it had dimmed to a dull warmth. The pain hadn’t diminished.

Slowly moving her hand from her lips, she registered the feeling of the faintly familiar weight of blankets on her body and the soft curve of a pillow beneath her head. This was the one fact that scared her--she hadn’t had a blanket or a pillow in months. Her bunk at the colony, at which she had been imprisoned for months, was completely bare. Either she was dead and this was some sort of torturous purgatory, or she was...somewhere else.

I have to escape, she thought. Glancing around, she saw a door across the room from her. It was slightly ajar. If she went quickly, she could reach it in about three strides. Slowly, she moved the blankets off of the rest of her body. She was clothed in a stiff, white hospital gown, and figured that was all she was wearing. Not ideal escape-wear,but it would have to do. She swung her feet over the edge of the bed, and was about to stand when she felt a tug at her chest. Looking down, she saw multiple gray wires coming out of the top of her gown. They led to a powerstrip on the floor that trailed out the open door. The hell? She had reached her left hand up to the wires when she heard a gruff voice from the other side of the door.

“Is she awake yet?”

Scarlet’s breathing hitched inside her chest at the sound. She swung her legs back up and yanked the covers up to her chin. Her movement caused the back of her right shoulder to throb, and she closed her eyes against the pain.

“Not yet, sir. Her heart rate has increased, though. I have her cardiac leads connected to the powerstrip for this here monitor. It could be indicative of her coming around or she could possibly just be in pain. It’s hard to tell,” a different voice replied. This one seemed so small in comparison to the previous voice. It sounded meek and unsure.

“You better goddamn fix her, Emmett,” the first voice growled. The way the words rang out tugged at a far-away part of Scarlet’s heart, and she struggled with the small, yet sad, emotions that bubbled up as a result.

“I’m trying sir,” the smaller voice whispered, nearly shaking.

The sound of boots angrily slapping the floor grew slightly fainter, and a door slammed shut after squeaking open.

Scarlet heard a heavy sigh followed by the shuffle of papers.

So, there was definitely somebody right outside. Multiple somebodies. Even if she made it out of the room, she would have to deal with whoever it was and figure out where else to go. Looking around the room again, she didn’t see anything she could use to help. She sat up and put her head in her free hand, her mind trailed away back toward the first voice. It seemed so weirdly familiar.

A little something had started to dance along the periphery of Scarlet’s mind when a door slammed open again. She snapped her head up, sending a fresh throb of pain through her body.

“I’m leaving on a run in fifteen, doc. If she isn’t back by the time I’m back, your white coat isn’t going to be the only thing freshly ironed,” the first voice from before said, thick with a poisonous undertone that felt both dark and threatening.

Whoever the voice belonged to was definitely someone not to be fucked with, Scarlet decided. She was still troubled at the strange fact that her heart seemed to swell slightly with each syllable they spoke.

“Y-yes sir. I’m going to do everything I can.”

“Fucking right you will.”

The door slammed shut once more, and a realization slammed into Scarlet just as hard:

It was the same voice from her dream.

Before she had time to react, the door creaked open further. A thin, balding man draped in a cliche white doctor’s coat shuffled in, his nose stuck in a stack of papers. Scarlet sat frozen, eyes wide. Still looking at his documents, he shut the door softly behind him. His eyes finally trailed up, and when he saw Scarlet sitting in bed, he screamed and dropped the entire stack.

In less time than it took to take in a single breath, Scarlet had leapt from the bed and slammed the man against the door, her left forearm jutting up into his jaw and pressing sternly into his trachea.

“Where the fuck am I?” she growled.

“Wait, wait, please!” the man gasped. He had his hands held up in surrender. “Please, I’m a doctor, just a doctor!”

Curious, Scarlet pulled her arm back, and the man took in a raspy breath. She kept her hand on the center of his chest, not allowing him any amount of space to move. His heart slammed against his chest hard enough to feel his pulse through his starchy button up shirt.

“I’m going to ask again,” Scarlet said quietly, and with as much venom as she could muster. “Where the fuck am I?’

Swallowing and still catching his breath, the man looked at her. He did seem small, Scarlet noticed. The look in his eyes was nothing but mouse-like fear. She wondered how he had possibly made it this far without becoming Meat Puppet munchies.

“You’re in the Sanctuary. Our colony. More specifically, you’re in the medical ward. You were brought in two days ago with extensive injuries: a laceration five inches deep on your right shoulder blade and a fractured rib. You also had some constriction-induced tracheal swelling, as well as multiple bruises,” the doctor rattled on.

Scarlet stared at him, taking it all in.

“And, uh, my name is Carson. Emmett Carson. MD,” he mumbled. He slowly extended a shaky hand, and Scarlet looked down at it, eyebrow cocked. She looked back at him.

“You’re, um, Scarlet, yes?”

Scarlet furrowed her brow before gingerly taking his hand. “Yes.”

Dr. Carson nodded quickly, releasing their handshake. “Could we please, erm, sit on the bed? I’d really like to take your vital signs. Miss, uh, Miss Scarlet.”

Scarlet took a small step back and, using the hand she had held on his chest, motioned toward the bed.

Nodding and pressing his lips into a thin line, Dr. Carson stepped forward and slowly made his way to the hospital bed Scarlet had leapt from a few moments ago. He turned to her and repeated the motioned she had given him, gesturing for her to sit on the bed.

Guards still up, Scarlet made her way to the bed and sat on the edge. From his pockets, Dr. Carson produced a stethoscope and a thermometer. He set the thermometer on the bed; it was one of the ones that was long and skinny with a metal tip that went underneath the tongue. Scarlet had thought those kind were only used for children.

Based on the feeling she was getting from this guy, and the fact that he did absolutely nothing to fight back against her, Scarlet believed that he really was just an antisocial doctor that worked here in this...Sanctuary. Clearing her throat, she spoke up.

“So, how long do I have to have this?” She motioned to her sling. Looking intently at her, Dr. Carson put a finger to his chin.

“Not long, you seem to be healing fairly quickly. Probably just until you can handle movement and won’t risk opening the stitches.”

Scarlet nodded. “And, what’s this shit?” She pulled gently on the gray wires coming from the top of her gown.

“Those are cardiac leads. Each wire is attached to a, uh, sticker on your chest. It monitors your heart.”

Curious, Scarlet peeked down her gown. Sure enough, she saw square stickers placed sporadically on her torso that were attached to each wire.

Carson then put the earpieces of the stethoscope into his ears and gestured toward Scarlet with the bell of it.

“May I?”

Scarlet nodded, jaw set tightly. She dropped her free hand to her lap and clenched it. Any trick movement and he was dead. If she had to kill him one-handed, she would do it. She tried to convey that message with her eyes, and his apparent increase in uneasiness showed that he seemed to get the idea.

The doctor leaned forward and put the cold bell against her chest, just below her collarbone. She never took her eyes off of him as he stared ahead, listening to her heart and lungs. He occasionally moved the bell to a different spot on her chest. His profile was soft, in all aspects of the word. He seemed so fragile. Scarlet wondered how many Dead Ones he had killed, if any. She also wondered how long it would take her to gouge through his skull with the plastic thermometer lying to her left.

“How’s it sound?” she asked, pressing him after he seemed to listen for an abnormally long time.

Dr. Carson flinched slightly, and Scarlet realized her voice had probably sounded like a bullhorn through the stethoscope.

“Sorry,” she said, as he leaned back, pulling the stethoscope from his ears and draping it around his neck.

“No worries. Everything sounds good. Your airway is no longer wheezing, which means the swelling has subsided a bit.” His voice was so rehearsed, like he was unable to relax.

He then grabbed the thermometer and turned it on with a high-pitched beep.

“Alright,” he said, pointing the metal tip toward her face. “Open your mouth.”

Scarlet froze. Everything suddenly rushed to the surface from the broken part of her memory,and she was all of a sudden back in the grimy storage shed with Slim breathing down her neck.

“‘Open your mouth,’ he hissed.”

In a split second, Scarlet had Dr. Carson in a headlock on the ground. Both of her arms were wrapped around his neck and she cranked it back. Pain seared through her right shoulder and boomeranged up and down her arm, but she ignored it. Through the ringing in her ears, she heard him scream.

They must have made a hell of a racket, because she suddenly heard the clamor of multiple footsteps sprinting into the room.

“LET HIM GO, HANDS UP!” a voice shouted. The sound of a gun cocking rang out strong and with immense threat.

Scarlet looked up, keeping her grip on Carson. A woman decked out in riot gear was pointing a silver pistol at her, and sure looked like she knew how to use it. Two other men were behind her, dressed in a similar fashion, but both were wielding machine guns instead. Neither was pointing his weapon at her, and Scarlet sensed they held the woman in high authority.

Beneath her arms, Dr. Carson sputtered out a gasp. Not moving her gaze from the woman, Scarlet cocked an eyebrow, then slowly released her grip.

Carson hit the floor on his hands and knees, desperately trying to catch his breath for the second time that day. Scarlet remained crouched on the floor, staring down Miss Bad Ass, who also kept her stance just as stoic.

One of the men stepped forward and picked the doctor up by an arm.

“No, no, I’m fine,” Carson squawked. “I must have just said the wrong thing. She’s still very new.” He fell into a coughing fit, and the man holding him up shot the woman a look.

To be completely honest, Scarlet felt embarrassed. She hadn’t meant to attack the doctor outright like that. His words had just sent her into a flashback so intense, her animalistic reflexes had kicked in.

“Stand up,” the woman said, motioning upwards with her pistol. Grudgingly, Scarlet obliged. As she stood, her vision swam and she fell backwards. The bed caught her fall as she hit it hard. She managed to maintain an upright position, but she leaned forward on her knees, right arm tucked into her stomach in hopes of dwindling the pain in her shoulder. She nearly vomited.

“Leave us,” the woman said. Scarlet assumed she wasn’t talking to her, so she remained perched on the side of the bed, struggling to maintain consciousness. The pain was almost unbearable.

The two men and Dr. Carson left the room--the men walking and Carson sort of shuffling, hand on his chest--and shut the door softly.

Scarlet heard the woman walk over to her and felt her sit on the bed. Not wanting to look up, she kept her eyes on the ground.

“My name’s Cara,” the woman said. Her voice was gentle, yet stern.

Slowly, Scarlet looked over to her. She had tan skin and freckles dotting her nose. Her eyes were warm, like honey. Her brown hair was tied up in a ponytail and baby hairs hung around her forehead and framed her face. She was still pointing the pistol at her.

“Scarlet.”

Cara nodded. “I heard where you came from.”

Scarlet clenched her jaw.

“Can you tell me about it?” Cara asked.

“Why do you want to know?” Scarlet growled, with more malice than she intended.

“I’m curious. Must be some real shit for you to bodyslam the doc over him taking your vitals.” Cara’s voice had a tinge of humor in it. Scarlet didn’t find her funny.

“It’s not a goddamn joke,” she spat.

Cara held up her hands. “Sorry. Really. I just want to know. Seeing you move like that while most likely being in pain and, you know, just waking up from being knocked out for days, has made me curious about how you act when you’re 100% on your game. I have a feeling you’ll fit in here. But, if I’m going to work with you, I want to know what made you, you. And I want to know sooner rather than later.” She returned the pistol in its position, aimed at Scarlet’s chest.

Scarlet snorted. “Yeah, well it’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time,” Cara said, smiling. She still hadn’t put the pistol back in its holster and, though her tone was light, Scarlet knew the situation wasn’t.

Scarlet had never been someone to open up to just anyone. Anyone interested enough had to chip away at the walls she consistently had erected around herself, and most became too impatient to stick around to see who she really was. As she looked at Cara--tall and intimidating and, not to mention, still pointing a gun at her chest--Scarlet wondered why she really wanted to know about her.

See, in this world, information was sought out in order to better one’s self. Friendships--or, being completely honest, just relationships with people you didn’t want to kill at the moment--were usually based on survival characteristics, and whether or not you trusted the other person with your life. That could very well be Cara’s intentions; she most likely wanted to assess whether or not Scarlet was worth killing right now. She had taken a move at this colony’s doctor--more than once, and Cara probably needed a damn good reason not to blow her brains out.

“Hm,” Scarlet breathed. She didn’t particularly feel like being murdered at the moment. “What the hell.” She shrugged, and immediately regret it as fresh pain stabbed into her. She made a small sound and clenched her eyes shut.

“You need something? I can get Emmett in here to give you some pain meds or something,” Cara said, eyeing Scarlet with a raised eyebrow. Scarlet shook her head. She didn’t like taking anything that could potentially separate her mind from her body.

“No, I’m good,” she said, shaking the wave of pain off. She shifted into a more comfortable position and looked at Cara, then the pistol, before beginning.

“It’s called Montgomery. I was there for 10 months. Before, I was part of a small group that had gotten split up. I got caught up in a herd when a bunch of their people came through and mowed them all down. At the time, it was nice having someone else help you not, you know, die. I also hadn’t eaten for a while and they had food. They mentioned they had a camp not far from where we were, with more food and shelter. I had been completely on my own for a few weeks so the thought of actual food seemed too good to be true. And it was.”

Scarlet paused, taking a breath. Cara was quiet and listening carefully. She had moved her gun-wielding elbow to her thigh, so she could relax while still keeping the pistol on Scarlet.

“When I first got there, it seemed alright. There was a big warehouse set behind a chainlink fence. It wasn’t Hollywood, but, hell, it was nicer than sleeping in a tree or some abandoned car. But, as soon as the gate slid closed behind me, they were on top of me. One handcuffed me, and the other shoved a gag down my throat. I fought back, but the one who gagged me hit me over the head and I blacked out. When I came to, I was laying on a stained mattress and had my wrists chained to a wall. I felt like a goddamn dog.”

Cara’s stare was so intense that Scarlet swore it was emitting heat and warming her skin.

“All in all, it was like slavery. It was women chained in a big warehouse, ready for whenever one of the pigs needed anything. We each had a mattress but no blanket or pillow. The ‘bunks,’” Scarlet made air quotations with her good hand, “Were separated by sheets. They humiliated us; made us walk on all fours and do laundry in the creek behind the warehouse, or rub their feet and shit. We all got pretty close. I remember the girl to my left--Lucy--tried to break through a window and escape once, but they caught her. They dragged her off before she could get out. I never saw her again. I remember grabbing some of the broken glass and hiding it before they saw me.”

Scarlet paused, swallowing.

“I planned on using it to cut one of my hands off to get out of the chains.”

She shifted again, more out of uneasiness rather than being uncomfortable. These memories were painful.

“Soon after, they started...other things. Violating things. They would only do it at night. You’d hear them pick a bunk and usually, the girl would usually be gagged, but you could still hear her screams. They liked to go in order, around the warehouse. I happened to be toward the end. When it was my turn, and my sheet was pulled back, it was the Boss.”

“The leader?” Cara interjected.

Scarlet shrugged with one shoulder. “Yeah sorta. He was the one who barked orders, so I guess you could call him that. I don’t know his actual name. He said he had picked me because of my attitude. He liked ‘bitches.’ I just didn’t like being told what to do. I think he felt like he could somehow get control over me, be the only one who could tell me what to do.”

Scarlet snorted. Like that would have ever happened, she thought. There was only one person who had ever had any sort of control over her, and she hadn’t seen him since....her dream. Scarlet froze.

“You good?” Cara’s voice sliced through Scarlet’s mind.

She jumped slightly, then cleared her throat. “Uh, yeah. Sorry. Anyway,” she continued, thoughts returning, but heart still pounding. “The Boss stood over me like some sweaty, narcissistic pig. He undid my cuffs and raised my hands above my head, telling me not to move them or he’d put a bullet in my head. I remember just closing my eyes.”

Scarlet stared off into space as she spoke; her emotions were all over the place and it was exhausting. Cara didn’t move a muscle, apart from the small movement her chest made with each breath she took.

“As he undid his belt, I suddenly remembered the glass. I slipped it from underneath my mattress, and as he kicked his jeans down, I stabbed him. Right in the dick.”

Cara gasped. “No fucking way,” she said, mouth gaping.

Scarlet smiled softly. “Way. Just like that, I swung. I’ve never heard a man scream so high. I was able to get out and run off. Then, through a series of events, I guess, I ended up here. But that’s another story. There are a bunch of other stories.”

Cara guffawed, slapping her leg. “Jesus Christ, you are my goddamn hero!” She continued to laugh. “Right in the dick!”

Scarlet chuckled, too. She thinked she liked Cara. She didn’t, however, like reliving the past.

“He’s going to fucking love you,” Cara said, wiping an eye as her laughter died down.

“Who?” Scarlet asked, turning toward her.

“Negan,” Cara replied, finally sticking the pistol in the holster on her waist.

Scarlet blinked. “What did you say?”

“Negan. He’s our leader. He’s absolutely nothing like that dick-less pig. When he gets back, you have to tell him that story. It’s iconic!” Cara smiled again, then quickly took on a look of concern. “Woah, you okay?”

Scarlet swayed slightly. Her face felt damp with sweat, and her vision blurred.

“Negan,” she whispered.

“Not too fast, sugar. Let me get a good look atchya first,” his voice echoed in her mind.

Tag list: @neganisking @warriorqueen1991 @negans-network @hopelessmrblogger @mwesterfeld1985

[missbemaeve]

WELL THE NIGHT WEIGHS HEAVY ON HIS GUILTY MIND - YSTLC

xi. reaction to finding out that will byers was alive

there’s a storm on the loose, sirens in my head, wrapped up in silence, all circuits are dead  ( twilight zone ; golden earring )

saturday, november twelfth / sunday, november thirteenth, nineteen eighty three

lithe fingers intertwined on the center console of the squad car as the radio played a quiet song. with james, there was no ulterior motive or waiting for a moment when the other shoe would drop. with most other aspects of her life, she was unable to say the same. he knew her, he knew what she was able to do, and he stayed. he didn’t run. she looked over at him in silence, the street lamps lighting his face intermittently. untangling their fingers, maeve raised her hand to brush it against his cheek affectionately. perhaps she was biased but she’d never seen a more beautiful man, inside or out. he caught her hand, kissed her palm gently, and laced their fingers once more before returning their hands to the console between them.

it was a thoughtless gesture but one of the most affectionate things she’d ever experienced in her almost seventeen years on earth. there was no awkwardness between the two, it was as if a magnet had drawn them to each other. it was like they belonged. taking pause, maeve wondered how long she would have to hide and be afraid. the exhaustion of all she’d done thus far was wearing upon her and she refused to hurt others. there was nothing she wouldn’t do to ensure her family nor andie or james weren’t hurt by the fallout of her actions. 

would she spend the rest of her life terrified to make a noise in fear of the wrong people finding her? she thought back to her favorite line from one of her favorite books, ‘i was within and without, simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life.’ the stark difference between the hawkins everyone knew and what lay behind the perimeter of the barbed-wire fence of the laboratory disgusted her. 

all maeve wanted was for her life to be simple; she would give anything to just trade lives for a single day with someone that hadn’t gone through what she had, ‘but no one deserves to have this put on them,’ she reminded herself. despite it all, she felt as though she finally had found happiness. she had a family, friends, and a boyfriend. she knew she couldn’t stay in hawkins forever, she would have to run some day because of the terror that loomed over the town. maeve knew that there was a chance that she would lose all she had found in the past month and, although she had experienced heartbreaks before, she was unsure if she could survive this one.

police chatter came through the cb radio on james’ car dash. the constant, dull mumble was soothing as it underscored the music from the car’s speakers. “i really hope everything is alright.” maeve spoke quietly into the darkness of the car; she was unsure if she meant to speak it aloud or to simply keep it to herself. 

while never having been present, maeve had heard of joyce having several outbursts. word traveled quickly through hawkins. she’d seen joyce twice in the time she’d been there, during the candlelight vigil for her missing young son and again for his funeral. the thin woman had looked so unstable and frail, as though a small gust of wind could knock her off of her feet or finally send her over the edge of psychosis. on the other hand, maeve had also seen two of jonathan’s most recent altercations-- she couldn’t blame either of the two. maeve was unable to imagine the madness that losing a loved one could bring to those who had loved them-- the desperation for even a chance to bring them back or see them again was unfathomable. there was a twinge in her chest, despite her family, she knew she’d left people behind in her old life. it was likely that they felt as the byers did. 

familial problems were not unfamiliar to maeve. emotions would run high. actions couldn’t be taken back. but the difference was apparent in where the problems began: while the byers’ problems grew from a place of having too much love and an inability to let go, the van patten’s problems had arose from a lack of emotion and an individual’s flippant disregard for anyone aside from themselves. 

maeve would never stop wishing she’d never been born in to that family; she wasn’t even certain that it could be called a family. despite making a new life for herself, she felt as though the first fifteen years of her life had been a waste and now she wanted nothing more than to live freely for the first time that she had been able to. no more walking on eggshells. no more feeling like a burden for merely existing. no more wishing she could run away. ‘no more running.’ a reassuring squeeze of acknowledgment from james drew her attention back to the present. 

“we’ll just check up on them. these sorts of things can make people do some pretty crazy stuff.” james’ eyes never left the road as he spoke to maeve, his thumb dragging gently across the back of her hand. 

while maeve’s mind was racing, her body was exhausted. the day had felt as though it would never end and sleep’s siren call haunted her. she knew the plan had been to go back to james’ house and hang out and watch movies and talk but her eyes begged to drift shut and her brain to cease its activity. maeve stifled a yawn as they approached the end of the byers’ driveway. two cars were parked, the difference between them was apparent: while one was newer and shined enough to reflect the moon that hung in the sky, the other had dull, peeling paint and the trunk had been left ajar in what must have been haste. ‘why is steve harrington at the byers’ house?’ 

james must have seen the conflict on maeve’s face, “what are you thinking?” he opened the door to step out on to the dead grass as maeve did the same. the chilly autumn air swirled through her hair; the atmosphere felt charged, like there was a tension that was awaiting resolution. 

“that steve harrington showed up to fight jonathan byers again. i can... try to diffuse the tension?” maeve made a pointed face at her own comment, trying to make it clear what she would do while still hiding it behind a pane of frosted glass. it was the first time maeve had tried to casually allude to what she was able to do. she thought, ‘how casual could a supernatural ability really be?’

“you can? that...that would be good. just stay behind me a little--” 

before she could object that she was able to handle herself, maeve heard shouting from inside the small house as steve harrington burst through the front door; it was almost cartoon-like as he scuttled across the porch and down the stairs, making a bee-line towards his car.

james had drawn and pointed his gun at the sudden noise, before lowering it as he recognized steve. “harrington!” james used his authoritative voice. maeve had seldom heard it before. it was more gravelly, lower, and louder than his normal tone. “what the hell is going on here?” it was the first time maeve had actually seen deputy houseman. at the restaurant, there was no risk of danger, at the theater, he was only there for her. this time, there was a problem and he would be the one to make sure that nothing came of it.

“there’s this-- this thing in there!” he gestured wildly toward the house, before running a hand through his disheveled hair. as his face was illuminated by the hazy, yellow porch light, maeve could finally see the damage done from the earlier altercation; his nose was slightly swollen and the smeared blood had dried across his face. “it’s like an alien or some creature! i don’t know what the hell is going on. it’s face opened up and it came after us. they wouldn’t fucking tell me what it was!” he gestured wildly towards the small house. the normally so-self-assured boy’s voice was riddled with confusion, 

maeve’s face blanched; it was like the floodgates had opened and she felt like a boulder had just dropped in to the pit of her stomach. she knew what steve was talking about but she thought it only existed in her head. “it’s here?” three heads swung towards the house as the power surged before it began to flicker wildly. 

“maeve, what’s here?” james’ tone had lowered as he directed his attention to her.

“you know that thing!?” steve’s bewilderment was more than apparent as he gawked at her. he sputtered before finally getting the words out, “who the hell are you!?”

a split-second, a breath, a ringing in her ears. without a second thought, maeve took off in a sprint toward the door. she barely registered the desperation in his voice as james shouted for her not to before she heard two pairs of feet pounding against the cold ground behind her. she heard shouting and gun shots before she swung open the front door. 

jonathan byers lay on the carpeted floor, coughing while trying to catch his breath. noticing the strong smell of gasoline, maeve’s attention shifted. nancy wheeler slowly backed towards a wall, her bullet-less gun clicking futilely; she flinched as she was slowly being encroached upon by the tall and familiar figure. james came to a short stop right behind maeve, “holy mother of god...”

dr. brenner had told her not to worry. he had told her that her mind played tricks on her and that her fear and inner-demons were manifesting themselves. maeve shouldn’t have been surprised to find out that he had lied about this as well. there was no way of knowing what it was or where it came from; she didn’t even have a name for it. 

concentrating as hard as she could, she tried to stop the creature from approaching nancy. she was fighting a losing battle, ‘why isn’t this working?’ it was as if she were trying to strike a wet match on sandpaper. maeve’s concentration broke.

steve took no pause as he grabbed a baseball bat with nails driven through the widest part. he began swinging wildly at the creature. he struck the twisted figure in its abdomen and continued while ducking its swings. it was like they had rehearsed this dance, neither party pulled punches or backed off. nancy ran to help jonathan to his feet, not allowing her eyes to leave the action taking place just across the room. maeve and james had made their way in to the living room, james’ gun was aimed at the floor for the time being as he was unsure of how to proceed. in all of his training, something like this had never been brought up. 

maeve felt as though she were, again, living in her nightmares. she’d seen this thing before. she didn’t think it actually existed in this world. ‘how is it here? what have they done?’ there was no chance that dr. brenner had nothing to do with this thing’s appearance. without a doubt, maeve knew that this had to have been the source of all of hawkins’ problems and, by association, so was she.

as steve corralled the creature down the hall, there was a loud, metallic clang. “he’s in the trap! he’s stuck!”

“jonathan, now!” nancy shouted. 

feeling like a spectator to her own life, it was like the world slowed down. maeve saw jonathan pull an old, silver zippo lighter from his jacket pocket, clicking it to strike the metal before tossing it down the hall where the creature caught fire like a witch burning at the stake. a rotten stench filled the air as the fire caught. james pulled maeve closer to his body, shielding her. as they watched the flames dance, the screech it let out was piercing; maeve knew the sound would now haunt her dreams like the vision of it had in the past. the flames twisted and rose higher as the five watched. it felt like a nightmare, she could wake up in a moment and realize that this was a dream, she could be in the car with james, still on their way to the byers’. 

within moments, it was gone. “get back!” jonathan sprayed the remaining fire with an extinguisher, the white powder filling the room and their lungs. as the dust settled, steve, jonathan, and nancy approached the empty trap with apprehension. 

feeling ill, maeve started backing out of the house before turning and running back towards james’ car. her feet carried her as quickly as they were able to despite the unsteadiness that riddled her. it felt like the ground was shaking beneath her. 

“maeve...” james didn’t hesitate as he chased after her in to the darkness of the night. the threat had been neutralized and there was something more pressing that he needed to attend to. 

collapsing to the ground, maeve struggled to catch her breath and not hyperventilate. ‘don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.’ as much as she fought against her will, she couldn’t help it. she felt sick. for a moment, she knew that he couldn’t chase her forever, the thought left her when she felt his arms around her. she pressed her face in to his chest, not wanting him to see this crack in her normally impenetrable armor. despite all of her abilities, she couldn’t control her own emotions this time. “i’m so sorry, james.” she pressed her face in to his chest, she could feel her own tears saturating his jacket. rubbing her back gently, james remained silent and allowed her to release what she needed. “i couldn’t stop it, i tried so hard. i didn’t want anyone to get hurt. i--” 

james cut her off, taking her face in his hands and forcing her to look at him, “mae, this isn’t your fault. everyone is okay and it’s gone, it’s not coming back.”

her hands grasped as the lapels of his jacket, keeping herself upright with his help, “promise?” she knew she was being unreasonable, she didn’t care. she just wanted some reassurance even if it was empty. her face was splotchy and surely filled with fear as she searched his eyes.  

james knew this wasn’t his promise to make but he’d say whatever he needed to in order to stop seeing maeve in pain. after a beat, he nodded, “i swear.” he held her close again, on his knees in front of her. he rubbed her back softly, his eyes open and surveying their environment. he could feel her shivering, her bare legs were pressed against the crunchy, brown grass and the thin denim jacket over her shoulders did nothing to help her stay warm. “come on...” he murmured. he gently pulled her up to her feet and guided her to the car, turning it on and making sure the heat was on, he looked over at her. “i’m gonna go inside and make sure everything is okay before we leave. okay?”

“okay.” her voice sounded so small. maeve felt bad that he was taking care of her, she never needed someone to care for her in this way. she felt disconnected from her body and furthermore from the world. nothing felt real.

“i’ll be right back.” he squeezed her hand softly before jogging back to the house. he knocked on the front door before pushing it open. the hand that was placed on his holstered gun hadn’t moved in fear that the thing would return.

“are you guys alright? anyone hurt?” his voice was still firm as he maintained his authority. he promised to protect and serve but james had not realized that the oath he took involved protecting others from things that even he was unaware of. the three shaken teens all looked at each other, their faces mostly unreadable aside from the fear. 

“no, i think we’re okay...” jonathan’s voice trailed off as he spoke for the group. steve nodded silently as nancy did the same, standing to the side with her corduroy arms crossed.

“just be careful and keep each other safe.” james nodded once as he pushed the door open to leave.

“hey, do you have to tell hopper about all of this?” jonathan’s hand ran through his disheveled hair. 

“we’ll worry about that tomorrow. clean up around here and don’t do anything stupid.” james gestured to the room before turning and exiting the house. he could see maeve through the window of his car while he approached it. playing with her hands while she waited, she heard his footsteps before she turned to look at him and gave a small, half-smile. he softened and returned the expression. getting in the car, he turned to face her, taking her hand in his own. “do you want me to take you home or to andie’s?” he didn’t care if their planned night was ruined, he just wanted her to feel okay and he would do whatever was necessary to foster that. 

she bit her lower lip, contemplating. while she longed for sleep, the events that had transpired made her feel more awake than she had felt all day. maeve just wanted to talk more than anything which was a rarity for the secretive girl. “i still want to come over...if that’s okay with you?”

“of course it is.” james was grateful for the darkness as he tried to hide his small smile. he really enjoyed spending time with maeve and looked forward to just sitting and talking and maybe even holding her, ‘if she wants me to.’ while he had dated other girls, no one made him feel like maeve did. he didn’t feel like she wanted to be rescued or like she needed him to save her, he knew that she was more than capable of taking care of herself. that was something that he really liked about her: it was like she feared nothing and no one. there was something between them that drew him to her; it was like a magnetic pull. “then are you ready to go?”

“yes.” maeve nodded slightly, pulling her seatbelt across her body and clicking it in to its holster. a flutter beat in the pit of her stomach; amidst the fear of what had just transpired, it took her a moment to recognize the unfamiliar feeling of giddiness before it transformed from a light butterfly to a heavy stone reminiscent of guilt. before her time in hawkins lab, she’d had a boyfriend. she had even loved him and now she had no idea of what had happened to him. ‘i haven’t felt this way in a long time.’ as maeve gave one last look of concern towards the byers’ home, james carefully backed out on to the road. turning back, maeve watched the three teens that had been in the house come out on to the front porch, looking around wildly.

the two young adults drove in a comfortable silence; despite having only been together for days, there was a small sense of normality that surrounded their relationship and their actions. ‘normal teenagers don’t think about what normal teenagers do...’ maeve chastised herself. ‘be in the moment.’

time moved differently. it felt like only moments had passed as james pulled in to a long driveway that led to a small house. against the purple-blue sky, maeve saw smoke curling from the chimney as it merrily danced away with the breeze. looking at the neon display on the car’s dash, she knew it had been nearly fifteen minutes that she’d been lost in her own mind. she hadn’t even noticed james getting out of the car and coming around to her side to open her door. taking his hand and making sure she locked the car door, she followed him across the sidewalk that connected his porch and driveway. 

grabbing his keyring from where it was always clipped on his belt loop, james easily selected the only brass key and unlocked the deadbolt and door itself before pushing it open. he followed maeve inside before turning and locking the door behind them carefully. ‘shit, i hope this doesn’t seem weird...’ he cursed to himself. james didn’t want to make her uncomfortable but after what the two had just seen, he didn’t want a similar thing happening in his own home. 

he saw maeve looking around the living room, her hand drifting across the back of his blue fabric couch. he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “ta-da?” he knew it was nothing special, it had one bedroom and one bathroom, a kitchen, a den, and a living room. it wasn’t much but it was home to him, ‘and it beats living with my parents.’ james was pulled from his thoughts as a booming bark filled the living room. “butkus!”

maeve grinned as a large dog bounded down the hallway towards them. it likely weighed nearly twice what she did but she couldn’t help but crouch down to its height as it approached. the beast’s body wiggled in excitement as maeve pet his back and accepted the sloppy kisses that he bestowed upon her face. laughing, she finally stood. “butkus? ...like the dog from rocky?”

james shrugged and smiled sheepishly, “he looks just like him!” he rubbed the dog’s ears affectionately, “make yourself comfortable.” he proceeded in to the kitchen where his mind went on auto-pilot as he did his evening chores. he whistled and pointed to the dog door that was embedded in the backdoor. butkus bounded outside to the fenced yard where he could do what he needed as james made sure he had food and water. “i’m gonna change... i smell like gas and fire extinguisher. do... do you want something too? i know i don’t have anything your size or even for women but--”

“yes, that would be nice.” maeve cut him off with a knowing smile. when james got flustered, he babbled. it was an endearing habit that she’d observed on more than one occasion. she stood in front of the barely burning fireplace, absorbing some of the last warmth of its embers.

“i’ll be right back.” james smiled at her as he responded and backed towards the hall. as he turned, he bumped his shoulder against the wall, having misjudged the distance due to his lack of attention. “shit.” he mumbled as he continued toward his room, grateful that she couldn’t see his red face.

maeve covered her mouth, stifling a laugh. ‘god, he’s cute.’ turning her attention to the mantle in front of her, maeve barely noticed as the dog returned to the living room and curled up on his bed in the corner where he proceeded to snore as a grown man would. maeve knew that the photos that were held in the frames had obviously not been done on james’ own volition. a little boy, no older than kindergarten, smiled at the camera with several missing teeth but that face was unmistakably his. family photos, vacations to a beach, snapshots of a relatively normal life were laid in front of her like a timeline to his life that she knew very little about. 

torn from her thoughts by footsteps coming down the hall, she saw james in a t-shirt sweatpants with ‘hawkins’ emblazoned vertically down the long leg. he carried a folded pair of pajama pants and one of his t-shirts, maeve took them from his hands with a tilted smile. she began walking down the hall before turning, unsure of where she was going. “where can i--”

“my bedroom is on the right, bathroom is on the left.” he replied before she could finish her question. 

“thank you.” taking a moment, maeve deliberated which room she’d go in to. in a split-decision, she turned right, walking in to his room where she locked the door behind herself. looking around slowly, the smile found its way back on to her face. the plush plaid quilt on his bed looked inviting, the small lamp on the bedside table barely illuminated the room. on the dresser was a small television and an alarm clock. across the walls, he’d hung more photographs and posters. she peeled off her work uniform before folding it and placing it on a chair in the corner of his room; maeve pulled on his t-shirt that hung off of her frame before putting on the long pants that surpassed her feet by many inches. james nearly had a foot on her own height which she remedied by rolling down the waistband and rolling up the legs until they somewhat fit. 

“hey, you okay in there?” there was a light knock on the door as james’ voice carried through the thin wood. 

“yeah, i’m fine. sorry, i just had to do some adjusting.” she crossed the room, opening the door with a small smile as she finished her sentence. she crossed her arms, feeling uncertain of what to do. while she felt like she’d known him forever, it had barely been days. 

“no worries...” he smiled back at her. ‘damn, she’s cute.’ maeve’s curly hair fell around her shoulders in a disheveled twist. “so, this is my place.” he walked in to his room, his hands in his pockets as he looked at what decorated the walls. he usually paid very little attention but he couldn’t help but feel nervous now that she was here with him. 

“well, i’d hope so. because it would be weird if it wasn’t, you know. especially with all of the photos of you and the dog and whatnot.” she bit back, smiling slyly. she sat down on his bed, crossing her legs carefully. 

“okay, wise guy.” he chuckled, exhaling as the nervousness dissipated. he walked toward the bed and sat down, maintaining a short distance from her. james was nothing if not a gentleman and he didn’t want her to think he was trying to make a move on her.

“get over here, you dork.” laughing, maeve grabbed his arm and pulled him towards her. taken aback by her strength, his back fell in to the bed and his head landed promptly on her legs. 

as he looked up at her, he couldn’t help but chuckle. “i wasn’t ready!” he grabbed her hand and played with it above his face. his eyes zeroed in on a tattoo emblazoned upon her wrist. the stark black figures contrasted highly with her pale skin. as his thumb dragged across them gently, he could feel her body stiffen. “when’d you get a tattoo?” he murmured quietly.

“it’s...a long story.” her heartbeat quickened as her breath caught in her throat. 

“we’ve got time.” he laced their fingers together, maeve’s other hand drifted through his messy hair. she smoothed it down as he smiled up at her reassuringly. “you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. i understand.”

“i want to.” maeve was quick to respond before she took a moment’s pause, “i just... please don’t pity me or feel bad for me. that’s all i ask.” maeve wasn’t great at being vulnerable-- after all she’d gone through, it was a miracle she was still able to be vulnerable. no one could ever say that she wasn’t resilient. “promise?” she offered her pinky, her eyebrows raised.”

“promise.” he squeezed her pinky before taking her hand once more.

“so, you know i’m new to town... i’m not all that new. i’ve really been here for about two years.” she spoke slowly, carefully selecting her words. “my legal name is maeve eileen van patten. i was born in new york city.” james was silently receptive, just trying to absorb the new information. it was easier for maeve to talk about these things now; it felt like an entirely different lifetime. it was an entirely different lifetime. “my parents...didn’t like me. they didn’t like what i could do. i didn’t even know what i was doing. it wasn’t my fault, i couldn’t help it. ” maeve trailed off before taking a deep breath. “my mom was part of that whole mk-ultra cia experiment because she was a drug addict and wanted more but she didn’t know she was pregnant and when she had me... i was different.” maeve shook her head, “they sent me away about two years ago. i was barely fourteen and they brought me to this lab. i was just a lab experiment.” she trailed off, saying it aloud made it more real. it made it concrete. “one day, they put me under. when i woke up, this was on my wrist. they called me seven... i was just a number to them. the people at the lab faked my death, they got a certificate and told me what they’d done and i didn’t know what to do. they said it was a clean slate for me but i think they were playing games. they wanted me to stay. i didn’t even know how long i had been in there until i escaped. mary and robert are my aunt and uncle. they found me when i was running. i made them think that i was coming to live with them and i’ve been there ever since.” finishing lamely, maeve didn’t know what to do. she couldn’t look at james, she didn’t want to see his expression. 

“and that thing...at the byers’. you’d seen it before.” he wasn’t asking her a question.

“i didn’t think it was real. i’d seen it in my dreams and when they made me try really hard to control people’s actions... i thought it was just in my head. i don’t even know what it is.” 

“that all felt like a weird dream.” james gently squeezed her hand that was resting on his chest. exhaling, maeve finally got the courage to meet his eyes when she couldn’t find more to say. a corner of his mouth turned up in a half-smile. as he’d done earlier in the evening, he brushed his lips against the back of her hand. “i’ve never met anyone quite as amazing as you, maeve.” he paused, in that moment, maeve wasn’t sure anyone had ever looked at her with such a look of adoration, “look, i don’t care where you came from...i just want to know where you’re going. i want to be there so you don't have to be brave.” maeve felt her chest shutter as the emotions from the evening came to a head in the form of warm tears once more. “please, just let me be here for you.” his voice was pleading.

leaning down, she pressed a kiss to his lips. a hand rested on his cheek as she finally pulled away, “thank you, james.” as she sat up, she covered her mouth as she stifled a yawn.

“do you want to go to sleep? i’m sure you’re exhausted, it’s been a crazy day.” james groaned as he sat up, his body stiff. “i’ll sleep out on the couch.” his hand came to his mouth as he let out the yawn which he’d caught from her. as he began to stand, maeve didn’t let go of his hand. he turned to look at her, a befuddled look on his sleepy and handsome face. 

“will you sleep in here with me?” maeve’s voice was small and she was unsure if she was crossing a line. “i really just don’t want to be alone tonight.” catching her lower lip in between her teeth, she didn’t break eye contact. she didn’t use her ability; it wouldn’t have been right. while james was worried he’d appear as though he just wanted her physically, maeve was afraid he’d think she was needy.

“yeah, of course. i’m just gonna make sure the house is locked up.” he pressed a kiss to her forehead as he stood. she released his hand once he had walked out of her reach. pulling her knees to her chest, she rested her chin on top of them, a slight smile still playing upon her lips. after a moment, she laid back as he returned to the room. james turned out the lights and lay on the bed beside her. the two were as stiff as boards until maeve finally grew bold. she took his arm and wrapped it around her as she turned to face his body; they could feel each other relax. he pressed a kiss to her forehead as her eyes closed. “goodnight, maeve.”

“goodnight, james.” the uncertainty of the night that had preceded this moment mattered naught as both fell into a dreamless sleep tangled in the other’s embrace.

it could have been minutes or hours later, but maeve heard the phone ring in the living room. after two rings, she felt the warmth of james’ arms leave her body and the mattress shift. after several more rings, it stopped. from the bed, she could hear his low voice murmuring to whoever was on the other line. after a few minutes, maeve quietly walked out to the living room, she leaned against the wall and watched him. their eyes met and he gave a small smile in acknowledgment. traversing the length of the hall, she rubbed the sleep from her bleary eyes before wrapping her arms around his torso from behind, her cheek resting against his back and her eyes still shut as though she were hoping sleep would take her. the clock on the wall ticked slowly as the short hand came to rest just before the five. james stood by the phone that was connected to the wall, one hand holding the phone to his ear, the other running through his mussed hair before falling to rest against maeve’s arm. “yeah, thank you. goodnight.” he hung up, his expression was unreadable as he murmured, “sorry, kid. did i wake you?

“no-- not at all. is everything alright?” maeve was feeling worried; her confusion increased as he turned and wrapped his arms around her tightly, burying his face in the crook of her neck. 

“there was an explosion at the middle school...everyone and everything is okay. they-- they found will byers tonight. he’s alive.” the timbre of his sleep-filled voice was low.

“holy shit.” her eyes went wide. she wasn’t sure if this was a dream or reality. “are they sure?” she held him at arm's length, panic in her eyes before he pulled her back towards his chest.

“his mom is with him. they’re sure it’s him. it...just doesn’t make sense? who the hell’s body did they find?” maeve would have bet her life on the lab having something to do with the boy’s miraculous reappearance. “fucking hell... i can’t believe that they found him. tomorrow is going to be a weird day.”

“tomorrow doesn’t have to be here yet.” maeve’s sleepy smile made another appearance. her eyes had just started to clear from the sleep that had inhabited them only minutes before. 

“then let’s go back to bed.” he agreed, giving her one last squeeze before leading her back down the dark hallway. the two returned to the warm refuge of james’ bed and the familiar entanglement of their limbs. the morning, its business, and its light could wait for now.

style inspiration: x

song inspiration: x

[multiplefandomfics]

Grimes sisters chapter 21

so this is a real game changer but pleas keep reading i promise it makes sense ;D

Parings: Daryl x Alex; Negan x Fabienne

Warnings: angst, smut, death, gore

Words: 1882

Fabienne POV

Negan and I drove home quickly because it had already started to get dark. When we arrived at the sanctuary Simon stormed toward us wanting to talk business with Negan but he just brushed him off “Simon don’t you see that I’m busy? Everything else can wait!” and Simon knew better than to disagree with Negan so he scurried away hastily. Negan took my hand again and pulled upstairs to his small apartment. We stepped inside and he threw the door shut forcefully and pushed me against it attacking my mouth with kisses again. Then I got impatient and started shoving his leather jacket off his shoulders until it fell to the floor. The door was cool against my skin where my shirt had ridden up. Our lips met again in a frenzy and a moan slipped past them. He grinned at me devilishly pulling my gaze up to his eye level “Look at me and tell me what you want!” he whispered with that booming voice of his. “I want you badly, Negan.” I mumbled innocently. That was the last go he needed to shove his hands under my shirt and unclasp my bra. His big calloused hands grabbed my breasts roughly kneading them while his thumbs flicked my nipples. It felt like heaven and I let my head fall back against the metal door moaning loudly. Next my shirt was impatiently ripped in half throwing it behind us. “You’re so damn hot, ya know that?” he asked rhetorically and I could feel his breath on my ear which sent a shiver down my spine. When I had finally stripped him off his shirt as well I glided with my palms over his well shaped torso. Feeling bold my hand slid further down his belly, over his happy trail and then I gripped his groin tightly making him jump a little. “You’re so impatient darlin” he smirked while I had already unbuckled his belt. I wanted him right then and there and I couldn’t wait any longer. Due to my hands shaking he took his pants off himself the rest of the way and I did the same. He immediately was on me again and I shuddered again at the cold door in my back. His half hard dick was trapped between our already sweaty bodies and I groaned inwardly at his size. Negan’s tongue invaded my mouth again and we battled for dominance and I could feel my excitement run down my legs. He had also noticed my growing lust so he put his hands under my ass and whispered “jump!” so I did and wrapped my legs around his middle. Without another warning he slid inside me to the hilt and I forcefully threw my head back against the door groaning. Never had a man filled me so completely and hit all the right spots with the first stroke. Again and again he pushed deeper inside me and hit my g-spot dead on. “Don’t hold back babe. I wanna hear you scream for me.” he groaned. Oh, I was sure I could do that. When I thought it couldn’t get much better he reached even deeper and sped up. My nails were already leaving crescent shaped dents on his back as I neared my finish. All of a sudden he turned us around and walked us to his king size bed without pulling out of me once. Only when he threw me down on it did I bounce away from him and the pleasure he was inflicting on me so I pouted. “On all fours. Now!” he ordered me. I was so turned on from his dominant behavior that I instantly did as he said and wiggled my ass at him. That let him slap my cheek once playfully but it sent shock waves straight to my core. He slapped the other cheek too and sank back into me. The new angle made it oh so much better. Next to slight pain there was even more pleasure than there had been against the wall. “Please Negan take me harder. I need it!” I begged him desperate to reach my release. He sped up again and I felt myself getting closer toward my orgasm. “Shit, baby you’re so damn wet. Sucking me right in!”

My high hit me hard and I squirted all over him and the sheets moaning loud enough so everyone in our home probably heard what was going on upstairs. He fucked me through it and held me close during the aftershocks. Picking up the pace again my orgasm got prolonged and he spilled inside of me shortly after.

Afterward he cuddled up behind me spooning me. His breathing was heavy in my ear but mine was probably too. I turned inside his embrace to kiss him again and snuggle into his chest tracing patterns with my fingertips.

Completely exhausted I fell asleep against him.

The sun was shining heavily above our heads while I was planting in the gardens of the sanctuary. They needed a shit ton of water in this heat. “Morning, darling. You’re up early.” greeted his voice softly from behind me. Smiling I turned around to look at him shielding my eyes from the sunlight. “Good morning. I didn’t wanna wake you. You slept so peacefully.” I got up kissing him passionately. I gotta admit I wasn’t convinced at first that he would be into the whole PDA thing but turned out he had no problem with it. Even though he was of the opinion that he always needed to meme the tough guy to get respect. “Simon had already been asking for you. Maybe you go and find him. It sounded urgent.” he nodded in thanks and bid his farewell. Observing his ass while he was leaving I smirked thinking about last night. I’ve never had had sex like that before.

Rick POV

I had begun my check up round through Alexandria. Everything was still silent and it seemed like most of the citizens were still sleeping. I liked the calm before the storm. Today was the day that Spencer, Abraham and Rosita were gonna come back from a longer supply run and I just prayed that they had found something good. Most importantly food and medicine. “Good morning.” I suddenly heard a yell from the watchtower and saw Michonne. “Mornin’.” I called back. After I had finished my inspection I turned back home where Alex was already setting up the table for breakfast. Striding over toward her I kissed her cheek in thanks but then I couldn’t hold back with a little bickering “Good morning. You two were kinda loud last night.” she turned red as a tomato scratching her neck embarrassed. “Morning dad.” I looked to Carl who was just climbing down the stairs with his sister in his arms. When he had all gathered we ate together. “I’d like to start taking care of the fields today. Daryl was gonna check the walls again and maybe build up some support if necessary.” Alex offered which I agree to. I was going to start with the fighting classes that day.

Later that afternoon the gate was opened and Spencer, Abraham and Rosita’s vehicle was driven through. At first I was relieved but then I noticed two more cars trailing through the gate behind them. When they come to a stop five guys stepped out of the first one and three out of the other. All heavily armed as far as I could tell. The weapons directed at our people. Then behind them a tall man wearing a black leather jacket and slicked back black hair stepped away seemingly unarmed. Until I saw that he was carrying a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire with him. “Who are you? What do you want?” I asked angrily pointing my colt at him. “That is a very fucking bad idea!” He almost chanted cheerfully. That guy was a psycho, my sheriff instincts told me that. “We convinced your friends here that you could spare some stuff for us and they kindly took us with them.” his words were dripping of cynicism and Rosita snorted at him. “We fought for these supplies why don’t you do the same?! Or maybe we can trade.” I tried to reason with the man. “Trading? No way José! Rick, right?” he shattered my plan. “And who are you?” I asked back. “Oh, how impolite of me. My name is Negan and I’m the leader of this group we call saviors.” he strolled a few more steps forward and came to a stop directly behind Spencer, Abraham and Rosita. His men shoved them so they were pushed to their knees. Out of my peripheral view I saw Daryl aiming his crossbow at the intruders angrily. “Just give us half of your shit and that car there and we’ll be gone. Or else you’ll regret it!” he underlined his intention again. As I was still considering my options I suddenly felt a small hand on my shoulder. It was Alex with tears in her eyes “Please Rick, do what they say.” she sniveled but I just shook my head at her. We couldn't give that much away. We needed it ourselves. “Alright if that’s how you want it.” Negan pulled up his shoulders and did something no one would have expected.

He raised the bat and smashed Spencer’s head again and again. All around me I heard gasps and cries and to say I was shocked was the understatement of the year. “Rick...” I heard Alex whimper and she clawed at my arm shuddering hard. I didn’t want to submit but I couldn’t risk anyone else dying so I showed them to our storage room. “That looks fucking fantastic. Pack everything up except that stuff over there so they will still be able to find new shit for us.” he ordered his men. After they had everything they wanted loaded up they drove away with the promise of coming back.  Everyone was still so shocked that no one knew how to react. “Damn it!” Daryl cursed running desperately up and down and I was damn close to joining him. We needed to find away to prevent that from happening a second time. “We can’t give up our supplies to them all the time. Who knows how often they will come back!” I whispered to myself. While I was trying to deal with our current crisis Abraham and a few others had taken Spencer’s body to bury him properly. Rosita was on the verge of a complete melt down. She always played tough but this completely broke her.

Later that day I sat at the kitchen table not being able to expel those images out of my head. We needed to find a solution to this misery. Maybe I should have gone out and tried to find that place they were holing up in. But first we needed a proper plan to deal with this. Daryl came up and sat down next me “We’re gonna find a way.” he grunted.

I couldn’t shake the guilt from my conscience especially about Spencer dying.  

[fanficksntwinkies-blog]

Kennedy and Negan

 Note: This isn’t a ship between Negan and my character. Just sayin’. 

“Kennedy. Wake up.” Dad gently shook me awake with one hand. I knew that his other was holding Lucille. 

“The fuck do you want?” I grumpily said, rolling over. 

“I’m here to fucking tell you that I’m going on a trip. Had your lazy ass been up earlier, you could’ve gone with me. You’re in charge for the day. Radio me or some shit if you feel moody and need me to fuck someone’s shit up.” I heard his heavy footsteps leave the room and close the door quietly. Damn, a Saturday with the entire Sanctuary under my thumb. I could deal with that. I felt a bit angsty anyways, and yelling at Simon or even getting into a screaming match with him would’ve been perfect. 

 “Kennedy, you up?” Carl radioed. I grabbed the radio from my nightstand. 

“Yeah. My dad just fucking woke me up. I’m in charge for the day.”

“Shit. That probably means that he’s on his way over here,” he said in an irritated tone. “I’m coming over.”

I ran my fingers through my hair and replied with a “fuck, are you crazy? My dad will flip the fuck out if he finds out that you’re here. He loves me, but unfortunately for everyone else, he loves only me. I’m telling you, Carl. He will fuck your shit up if you come here.” There was a long pause on the radio.

“Fine.” I signed off and decided to get up. I brushed my teeth and hair before putting on a little bit of makeup and pulling my hair back. 

For clothes, I decided to put on a really torn up Fall Out Boy t-shirt and some tight jeans. I threw on a leather jacket just so I could feel bad-ass like my dad, and worn out Converses squeezed my feet. I grabbed the baseball bat that he’d gifted to me earlier and decided that it needed a little bit of a fucking glow up. 

The bat was plain, with a really ugly honey stain and literally no character. How fucking lame. I decided to walk it down to the market, where Johnny was. He owned a small stand where he would re-finish shit and sell it. He also sold any instruments that were found, along with the needed accessories. 

“Johnny, I need a favor. This is your chance to earn an extra ration, so listen the fuck up. I--” 

“You should watch your mouth, young lady,” some old woman shouted. I looked over at her and raised my eyebrows, irritated. I threw her the bird and then continued. 

“Sand this bad boy down and refinish it. I want it to look kinda burnt, so choose, like, a black wash or something. Then, I want you to spike it up for me. Drive some nails through it, wrap it in a little barbed wire, just make it usable.” With that, I walked over to the old woman, pulling up a chair next to her. 

“I just wanted to say-- fuck you. You’re welcome to take this to Negan if you’d like, but I think he’ll side with me. You wanna know why?” She stayed silent. I leaned in and almost whispered in her ear. 

“Because he’s my dad,” I snickered as I stood up. “You should mind your damn business next time.” 

-

Everyone around me screamed and cried as he smacked Danny in the head with his bat. I didn’t feel bad, though. Every single person in this group hated me. When you’re trying to help someone survive, you don’t deny them food and smack them around. Seriously, fuck these people. 

I decided that I was fed up with this bullshit and wanted to rub it in more. At this point, death would be better than being with these assholes. I stood and motioned for the gruff looking man behind me to stop as I giggled.

“What an asshole!” I said, laughing. The man who was beating Danny a new facial structure stopped and looked at me, confused but sort of amused. I decided to continue as I stepped toward him. “What the fuck is your name?” I heard a gun cock behind me. 

“You’d better sit the fuck down, sweetheart. I’m trying to prove a point, here.” 

“Nah, I’m good. Y’know, the utter smell of stupidity emitting from behind me is really pissing me off. You should call that asshole off.” He just smirked as the guy behind me tried to grab me. Instead of gaining control of me, I grabbed his arm and used my entire body weight to pull him down, taking his gun and standing back up. I looked at the man as I pulled the trigger. 

“You,” he said, pointing his bat at me, “Are a total bad-ass! Why don’t you... Join me, inside here. We need to chit-chat.” He pulled me into the RV and sat me down before taking a seat across from me himself. 

“You mind fucking explaining that shit to me?” I interlocked my fingers.

“I wanted your fucking attention. What did it look like, asshole?” I snapped. He raised his eyebrows, amused. 

“Calm the fuck down. Why are you so fucking bitter? I mean, like, holy shit.” I hesitated to tell him what’d happened to me. It was a group of all men, and they thought that I was just their therapy target. Theirs to smack around and demean. I only stayed because they protected me, but then again they only protected me so that they’d have someone small and vulnerable to beat down. 

I repeated my story to him, which made him scratch the thick scruff on his face. 

“That’s uh... That’s fucked up. You know what? Fuck those fuckity-fuckers. You know what I’m gonna do for you, kid? I’m gonna go out there and fuck all of them up, and then you can come home with me. You’re my new daughter,-- wait. The fuck is your name?”

“Kennedy,” I quietly replied. Who the fuck was this guy? Why did he care? Why would he want to help some random, moody thirteen year old? 

For the next hour, painful screams filled the air. Each and every one made the sickening smile on my face grow wider. 

I was his princess, and only his princess. 

-

I was snapped out of my random ass trance by screams filling the hallway. I sat, my feet propped upon Dad’s desk, a sketchbook in hand. I was drawing Elvis, a little present for him when he returned. He really valued those things. 

“Kennedy!” Davey screamed. I rolled my eyes, storming over to the door and waiting for his heavy footsteps to walk by the door to Dad’s room. 

“What the fuck do you want, asshole? I’m fucking busy,” I screamed in his ear as he walked right by me. Startled, he turned to me. 

“Jesus! I’ve been looking all over for you!” I rolled my eyes, pulling him into the room and walking over to the desk. I knew he was going to have some long sob story and I was going to need to sit down.

“Well, maybe you would look harder if you weren’t so fucking stupid,” I shouted, grabbing my radio and secretly holding down the speak button.

“Don’t you fucking get mouthy with me, girl,” He snapped, leaning over the table and grabbing my neck roughly. “Your daddy isn’t here to protect you from me. That means that I can do whatever the fuck I want to you.” He pulled me up and caressed my cheek with his other hand.

“And oh man are you gorgeous. You’re about to learn what happens when you mouth off to me,” he threatened. I let go of the speak button and quietly set the radio down. 

“Let me the fuck go, David, or I swear to god, when I get my bat finished, you’re the first one who’s blood is going to be on it.” He set me down and patted my head, leaning onto the desk.

“You’re not getting out of this. And if you tell your dad, I’ll let him know about that boy that you’ve been seeing.” Shit. Carl. A loud crackle from the radio interrupted the conversation. 

“Davey, my man,” my dad said through the radio. I could hear it in his voice-- he was furious. “You got your hands on my princess?” I smirked and raised an eyebrow as he lifted up the radio. He mouthed the words “you little shit” as he pressed the button.

“N-no, sir. What makes you think that?”

“I just fucking heard you screaming at her. Do I need to cut the day short?” he rose his voice a little bit. 

“No, sir. I’m sorry.”

“Give the fucking radio to Kennedy and get the fuck out,” he ordered. Once Davey was gone, I spoke.

“Sorry, Dad.”

“I’m coming back. We’ll talk when I fucking get there.”

“Dad, it’s fine.” 

“No, it’s fucking not, fucking Kennedy. I’m fucking pissed now. Shit. I haven’t even fucking seen Carl the whole fucking time I’ve been here. I wonder where the fuck that little motherfucker is.” My heart dropped. 

“Um, I don’t fucking know, Dad. I’ll see you when you get home, I’m gonna go fucking keep an eye on Davey.” I turned the radio off and ran down the hallway. By this time, Johhny’d finished my bat and left it next to the door. I picked it up roughly as I jogged, finding Davey in the lounge with the wives. 

“I swear to fuck. Get the hell out of here!” I said, raising the bat. He made a run for it. Good. Dad was going to fuck him up when he got back. 

I met Carl out back of the building. Upon seeing him, I immediately set my bat down and ran into his arms. After the hug ended, I looked up at him. 

“What the hell are you doing here? My dad’s on his way back. He’ll kill you.” He smiled and kissed my forehead.

“I could care less,” he laughed. Seeing how upset I was, he stepped back, examining me.

“What happened to you? You look shaken up.” I looked around.

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not.” 

“Yes, it is.” He knew that I was lying, but he figured that it was best not to push it. He hugged me again. Looking up a bit, I spoke softly.

“How did you get here?”

“Don’t worry about it. As long as we’re together, right?” My radio went off.

“Kennedy. The fuck are you?” It was Dad. I looked back up at Carl.

“I have to go. Get the fuck out of here in one piece, will you?” He nodded and hugged me one last time before we both ran off in different directions. 

Dad was in one of those creepy rooms, holding Lucille. Davey was sat in a chair. As I walked up, Dad put his hand around my shoulder and pulled me into a hug. 

“I understand that this motherfucker right here was giving you some fucking trouble. Is that right, princess?” I looked up at Davey. He had a worried look that pleaded for me to forgive him. I smirked a bit, threw the finger at him and walked out of Dad’s grip. 

“That’s fucking right. He was all rude and shit to me.” I dragged my bat behind me and leaned in close to his face. 

“Fuck you. Seriously, fuck you.” I whispered into his ear with a condescending voice.

“I wish you would,” he rudely remarked. That set me off.

“Really? Well that fucking sucks.” I brought my bat up and hit him square in the balls with it. He screamed as tears filled his eyes. Dad said nothing, but I could tell he was watching. I swung the bat again, this time right into his face. There was a large nail in it that managed to find a lovely home in his right eye, and in several other places as I hit him repeatedly, letting my anger out on him. When I was done, I threw my bat at the ground, looking over at Dad, my chest heaving. He looked very amused.

“You had some crazy shit going on in your mind to wanna do that to him, kid.” I picked up the bat and carried it with me as I walked over to him. He once more put his arm around me as we walked down the hallway.

“Dearest daughter,” he proudly said.

“What?”

“I’m very proud of you. Keep that shit up.” 

“Thanks,” I said as we walked slowly. I decided to finish my sentence by saying a simple “Dad”.

(That was, I guess, a part one? I dunno, lemme know if you want more.)