#twd!verse

[1batch2batch]

muse: Frank Castle (Daredevil/Punisher) limit: 18+ only please, mutuals and non-mutuals set: a cabin in the woods, a year or so after the zombie outbreak in The Walking Dead universe open to: other Marvel/TWD muses, multifandom crossovers, OCs, whatever! triggers: death/child death, guns, threats, war mention

In some ways, things were simpler after the world ended. Simpler the way war was simpler. Live or die. Them or us. Pull the trigger or find yourself on the other end of the barrel. It was difficult to say how much time had passed when it was just him. The days didn't mean anything, all of them blurring together in the routine tasks of survival. The cabin wasn't entirely self-sustaining, but it wasn't far off. There was water and a little space cleared to grow food, traps in the woods, even a generator if he was feeling extra, but there wasn't often a need for it.

It had also been empty for a time. Had some business to take care of a ways out, and he took the long way back to make sure he wasn't followed. It had started with his family, killed by humans instead of walkers, of all things. He should have known, should have had enough experiences with people doing stupid, terrible things, to know that the dead wouldn't be the worst thing they were facing, but it had all been so new back then, dead coming back to life, watching the government crumble fast along with any possibility of a cure. He'd put down the rabid animals who were responsible, too late to matter, and since then he'd made it his business to take care of any problems like that. Bad enough they had to fight the walkers.

He knew there was someone else there before he ever stepped inside, but how they'd managed to get in, he couldn't yet say. The cabin was heavily fortified, traps set against walkers and humans alike, and they'd have to be skilled, desperate, or damn lucky to get by them all. There was nothing to announce his presence except the click of a gun, his voice gravel from disuse. "Talk fast."

[onyourleftrogers]

💙 @tsarnvoiny liked for a starter

Ellie had been a teenager when the outbreak happened. Though she had memories of the world before, in a lot of ways, this was the only one she'd known. Finding Alexandria had been a blessing, but much like her father, there was a part of her that could never fully settle or forget that the world outside the walls was deadly to them.

She worked guard duty to protect the city or joined Anya on scavenging missions when she started to feel too complacent on the inside. She never wanted to forget how to survive out here. They'd had to go far to slip past the circle of the Saviors and their territory, but she still wouldn't feel safe sleeping in one of the houses.

It was pure luck stumbling across the treehouse. It looked like a relic of the pre-outbreak world, and even though it was rotting in places, she was sort of charmed by it. Night fell quickly in the woods, but it was cozy up there in the trees. "Once upon a pre-apocalypse, I bet our dads would have built us something like this."

[wingsandarrow]

🏹 @drekkavac liked for a starter!

Daryl would be the first to admit that his social skills left a lot to be desired. He wasn't even great at talking to people he knew well, let alone to strangers, and he doubted more than three words had passed between himself and the newer members of their group. Anya in particular seemed especially close-lipped, a quality he could appreciate, and they'd passed a handful of guard duty shifts in what he thought of as comfortable silence.

He wasn't as trusting as Rick, and he never really stopped keeping an eye on people, especially the new ones, but that was a habit that long predated the apocalypse. He preferred never to be alone in an enclosed space with anyone. The end of the world had a way of bringing true colors quickly to the surface though, and that was both a blessing and a curse. People could be truly awful when their lives were on the line--something Daryl had always known, so it didn't surprise him--or they could be breathtakingly selfless and heroic, a side of humanity he hadn't seen a lot of until now.

There weren't supposed to be walkers in this part of the prison, but evidently there had been a breach, and he muttered a curse as they fought their way through the bodies. It was too late, too close, for the crossbow, and the hunting knife in his hand sunk into skull after skull as they tried to reach the door. It was clear that was where they were coming from, and he couldn't think why the fuck it would even be open. Either the walkers were learning to turn door handles, or someone had deliberately let them in. "Get it shut," he growled, stabbing at a corpse trying to claw its way through the crack, his shoulder shoved up against the door, but it wasn't budging.

[holy-rovia]

[cold] - It's cold, and sender/receiver have to stay together for warmth.

@ourdyingwords

The storm had come on suddenly, the temperature dropping with it, and they'd been forced to seek shelter instead of heading back to Hilltop before nightfall. While it wasn't ideal, the circumstances hadn't tipped Jesus into any real concern for their safety. The little cabin was secure enough against the walkers, and they'd scavenged enough supplies that they wouldn't go hungry even if they were holed up for a week instead of just a night.

It wasn't exactly warm though, and whoever had left the place behind had absconded with most of the bedding. There wasn't a blanket to be found. Jesus wouldn't say he was comfortable in the brown leather jacket, but he wasn't in any danger of freezing. He wasn't sure the same could be said for Aaron. He just looked cold, and he'd have taken it off and offered it to him if he thought it would fit the man's taller build and broader shoulders. "C'mere, I'm cold just looking at you," he offered with a crooked half-smile, holding out an arm for him to cuddle closer for the warmth.

[vvaywardhunter]

I’m sorry. Did I step on your moment? (based on this scene)

@unheald

Dean hadn't really intended to fall in with Rosita and her people when they met, but he could admit it was nice to have a few more people he could trust at his back, a little more safety in numbers when things got hairy. He'd had his doubts about Alexandria from the start, and hardly a day passed that he didn't think about bailing, friends or not. In his experience, anything that seemed too good to be true probably was, and he and Sam had always done fine on their own.

Then there was Negan. Dean still probably could have walked away if he hadn't gone out of his way to make it personal from the start. There had been something deeply satisfying about watching Rosita point a gun at him, even if it had all promptly gone to shit after that. It had taken two of Negan's guys to hold him back while he had a knife on her, and if he was being honest, he hadn't expected either of them to live through it.

Of course, Negan somehow managed to make it feel worse than dying would have. "Pretty sure that was your moment. I'll never forget you pointing a gun at that prick for as long as I live." The corner of his mouth turned up in a smile, but it was hard to feel very good about it with the dirt from digging Olivia's grave still under his fingernails. Dean had killed more monsters and walkers and humans than he could count at this point, but there was a very specific cruelty to Negan's kills that he could never replicate. He always hurt the people who least deserved it.

[grimmusings]

Why are you looking at me like that? Rosita to Jesus.

Answered here! 🧟

[holy-rovia]

Daryl had a nice laugh when he relaxed enough to let it out. It felt like a privilege to get to hear it, one Jesus valued, since not a lot of people did. "Can't blame you if it was." Fighting over resources was an odd way to end up friends in the end, but he supposed he'd seen stranger things. The end of the world brought out all kinds, for better or worse.

"You're probably better than me," he admitted, heading for the kitchen. "While you were hunting and cooking your own food, I was still stealing canned shit from gas stations. No cooking required." It was a necessary survival skill in his old world and, oddly, this new one. He peered into the pantry when they reached it, looking for something relatively simple.

"Not a chance." There was warmth in his expression despite the joking. Jesus would rather starve to death than fight his friends, and somehow he knew Daryl was the same. They'd put a lot into protecting this place, and maybe Jesus had never known he'd had that in him until Hilltop. Making connections had never come easily to him either.

"Oh, is that how it is?" He laughed softly. It wasn't nothing to him that Daryl was comfortable enough to even make jokes. "I was going to offer to cook for you, but if you'd rather play gladiator… Might be safer, honestly." He was no great cook. Passable enough because he'd had to be, but it wasn't like the end of the world offered a lot of opportunities there.

[1batch2batch]

💀 @tru-neutral-good liked for a starter

Despite popular end of the world myth, Frank wasn't a complete monster. He didn't kill just for the sake of killing, and his personal code prevented him from killing innocents. He wasn't positive Sunyoung was innocent, exactly, but she'd never done anything in front of him that said she deserved to die either. She had a history, that much was clear, but he wasn't going to hold that against her any more than he'd expect her to hold his military black ops career against him.

It wasn't the worst thing to have company over the long winter months. They were far enough north to be snowed in for a good part of that, but it was clear from the first night that Frank wasn't planning to throw her out. Snow still patched the ground but the thaw had finally started, and he was out resetting traps for the first time in weeks and clearing away any walkers that been caught up in his defense system. He tipped his head up, squinting into the weak winter sunlight. "Damn. Feels almost tropical."

[dreamidoodles]

rickyl pre relationship au i drew for my big bee… something something summer camp something fated soul mates

[wingsandarrow]

"Why do you always do that thing?"

@lunarruled

Daryl's paranoia long predated the apocalypse. He preferred not to go into a room with only one exit, and staying at the prison had severely tested his willingness to be trapped in a space. That had fallen apart, and he'd found himself on his own again for a time, his friends scattered with no way to contact each other. Taking up with Kyleigh was a recent development, one he still wasn't sure was a good idea. He'd always been fine on his own. It was safer that way, but making real connections with Rick's group had done something to him. He missed conversation (other people's, since he wasn't much of a talker himself) and the reassurance of another living, breathing body nearby. It was too loud in his head on his own, and sticking with her stopped his mind from constantly circling around whether the rest of them were okay.

The house looked like its better days had been well before the dead started coming back to life, but the sky said there was a storm coming. They needed shelter while there was still light left to see by. Kicking in the door was easy, and nothing came swarming out at them, but he wouldn't be comfortable until they'd checked every room. He'd come to a dead stop in the hallway, his body locking up and refusing to take a step into the tiny half-bath. He could see from there that there was nothing living or dead in it, and his every instinct rebelled against the enclosed space. His shoulders stiffened at the question, always uncomfortable with other people's scrutiny, and he stepped away from the door, moving further down the hall. "Not doin' nothin'. Nobody in there."

[wingsandarrow]

Daryl had never liked Merle's plan of robbing the camp blind as soon as they had the opportunity. He didn't oppose stealing on the face of it. There were plenty of times growing up, when his dad and Merle were both on a bender or had been out of work for months, when game was hard to come by or he'd just been damn unlucky, that it was steal or starve. So, no. Stealing was acceptable and even necessary at times. It was stealing from these people that he didn't like. They were decent. They'd taken them in when they didn't have to. And they were just trying to survive, like everyone now. It felt wrong to take from them when they had the whole world to pillage.

It went without saying that plan was over the moment Merle disappeared. Daryl couldn't put a name to all the things he felt when he found out they'd left his brother chained on a rooftop. It didn't really matter to him that Merle had put himself in that position, that his behavior was always landing him in shit like that because that was what came of being an asshole and a moron. Merle was the god of Daryl's small universe. Without him, he was cut adrift, a planet without orbit. He was angry and resentful and afraid and alone, but Daryl was always those things. Deep down, he was also just the smallest bit relieved, and that was the worst part. He'd always been a terrible little brother. He betrayed his own blood constantly in his thoughts because the goddamn awful truth of it was that things were easier for him without Merle around, sucking the light and the air out of everything.

He knew he should have cut and run by now. He almost had that first night, after Merle had gone, but he wasn't as reckless as his brother. He needed a plan first. Then they'd gone back and realized Merle had probably escaped, so of course he couldn't leave after that. He'd waited and waited for Merle to come back or to at least find a way to send him a message, to meet him somewhere so they could bail, or… he didn't know. But as days and then weeks went by, it became clearer and clearer that Merle wasn't coming for him. Maybe he'd gotten lost. Maybe he'd died after all, from walkers or blood loss or Christ knew what else. Maybe he blamed Daryl for staying with the others even after what they'd done to him. Or maybe Merle just didn't give a shit about him, never had, never would.

It was too much to just sit with all the time, and he'd taken to frequently coming into the woods for game. The crossbow had always been his favorite even before there were walkers to contend with, and it helped that they'd stayed in one place long enough for him to set traps. It eased his guilt slightly to be able to contribute something to the group, and it was reassuring to know he could survive out here alone if he had to. Shit, he'd been doing it for years before the world ended, hiding in the woods for days or weeks when it was too dangerous to go home. He had half a mind to just keep going. Merle wasn't coming back, and he didn't owe the group anything. They didn't owe anything to him. Better to run before they found a reason to send him out on a rail.

He hadn't counted on Shane following after him like a belligerent nanny goat, but he'd done his best to ignore him-- until now. He barely managed not to roll his eyes, tongue swiping over his teeth as he scanned the ground for tracks. He didn't give a shit about their rules, and Shane knew it. "So you came to lecture," he grunted, eyes flicking briefly to him, unimpressed. He hadn't defended himself when the others got into an uproar about that shot. In Daryl's experience, being defensive only made things worse, only gave his accusers more ammunition. He'd been silent through it, simply field dressing and cooking the deer when it was over without comment. He couldn't resist now that it was just him and Shane though. He could just hear Merle's scornful laugh if he knew, but… he sort of liked Shane. He was a good guy, a good leader. His confidence put the rest of the group at ease in a way Daryl never could have managed. "I wouldn't have hit her," he muttered.

He tolerated the rest of his speech in silence until he got to the part about Merle, and then he whirled on him, snarling. "Don't you talk about him. You don't know shit." He couldn't even comprehend some of the things Shane was saying. We can't lose you. We need each other. It was bullshit. He knew it was. Nobody needed him. But it was easier to be angry about Merle than it was about himself.

@wingsandarrow asked: ❝i didn’t ask for your help. ❞

Help Starters!

Akin to an untamed dog, something wild and scared, afraid to be touched but fearless in just about everything else, Daryl wasn't alone in his adventure into the woods. Even if he so wanted to be, resisted and fought until the battle turned into a stalemate. The others at their camp wouldn't allow it - Shane one of the many who voiced the opinion, public and almost on the cusp of sounding controlling. A demand rather than a suggestion, an order rather than an offer of kindness, despite having been part of the group for weeks by then, the survivors of Atlanta were weary still of Daryl. Daryl and his brother; born from the darkness of familial tragedy, the burn of alcohol and cigarette smoke. Shane didn't trust either of them to be by themselves, not totally. Uncertain, watching from a distance like a hawk, desperate to discover just who they were, those brothers. Worried for what they would do, what they could do, unease was rather held for Merle than the youngest Dixon. Innocent within the eyes - a storm of blue and gray - Daryl didn't seem the type to carelessly hurt others. Defend himself when provoked with bared teeth, surely, but unable to completely dissolve his loyal inclination, a sense of pride held for the others at camp. Daryl's true colors had shined more than once beneath Georgia's unforgiving sun.

His steps mimicking Daryl's own, Shane frowned at the words shared between them. A truthful reminder - roughened tenor that felt like a warning call - an honest statement. Daryl hadn't asked, but so did Shane follow him anyway. Listened as the birds made their calls, wisely stepped over tree roots that had become exposed on the forest floor. Carried his shotgun in firm grip; loaded and ready to be used.

"Oh, I know you didn't. But I really don't give a damn, and I'm gonna give it to you anyways." Shane replied, a cocksure smirk daring to present itself upon his lips. "You know the rules, Daryl. Nobody goes off into the woods alone. Don't matter if it's just for huntin' or checkin' traps."

Shane reminded, matching the pace of Daryl's shadow, following him as they wandered farther and farther, between trees and shrub, lush greens and rich browns. "Wouldn't be in this mess if you hadn't scared the girls so bad yesterday. What you did to Lori, shootin' that buck so close to her. You could've hurt her, Daryl. Look, you and I both know you're a hell of a shot, but you can't just go around camp flingin' arrows left and right. This ain't Rawhide, and you ain't no Eastwood. You gotta think. We can't be reckless. We can't be makin' dumb mistakes or takin' chances like that, good shot or not. You gotta calm down - only reason why I'm out with you, really. Besides makin' sure you come back alive, the ladies wanted me to have a talk with you. They're a little worried about you, man. You and that brother of yours. Daryl, you boys gotta take things easy. We can't lose you two - we all need each other to survive now. Life ain't what it used to be."

[holy-rovia]

☾ - wrestle/pin my muse to the ground

@ourdyingwords

Jesus trained with anyone who had an interest in learning, even led a couple regular classes for the kids at Hilltop or Alexandria, but he could admit that sparring one on one with Aaron was his favorite. To be fair, any time with him was usually his favorite, no matter what they happened to be doing. Interactions with most people had a kind of social toll, but Aaron wasn't one of those. It didn't take extra energy just to be around him.

He'd improved so much since they first started, and he couldn't help a fierce flare of pride at the way he managed to hold his own for so long. Still, it was a surprise when Aaron finally managed to sweep his feet out from under him and pin him to the grass, and it was only a lot of practice in falling that kept it from knocking the breath out of him. "Not so heavy on your left foot anymore," he teased as his weight settled over him, arms flexing as he tested Aaron's hold on him.

[vvaywardhunter]

“ i don’t know who the bigger threat is; the dead, or the living. “

@pleinsdemuses

Once upon a time, Dean thought it would be cool to find an actual zombie. It was one of few things he'd never seen before on a case, probably because they didn't exist. If he could go back in time and punch himself in the face, he'd do it. There was no such thing as one zombie. One always led to more, and then a hoard, and then the whole goddamn world, and that was pretty much how it had happened. The whole world gone practically overnight. Given that Sam and Dean had already been fighting monsters all their lives and had an arsenal of weapons at their disposal, they'd fared better than most in the outbreak.

A couple years into it, and everyone was hurting though. Supplies were starting to dwindle no matter how far out they went on their raids, and the people… sweet Chuck, he'd never had to kill so much, even in his hunting days. Killing human monsters hadn't been his job, but it was a requirement for survival these days. It never got easier, and he still hated doing it, but he'd do what he had to do, just like always. They were holed up in an abandoned shack in some nowhere town until morning, and he was checking the cabinets for food or maybe ammo. "C'mon, Mags. You know the living are always worse. The dead'll just kill ya." He grinned over at her, but there was little humor in it. The things he'd seen other humans do to each other since all this started were best left unsaid, buried so deep in his memory they could only surface again in nightmares.

[grimmusings]

"I thought you liked when I was bossy" to jesus

-@ourdyingwords aaron

Answered here! 🧟

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

A New Beginning

Pairing: Daryl X reader, Eventual Daryl X reader x Rick

AU: A/B/O

Warnings: brief mentions of a character death, farm takeover to prison

Authors note: I love yall💜

Word Count: 1.3k

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The Greene farm had been your sanctuary for years, long before the world fell apart. You had lived just a few miles down the road from Hershel and his family, keeping to yourself but always there when they needed a helping hand. When the dead started walking, the farm became your refuge from the horrors outside. It was safe—for a while, at least. Then the group arrived, survivors who had been on the run, searching for shelter.

Among them were two men who had an instant, unexplainable pull on you—Rick Grimes and Daryl Dixon. Alphas, you could tell, though they never said it out loud. The moment you laid eyes on them, you felt the connection. Rick, the strong, stoic leader who seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, and Daryl, the rugged, quiet hunter who preferred the solace of the woods over the company of people. And you, the Omega who had learned to survive on her own, found herself inexplicably drawn to them both.

It wasn’t long before you and Daryl grew close. It started slow—a shared glance, a soft touch. He was closed off at first, wary of letting anyone in, but you saw past the tough exterior. You saw the man beneath, the one who cared deeply but didn’t know how to show it. Daryl found comfort in your presence, the way you didn’t push him to be anything other than himself. When the two of you started spending more time together, it became clear that what you had was more than just a bond of survival. You were his Omega, and he was your Alpha, even if he didn’t have the words to say it.

The first time Daryl kissed you, it was tentative, as if he wasn’t sure he had the right to. But when you kissed him back, pulling him closer, he understood that this was real. That you were his, and he was yours. The bond between you deepened, and though you kept it quiet from the others, it was there—undeniable.

But then the farm fell.

It had been chaos. One moment, everything was calm, and the next, walkers were everywhere, overrunning the fences, pouring through the fields like a relentless tide. The group scattered, each person fighting for their lives. You had been separated from Daryl in the chaos, and for a few terrifying hours, you didn’t know if he was alive or dead. You and Maggie had fled in one of the cars, with Beth and Glenn, your hearts pounding as you sped down the road, leaving behind the only home you had known in this new, terrifying world.

The hours that followed were a blur. You kept driving, hoping, praying that the others had made it out alive. Every bump in the road felt like another step away from everything you had built, and all you could think about was Daryl—whether he had made it. Whether you’d ever see him again.

It wasn’t until you reached the highway—the place where they had once left supplies for Sophia—that you saw them. The familiar motorcycle, with Daryl and Carol riding side by side. The relief that washed over you was overwhelming. You barely waited for the car to stop before you were out, running toward Daryl, tears streaming down your face.

When Daryl saw you, he swung off the bike, and for a moment, everything else fell away. The world around you, the walkers, the destruction—it all disappeared. He caught you in his arms, holding you tight, his grip so strong you thought he’d never let go.

“I thought I lost ya,” he muttered into your hair, his voice rough with emotion. “I ain’t lettin’ you go again. Not ever.”

You held him just as tightly, burying your face in his chest. “I’m here,” you whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”

That reunion on the highway was a brief moment of peace in the middle of the storm, a reminder that despite everything, you were still together. You had all survived. And now, you would keep surviving—together.

The group traveled for weeks after the fall of the farm, moving from place to place, scavenging for food, looking for shelter. It wasn’t until they found the prison that they finally stopped running. The prison was grim, cold, but it was secure. It gave them a place to rest, to rebuild.

But even the prison couldn’t keep the pain of the past from catching up to them. Lori’s pregnancy had been a shadow hanging over Rick ever since the fall of the farm. You had seen it in his eyes, the way he carried himself. The stress, the fear. And when Lori went into labor, it all came crashing down.

The birth was chaotic, dangerous, just like everything in this new world. Carl was with Lori in the small hole in the wall they found while running from walkers, trying to help her as best he could. But there were complications, things they couldn’t fix with the limited supplies they had. Lori knew she wasn’t going to make it, and in her final moments, she made Carl promise something no mother should ever have to ask of her child.

“Promise me, Carl,” she had said, her voice weak, tears streaming down her face. “Promise me you’ll take care of your sister. And when the time comes... you’ll do what needs to be done.”

Carl, brave beyond his years, had nodded, tears in his eyes as he promised his mother the unthinkable. When Lori passed, Carl did what she asked of him, ending her suffering and bringing Judith—his baby sister—into the world alone.

Rick was shattered. His grief was all-consuming, and for weeks after Lori’s death, he was a ghost of himself, lost in his pain. He withdrew from everyone, even Carl, unable to process the loss. You and Daryl tried to help him, offering him space when he needed it, but also letting him know that you were there for him.

It was in those quiet, lonely nights after Lori’s death that the bond between you, Daryl, and Rick deepened. The connection you had felt from the moment you met Rick became impossible to ignore. He wasn’t just your leader or your friend—he was your mate. And just as Daryl had become your Alpha, so had Rick. He was the missing piece in the bond you and Daryl shared, the one you had been waiting for without even realizing it.

Two months after Lori’s passing, everything changed. The grief that had weighed Rick down finally began to lift, and with it came a new understanding of the bond between the three of you. It started with a look, a shared glance between you, Daryl, and Rick. You had always been there for him, just as you had been for Daryl, and now, it was time for him to finally accept that he wasn’t alone.

That night, the three of you came together, not just physically, but emotionally. Rick found solace in the arms of both you and Daryl, the three of you forming a bond that was stronger than anything you had known before. It wasn’t about replacing Lori—nothing could ever do that—but it was about building something new, something that could help Rick move forward.

Daryl had been the first to say it. “You ain’t alone, Rick. We’re here. We’re your family.”

And Rick had finally believed it.

From that moment on, the three of you were bound together, not just by survival, but by love. You were mates, a family, and no matter what came next, you knew that you would face it together.

As the days passed, the prison became more than just a shelter—it became a home. Judith, Rick’s baby girl, was a reminder of everything they had lost, but also of everything they still had to fight for. You, Daryl, and Rick took turns caring for her, the bond between you growing stronger with every passing day.

There were still dangers, still hardships, but now, with your Alphas by your side, you felt ready for whatever came next. You had survived the fall of the farm, the loss of friends and family, and now, with the bond between you, Rick, and Daryl stronger than ever, you knew that nothing could break you. Together, you were unshakable.

Hope you enjoyed! Please follow, like and Reblog💜 -Midnight’s Cafe

[pacificgrimsarc]

@thesongbiird

"Beth? You look like you just seen a ghost." Beckett furrowed his brows, examining the girl as best as he could with just his eyes. He reached for Judith, thinking maybe she needed a break from carrying the little one all day. "Everythin' okay?"