#twd gore under cut

[irritablegallowglass]

The Walking Dead - After (S04E09)

Mike - Aldis Hodge

[itsgrimeytime]

The Nurse (Part Two) || Rick Grimes (TWD)

Part 1, Part 2

Taglist: @strnqer, @1985bitch, @curlycarley, @imaginemyfavoritefics,

Summary: Before all this, you were a nurse. A nurse who had patients, one of which was a man in a coma. A sheriff, you think, it was all kinda fuzzy now. When it all went sideways, you set up what you could for the man - but had to leave. You'd always wondered where he'd ended up; until in your search of shelter, you run into a familiar face.

TWS: Blood, gore, hospital mention, mentions of death, gun violence (just violence in general), swearing, all things typical of TWD.

[[A/N: Let me know if you want to be tagged! And this time is loosely based on S3, E5, where Daryl and Maggie go to get baby supplies for Judith. I will not be following the story to a T though, and will kinda carve out my own path, it's been ages since I've seen it so, any weird story omits or things I don't mention are just not happening here lol. And I know this is kinda fast, I'm just writing as I feel like it, so don't expect super quick updates all the time, but here's a treat. Thanks for reading!]]

You stopped, hand resting on a tree, just for a moment. Taking some deep breaths, you scanned the area, looking for anything familiar or anything that you could, at least, stay the night in. You were practically running on less than an hour of sleep, the pure adrenaline of surviving being the only thing forcing your eyes open.

Currently, your plan was to use some old lipstick you'd found in a purse - somewhere along the road - to mark trees. Leaving a trail, so you knew where you'd been and where you were going. It was simple, and would probably wash away in the rain, but it was enough for now.

With an exhale, you kept moving deeper into the forest - a hope for a cabin, deep in your heart. An unoccupied cabin.

It's not that you didn't want to help people. You truly did. And if you found anyone who needed it, you would - other straggling groups with limps and cuts and bruises. You'd give them advice on how to clean wounds properly, some regular items they could use. If an injury was more serious, you'd stay with them just for a while to watch the person, keep an eye on whatever you had to.

It never stuck, though. You found it easier to be alone, to be on the move. You could help more people that way.

Plus, there were... others. Driven to madness by the tragedy, brutally ready to kill at first sight for whatever fucked up reason they came up with. Some of them had used you for a while, providing you food and shelter, just to ship off wounded soldiers to you - ones they wounded themselves. It was eerily familiar to your previous job, and you almost fell into a rhythm - even thinking about it now, it snuck a knot of guilt in your stomach. One too many threats, and you found yourself back to traveling.

The scrubs you still wore stuck to your skin, hair matted and blood soaked - you imagined this wasn't one of your best days. But it honestly probably wasn't your worst either.

And then, you heard it. The snap of a twig.

"Fuck," you whispered barely even a breath, pulling your duffel over your side and readying your fire axe. (You'd grabbed it back at the hospital, all that time ago.)

There was something to be said about a single snap of a twig because the dead were noisy.

They were unaware - would continue down the path, crunching leaves and snapping more twigs, dragging their feet through the dirt. In different circumstances, they could sneak up on you. With the soft grass under their feet and the hum of the animals in the forest mixing in with their own tones, sometimes you had to rely on the quietest of noises.

But this forest? No.

Without thinking a second more, you spun behind the nearest tree, the red of the lipstick - grazing along your fingers.

"What, so-" a voice spoke, "-we just give up?"

"No," a gruff tone responded, hair a little overgrown, and what seemed to be a crossbow on his back, "-Just means we got some extra work to do."

The woman, who had short brunette hair and a pistol in her hands, said, "Yeah, and we're gonna do it. We... have to. She deserves a chance."

"Of course," the man responded, a little bit upset she even insinuated he wouldn't care.

You watched carefully, eyes following the pair as they roamed through the woods - before stopping in front of one of your trees, your marked trees.

"Fuck," you muttered, so soft, the wind could’ve whisked it away, exhaling carefully and turning around to face the other way.

"What's that?" the woman asked, a tone of mixed concern and curiousity.

There was a scrape, and you could only assume the man touched the lipstick mark, as he hummed, "Not blood."

"I think..." the woman muttered, the slight slur of her accent becoming stronger, "-I think it's lipstick."

The man huffed, his accent strong, "What for?"

There was more leave crunching, and the woman replied, "Maybe a path? I don't..."

"Hello?" the man spoke, and you heard the click of metal, like he'd moved his gun up, "Is anyone there?"

The woman seemed to keep moving, leaves crunching getting closer and closer to your ears, you knew they'd notice an end of the path.

You needed to do something quick.

"I'll give ya 'til a count of 3," the man spoke, the metal clicking once more, "-one."

Your breaths shook, as you debated your options, based on what you'd seen the gun the man had was long range. So, running was out of the question.

"Two," his accent lilted.

Your feet were almost rooted in fear, what if it happened again? What if all you were surrounded by was death? What if they used you and then killed you next? God, you couldn't die, not now. Not after everything you'd done.

"Three," he added, tone more aggressive, and the click of the metal once more sending fear down your spine.

You couldn't wait any longer, squeezing your eyes shut, you spun around, "Wait!"

Expecting the blossoming pain, you flinched. Yet, after a moment, nothing happened.

You cracked open your eyes, and saw two guns trained at you, the woman and man now in clear sight. Noticing now, the bags full placed at their feet, you wondered if they thought you were here for their supplies.

Without hesitation, the man straightened his gun and asked, "Are ya bit?"

"No," you answered quickly, flourishing your arms forward as if to show the lack of teeth marks, "-no, I'm clean, you can check."

"What's your name?" the woman spoke, tone solid and unmoving.

"Y-Y/N." you stuttered out, looking down the barrel of two guns wasn't exactly calming.

The man, a bit distant, replied, "What are you doing out here?"

"I..." you exhaled, trying to calm your shaking hands which were still caked in blood (as the rest of you were), "-I'm just looking for shelter for the night. Look, I don't mean you two any harm, just leave me be and I'll-"

The woman faltered, her green eyes flickering with emotion -just for a second, "You need shelter?"

"Uh, yes," you spoke, a bit bewildered that they were listening but too tired to question it, "-I haven't slept in 3 days, I just need some rest and I'll be-"

"Maggie," the man spoke stern and low, and you weren't sure you were supposed to hear it.

The sun was setting now, and if they had some shelter, this was your last chance for the night and you were just so tired. What else could you do?

Maybe you could bring something to the table.

Interrupting their hushed conversations, you began, "I... I heard you say a 'she' earlier, is there something wrong with her?"

The two stopped talking, the man's icy glare set on you, "Why you askin'?"

"I-If she's sick, I can help," you beckoned, "-I come from a hospital, I have all kinds of medical supplies. I-I can show you if you want. And-"

The man interrupted again, as the woman, Maggie you now knew, carefully watched you, "You a doctor of some kind?"

You paused, waiting for a moment before responding, "Y-yes. I'm a nurse, er well, I used to be. I... I worked at Harrison Memorial Hospital when it all went down."

The woman started this time, "And you're willing to help us?"

"Yes," you asserted, "-as long as I have a place to stay for the night. That's... that's all I ask."

"But you'll stay as long as we need ya?"

You furiously nodded, "Of course. I won't... I won't leave someone I know I can help behind."

The two turned to each other, before slowly pointing their guns to the ground. You exhaled a big breath of relief as your heartbeat slowed, muttering out, "Thank god."

The woman, held out her hand, "Maggie."

You hesitated for a moment, at the current state of your hands, before accepting it with a quick shake.

"Daryl," the man added, hand extended as well. You shook his, and began to follow in their footsteps -leading about west of where you were headed just earlier.

"Are you with a group?" Maggie asked, strolling along the woodlands.

"No," you replied, "-I... I come and go. Sometime people need a doctor so I help, but-"

The two looked at you, still watching you to say something wrong. They were still heavily armed afterall. The thought made your hands shake.

"I ended up in some shady places," you continued, "-because I stayed. So, I don't really stay anymore."

Daryl hummed in response, and Maggie simply looked at you with eyes of hesitant trust. Like she wanted desperately to trust you, but it seemed hard. You didn't blame her. Not really.

The last time you trusted someone, it hadn't gone well then either. This world is not one of trust, you knew that.

"We have a group," Maggie continued, walking in step with you as Daryl scouted ahead, "-it's small but we don't trust too well."

"Right," you murmured, expecting as much.

Daryl hummed, "We have a leader too. You'll have to meet him. You gonna be alright with that?"

Before you could even respond, Maggie interjected -an unsettled look in her eyes, "Daryl, is he even... in the space to do this?"

"Don't have to be," he responded, a little coldly, but you figured that was just kind of his tone at this point, "-he's gotta. I'll talk to 'em."

You furrowed your eyebrows, a question on your tongue, but found the following silence was not one to be interrupted. Without thought, you simply adjusted your bag and continued along. Their path was set as if this happened often, and the knowledge that you were going to a very settled camp irked you just a little.

A dynamic that felt substantial in this post-apocalyptical world usually wasn't the kindest. Oftentimes, it was 'kill or be killed'.

You knew that well, staring down at your hands (which had definitely dried by now) -you wished you had a way to wash them off. But the water was too precious to risk anyone's supplies, frankly. It reminded you of before, when veins would rupture, when hearts wouldn't beat, and everything felt like it was on the line.

An exhale, and you scrubbed your hands on your pants.

It felt immoral, as you held a fire axe in your hands. Weren't you supposed to save people? Wasn't that in the oath?

Shaking your head, you glanced ahead at the pair wondering how exactly this group operated -where they had a protocol for finding people. That wasn't... You hadn't seen much of it.

"This group," you questioned, "-how long have you guys been together?"

"Long enough," Daryl answered, curtly, "-prove yourself and you might just have a spot with us." Maggie hummed in agreement, pulling her pistol close to her chest, as a large barbed wire fence came into your view. And... were those... watchtowers?

"Is this...?" You trailed off, eyes taking in the surrounding concrete and the few stragglers either slowly trudging to the group you found yourself in, or mindlessly clawing at the tall fences as if it would do anything.

"Our base," Maggie finished, pulling her pistol to attention and shooting one of the dead just ahead of you -right in front of what you assumed was the opening gate.

"And it's a..."

"Prison, yeah," Daryl finished, pulling out his bow and killing the other one without a flinch.

"Right," you responded, a bit astonished, "-have you guys cleared the place?"

"Almost," Maggie answered, as the three of you stood directly in front of the gate. There was a watchtower to your left, and you could see the familiar glint of a scope shining down from the top.

"Glenn!" Daryl shouted, you watched as the dead stirred toward the noise, "-Let us in!"

There was a moment of hesitation, a breath of air catching in your lungs as the corpses made their way to you -slowly but surely. You knew a few weren't a threat, not with a group the size you currently were in, but you still felt this buzz of fear under your skin. Normally, you would be gone by now, vanished into the dust -not wanting to waste durability on a fight that would only bring more opponents.

Without warning, the door swung open and you assumed they had silenced the mechanism because no sound other than the screech of metal moving across the concrete filled your ears.

Which was not pleasant. At all.

The crowd there wasn't particularly large, but still seemed odd. Maybe you had been alone for too long.

A man quickly approached the group with a warm smile, rushing up to Maggie and scooping her into a hug. This figure hardly even noticed you or Daryl, now that you thought about it, but you doubted you would have either.

Daryl spoke, with a taste of disgust (you couldn't tell if it was playful or not) "That's Glenn, Maggie's boyfriend, you'll get used to it."

You nodded, pointing to a few stragglers around what looked like crops, "Okay, and... who are they?"

Without answering you, Daryl called out, "Rick out here?"

The older man who was tending to the crops looked up, eyeing you for a second, before answering, "I think he's inside, clearing out block F."

Maggie responded, "Daddy, can you see if you can get him out here?"

You blinked, absorbing the new information, Maggie's dad, right. The old man sighed, standing and brushing off his hands on his knees.

"I'll try."

Daryl nodded, not leaving your side, and it would've been comforting had you not known it was because you weren't fully trusted yet. Maggie guided you to a table, assumedly brought out from the cafeteria, and sat you down with a calm gesture to a chair. Glenn followed close behind, and Daryl merely observed.

You doubted he'd even blink while you waited for the mysterious Rick. He seemed the type to take his duty seriously.

"I'm Glenn," he held out his hand across the table, sitting just beside Maggie with curious but cautious eyes. It seemed he trusted Maggie's hesitant judgment of you.

"Y/N," you replied, accepting his hand, "-this is a lot, huh?"

"Oh yeah," Glenn continued, looking around the courtyard, "-finding the prison has been life-changing for us."

"I imagine," you laughed, a little in disbelief at the mere size, and looking over the two's shoulders to see the dead staring in through the fence. There weren't that many at all, but it still trickled in some of your solo senses.

Which were mostly bashing their head in before they get too close.

Maggie caught your eye, inquisitive almost like you were in an interview, "How familiar are you with the walkers?"

"You mean the dead?" you clarified, fingers trailing along the blood in the creases of your palms, "More familiar than I ever wanted to be, that's for sure."

Glenn opened his mouth to say something, but something bumped into your ankle and you were immediately on your feet. Prepared for the worst.

Instead of what you expected, there was a ball... An old deflated basketball probably from the court somewhere around here, you stared at it a bit incredulously. Like you'd almost forgotten it was a thing. You picked it up, brushing your finger along the bumpy texture.

"Sorry," a voice spoke. Squeaky and... familiar.

Your eyes snapped up and were met with those eyes 'You have to save him, please.' Breath caught in your lungs, your mouth moved but nothing came out. He was a little older now, with hair a touch longer and a sheriff's hat on the top of his head. But that was-

Daryl grunted, "Play somewhere else-"

"Carl?" you interrupted, tilting your head and dropping the ball to the floor; what were the chances?

Maggie stuttered out, a tone of protectiveness in her voice you'd have yet to experience, "You know him? Carl, do you know them?"

He paused, tilting his head in the same way you had just seconds before like he was trying to get a good look at you, "I..."

He looked into your eyes, eyeing your scrubs for a second -probably the same he'd seen you in so long ago. And the blue eyes that were so achingly familiar seemed to light up in recognition, he questioned, "Nurse Y/N?"

It was like a pin could drop, as the boy's gaze settled on you curiously, and every adult in the vicinity watched you like you were the most dangerous criminal in the world. A tension settling within the air that gave you uncomfortable goosebumps, and desperately made you want out of the spotlight.

Slowly, a grin slid across his features, his tiny finger pointing at you, elated, "You saved my Dad!" And before you could even react, the little boy had scurried up to you and wrapped his arms tightly around your middle - almost knocking off his hat at the force.

You blinked, a little stunned at the current predicament, but shook yourself awake. Completing the hug, you exhaled a sort of relief you hadn't known you needed. Seeing this little boy surviving such a terrible world gave you a spark of something. Like you'd been waiting to hear this.

"I promised I would, didn't I?" you hummed with a very soft smile.

Just as he let go, you crouched down and fixed his hat on his head, suddenly much more comfortable in a known presence, "Cool hat, kiddo."

He grinned even wider, but before he could even say another word, another voice echoed through the courtyard. Tone hardened and deep, this one could not be missed.

"Carl?" a breathy southern drawl -that you knew- interrupted, and your stomach flipped.

The tone was accusatory, dangerous even, so you stood quickly. A distance now established, you looked up into the figure. That couldn't be-

The blue eyes had burned into your head, so clear, so decisive.

"Rick Grimes?"

[darylscigarettesmoke]

Notes on 2x06 (and two rants)

- Laurents guitar is horribly out of tune but the scene was cutie patootie but I still got the ick. It would’ve been better if they’d just let Louis sing the song alone (like originally intended)

- Laurent is gonna be Ash’s new son. It makes the utmost sense to me. He leaves without a son and falls for Carol’s lie and comes back with a son to look after, it’s the perfect conclusion to Ash’s arc. (I have a blog post of that on here). “I don’t think he likes me” foreshadowing “You came here to save a kid, you still can” foreshadowing. The way Ash and Laurent are in the plane together? They way Ash explains to Laurent how the plane works, leaving them to joke around in the cockpit? Foreshadowing. Daryl literally says “they’re good together.” Daryl’s probably never gonna be Laurent’s “Dad” in my opinion. Now this could mean two problematic things: 1) Daryl’s entire arc in season 1 and 2 of his own spin-off comes without a reward, a resolution, a reason. If I’m right and Ash bonds deeply with Laurent while Daryl’s away, everything the viewer and Daryl had to go through don’t mean crap anymore. The entire french arc, the kiss, the controversy that the season is for many fans would be for nothing. Or 2) they spin it like Laurent’s the only reason Daryl has now to even go back to America. Because apparently he didn’t have enough before Laurent took of to the Commonwealth. Right? RIGHT? It’s not like he had people there who dearly miss him. Kind of insulting if you ask me. No big hopes on that front for season 3.

- the biggest ick I still have is that Laurent is written like the all knowing, deep emotionally matured messiah, bro is 14 ?? why do they make him talk like that

- the season doesn’t have enough gore. It lacks the TWD-feeling. Everything looks so clean and polished.

- CROSSBOW RETURN AY HE FINALLY LOOKS LIKE DARYL AGAIN

- Carol crossed an ocean for Daryl just so for him to want and send her straight back home while he offers to stay behind okay Daryl. Carol, Ash and Laurent would make a cute family

- On the bright side is Daryl’s sadness, so to speak. He sees how the entire life he started to want for himself is getting ripped away from under his fingers. Looking at the entire plot like this, it makes actually sense, the way he behaved. He figured his happy ending consists of a stereotypical family, a wife/girlfriend and a son. In my opinion, he was more in love with the idea of that, settling down, than necessarily the people (a recent interview with Norman Reedus confirms the suspicion). But I think, because he realized that this might be something he needs/wants, is the next person he gets involved with purely out of convenience? Or does he accept that having a family of his own might not be in the cards for him? It’s okay, baby boy. Maybe that life just isn’t for you.

- so cool to see the fricking euro tunnel as an european

- daryl sees gasmasks and walks into the tunnel like what’s the worst that could happen right? Meanwhile Carol strolls off to find pennywise i mean sophia

- horror effekts look so cool in this ep. The glowing walkers really are the shit.

- daryl “chokehold’s illegal” dixon is back

- Carol is more alone than ever in this season and it breaks my heart

- Daryl having a vision of Isabelle will never not be icky why is she leaning over him like that get off of him?

- Zabel cutting the “if you see Glenn, Beth and Merle, tell them I did my best”-scene from the leaked script was the biggest mistake of the entire season. That scene was so important for who Daryl is as a person, struggling with survivor’s guilt and trauma, and good old Zabel reduced the scene to a stereotypical “dead gf gives male hero hope to keep going” with no emotional resolution or development for Daryl’s character. Zabel really is one of the worst showrunners I’ve seen (for a story like Daryl’s, I haven’t seen anything else from him) who absolutely lacks the comprehension of his main characters and what is important for their development to sell a love story that was doomed from the start and doesn’t even bother to try and dive into what makes his character drive and how they’re wired. Sorry if I ever spoke badly about Benioff and Weiss for the last Game of Thrones seasons because Zabel really takes the cake.

- “where is codron?” “He ran off” and that is a wrap on the french cast, bye fuckers

- “you can’t always get what you want” Daryl didn’t get what he wanted - to get home quick. But he got what he needed, - a means to endure his time abroad, something to care for, something to fight for. Just like the Rolling Stone song says. Now it’s time for the next adventure.

WELL THAT’s a wRAP ❤️

That being said, Norman acted beautifully with what he was given and even though I heavily criticized the season I’ll never get tired of seeing him as Daryl. The guy owns my heart.

[the-dixon-effect]

Evergreen

A/N: this is actually my first ever fic from a request lol. you can find the request here, thanks so much anon :)

A/N: this might just be my favourite yet 😍

era: season 3-4, prison era

summary: out on a run, the pair is attacked by a herd of walkers and gets injured fighting them off. holed up in a bunker in the woods, feelings are confessed under less-than-peaceful circumstances.

words: 2.9k

pairing: Daryl Dixon x f!reader

warnings: a little gore (it's a twd fic, come on), language

As you wrapped your arms tightly around Daryl's waist and rested your head on the length of his shoulders, he took this as an impression to speed up and the bike quickly disappeared from the sight of the watchtower. Instead of the usual back-by-nightfall runs you were accustomed to, Rick had decided to send the two of you off on a recon mission searching around the outskirts of a nearby town. The plan was to spend the night in an old apartment building, clearly indicated on the map you were provided with. If the aim was to bring back a stock of useful supplies, you would have taken a truck instead, and probably another pair of hands. But today, it was just the two of you enjoying the hot Georgian summer, and you had other things on your mind.

One night alone with Daryl far away from the rest of the group? This was the perfect opportunity to spend some one-on-one time with the archer you'd been pining over for months, and, depending on how it goes, you might just confess your feelings for him. You had to contain your excitement when Rick briefed the both of you about the plan.

You trusted Daryl, and even trusted his instincts enough to close your eyes as you rested your head on his shoulder. Just as you were getting carried away in your usual daydreams about the archer, this time with him in a little closer proximity, you looked up and diverted your attention to the situation in front of you.

"Oh, shit," you heard him say. The sound of his voice was almost completely drowned out by the familiar growling noises you knew all too well.

"Oh my God, I thought- I thought Rick and the group cleared this road!" you said, heart pounding at the sight of fifty-or-so walkers heading straight towards you.

"Yah, thought so too. C'mon, let's turn around-" Looking over your shoulder, you noticed five or six lamebrains that must have wandered into the road at the sound of the motorcycle engine. Soon enough, the entire road was blocked on either side and Daryl had no choice but to brace himself for a sharp turn into the woods.

"Hol' on, I'm gonna go slow through the trees." At this point, you had completely abandoned your train of thought, and focused on holding on tight in fear of getting hurt.

As Daryl weaved the bike in and out of the trees, you started to speculate what he thought was the best next step. Now surrounded by woodland and sufficiently in the clear regarding the herd, he slowed down for a second, keeping the roaring engine switched on.

"Daryl, what the hell do we do now?" you said with the slightest chuckle. The adrenaline still hadn't worn off, but at least you weren't surrounded by a hundred or more rotters who were hungry for your flesh.

"I think I know where we are," he drawled, stepping off the bike that was still running. "There's a bunker round 'ere somewhere. We'll have to sit tight down there for a little whi-" he was cut off by a walker that seemed to come straight out of nowhere. You leapt off your position on the bike and immediately plunged your buck knife into the skull of the walker that knocked Daryl to the ground. Dragging the corpse off of him that, upon closer inspection, appeared to be that of a former factory worker judging from the uniform, you lay on all fours over him for a moment, catching your breath. Luckily, the two of you seemed relatively unharmed. You rolled over and stared up at the sky.

Suddenly, the bike that you forgot to set upright by flipping the kickstand came toppling over and landed right on top of Daryl. You heard a yelp of pain before leaping up once again to heave the vehicle off of him. To your dismay, the bike was much heavier than you had imagined. If only the roles were reversed, Daryl would've probably been able to lift the bike off of you with ease. After struggling immensely for a few moments, you managed to lift up the motorcycle and this time, you leant it up against the nearest tree, albeit a little frustratedly.

"Damn bike..." you said, earning a snigger from the man laying on the ground. You turned to him and knelt next to him, noticing the bleeding from his upper chest. "Shit, Daryl! Are you alright?" you said, attempting to peel off the layers of fabric that concealed the wound. If you knew a little more about bikes, you might have been able to determine the specific part of the vehicle that was sharp enough to hurt Daryl in this way, how deep the wound might be and what you could do to help.

"I'm fine," he said, a little weakly.

"You're not, Daryl. Let me help you," you pleaded. He stood up on his own, brushing away your helping hand. The usual stoic presence of the man was a little diminished, and he wobbled as he stood. You also noticed his odd stance and remembered how the heavy wheel of the bike dug into his right leg. "I'm so sorry, Daryl."

"Told ya', I'm jus' fine. Bunker's that way," he hesitantly pointed in the direction the bike would've been heading. "C'mon, leave the bike here an' we'll walk," he drawled.

"Are you sure? You think you can walk that far?" you questioned his strength, considering he already appeared to be limping and he hadn't even started walking yet. You reached for his arm and draped it over your shoulder, in your best effort to help him walk. The bloody patch on his shirt was growing and thought it best to hurry to this bunker so you could patch him up.

A thought entered your head. Fuck. This was not how your day was supposed to go, you mused. You'd reach the destination, make conversation with him about this and that, occasionally giving him your best doe-eyes. Once nighttime arrived, perhaps there would conveniently only be one double bed in whatever cabin you chose to hunker down in, and your plan would be set in motion. You figured that that would all be happening right now if you hadn't dropped his own fucking bike on him!

After about 20 minutes of walking side-by-side in relative silence, you started to feel a little disheartened, though, despite the nature of this particular plan B, you still enjoyed his company and proximity. "Righ' here," Daryl gestured to a small brick structure just big enough for a single wooden door. Completely abandoned, there was moss growing on the walls and took a small shove to force it open. As it creaked inwards, you were met by a dark, damp staircase leading straight into the ground.

"After you," you spoke, somewhat hesitant to enter the dilapidated bunker.

The underground room was filthy, yet, at a glance, it seemed fit for a one-night stay, and in these circumstances, you didn't really have any other choice. It was small and cramped inside, almost completely filled with cheap furniture that was covered in a thick layer of dust. When Daryl put down his crossbow after thoroughly checking the space for any more walkers, you approached him and urged him to rest on the single bed in the corner.

"I'm fine, Y/N," he said, looking up at you as you searched for the medkit in your bag and set it down on the ground. "Take off your shirt." he obliged and you ran your fingers over the cut that stretched a little further than you had previously determined. "I'm so sorry, I did not mean for this to happen," you said softly, tracing your fingertips over his torso. "I think you'll need a couple stitches. Let me fix you up, since it's my fault in the first place."

"It's not your fault," he said, looking at you with those deep blue eyes that you adored so.

"Well, it is. It takes an idiot to get off a bike and not flip the kickstand," you said with a sweet smile shaping your lips as you prepared to stitch the wound.

He chuckled a little at this. "It's fine, done it myself countless times," he began. "At least when I did it the bike didn't crush me in the first place," he said sarcastically, and he was smiling now, too. You giggled at his response.

"Do you think your leg will be okay?"

"Dunno what yer talking 'bout."

"Don't be like that, Daryl. You were limping all the way over here."

"I'll be fine, jus' give it a day," he drawled in response.

You sighed, in somewhat admiration of his stubbornness and forbearance. You trusted his instinct yet still wanted to do anything to help him. He winced silently as you began to stitch the wound after cleaning it with an alcohol pad.

Time passed quickly in his company, and, unusually, you didn't seem to mind not being able to see how much the sun had set. You set up a dim lantern in the centre of the room, and appreciated how the soft, warm light made his face glow. It felt so good, for once, to feel totally safe from any threats from the world above your head. Perhaps that feeling of safety came from simply being near Daryl, you figured. Any feelings of discouragement from earlier that day had dissipated.

For dinner, you scavenged for anything that you could find in the cupboards that was more appealing than what you'd brought with you. Daryl had struck the jackpot you supposed, after finding nothing yourself.

"Peanut butter and jelly, diet soda, and pig's feet. That's a white trash brunch right there," he spoke up, holding his findings up proudly.

"Perfect," you said, unable to contain your grin just from looking at Daryl, and how he slowly let his guard down in front of you and relaxed.

You sat across from each other at the makeshift dining table, stealing glances at each other as you tucked into your 'white trash brunch', as Daryl called it.

"This is nice," you said quietly.

"Hm, the food?" his innocent response made you laugh.

"Oh yeah, definitely. I mean, being here, completely safe for once instead of being in the prison, where it feels like the fences could fall any second. Just being with you." you said, thinking out loud.

He smirked up at you upon hearing this. "Oh yeah?"

You hummed in response. "I, uhh- I was real worried earlier. 'Bout the walkers, then the cut. And, you," you spoke.

He was surprised at your words, but it felt good to hear that coming from someone else, to hear that they care about him. "Dun' need ta be. I should be the one worryin' 'bout ya'," he declared.

The two of you finished up and decided it was time to get some rest. Despite your best effort to persuade him to take the single bed, he resigned to the couch in his stubbornness that you couldn't argue with. You both ended up talking for a while before you fell asleep, sharing views about members of the group, and swapping stories about your best walker kills, or anything you thought worthy.

"I mean, have you ever met anybody who introduces themself by their full name to everyone they meet?"

"Rick Grimes," he said mockingly.

"I mean, I love the guy. But there's just something a little more admirable, more real, in guys like... you."

Quickly after your little confession, you drifted off to sleep, but Daryl found that sleep did not embrace him as easily that night. His head was full of you, and the last thing you said to which he'd offered no response. In truth, he too was thrilled to be able to spend this time with you, and didn't care in the slightest about your little accident earlier. He thought it was sweet how you rushed to take care of him, though he hated being the one who needed taking care of in the first place. You always seemed to be busy at the prison, chatting away with Maggie or working down on the farm. He was hesitant to approach you, in fear of saying the wrong thing or scaring you off. He thought about your gentle fingertips brushing over his wound, and the other scars on his chest that you noticed. What did you mean when you said, '...guys like you'? Do you... like him that way too?

He slowed down his thoughts. No, no, he can't start thinking like this. Not when you were turning in your sleep just a couple metres away. Perhaps, another day, he'd work up the courage to tell you how he felt. For now, he couldn't risk ruining the time he had alone with you until you returned to the prison.

When you awoke in the morning (or, it felt like the morning, you couldn't tell though due to the lack of natural light underground), you contemplated how that might just have been the best sleep you'd had since the fall began. That was probably thanks to Daryl practically sleeping next to you, you figured.

You turned over, still wrapped in the dusty sheets, to appreciate the sight of Daryl Dixon in the morning. He stood in the corner of the room, bags packed, fiddling with what looked like an arrow. You rubbed your eyes and blicked, once, twice, in an effort to get a better look at whatever he was doing. Unlike Daryl, you didn't share his anxiety surrounding telling you how he felt. If you could make it clear to him in any way possible that you care about him, you would.

You stood up and grabbed your flannel shirt from the heap you left it on the floor. Your legs were exposed as you stood across from him, wearing a pair of skimpy pyjama shorts, a tank top and your red flannel jacket. It was safe to say that Daryl liked the view.

Over breakfast, you discussed the plan for the day which involved navigating back through the forest to find the bike, and then going ahead with the original plan, which was scouting around the outskirts of the nearby town. Daryl, distracted by his late-night thoughts, couldn't help but notice your hair, your morning expression, and your clothes, in a way that he hadn't done before.

"Yeah, yeah. This time, I'll try not to drop any heavy machinery on you," you smiled.

"Mm. Better not." If it meant that you would brush your fingertips over his chest again, he would happily let a hundred bikes fall on top of him.

As the two of you gathered the last of your belongings, you exchanged glances before climbing the concrete staircase and opening the door that led to the forest floor. What you were met with, however, was a crowd of walkers that all turned to face you as if on cue. It didn't even look like a herd, just a mess of stumbling corpses circling the bunker. They must have sensed you, somehow; but there was no time now for figuring out how this happened.

Suddenly every decaying face spun and came at you from every direction, and you simply looked at each other before deciding that there was only one thing to do: run.

So you ran, and ran. You ran until you noticed that Daryl was lagging a little and you remembered his leg injury from the day before. You grabbed him and pulled him into the hollowed-out trunk of a large oak tree. Your heavy, laboured breaths were silenced by his hand reaching over your mouth. He used his other hand to make a 'Shh' sign. Looking over your shoulder, you watched as the walkers passed you by, wincing at the occasional growl or smack as they snapped their decomposing jaws shut.

You had to say something, now. Or else you'll wish you'd said something later. "Daryl," you whispered, meeting his eyes and still trying to be as quiet as possible. These may not have been the perfect circumstances for confessing your feelings for the man currently stood a couple inches away from your face, but they will have to do.

"Daryl, I- I need you to know something," he wished you would just stay quiet. If anything happened to you he would never forgive himself. "If we don't make it back, or- or if something happens, I need you to know that I love you. M-Maybe more than I should. I just- I can't help it and I had this plan of how the run would go and I didn't mean to injure you or-"

For God's sakes, Y/N, why were you still talking? There's a damn herd walking past and- Daryl knew that there was only one way to shut you up. He placed his hand on your neck and moved his lips to meet yours. He let himself get lost in the sweet kiss as soon you rested one hand in his hair and the other on his chest. He'd wanted this for so long, and he felt a pang of guilt for letting it happen in such dire circumstances, and not in some place safe, like back at the prison. You pulled away, suddenly remembering where you were.

"I, uh- Do you...?" you felt his warm breath on your neck.

"Yeah... I do," he began. "C'mon, the walkers are gone. Why don't we finish this up back home?" he smirked.

"That sounds like a great idea."

[thevegandarkelf]

Finding Myself, Finding You: Chapter Thirty-One

Masterlist

AO3 link

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist <3 (18+ only, MDNI)

Story is 18+ for mature content/themes, minors do not interact please

TW/CWs for this story--implied/referenced past rape, canonical violence, non-canonical violence, blood, gore, referenced past suicide, swearing, surgery, excessive drinking, nightmares, panic attacks, mention of scars, vomiting, amputation, medical procedures, non-con medical procedures, referenced past medical torture, referenced past drugging, attempted sexual assault, panic attacks, mental health struggles, referenced sibling death, referenced parent death, PTSD

Each chapter will have its own TW/CWs listed

This story, Lydia Vector, her family, her bestie, Jake, and Adam (c) me, TheVeganDarkElf

TWD & its characters (c) AMC & Robert Kirkman, the writer of the comic series

TW/CWs for this chapter--swearing, blood, violence, gore, discussion of scars, allusion to past rape, victim blaming oneself

Word count: 3.2k

As the life left his body, his arms went limp underneath me, and his good eye rolled back into his head. With one final exhale, he was completely still, his mouth agape and pooled with blood. I grabbed him by the ears and picked his head up, slamming it as hard as I could into the ground once. Then again, and again, and again.

"Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!" I repeated with each slam of his head into the dirt road. I knew the back of his skull had broken open once I saw blood and brain matter begin to leak out around it. My sobbing had picked back up, more intense than ever as I repeatedly smashed his head into the road. My eyes clouded with tears once again, and the sight before me became nothing more than a blur of red as blood continued to pool around him.

After more hits than I could count, I stopped and let go of him, resting my hands on the ground so I wouldn't fall forward onto him. The back of his head had completely caved in and was nothing more than a pile of hair, skin, blood, brain matter, and skull fragments. I let out a cry that didn't even sound human, a sound I didn't even know I was capable of making, before I fell backward into Daryl's legs and continued crying.

He crouched down to my level and wrapped his arms around me, picking me up enough to move me off of Adam's body and onto the road next to him. He gently set me down and sat behind me, propping his legs up on either side of me and snaking his arms around my waist to pull me close, resting his head on my back. He probably had no idea what else to do. I didn't blame him.

"I'm sorry," Daryl whispered. That was all that was said between us for what felt like a very, very long time.

My eyes burned, the tears scorching my skin like fire as they streamed down my face. My chest was tight, my head was pounding, and my body ached like every bone in it was broken. My stomach was cramping. I was ashamed, embarrassed, humiliated beyond comprehension. I wanted to peel my skin off and let it bake out in the sun until it burned. I wanted to take a bath in acid so my body would be as if he never touched it. The pain, both inside and out, was indescribable. Daryl's warmth against me was the only thing keeping me grounded in reality.

Eventually, I lifted my head and looked up at the sky. The sun had shifted a bit, but I was no astronomer, so I couldn't tell how long we'd been out there for. However, it still appeared to be a while before sunset.

"Fuck," I groaned, my throat bone-dry from my prolonged crying. Daryl slipped out from behind me and came around to squat in front of me. He took my face in his hands, and although I couldn't see his, I knew he was looking at me with the most tender expression he could muster. I was sure there was still residual anger under the surface. "I—" a series of coughs, likely from how parched I was, cut off my sentence.

"Let's get ya home," he said, stroking my face with his fingers, "we can talk then."

"There's one last thing I have to do," I whispered.

I crawled on my hands and knees back to his body, setting my bag on the ground next to me and shuffling through it. I took my pen out and gave it a few good shakes before yanking back on his hairline, pulling his forehead taut. I etched the word 'rapist' in large capital letters from his hairline to his eyebrows. This wasn't just for me—if there were others like me, if he had other victims, it was for them as well.

I wanted anyone who came across his body to know what kind of man he really was and that his fate was well deserved. I put my pen back in my bag, and I opted to leave the vibrator in his eye socket. Maybe someone who found him would get a good laugh out of it.

I slowly pushed myself to my feet, using my hands to balance myself. I was able to take a couple of steps towards Daryl before the waterworks came full force once again, and I stopped, dropping my gaze to the ground and running my hands through my hair. I wanted nothing more than to disappear.

"Everything hurts," I choked out. Daryl came over and put an arm around me, placing the other one under my legs and scooping me up in his arms. I draped my arms around his neck, and he gave me a kiss on the forehead.

"I know," he replied, "I'm sorry."

He carried me back to the car and gently placed me in the passenger seat. At some point prior, he had gone over and opened the door, like it was his intention the entire time to carry me back to the car. I moved my backpack into my lap and hugged it tight against my chest. Daryl was gone just long enough to get his crossbow, which I had left on the ground, before he returned and we began our journey back to Alexandria.

The car ride was silent for some time. I leaned back in the seat, staring at the ceiling of the car and listening to the wind as it whipped past the vehicle and the tires crunching the pebbles of the dirt road underneath them. Daryl had his hand on my arm, and he occasionally drew shapes with his fingertips or gave it a small squeeze to remind me that he was there. After a long period of silence, I was the one to break it.

"Maybe he's right," I croaked. My words came out shaky, like I feared I would get in trouble for saying them. "Maybe I am damaged goods."

The car almost immediately came to a rolling stop. There's no way we're already back at Alexandria, I thought as I poked my head up just enough to see out the window. Sure enough, there was no sign of the walls.

"Why'd we stop?" I asked, turning to Daryl, "you have to take a piss or something?"

He didn't look at me at first, didn't say anything for what felt like ages. He took my hand in his and squeezed it, bringing it to his lips and planting several kisses on the back of it before turning to meet my gaze. My vision was no longer clouded now, and I could clearly see his sweet face, with care in his eyes and empathy and compassion written all over it.

"I don't want ya listenin' to a word that prick said. Not a single one. Ya understand?" I couldn't form any words to respond with. I simply nodded, the tears beginning to flow freely once again, and Daryl put the car in park. "C'mere." I unbuckled myself, and Daryl immediately grabbed me over the center console and roped me in for a hug. My face fell into the soft crook of his neck, and I allowed my muscles to relax as I melted into him and continued crying.

"You're not there, you're here," he reassured, rubbing his hands up and down my back.

I was traumatized from having to see his face in-person again. I was humiliated that he said the things he did in front of another person and essentially put my trauma on full display for his own sick enjoyment. I was angry at him for what he did to me. I was angry at myself for ending up in that position, which could've been avoided had I just killed him the first time. More than anything, I was exhausted, though that didn't even seem to adequately encompass what I was feeling. There was my interaction with Jake from earlier that week, coming clean to Daryl about my history, and not sleeping well for the last few days that he was gone. The exhaustion I was experiencing felt so overwhelming that even if I laid down and slept for weeks, it wouldn't be enough.

After a while, I picked my head up and looked at him. Dare I say I thought I saw a tiny glimmer of a tear in his eye, but it quickly faded once our eyes locked. He gave me a kiss on the cheek before taking my face in his hands.

"Was supposed to have watch tonight, but I'll have 'em get someone else to do it. Ain't gonna let ya be by yaself after that," Daryl assured, "anythin' ya need, just say the word. I'm all yours for the evenin'."

You can be mine forever, I thought.

"Thanks, Daryl," I sniffled. I couldn't help smiling, just a little, as all my love for Daryl swelled in my chest and threatened to break free.

The ride back to Alexandria was a quiet one. I almost felt like I was in shock, though the initial shock would've worn off by now. Daryl kept my hand in his, squeezing it every once in a while to comfort me. Usually, when we'd come back from outside the walls and pulled up to the gates, any sort of PDA would stop, as it made him uncomfortable to be soft or affectionate in front of other people. It didn't bother me, as I knew that's just how he was, and it was nothing personal. This time, though, he didn't let go of my hand when we rolled up to the walls.

"Anyone asks, we had a close call," I said as we pulled through the front gates.

Daryl turned to me after he pulled off to the side and put the car in park. "Gonna run 'n talk to Rick real quick. Ya gonna go home?"

"Yeah. I'd rather avoid anyone else if I can help it," I nodded. He gave my hand one last squeeze before letting go.

"I'll be there soon," he replied.

I was covered in dirt, sweat, and a little bit of blood from my altercation with Adam. I'm sure I looked like a mess, which was further corroborated when Maggie came running over to me from the garden, looking concerned.

"Jesus, are you ok?" she asked as I slammed the car door behind me, throwing my backpack over my shoulder.

"Yeah. None of the blood is mine," I responded, trying to avoid eye contact with her, "had a close call is all." She looked over the car at Daryl as he wandered over to Rick.

"Is Daryl ok?"

"He's fine," I assured as I wandered towards the dirt path, "neither of us got hurt. Just a too-close call." Maggie jogged to catch up with me, kicking up dirt as she slowed her pace next to me. I shielded my eyes from the sun, limping as we walked despite not having any injuries. The soreness that had spread throughout my muscles was nearly debilitating.

"Vector, are you sure you're ok?" Maggie asked. She reached out to grab my arm, but I shooed it away as I turned to her.

"I'm fine," I snapped. Tears were threatening to escape the corners of my eyes, and I did my best to blink them away. That was to no avail, however, as Maggie clearly saw them and roped me in for a hug before I could push her away.

"Are you and Daryl ok?" she wondered. "Like...is your relationship ok?"

"Yeah, we're good," I reassured, a small smile tugging at the corners of my mouth, "great, actually."

She laughed as she released me from our hug, which elicited a laugh from me in return. "Well good. You haven't caught me up on it in some time. You owe me an update."

"I'll catch you up on it later, ok? I just...I need to decompress for a while," I explained, "but I promise I'll update you later."

"If you need anything, let me know," she said as she gave me a comforting pat on the shoulder.

"Thanks, Maggie. You're a good friend," I replied. She gave me a nod and wandered back towards the garden.

Once I was safely home, away from the prying eyes of my friends and community members, I threw my bag on the ground by my boots and collapsed next to them, curling up into a tiny ball and hugging my knees to my chest. I'd hardly made it past the front door before I went right back to being a blubbering mess. The reality that I had intentionally taken a life was beginning to set in. Daryl came in a few minutes later, dropping his crossbow on the ground by my boots and sitting next to me, scooping me up in his arms and pulling me close to him.

"Daryl, I killed someone," I cried, "I've had people die in my care at the hospital, sure, but I—I've never done it on purpose." I ran my hands through my hair and tugged at it in a futile attempt to distract myself from the pain in my chest. Daryl took my hands and gently pulled them from my scalp, uncurling my fingers and taking them in his.

"We all done it," he explained, "sometimes, ya don't got a choice. It's you or them. Ain't sayin' it gets easier, but ya learn to deal with it. Do what ya gotta do."

I picked my head up and looked at Daryl, sniffling and taking a deep, shaky breath to get my sobbing under control. "I'm supposed to do no harm. I promised to do no harm."

"The world ya promised that in don't exist no more."

"I guess you're right," I sighed. I turned and yawned into Daryl's shoulder, resting my head on it. "I'm so fucking exhausted."

"Ya had a rough week," he commented.

I chuckled softly. "And that's putting it lightly."

"C'mon." Daryl rose to his feet and reached out for me to grab his hands. "Gonna do somethin' for ya." I wiped tears off my cheeks and took his hands, and he pulled me up. Keeping one of my hands in his, he led me upstairs and into the bathroom. Needless to say, I was confused, and it was difficult to keep the confusion from appearing on my face.

"G'on, take a seat," he instructed, gesturing to the toilet. I raised an eyebrow at him, but I did as he told and popped a squat on the toilet seat.

"What are you doing?" I asked, my voice still hoarse from sobbing.

"Gettin' clean always makes ya feel better, so I'm helpin'," he explained. He crouched down and grabbed a washcloth from under the sink. "Don't want ya havin' a panic attack. Ya been through 'nough already."

I was swooning so hard, I thought my heart was going to explode. He didn't have to go out of his way for me like this, but he wanted to, and that meant more to me than I was able to put into words.

"I don't know what to say," I choked out, wiping away some tears with the back of my hand.

Daryl brought his sweet, loving gaze to me as he ran the washcloth under the faucet. "Don't gotta say nothin' if ya don't wanna."

Daryl wrung the excess water out of the washcloth and got down on one knee in front of me, taking my hand and working gently at my skin to remove the dirt, grime, and blood that had accumulated on me. He alternated between cleaning me and wringing the towel out in the sink. He worked around each of my fingers, eyes fixated on what he was doing like he was taking a test. He got down to my wrist and skipped over my scars to start working on my arm.

"You can touch them," I said, "to clean them, I mean." His eyes met mine again, and I gave him an approving, reassuring nod. As touchy as Daryl was with me, he'd still never laid a finger on my scars. He took the soft cloth and started carefully cleaning them.

"Can I ask a question?" Daryl asked, and I nodded, "d'they hurt?"

"No, they don't hurt. There's some little patches here and there that are numb, nerve damage and all that. But no, there's no pain." He cleaned in-between the little crevices of the different bands of tissue. "Just unsightly is all."

"Hardly call 'em unsightly," Daryl commented. I dropped my eyes to the ground, which Daryl took notice of, as he always did. "Don't gotta be ashamed of 'em. We all got unsightly things 'bout us."

"There's nothing about you I would deem unsightly," I responded, lifting my eyes back up to meet his and giving him a half-smile.

"I'd say the same 'bout you," he echoed, working the washcloth up my forearm.

The cool water was soothing against my skin. I wasn't sunburnt, but I was certainly warm from being out in the sun all day. Daryl cleaned my arm up to my shoulder, then worked on the other one, doing the same before tossing the towel in the sink. He grabbed another one from under the sink and moved on to my legs. I happened to be wearing a longer pair of shorts that day, one that went almost all the way to my knees, which I was a bit grateful for. As much as I loved having Daryl's hands on me, I did, for now, still have my limits.

"I'm such an idiot," I sighed, folding my arms across my chest, tears still cascading down my face, though less this time.

"Why ya say that?" Daryl wondered as he worked at cleaning my knee.

"I could've avoided this. I could've just killed him the first time, and this never would've happened. I wouldn't have had to see him again, wouldn't have been retraumatized, wouldn't have—"

"Hey," Daryl interjected. He draped the towel on my knee and placed his hands on my shoulders, "overthinkin' 'bout what coulda gone different'll only make ya feel worse. Ya safe now, and he's gone. 'S'all that matters." I took one of his hands in mine and kissed his fingers, keeping it pressed to my lips.

"At least I wasn't alone," I said into his hand.

After my legs were clean, he moved up to my neck and my collarbone, cleaning with the same tenderness as he did the day I got punched in the nose. Once that was clean, he took my glasses off of my face and rested them on the edge of the sink. He started working on my forehead, then over my eyes and down my cheeks.

"Daryl, my face isn't dirty," I said, scrunching my nose at him as he wiped the non-existent grime off my jawline.

"Well now it ain't," he sassed as he gave me a kiss on the nose.

Taglist: @raddydaddydude @lovenormandixon @angeldemoncrowley

[wolfish-nightmares]

Days Gone By

Pairings: platonic!Glenn Rhee x reader, platonic!Carl Grimes x reader 

Era: Season 1

Warnings: TWD gore and violence. Bad language. Death.

Category: Fluff, Angst.

Word Count: 3.2k

Summary: After joining the group in the quarry, you grow closer to some of the group members and make enemies out of others. 

Game of Survival Masterlist

The quarry was like a gift from the universe. Spending endless days in the woods made living in the quarry like an expensive spa resort. Having other people to talk and interact with became a grace from your slowly slipping sanity. Never before would you have believed that not having the constant background noise of other people, going about their lives, would have bothered you, but now, you almost craved it.  

Pushing open the flap of your tent, you stepped out into the blinding sun. As much as it hurt your eyes, it did feel good to no longer be under the constant shadow of trees. Being here felt like there wasn’t impending doom lurking around every corner. It allowed you to relax a little. 

But not completely. 

A figure moved into your peripheral, and your body tensed as you grabbed the handle of your knife. You shifted your back to the tent, so you had a view from almost all sides. All that time in the woods had rewired you in a way, you had become untrusting and alert. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Glenn spoke softly as he came more into your field of vision. He moved slowly and spoke like he was trying to soothe a wild animal. “I was just wondering if you were going to get breakfast. I was going to offer to join you.” 

You felt a bit embarrassed now, you had fully overreacted. No geek, a name you picked up from Glenn, had come anywhere near camp since you arrived, and most of the people in camp didn’t seem to have some devious personality lurking beneath their smiles. Except for Ed Peletier or Merle Dixon, you wouldn’t trust those two for anything. 

“Ain’t your fault,” you let go of your knife and relaxed a bit. “Is there still oatmeal left?” 

Glenn smiled, “I saved us two bowls and some of those peaches you brought.” 

What was left of the canned food you had packed was given to the group. The peaches were the hardest thing to let go of, but the younger kids seemed so excited to see them. Reluctantly you let the peaches go to the group, fully thinking you’d never see them again, but of course, Glenn came to the rescue, saving you some.  

“Thanks, Glenn.” 

He smiled at you, “I think we should hurry up and go eat before the kids try to take what’s left of those peaches.” 

You chuckled softly and followed behind him to the main area. Your tent was a little further away from the others, not as far off as the Dixon’s but enough to give you some personal space away from the group. Sitting in the main area wasn’t your favorite thing to do, you had always hated being in large groups before, and now it was even worse. 

Glenn handed you a bowl of lukewarm oatmeal with some peaches on top. You gave him a small smile as thanks and sat down, digging your spoon into the bowl of mush. Oatmeal wasn’t a go-to breakfast option of yours, but now it was all you ever seemed to eat. 

The oatmeal didn’t have very much flavor, it was the generic oats in a can, so there was really nothing to be expected from it. The peaches, however, were like gold. You pushed them around until you had scraped every last bit of oatmeal from the bowl. You smiled to yourself once you had finished, you knew the juicy sweetness of the peaches would wash down the dry-tasting oatmeal. 

Using your spoon, you cut off a piece of the peach and ate it slowly. Never before would you have savored peaches so much but now with a lack of food, flavorful food, these peaches were practically a five-star Michelin dish. 

You scooped up another piece with your spoon, ready to savor it, and suddenly someone harshly shoved your shoulder. The spoon and the bowl both fell from your grip and landed on the dirt in front of the fire pit. You whipped around to face the asshole who ruined your breakfast and weren’t surprised to see Merle standing behind you with a proud smirk. 

“Sorry sweetheart, didn’t see ya there.”

Pushing yourself off the log, you stood up to him, “Like hell you didn’t see me. You wasted my fucking food, Merle.” 

“Looked to me like you was done, nothin’ but some scrappy peaches in there.”

Naturally, most teenagers didn’t have the best tempers, little things could quickly set the average young adult into a fit of emotions. Your temper had become short and your emotions came on strong. With Merle around it felt like he was just poking at the live wires of a bomb and it was only a matter of time before he set it off.  

This was going to be the fateful day that Merle finally sparked the explosion and everyone could tell that he was getting closer and closer to setting you off. There really was no surprise when you suddenly punched Merle in the face. You were preparing to hit him again when Glenn stepped in and pulled you away from him. 

Perhaps your reaction could have been considered an overreaction but in your mind, he deserved every bit of it. Ruining someone’s food was the highest offense in your book, and frankly, you were tired of Merle’s attitude.

“What the hell is going on here,” Shane’s demanding voice boomed from across the quarry. 

“Peaches here just woke up on the wrong side of the bed, that’s all.” 

You could tell from the way he spoke, Merle still had that annoying smirk on his face. Fighting against Glenn’s grip, you tried to turn around to face him but Glenn held you tight. How the former pizza boy had such a good grip was beyond you. 

Once Shane came closer you turned to him, “Asshole here knocked my food out of my hand. That’s what’s going on.” 

Everyone in camp knew you and Merle would have an all-out brawl if Shane allowed it. The tension between you and him was thick enough you’d need a chainsaw to cut through it. Since day one, you two had been at each other’s throats, constantly. 

“I didn’t see the little one here, was just an accident.” 

Glenn’s grip loosened a bit and you turned around to look at Merle, “What? Did mommy and daddy not love you enough so you have to go around camp being an asswipe?” 

Your question must have really hit a nerve because Merle’s jaw clenched and he stepped forward, obviously coming to do something to you. 

“Listen here ya little bitch!”

Shane pushed him back and Glenn kept his arm out, stopping you from stepping forward as well. It was like trying to hold back two feral cats who were ready to have it out. 

“You two need to stop it, now!”

By now some of the others in the group had come over to see exactly what the problem was. Daryl had come over as well, placing his hand on Merle’s shoulder before Merle angrily shoved it off. You and Merle continued to stare at each other for a moment before he turned and stalked off into the woods. 

Glenn completely let go of you and you stomped back to your tent. You wanted to go out hunting but you knew since Merle was out there, Shane would never let you go. He probably thought you’d kill him out there, not that you hadn’t considered it, so instead you just decided to sulk in the corner of your tent. You grabbed the book Glenn gave you and figured you could just kill time by reading. 

You weren’t in the tent long before someone came and tapped against the front flap. The new way to knock, brought to you by the apocalypse. You got up and unzipped the tent so whoever knocked could see you. 

“Yes?” 

Lori smiled at you, “Hey, I know you’re probably still upset but I was wondering if you’d be willing to watch Carl later today.” 

You usually sat and entertained Carl and Sophia while the others were cooking, foraging, or just doing laundry, so this was a usual request from Lori. Apparently, most of the adults believed that you’d be a good babysitter for some reason, and you had gotten stuck with that duty. There was nothing wrong with watching them, they were pretty self-entertained and if they did need you to entertain them it was pretty easy too. Most of the time you just had to keep them from wandering off or go with them when they wanted to pick flowers from the woods. In fact, your favorite thing to do was play with Carl and his toys. He was one of the most entertaining people in the camp, in your opinion. 

“Yeah, how much later?” 

“After lunch should be good. I want to go foraging again, see if I can find something.” 

Foraging, sure.

You nodded in response and she thanked you before leaving. For a while, you considered just staying in your tent until Lori needed you to watch Carl but it was too hot and too boring to be cooped up in your tent all day. If you couldn’t go hunting then you figured you should at least do some target practice. 

With your bow and arrows, you left the tent to head over to the tree you usually shot at. It had multiple markings of previous shots and there was an “x” etched into the bark. You ensured that the tree was far from the main camp so nobody could accidentally get hurt. 

For a moment you just stood there, watching the leaves sway from the slight breeze and listening to the songs of distant birds. It reminded you of hunting with your dad, staying still and quiet, just listening and watching the forest. A small smile crept across your face as you remembered what it was like out there. It was always so peaceful with your dad by your side, cracking a joke every once in a while or pointing out a pretty bird. You’d both talk about the next big project your mom wanted to start, claiming it would be a total disaster but you always had faith she’d find a way to pull it off. You would give everything in the world to go back to that. 

The sound of footsteps pulled you from your wishing and you looked over to see Shane walking toward you. You already knew that he was coming over to talk to you about your outburst with Merle. It happened every time, he’d come to find you after the big blow-up and give you some wanna-be lecture on why you should just leave Merle alone. 

“Look Shane, I know the drill, okay? I have an argument with Merle, it gets big and you come over to talk to me about the importance of peace in camp. I get it, I can practically recite it at this point,” you gave him a tired look. “Can you just leave me alone this time?” 

He ran his hand through his hair, “I didn’t come out here to lecture you. I just wanna talk.” 

“‘Bout what?”

“Look, I don’t know what happened to you before you got here-” 

“Stop,” you shook your head. “I’m not having this conversation with you.” 

You walked past him, not caring for what else he had to say. There were a few in the camp who asked what happened to you when this whole thing started but you never answered. Having to put your mother out of her misery was not something you’d want to relive.

“Hang on just a second,” he followed you and grabbed your shoulder, you turned and shoved him back. “Shit!”

“Don’t touch me! I said I’m not gonna talk about it so leave me alone!” 

By now, you were breathing hard and fighting back tears. You hadn’t given yourself time to grieve, and it left you bitter. It was why you never wanted to talk about it, the grief of what happened left you feeling hollow and shattered. It also made you angry, which was why you were so quick to jump to violence now, and how easily everything pissed you off. Even just thinking about it brought every buried emotion clawing to the surface. 

“I’m sorry, I won’t touch you. I just think it would be good for you to talk about it.” 

You stopped and stared at the ground as you tried to blink back the tears that were threatening to spill over. A part of you wanted to confide in him, to tell him what happened, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You could feel Shane’s presence behind you, waiting for you to say something, but instead, you just shook your head and walked away. 

Speed walking to Dale’s RV, you tried your best not to catch the attention of the others. You leaned your bow against the side of the RV but kept your quiver strapped to your back. The door was always unlocked so you didn’t bother to knock, swinging the door open and climbing inside. You ignored Dale and Andrea sitting at the table and made a beeline to the cabinets. In the very back of the cabinet, there was a small stash of food. 

When you first arrived and began giving your food to the group, Dale offered to keep a few things for you since he could see how badly you didn’t want to let it go. You decided to hide a can of ravioli, cherry pie filling, and a bag of jerky. 

Originally you planned to save it just in case something happened but today you really needed a pick-me-up. Grabbing the can of ravioli, you decided that would be your lunch for today.

“Forks are in the right top drawer,” Dale said, showing no surprise to what you were doing. 

“Thanks.” 

You grabbed a fork and peeled back the lid of the can. The watery insides made you think of your childhood, back when Chef Boyardee was gourmet to you, the mini cans had been your go-to snacks after school. You saw them on the commercial and begged your mom to get them, she caved and they eventually became your comfort after a long day of school.

“Wait, you’re not even going to heat it up,” Andrea gave you a shocked look as you dipped your fork into the can. 

You shook your head as you speared a ravioli and popped it into your mouth, “‘s good straight out tha can.” 

Her face twisted in disgust, “Cold ravioli?”

“A delicacy.” 

Since you didn’t feel comfortable sitting right beside them, you liked your personal space, you went and sat in the driver's seat of the van and kicked your feet up on the dashboard. The seat allowed you to see what some of the others outside were doing. 

“So, other than the Merle incident, what else happened that warranted your little craving for canned ravioli?” 

Craning your neck, you looked back at Dale and chuckled, “What, you don’t think Merle was enough for me to need this? This right here,” you tapped the side of the can with your fork, “is the equivalent of a drink, the alcoholic type. Dealing with Merle, I definitely need a drink after that.” 

That earned a chuckle from both Andrea and Dale.

“You had a look on your face when you came in, something obviously bothered you out there.” 

Sighing, you sat the half-empty can down, “Shane tried to take a dig into my past again.” 

Both of them knew that Shane had tried a couple of times to get you to talk about what happened and they also knew that it was something you hated talking about. You had no idea why Shane seemed to want to know so badly. 

“Oh, that makes sense,” Andrea said, “It’s usually Shane or Merle that gets on your nerves.” 

You turned around and gave Andrea a deadpan look. Before you could say something to her, Shane came inside. 

“Speak of the devil,” you commented under your breath and Shane gave you an odd look before turning to Andrea. 

“We’re putting together a group to make a run. Figured you’d wanna join.” 

Andrea got up and left quickly but Shane stayed for a moment. You raised your eyebrow at him as you continued to eat. 

“Where’d you get that?”

“What?”

“That can of food you’re eating right now.” 

You shrugged as you ate the last piece, “Dunno, just found it. You can have it if you want it.”

You held the now empty can out to him and he gave you an annoyed look before following Andrea outside. Since they were getting a group together, you figured it was time for you to go and watch Carl, so you got up and threw the can away. 

“See ya later, Dale.”

He waved at you as you left. You stopped and grabbed your bow before heading over to the main fire pit. Lori and Carl were already there, finishing their lunch. 

“Oh hi, I’m not going out right now but if you want you can sit with us,” Lori gave you a bright smile. 

“Yeah, that’s fine.” 

You sat on the log across from them and plucked at the string of your bow as you looked around awkwardly. Lori kept giving you small smiles whenever you made eye contact and it made you feel uneasy. You always felt odd when it came to her praise and thanks for looking after Carl. 

“Sorry I told you after lunch, I didn’t know Shane was planning a run,” Lori apologized. 

When Shane put runs together, Lori often stayed around to see who was going. You tried offering to go plenty of times but he always said no and put you on some other duty. That was another reason why he drove you so crazy. 

Looking over at the group you spotted Glenn among them and got up to go give him the usual goodbye when he went on runs. He saw you walking over and smiled. 

“Anything you want this time?” 

That was his usual question, always wanting to know if there was anything you wanted him to pick up for you. He had grabbed plenty of books for you on the last few runs. He even found you a book of word searches. 

You shook your head, “Nah, unless you find any cool bracelets, I’m good.” 

He nodded and you gave him a fist bump. That had become your usual goodbye, rather than actually saying the words. He turned to walk away but you lightly punched his shoulder. 

“Make sure you come back.” 

“I promise.” 

You gave him another smile and made your way back to Lori and Carl. Once you sat down, you looked back over at the group and saw Merle among them. You didn’t notice him come back. He made eye contact with you and he gave you a smirk and a sarcastic salute, something he often did when you caught his eye. You rolled your eyes and flipped him the bird, something you often did back to him. 

As the group went off, you silently hoped that all of them would come back, even that douchebag Merle.

[rebellicnrising]

ruby cruz . nonbinary . they/she ➶ DID YOU SEE THEM ?! they’re finally back as a SPECTATOR, and you know they’re one of my favourites ! it’s KEW MARSHALL , the TWENTY-ONE year old WINNER of the NINETIETH hunger games! i’m just so excited to see them returning to the capitol all the way from DISTRICT TWELVE! they won their games using A SWORD/EVASION so their tributes will no doubt be desperate for their wisdom. the capitol just loved them for being so QUICKWITTED , even if they have been known to be IRREVERENT at times. they DON'T have a relative in this years games. ( character ISN’T part of the uprising )

​​BASIC INFORMATION

full name: kew ( pronounced like the letter q ) marshall nicknames: none at this time give them some!age: twenty-one birthday: march 27th zodiac: aries district: twelve gender: non-binary pronouns: they / she orientation: bisexual profession: menace, tribute, mentor

PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION

face claim: ruby cruz hair color: brown eye color: grey-blue height: 5'3” scars: several silvery scars from childhood scattered across their body- trips, falls, cuts, scrapes and a handful of small dotted scars scattered here and there from chicken pox when they were 5; a five inch lash mark scar that starts at at their left shoulder that curves down their shoulder blade after being caught stealing at 14; a two inch scar on the outside of their left forearm from a throwing star they blocked in the arena, a burn scar on their spine that stretches from the middle of their shoulder blades down to the bottom of their ribcage

RELATIONSHIPS

father: royce marshall ( deceased ) mother: andi marshall neé brock ( deceased ) siblings: kaeden "kae" marshall ( older brother , deceased ) extended family: cissy "aunt sissy" brock ( maternal aunt , estranged ) significant other: tba

TRIBUTE DETAILS

reaped/volunteered: reaped reaped age: 17 victor of the: 90th hunger games weapon of choice: sword arena: designed similarly to plutarch's clock for the canonical 75th games, the arena begins in a large circular room that looks almost like a courtroom or perhaps an old roundhouse government building taking heavy inspiration from the new mexico state capitol building with the cornucopia in the center of an open foyer with twelve doors evenly spaced around the perimeter of this foyer. each of those doors lead to different landmarks or recognizable areas for each of the twelve districts with secret doors that lead to the neighboring district hidden deep within each of these mini arenas- a doorway in a lab in 'three' that leads to the power dam in 'five', a slaughterhouse freezer in 'ten' that leads to a hatch that opens up to a produce field in 'eleven', etc. in each of these mini arenas that mimic the districts are humanoid mutts designed to look like the dead tributes from previous games for each of those specific districts, rotting and rambling after each of the current tributes-- it's a zombie arena. kill count: three token: tba ( given to them by haymitch before entering the arena )

EXTRA

mbti: esfp-t ( the entertainer ) temperament: choleric- sanguine moral alignment: chaotic good primary vice: pride primary virtue: hope element: air

BACKSTORY

TW: parent death, sickness, suicide, typical hunger games violence, twd levels of gore, drowning, blowing people up, depression, suicide idealization

ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴀ ᴄʜɪʟᴅ ᴡʜᴏ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ᴏꜰ ɢʟᴀꜱꜱ ᴄᴀʀʀɪᴇᴅ ᴀ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ᴘᴀꜱꜱᴇᴅ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴅᴀᴅ

this is not a new story but it's yours. you're born the second child to a poor family in district twelve to parents barely old enough to have escaped the reaping themselves who have no idea how they're going to manage two babies under the age of a year old. your brother was born first with you following quickly on his heels and for the first few years of your life, you stay just a half of a step behind him until he waits for you with a hand outstretched and you two begin to walk together. your earliest memories are golden candlelight throwing the mine dust streaked against your father's face and the dark circles under your mother's eyes in sharp relief, the sound of your mother's heartbeat as you're curled against her chest with your brother pressed against your back and your dad curled around him-- the bed that cradled the four of you never felt too small, only safe and warm.

that's how you want to remember them and so it's easy to block out the memories of how drawn your mother looked- cheeks sunken in and hair dull and limp around her face- her body wracked with a sickness that has your brother and you carried in your father's arms to your mother's younger sister- aunt sissy. you're four when she's put in the ground in the box and your brother holds your hand while he cries, tucking his face against the outside of your father's thigh, little hands gripping the mine-dirty denim. if you think back hard enough, you think maybe you cried too but not because you understood what was happening; but because kae was crying and you were always following his lead.

aunt sissy says your dad never got over mom's death; she says he died of a broken heart. which makes sense if you squint, looking back through memories you don't want to remember- too content to live in the memories of laughter and golden candlelight, the bed that was safe and warm- because dad stopped laughing after mom was put in the box in the ground. aunt sissy says it wasn't his fault or that him dying of a broken heart meant he loved you or kae any less but that after two years of trying to muscle through each day that his heart couldn't take the strain any longer and it gave up. several years down the road, you learn the truth but like the memories you don't want to remember, you hide it away in your mind-- it's much more poetic of a death to think your father's heart had been so broken from the lost love that it just stopped and not that his sadness had been so deep a hole he couldn't crawl out of that he had climbed as high as he could with a rope before that sadness dragged him back down with a snap.

you're six and kae holds your hand while you watch the men of your district lower dad in the same type of box next to mom in the ground and aunt sissy has a hand on each of your shoulders. you both cry and this time, you're not sure if you're following kae's lead or he's following yours and when you're tucked into bed at aunt sissy's with your brother you ask with childhood terror if his heart is broken too-- would he leave you like dad? like mommy? he swears that he won't-- not now, not ever. he's your big brother, after all; it's his job to take care of you.

ɪꜰ ꜱᴏᴍᴇʙᴏᴅʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜᴇʏ'ᴅ ᴛᴇʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ ʙʏ ɴᴏᴡ ᴡᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴛᴜʀɴ ᴀᴡᴀʏ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴅᴏᴡɴ

it's the two of you against the world- kae and kew. aunt sissy does her best; she makes sure that the both of you go to the small one roomed school, learning letters and numbers and history lessons that bore you to tears and encourages you both to make friends outside of each other. you can't lean on each other for your whole lives, she tells you but if you can't lean on kae or he on you then who can you lean on? it's easier for kae-- everyone likes kae. he's smart- always coming up with the best games for the schoolyard; he's strong- always winning the playful wrestling matches that turn into brawls. it's easy for him to make friends but you are too loud, too wild with that madcap laugh and frenetic energy, mind constantly buzzing with thoughts you can't wait your turn to share and that penchant for mischief that twinkles at the corner of crinkled eyes and your curled up smile.

aunt sissy calls you troublemaker-- at first it's said with gentle chastisement and fondness for a child who is too curious and a touch too wild; soon it's spat with venom and ringing with exasperation, burning acidic scars into your adolescent heart. there's a chasm growing between you and aunt sissy as you grow older and you're not sure what triggered that fault line to open the earth between you two but as years go by, it only grows deeper and wider with every time a peacekeeper shows up with you and kae in tow. she never blames kae, always you-- tells you that kae only goes along to try and keep you out of trouble. which- you can't argue- is true to a degree. the both of you swore a promise years ago, huddled on the bed that became just yours as you grew into young adulthood- not now, not ever- but you can't expect her to understand that. not when you have heard the resentment in her words when talking to the neighbors about the sister and brother who died and left her with children to raise; not when you hear the regret and lament in her voice when she speaks on the family she won't have because who wants to be saddled with two more mouths to feed when they didn't even come from you?

she doesn't make you and kae take out the tesserae but it wasn't either of your idea; kae takes out for both of you the moment he turns twelve and the following year, you do the same. aunt sissy scrubs you both raw the day of the reapings and neither of you breathe easily until after the names have been called. before your first reaping day, there's another promise made- inspired by the woman on fire who stands like a gladiator on that stage-- kae's fingers slipping in the spaces of your own and giving a squeeze and a smile that always meant it would be alright just before he's ushered to one side and you the other; if they call your name, i'll go with you-- i won't leave you alone, not now, not ever. and as the years go on and more slips of paper with your names fall into that bowl, the fear of one of them being pulled grows-- even more so when it's kae's last year to be reaped, knowing how many times his name is floating around in that large glass bowl-- but there's always that thought in the back of your mind that you won't need to fulfill that promise. there were other names that were in there even more than kae's or yours-- what are the chances of it happening to you?

but it's your name that's pulled, read from painted lips of effie trinket and you're frozen in place and somewhere a hand finds it's place in the middle of your shoulder blades, pushing you from that place and other hands join in- gently guiding you towards that center aisle and you haven't even stumbled out of that crowd to head towards that stage before you hear his voice, shouting words you hoped you'd never hear: i volunteer. the memory of that day is so muddled- you think you remember numb lips moving, voice a hoarse whisper ( no-- don't-- don't! )- but when peacekeeper gloves wrap around your arm to pull you from that crowd that pushes at your back, you hear it again, louder this time- i volunteer as tribute- and see him push forward from his own crowd, moving shove himself between you and that white gloved hand, an arm wrapping around your shoulders and keeping your trembling knees from falling out from under you.

you don't remember but someone tells you later that you that you swung on him, that your hands had pressed against his chest, trying to shove him back into that crowd, telling him to shut up! shut up! effie never draws a second name and you've never hated the sound of your names together more than in the moment when she announces district twelve's tributes: kae and kew marshall. you've never hated anyone more than the two victors who stand to the side of the stage- both who got to come back- knowing that was never in the cards for you or your brother.

ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ɢᴏ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴇʟᴛ ꜱᴀꜰᴇ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇᴀʀ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʙʀᴏᴛʜᴇʀ'ꜱ ʟᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴇᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀ'ꜱ ꜰᴀᴄᴇ

the capitol eats it up-- nothing they love more than a district twelve volunteer, a trend started by their beloved girl on fire and continued down the line with alex and their story of volunteering for the boy they loved-- a full circle that kae has completed and you're just another accessory to his demise. you're angry with him the entire first night, staring ahead and refusing to look at him when the stylists bring the two of you out for the tribute parade; but when your hand grips the chariot with white knuckles, his hand settles over yours and after a moment, you let your grip relax and his fingers slip in the spaces between yours. you're angry at the thought of him dying-- why wouldn't he feel the same about you? he doesn't have to say it because you know now that you've had time for the shock to settle in your system, that if the roles had been reversed, you would've done the same-- you couldn't have left him alone either. not now, not ever.

the two of you don't talk about it. it's no surprise that the two of you gravitate towards the bows and the quivers full of arrows-- hell, it's expected at this point. neither of you have ever held a bow before- sure, you two might've gotten up to some shenanigans and thievery but you weren't the sort that dared to cross the boundary to do something as wild as hunt. you're both terrible at it but kae is the sort who turns all of his focus onto the weapon, spending as much time as he can emptying those quivers and refilling them over and over until his aim improves; you lose patiences almost immediately, grabbing the bow with both hands and charging the dummy instead, slamming the curve into the body over and over again-- not the intended use, but still effective. kae manages to score a seven; you score a five.

caesar interviews you together-- you're pretty sure the whole team breathes a sigh of relief when the focus is mostly on kae. you don't even attempt to disguise the discomfort you feel-- your exact thoughts and feelings are practically written across your face but everyone has always liked kae and caesar is no exception. he paints him as a knight, riding in to the rescue-- and when he turns that attention to you, he says what neither of you have talked about: there can only be one victor. he seems to wait, as if you're the one holding the answer. you don't and your silence seems to stretch beyond uncomfortable before kae swoops in like that knight to rescue you from having to answer: you wouldn't survive five minutes without him anyway.

it's a joke but you know in your heart that it's true and as the morning of the launch dawns, you realize that you're going to die. you don't cry or panic-- it's just a quiet passing thought that floods you with a sort of relief. it brings you the sort of peace that allows you to forgive the resentment in your heart against katniss and peeta-- what was the point in hating them for living? you want to go into the arena with a clear conscience-- if you were going to die, you wanted to leave everything behind.

when the platforms rise, you find yourself in a large important looking round hall facing a large wooden platform- almost like a judges stand in a courtroom- surrounded by weapons and packs. you look across and behind large stone pillars almost hidden in the darkness are doors, evenly spaced between each of the twenty four platforms-- twelve doors in all. the clock begins to countdown and every muscle in your body tenses, eyes scanning the circle to find kae and you're certain your heart will explode before the countdown ever reaches one-- but the horn sounds and the room echoes with chaos. you go sprinting, eyes scanning between the supplies and weapons-- you'd told alex that you were using anything but a bow and when you see a sword hilt standing up in the center of a group of packs, you make a straight beeline for it. a movement out of your peripheral vision has your arm shooting up reflexively and pain explodes through your forearm as a throwing star lodges itself deep. cradling the injured arm to your chest, you grab the sword and run for the nearest door. just as you reach for the handle, you chance a glance back, kae's name ripped from your chest. a body slams against your back and his familiar voice is telling you to go go go-- and the two of you slip through the door, slamming it closed behind you and running.

ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴄʜɪʟᴅʜᴏᴏᴅ ʜᴏᴍᴇ ɪꜱ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴘᴏᴡᴅᴇʀ ᴡʜɪᴛᴇ ʙᴏɴᴇꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ'ʟʟ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ꜰɪɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴡᴀʏ ʙᴀᴄᴋ

you're running through a long dark hallway of darkness, drawn to a pinprick of light at the end of the tunnel. you think you hear the door open behind the two of you but there's no way to tell with how loud the sound of your feet echo back at you or how your heartbeat thuds in your ears. when you burst from that darkness into the light, that noise doesn't abate but seems to grow suddenly louder: the electric buzz of florescent lights and machinery, the rush of water so thunderous kae has to shout for you to even begin to hear him. a fresh breeze floats through and you turn to see how the room opens up and just beyond the arch of concrete above you is sky. the floor rumbles under your feet the closer you get to the edge of that ledge and the sight takes your breath away. water spilling from under you in a constant waterfall, disappearing down into white mist. kae urges you with a tug to your arm and the two of you explore the echoing and cold concrete structure the two of you have found yourselves in.

the deeper you walk, the more clues begin to reveal themselves: rooms with colorful warning signs on their doors, filled with large machines that drone so loudly it makes your ears ring long after you leave the place; a locker room filled with hardhats with headlamps and rubber boots that reach to both of your mid thighs when you inevitably move to compare yourselves to them; posters printed in the capitol block lettering declaring 'district five: powering panem' with an artistic rendition of a man wearing the headlamp and the rubber boots, standing on the structure as water fell under his feet, the symbol of panem floating above his head. the canons for the bloodbath go off as you're examining the poster but no faces float in the sky outside of the dam ( because you realize that's what this is, it's district five's dam ): the bloodbath was anything but, only three canon shots.

the two of you have made some sort of camp in what you think might be a mess hall- a place for the dam's workers to enjoy what meager meals would help power them through their shifts in powering all of panem- when you first encounter the mutt. you hear the shuffling and the two of you go still as stone, watching the doorway with those bright lights now throwing every shadow into sharp relief, believing it must be another tribute who has followed the same path as the two of you. the shape that fills the doorway is human but when those same lights that flood the mess hall illuminate the face, you can't help the noise that leaves you at the corpse that steps through. it might have been human once but now as it stands with it's jaw missing and rotting skin exposing bone through patchy and thin red hair, dark stains around the half of a mouth, it's nothing but a monster that rambles towards the two of you. your hands scramble for the sword but it falls from your fingers only to be caught by kae who charges forward, bringing the sword down on the wobbling neck with every ounce of strength he has.

the head falls and the body drops-- but the eyes still move, almost as if it was still aware. you don't think; you just stomp, boot slamming into the skull over and over until it cracks under your foot. and you promptly turn to throw up. the two of you barely have time to see if the other is alright before there's more of those noises and those rambling shadows-- and you don't linger to see who or what it might be. you run, searching for any place to hide, finding more and more of those monsters- their outfits looking familiar and not at the same time. you pull kae into what you believe is a closet and all at once the floor shifts under your feet as the door closes. rocking. but the noises have stopped-- and you smell salt.

neither of you feel like chancing going further, taking turns to stand propped up against the closet door as the other takes a few winks of sleep. the floor still rocks underneath you and it feels almost like being a child again, gently rocked to sleep-- only to be woken up by the boom of cannons: five more shots. still no faces. when you finally decide to move forward through that darkness, you're almost immediately met with another door- smaller- and when you open it up, brilliant sunlight greets you and that salty smell fills your lungs and you find yourself on a boat, floating in a harbor filled with other boats. for a second you wonder if you've somehow managed to get to the bottom of the where that water disappears to from the dam- kae tells you the water in the dam is fresh water and that this is salt. how the hell you ended up in district four when moments ago you were at the top of the dam in five has your mind reeling-- then you remember. it's all the arena. none of these places are real.

it's two days before the door opens and other faces walk through onto the deck of your boat and for a moment the three of you stare at each other in surprise- you and kae and the tribute from eight. all of you move at once- the two of you charging towards them and they turning to dive off the edge of the boat. they flounder, head emerging from the water and they turn their sights to another boat some distance away as kae moves to notch an arrow in the bow he grabbed but before that arrow can be loosed, that head disappears in a movement almost too fast to see. you watch with horror as they fight to the surface with another one of those rotting mutts gripping at them, dragging them back under the water. the water continues to be disturbed and a rotted hand reaches to grab the side of the boat-- you and kae turn and race for the opposite side of the deck, running for the dock that seems just out of reach- and the boat begins to rock hard. a cannon sounds.

the two of you leap for the dock, kae's legs longer reaching the platform safely but it's nearly you that sinks you both, your foot catching the edge of that wood and your shin slamming hard and scraping as you start to fall. your foot dips into the water and a hand is there, wrapping around your ankle and pulling-- but kae still has a hold of your hand and he hauls you up, face red and arms shaking with the tug of war against the monster in the bay, his boot slamming into the hand that holds you until the bones are nothing but mangled shards. the pack that kae had grabbed from the cornucopia sits on the deck but the sword is still gripped in your hand and the bow and quiver are still slung around his shoulders and as you both race from that dock and across the sandy beach, you run for what looks familiar: a treeline.

the treeline turns into a forest and the air seems to shimmer in front of your faces as you barrel through, not bothering to see if you're being followed when the salt disappears from the air and it's almost cooler, the trees around you smelling deeper of pine and sap. the deeper you go into the forest, the more that you start to see stumps dotted between them, felled neatly and left as reminder of what once stood; kae grabs an axe left in one of the stumps and you continue to press onward. when daylight starts to fade in what you've come to assume is district seven, kae suggests that you both take to the trees- adopt katniss' strategy of tying yourself high up where those mutts might not reach you. the first night goes by quietly, the two of you on opposite branches of the same tree, your backs against the same thick trunk- tied together and tethered to the tree.

it's the second night after you've pressed even deeper into the forest that things go awry; just as the two of you are tying yourselves to the trunk, two frantic tributes runs under you. your foot knocks a pine cone down to the ground and one of those heads snap up- the girl from three who grabs for the hand of the girl from five- and she shouts at both of you to get down, that the mutts can climb. her ally tells her to leave you both but she lingers, urging you to please hurry before five drags her away. the shuffling sounds have the both of you struggling to untie yourselves and you try to use the sword you haven't let go of since the cornucopia to try and saw the ties from your leg but the angle is wrong. kae tells you to hold your leg still as he grabs hold of a branch with one hand and swings the ax with the other. it's a close cut and part of your pant leg flips against your thigh as you both practically fall down to the forrest floor, racing after the figures who have disappeared, trying to outrun the shuffling feet and the groaning of mutts in faded and ratted clothing, dragging axes behind them as if they've forgotten how to put them down.

the mill seems to emerge out of nowhere and the girl from three stands at the open door, urging you both to hurry and the second you both stumble into the mill, she's slamming the door shut. the four of you- you, kae, three ( terra ) and five ( nyx )- move long boards of cut lumber to stack in front of the closed door, barricading it from the inside as those bodies begin to claw and scratch at the walls of the mill that continues to hum around you. they tell you that there's other entrances to the mill but that terra has set traps that would alert them if any of the mutts or anyone else happened to wander in. they share their food- gifts from terra's sponsors- and for the first time since launching, it's like you can breathe easy.

you all swap life stories, theories about which tributes had died- you share the news about eight while they tell you that both of their district partners had fallen in the bloodbath and they'd witnessed the career pack kill both tributes from ten in the quarry of district two; they're the ones who tell you about the mutts-- how they're designed to look like past fallen tributes, shambling and haunting the miniature districts they hailed from, terra saying she recognized one of them when she and nyx had found themselves in a lab in district three. there's a deep discussion on whether they're the actual tributes or just lab grown monsters made to mimic them and with that bone-chilling thought- that even in death, the capitol would continue to jerk you around like puppets- the four of you sleep in shifts-- one of each duo staying away while their partner sleeps. none of you quite trust the other not to try and kill them in their sleep.

the tentative truce between the four of you holds for about two more days and in the time you spend together six more cannons sound: seventeen tributes dead. with only three other tributes wandering through the arena, the tension begins to grow and it's no surprise that they slip away when you and kae chance going outside to look for fresh water after a terse conversation where it was made very clear they would not be sharing any further supplies. it's not mutts that chase you from the mill but the boy from nine, carrying a bloodied hand scythe as he climbs over the barricade, screaming at you to stand and fight as you both run deeper into the mill. you know that terra had trapped the different entrances into the mill- knew from what she had shared that just like the closet from five that led to the boat in four, there were doors that led from this district to other parts of the arena and that's where you think you'll lose him.

it's inky blackness that fills the doorway of what should lead to another part of the mill and when you both rush through, closing the door behind you, your lungs fill with dust-- a familiar taste in the backs of your throats that brings waves of nostalgia: coal dust. you're about to turn to ask if kae has the same hunch- that they're in the mines- when a light near the top of the door blinks from green to red and a beeping noise starts to echo through the darkness. kae's hand shoves between your shoulder blades and you both begin to run as the beeping grows louder, coal dust stirred up by your feet and clogging your lungs. the explosion rattles the mine, igniting quick burning coal and there's a wave of heat that pushes at your back, throwing you and kae off your feet. pain licks up your spine and at the base of your skull and you feel a hand patting out the fire that's caught to your hair and you can't breathe but hands grab under your arms and drag you out into the evening sunlight that pours from the mine entrance, both of you falling onto soft and familiar cool grass.

for a moment, you're breathing through the searing pain in your back and neck and you lift a trembling hand to touch blistered skin on the back of your neck. your ears ring with the explosion and when you call out kae's name, it sounds as if it's coming from under water. struggling, you push yourself through the pain that shoots up and down our spine at the movement as you get to your hands and knees, turning your head slowly against the pain to look for your brother. no physical pain could ever compare to seeing him face down in the earth, the entire back side of his body charred and bloodied, smoking and unmoving. forcing yourself to move, you keep calling his name through that underwater feeling, the movement making your head spin and stomach heave. you grit your teeth against it, crawling to him and gently- oh so gently- turning him onto his back as tears fall down heat blistered cheeks onto his unmoving face, trembling hands brushing away the singed pieces of hair from his temples, his name continuing to fall from your mouth in screams that sound thousands of miles away. ( you promised-- you promised, not now not ever-- we've come too far, i've come too far to lose you-- )

the cannon booms and this time you know exactly for whom it sounds. you forget about dead tribute mutts or the other five tributes still making their ways through the arena, grief erupting from your mouth in a scream that scares the fake birds in the trees that surround you, cradling his burned and broken body to your own. you stay like that for hours, darkness falling around you and your brother's dead body going stiff in your hold. a parachute falls from the sky some distance away; you ignore it. noises from the forest around you should be cause for concern but you act as if you don't hear them-- you know what they're there for. everyone knows that the hovercrafts pick up the dead tributes and when they need to, the gamemakers will create situations that push the living away from those who have fallen and you're sure that they're pushing those mutts closer in hopes that you'll flee. but you promised- not now, not ever- and you make no move to leave and they never come any closer.

another parachute falls from the sky, falling just out of arms reach. your face stings from the salt that crusts the blisters on your cheeks and your tongue is sticking to the roof of your mouth-- and it's then that you give in, reaching for the closest gift and find a flask of water that you drink greedily, feeling it coat the cracked places in your throat. a slip of paper curled in the lid of the flask catches your eye and with fingers that feel stiff and thick, you pluck it out. you can die here or you can fight. your choice. you hold the paper in those fingers and after a moment, you gently shift the stiff remains of your brother from your lap. each movement has your entire body screaming in agony but you force yourself crawl towards the other parachute, cracking open the cylindrical shape to find a salve that cools your finger the second you dip it in. you spread it on your face, feeling like you've shoved your head into a frozen pond and anywhere your hands can reach, you slather it on, feeling your head almost spin with the cooling relief. another slip of paper tucked inside of the rim of the lid is pulled out and your heart is still shattered in your chest but the words seem to ignite a fire among those shards: don't let him die in vain.

ᴀɴᴅ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ɢᴏɴᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴛʜᴇʏ ꜱᴀʏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ɴᴀᴍᴇ? ᴀɴᴅ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ɢᴏɴᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴛʜᴇʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴀᴍᴇ?

the door that led to the mines from seven is collapsed and when you come back from trying to see if you could go back the way you came, kae's body is gone. the hollow feeling in your chest aches and part of you wants to lay there too and wait for whatever will come- tributes, mutts- so that you can just be done. but those notes are still gripped in fingers that have started to heal from the salve and the feeling of them against your palm stokes that fire in your chest. you press deeper into the mockery of district twelve, searching for one of those portal doors that would lead to somewhere else. you walk into a factory of eight, surrounded by giant spools of fabric of every color and texture you could imagine. you crawl up through a hatch that leads into a field of strawberries in district eleven. you walk through the lab of three and you can see the evidence of terra's presence- panels ripped apart, stripped for wires and other important looking technology that you're sure is what was used to create the trap that had killed kae.

two more cannons sound over the span of three days-- one of them the boy from nine that you killed with a solid chop of that sword into the junction of his neck and shoulders. your first kill-- if he hadn't been there to chase you, you and kae would've probably never gone through that door. you keep walking and eventually find yourself back where you started: district five's dam. you're not expecting to find anyone-- and perhaps that's the trick of the arena because the moment you're not expecting something to happen, it does. terra and nyx don't see you, too caught up in a debate of splitting up now that there were only three left in the arena and if it had been the sort of games that you were watching from the safety of your own district, it might have been a conversation that tugged at your heartstrings. they touch each other's faces gently, both of them promising to remember the other with choked voices, telling each other how grateful they were to have made it this far with the help of a friend.

gripping the hilt of the sword you had dragged with you to prove a point that now feels so pointless and stupid, you creep through shadows on soundless feet and shove the blade through terra's stomach as she turns to leave that goodbye. it was her trap that had killed kae and there's a sick feeling of vindication and vengeance that rushes through you as blood bubbles from the corners of her mouth and the sound of nyx's scream. ripping the sword from terra, you don't watch as she falls and her cannon sounds muted from the blood rushing in your ears. instead you turn that murderous intent on nyx who backs away quickly-- almost too quickly, nearly toppling over the edge of that dam, arms pinwheeling to try and keep her balance. with a roar you don't recognize, you charge forward, swinging that sword in a wide arc and watching as it bites into one of those pinwheeling arms and your boot lifts to land a solid kick that sends her tumbling backwards into thundering water.

another cannon sounds. you've won the hunger games.

ɪꜰ ɴᴏᴛ, ᴛʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ᴏᴋᴀʏ.

going back to twelve is harder than you thought it would be; there had been this almost hope that it would bring your heart some sense of peace-- bringing kae's body back to be buried beside a mother and father that you only remember in faded memory but you just realize as you watch his box lowered that there's no one to hold your hand this time. aunt sissy tries-- but the chasm between you doesn't disappear and not even kae's death can bridge that gap; if anything, it causes it to widen. the last words you said to her were that she could live her own life now-- kae was dead and you can take care of yourself now with your own winnings. that was three years ago.

you move into one of the houses in the victor's village, surrounded by those scant few who can empathize with the pain you feel. at first, you keep them at arm's length- even haymitch, whom you had felt a fondness starting to grow for the old man- too wrapped up in that heavy blanket of a grief you swear none of them could begin to imagine. you can start to see how your father could imagine that maybe if he climbed just high enough with that final necklace looped around his neck, that he could escape the deep well of sadness that continued to drag him down in the way that it drags you down. you sneak into haymitch's house and steal the bottles of liquor that burns your throat but at the very least quiets those thoughts. you think maybe you can drink enough to keep them quiet forever-- at least you try before you're found out.

and it irritates you-- how they all in their own ways won't let you drown yourself. how they keep popping up- checking up on you-- how their hands outstretch to you, begging you in thousands of silent ways to just take it. and eventually you do. eventually, you let them grab you- like kae had when he dragged you from the mine -out of that pit of sadness, knowing that their hands were there to grab hold of any time that sadness starts to overwhelm you. eventually, you wake up and the sunlight seems a little warmer and the fresh bread in your mouth tastes sweet and not like coal ash. eventually, you laugh again.

TFLDR + EXTRAS

kew's a lil d12 brat who was raised with their brother by their mom's sister after both of their parents died in p quick succession when they were young.

kew was def a lil troublemaker when they were a kid/teenager-- jim hawkins from treasure planet kinda vibes being escorted back home by peacekeepers to an exasperated aunt

kew and their brother kae promised each other that if either of them were reaped they'd volunteer like katniss had-- that they wouldn't let the other go alone.

so when kew's reaped guess what happens

their arena was zombies bc everyone including the capitol peeps goes through a twd phase

the siblings had a brief alliance w tributes from three and five but whoops they accidentally trapped a door that led to a mine in twelve and when kae and kew are trying to outrun another tribute and go through the door, they get exploded a little

so kae dies and kew almost gives into the swamp of sadness like artax but parachutes with notes from their mentors helps to push them to get the fuck up

kew kills the d9 tribute who caused them to run for the mine in the first place and then later at the dam in the d5 section of the arena, they kill their former allies- d3 by running her through with a sword and d5 by chopping at her with a sword before sparta kicking her off the dam

had a Real Rough Time after their games for a good long while but like. they're getting better w the help of the d12 fam

is not part of the rebellion like tbh lowkey no one tell them bc they cannot keep a secret to save their life

is that silly goofy homie with a profound air of sadness to them

adhd + ptsd + depression = some real out of pocket shit that comes out of their mouth like has no filter

tiktok vc they're just a baby. THEY'RE JUST A BABY.

def edging on a bit of an alcoholism problem but it's ok we dont have to talk about it

kew vc @ haymitch i learned it from watching you!!!

i swear i know this bio was sad as fuck this is Not the vibe they bring to the table

CONNECTIONS

i am le tired you know what sort of shit we love to see in this rp dont make me spell it out

[sunnygrey99]

The Silent Witch In The Woods Pt. 7

~Trigger Warning: Gore, Typical TWD warnings. (minors DNI)~

A/N: Sorry It took me so long to start posting these again. I've been really sick recently and stressed from moving. I hope You all enjoy this chapter. More to come soon.

Autumn turns quickly to winter and as harvest comes to an end you've switched to overseeing the health of the livestock as well as helping in the infirmary when needed. It's a nice change in pace and allows you to spend more to yourself. This change also has downsides. Daryl was for the most part only around you when he came home after working on cars or when he comes back from hunting. It is a good time to hunt since most of the walkers are frozen or stuck somewhere and most animals had taken to repopulation very well. Daryl always comes back with something for the town.

As glad as you are for what Daryl does for the community you miss him greatly. Every time he leaves is like letting a piece of your heart go along with him. It's still dangerous out there and you are always worried that he will just never come back home. Anytime he comes back after a long three-day hunt you find him huddling to your room to sleep again. The company is appreciated, but you never tell him how much it really means to you that he holds you so close. He almost always smells of fresh snow, pine trees, and dirt. Oddly a pleasant scent to fall asleep to and sometimes wake up to when he comes back late in the night.

Tonight is no such night that you'll wake up to that smell and when you do finally wake up you feel the worry spread through your chest like an infection. It's day four and Daryl never stays gone for that long. You bring up the information to Rick and he only brushes you off saying that Daryl is capable and will be back any day now. When nears day ten of Daryl missing Rick takes your concern seriously. It's when a search group is about to head out that Daryl finally stumbles through the front gate. You both lock eyes as he comes into the gate and he collapses to his knees. Covered in his own blood he grabs at his left side, seeming to shake slightly at the obvious blood loss. You run to him instantly and try keeping your cool to help him. It's difficult, but you're able to have Abraham and Rick carry Daryl to the infirmary.

Once Daryl is laid flat on the bed you glance over him and quickly cut his shirt off him to better see his wounds. By the looks of it, he's lucky to even be alive. Pale skin coated in old dark smears of blood and dirt. You begin to panic as you see the bullet wound that goes through Daryl's chest on his left. You freeze as you wonder how the man isn't dead yet. The only thing to snap you out of it is Daryl weakly reaching his hand over to grab yours. You look to it for a moment and nod. His only hope to surviving the wound is to do the very same spell you'd done to yourself. Steeling yourself and taking a deep breath before putting yourself into a healer's headspace.

Quickly you grab the paste and write the runes around the bullet hole before placing the dogbane in the center. You grab Daryl's chin and make him look at you, This is going to hurt really bad. I need you to try and stay calm. Squeeze my hand and Rick's as hard as you need to. You wait for him to nod before pulling Rick to grab Daryl's other hand and hold down the same arm. You guide Abraham to hold Daryl's shoulders and then carefully cut your hand and press it to Daryl's wound. It's nearly instant that your hand heats up and Daryl screams in agony as he arches his back off the table. He goes limp under your touch and you freeze again. The panic fully sets in as you look at his face. Looking for any sign of life you grab his face and tap his cheek. The two men step back and Rick has his hand hovering over his knife. You check his pulse and it feels fine. Pressing your head to his chest and silence is all you can hear until the first beat pounds through his chest. You wait there to hear another just to be sure, and there it is. You pull back with the tears streaming down your face and look at Rick with a faint and tired smile. He's alive. He's okay. You go back to check his wounds. It seems to be healed for the most part but you know you'll be putting him on bed rest for a week anyway.

Daryl wakes up the next morning with you curled up on the couch in the corner. He attempts to get up but hisses and groans at the pain. It has you shooting up out of your spot and standing next to him in an instant. You can't move too much. I had to cast a spell and you'll be in a lot of pain for the next few days. It's best to rest. He looks at you with confusion etched into his features for a moment but then looks to his bare chest and the still angry red spot where there had been a hole just a day ago. He sighs and reaches out lightly grabbing your hand and muttering a small thanks.

Squeezing his hand back with a reassurance that you wouldn't be leaving anytime soon you pulled a chair over and sat next to his bed. The faint smile etched into his lips as he watches you, his crystal blue eyes never leaving your eyes. Once you find a comfortable position in the old wooden chair you find yourself fighting the urge to just climb in bed next to the man as you look at him. You should get some more rest. I'll still be here for you if you need anything.

He only rolls his eyes sightly with a quiet chuckle. "I ain't tried anymore. 'Sides you're here and I' been gone too damn long."

Well if you aren't going to rest, can you tell me what happened out there? You can see the light smile that was there fall and his eyes dim with a grim mood.

"Ain't much to say. Group a guys tryin' ta take my hunt. Woulda let 'em if that was all they wanted. Not like I was lookin' fer trouble." He huffs as he recalls the encounter. "They took me back to their camp and their leader decided he wanted ta keep me. I ain't about that so I tried runnin' got shot in the process." He isn't looking at you anymore but you decide to reach out and lightly squeeze his arm to get his attention.

I'm sorry Daryl. You don't have to tell me anymore if you don't want. The genuine concern is written all over your face and you know he can see it but you don't want to push him for more information. You are already aware of how little the man talks about his oldest traumas, so talking about fresh ones isn't ideal for the stoic man. I'm going to set up extra protections tonight to warn us if this group comes after you. I don't want anyone else I care about getting hurt.

Daryl reached over tugging your hand slightly and mutters another thanks before changing the topic to pass the time. He already knows better than to fight you about staying in the lumpy hospital bed that he'll grow restless in for the next week.

Part 8

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Those who asked to be tagged. <3

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[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 4,027 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: the Greene farm Warnings: Language, violence, gore, discussions of trauma, typical TWD, nothing super bad this chapter A/N: This is of a miniseries! You can find the other chapters on the Masterlist! Summary: An accusation is made.

Your name: submit What is this?

The next afternoon you were about ready to lose your mind if you had to sit around your camp site any longer. Daryl had gone out searching for Sophia again and you felt useless being left behind. You knew you couldn’t go far into the woods with your hand injured, but you decided to visit the usual places along the edge where you often found wild mushrooms just for something to do. You gathered up your pack and sheathed your knife on your hip, just in case, and headed out.

It wasn’t yet evening but the sun was sinking low in the sky. Andrea was on watch, sitting on top of the RV, when she suddenly spotted a figure emerging from the trees. At first she thought it might be Daryl coming back from his search, but after looking properly through the binoculars she could see that it was Shane and he was stumbling. The front of his shirt looked crimson. “Oh my God. Oh my God! Hey—I think Shane’s hurt!” The camp scrambled into action. Dale passed out the guns and Rick took off in the lead, racing across the pasture as fast as his legs could carry him. Glenn, Andrea, and T-dog were on his heels. When they reached Shane, they could see a long slice across his torso. He was clutching his hand to his stomach and the blood was just pouring out.

“Jesus! What the hell happened?!” Glenn yelled.

Shane groaned as Andrea slipped off the button-up shirt over her tank top and pressed it to his stomach. Shane gripped it tightly. “I was just—” he winced, “—thinking about setting a few more snares. I ran into Y/N out there and she just—I don’t know, man,” he said, looking up at Rick. “She just fuckin’ lost it! She slashed me and I just took off running!”

Everyone was stunned. “You’re saying Y/N did this to you?” T-dog repeated.

Shane nodded. “Ah, fuck,” he groaned. He pulled Andrea’s shirt away from his stomach and stared at the cut.

Rick looked panicked and ran a hand back through his hair, staring at his bleeding best friend. “You’re telling me she did this unprovoked,” Rick pressed him.

“She just snapped,” Shane said through his gritted teeth. “I told ya something was wrong with that girl.”

Rick swore under his breath. “Andrea,” he motioned for her and they stepped away while T supported Shane. “Get him to Hershel but do not say anything about Y/N. You understand? If he asks, just tell him we’re lookin’ into it right now.” Andrea nodded. “Shane, where is she?” Rick asked.

“She wasn’t that far back. Straight in,” he said. He was hunched over. Andrea began leading him back toward the farmstead.

“Glenn. T. Come with me,” Rick growled. They set off into the trees, scouring the ground for any sign of you. There were clear drops of Shane’s blood in a trail leading straight into the woods. They strained their hearing.

As they crept along, searching, Glenn finally spoke what was on his mind. “Rick. Something about this doesn’t feel right…”

“Let’s just find Y/N,” he replied. His tone was steely. At last, Rick spotted you through the trees ahead, crouching down collecting mushrooms. He made eye contact with T and Glenn and nodded. They approached slowly and Rick raised his gun. “Y/N,” he called out. You startled and stood, spinning around to see the three of them coming toward you, armed. “Just take it easy,” Rick said calmly.

You said nothing. What the fuck was going on?

“Take your knife out of your sheath and toss it away,” Rick said. Your brow furrowed and you only continued to peer at him. “Do it, Y/N. Slowly.”

You gulped, but complied, unsnapping the loop over the hilt of your knife and slowly drawing it before tossing it to the side.

“Good,” Rick nodded. “Do you have any other weapons on you?” You shook your head. Your expression was blank, unreadable. Your heart was hammering in your chest. What the fuck was going on? “Glenn, get her knife,” Rick said. You watched as he retrieved your knife from the leaf litter. “Alright. Let’s get back to camp. You’re gonna come with us now, alright?” You simply stared back, your eyes flashing a little as they darted between the three men. “T keep your gun on her.” Rick approached you cautiously and looked you over thoroughly to be sure you didn’t have another weapon. He withdrew his pair of handcuffs and watched you eye them. For the first time he saw a flash of confusion on your face that you couldn’t hide.

“Rick, is that really necessary?” Glenn asked.

Rick’s eyes didn’t leave you. “Just until we can figure out what’s going on, okay?” You held perfectly still and allowed Rick to handcuff your wrists behind your back. He was careful not to bump your injured hand, wrapped up in clean gauze, and careful not to put them on you too tight. “Glenn’ll get your pack. Come on.” You fell into step beside Rick and allowed him to lead you back toward the farm. T and Glenn trailed behind. Your mind whirred the whole way.

Up at the farmhouse, Shane was laid out in the bed and Hershel was being assisted by Maggie, Lori, and Andrea as he cleaned and stitched up Shane’s wound. It needed quite a few stitches, but the veterinarian said it wasn’t too deep and should heal just fine. Surprisingly, Hershel didn’t ask for an explanation yet. Outside, Carol tried to keep Carl busy and distracted. She stood suddenly when she saw the men returning with you and heading straight toward the stable.

Rick opened one of the empty horse stalls and walked you inside. He took the handcuffs off your wrists and you turned to look at him. You both stared at each other for a long moment. It was like Rick was waiting for you to say something, but you just went on staring. Finally, he stepped back out and shut the door, using the handcuffs as a makeshift lock to secure it closed. He handed the key to T-dog. “Take watch,” he said, and T agreed with a nod. You watched the men leave and simply glanced around before sinking onto the soft, clean hay against the back wall. T-dog glanced in at you. You looked small, huddled on the ground, and it was hard for him to believe you were capable of what you’d done to those men the other day and harder to believe you would attack Shane for no reason…

Rick ran up the porch steps and burst inside. “How is he?” he asked. Hershel was emerging from the guest room and headed to wash his hands in the kitchen.

“He’s fine. Lost a good amount of blood but most of the wound isn’t too deep,” he said calmly. “Are you going to tell me how this happened?” He gave Rick a pointed look.

Rick rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m trying to figure that out right now,” he said. He turned and headed straight into the guest room as Andrea and Lori were coming out. Shane looked up from his prone position on the bed and sighed as Rick came in.

“Did you find her?” he asked, pulling himself up slightly against the headboard.

“Mhm. She’s locked up in the stable for now,” Rick nodded. “Tell me again what happened.”

Shane sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know, man. I ran into her out there and—and I must have spooked her or something because the next thing I knew she was just coming at me,” he said. “She had her knife out and she just—” he made a slashing motion in the air. “I just got out of there as fast as I could. The look in her eyes… She wasn’t in her right mind. I didn’t even realize at first that I was cut until I felt the blood.”

“Mmm,” Rick nodded, listening. “Pretty good gash.”

“Yeah.” Shane glanced down. “Gonna leave me one hell of a scar,” he said.

“Alright. You just rest up. Let me figure the rest of this out, alright?” Rick said, turning to leave.

“Hey. Look, I’m sorry it came to this. If I hadn’t startled her maybe this wouldn’t have happened,” Shane said. Rick held his eyes for a long moment before nodding and stepping into the hallway, shutting the door softly behind him. Rick headed outside and across the farmyard again, making straight for the stable. He ignored the curious looks from Lori and the others, just kept his head down.

He leaned against the stall door and peered at you through the bars. You were just sitting on the ground, your back against the wall. You were cradling your injured hand with the other. Rick cleared his throat to get your attention and your eyes flickered up to his face. “Shane says you attacked him. He’s got a nasty gash across his chest and stomach. Says you did it with your knife.” You simply kept staring at him, but Rick thought your eyes had narrowed just a little. “Did you?”

He thought he saw the muscle in your jaw clench. “No,” you said simply.

Rick waited for you to say more but you didn’t. “No? That’s it? That’s all you’ve got to say?” he pressed you. “We grab you out of the woods and throw handcuffs on you and lock you up in a horse stall and all you’ve got to say is ‘no’?” You just stared back at him. Rick sighed and you watched him shut his eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose. He stepped away, patting T-dog’s shoulder as he went.

Rick was barely two steps away from the stall they’d put you in when Glenn rushed him. “Rick. Rick, something isn’t right here,” he said in a hushed voice. Rick seemed to already be deep in thought. The sheriff’s hands went to his hips.

“She didn’t ask any questions. She just came. She didn’t say anything,” he said softly.

“She hardly talked normally. You expect her to start blurting out questions or dramatically protesting her innocence? We came at her with weapons drawn! She was just attacked by those men two days ago,” Glenn said. “Rick, look. The blade of her knife is completely clean,” Glenn said, holding it out. “She has no blood on her clothes. She just looked—lost when we showed up.” He suddenly reached inside your pack and pulled out a smaller cloth bag. “She was out there collecting mushrooms for the group. There was no blood where we found her. We never even found the spot where this supposedly happened, no sign of a struggle anywhere. And if she snapped like Shane is claiming do you really think she was going to be calmly picking mushrooms still when we got there? Not to mention he’s got like a hundred pounds on her! You’re telling me you think Shane would run if Y/N attacked him?”

“You forgot to mention that her hand was still bandaged up and the gauze didn’t have any blood on it, hers or his,” Rick said. Glenn breathed a sigh of relief. Rick knew. He knew this was bullshit. Of course he knew. “And that’s if she could even grip a knife with that hand. And Y/N is right-handed. That means if she attacked Shane with a slash the way he described, the way he showed me with his hand when he told me, the cut would probably go from the bottom-right of his abdomen up toward his left shoulder. His wound goes from the lower left up toward his right shoulder.” He met Glenn’s eyes.

“Like he did it to himself with his right hand,” Glenn said. “Jesus…”

Rick nodded. “Yeah…”

Daryl came back from another fruitless search thirsty, sweaty, and hungry. He headed toward camp but quickly knew from the gloomy and tense mood that something was wrong. Again. “The hell s’goin’ on?” he asked Andrea.

“Shane says Y/N attacked him. He had to get like forty stitches,” she said.

Daryl’s face contorted with disbelief. “What? Like hell she did,” he growled.

“He’s pretty fucked up,” Andrea said.

“Well, if it is true then he was askin’ for it. Shit, I caught him fuckin’ with her just yesterday.” Daryl glanced around camp and then up toward the farmhouse. “Where’s Rick?”

“I think he’s talking to her right now,” Carol said. “They took her to the stable.”

Daryl let out a string of expletives under his breath and immediately set off in that direction. By the time he got there he was fuming. “Rick! Hey, Rick! What the fuck is goin’ on?” he roared. Inside the stall you were locked into, you sat up straighter and listened. Daryl was back. You heaved a small sigh of relief that he was back and okay. You always worried about anyone going off on their own, but extra worried about Daryl because he did occasionally have a reckless streak. “The hell is goin’ on?!” you heard Daryl roar again.

“Daryl—just calm down,” Rick said.

“Calm down? Yer tellin’ me ya really think she would just attack Shane for no reason? If she did, he fucking deserved it!”

“No,” Rick said.

“She ain’t got—what?” The archer stalled before he could even embark on his next angry tirade.

“No. I don’t believe it,” Rick said.

Daryl’s blue eyes narrowed. “Well, where the fuck is she?”

Glenn pointed. “She’s right inside.” Daryl gave each of them a parting glare and stepped into the stable. T-dog moved aside and Daryl peered in at you. He looked down at the handcuffs that were keeping you in. You immediately climbed to your feet.

“Are ya alright?” he asked urgently.

“Did you find any sign of Sophia?”

He stared at you for a moment before shaking his head. “Yer locked up in here and that’s what you’re thinkin’ about?” He shot a pointed look back at Rick and Glenn, who had followed him inside. “No. Nothin’,” he said sadly. “But are ya alright?”

You nodded. “I’m fine.”

Daryl spun on Rick again. “If ya don’t think she did anything wrong then why the hell is she still locked up in here?”

“It’s not her I’m worried about,” Rick said.

“What d’ya mean?”

Rick looked uneasy.

“Ya think Shane might try somethin’ else? Might try to hurt her? Ain’t he full of stitches now?” Daryl asked.

Rick looked troubled. “I don’t know what he’s capable of. If he tried this, who knows what else he might try.”

Daryl turned to face him. “She just was attacked two damn days ago. She’s got a concussion. She ain’t spendin’ the night in a goddamn horse stall,” he argued.

“Daryl, it’s fine,” you said. “I’ve had worse…”

“Nah. Not happenin’,” he argued.

“I want Shane to think we all believe him,” Rick said. “For now.”

“So, tell him she’s here and keep a guard, but she ain’t stayin’ in there overnight. Ya got her locked up like some damn animal.”

“Daryl, really it’s fine—”

“Nah, it ain’t,” he said fervently. He stared at Rick. “She can stay in my tent. Shane wouldn’t think to look there.” This time Rick considered it. “Keep T-dog here on watch so if Shane does look he’ll think she’s still locked up out here. But that son of a bitch knows better than to come sniffin’ around my spot,” Daryl drawled.

At length, Rick nodded. “T open it up.” T-dog unlocked the stall and you stepped out, hugging your arms around yourself against the chill in the evening air. Glenn handed you your pack and gave you a sympathetic look.

“Thanks,” you nodded to him. Daryl started to lead the way out but Rick stopped him.

“Just make sure she isn’t seen. Shane is… far worse off than I thought he was,” Rick said, and you could see the weight this man was carrying. He’d finally realized the full extent of Shane’s collapse and he didn’t know whether to blame the apocalypse or Shane’s feelings for his wife… in the end the why didn’t matter. Something was going to have to be done about it.

“I ain’t gonna let anythin’ happen,” Daryl said. Rick nodded and you followed Daryl outside into the evening which was now growing dark. “Ya need anything from your spot?” he asked you as you fell into stride beside him. You shook your head. You arrived at Daryl’s camp and he immediately unzipped his tent and nudged his head to indicate you should go inside. “Sorry,” he drawled as he stepped in after you. He clicked on a lantern beside his bed. “Wasn’t exactly, uhh, expectin’ company.” He swept some things aside from the middle of the floor and grabbed some clothes off his cot, adding them to a pile in one corner. “Ain’t much,” he said glancing around, “but s’better than a horse stall.”

You nodded. “Thanks. Again.”

“So, what exactly happened?” he asked, sinking down on a camping chair set up in one corner. He nudged his head in the direction of his cot and you sat down on the edge of it, putting your pack beside you.

You shrugged. “I don’t really know. I was picking mushrooms and the next thing I knew Rick, T, and Glenn were there pointing guns at me. I just gave up my knife and Rick handcuffed me and walked me back and put me in that stall.”

Daryl stared at you intensely, his expression mainly bewildered. “They said Shane had to get a bunch of stitches. So, ya never even saw him?” You shook your head. “Jesus. So, he fucked himself up? Why?”

At first you just shrugged, but Daryl waited as a thoughtful look grew on your face. “After yesterday, I think he really believes I’m actually dangerous… or some part of him does,” you said.

Daryl’s eyebrow cocked up. “Well, ya are dangerous. Ya can handle yourself. But ya ain’t a psycho. Ya wouldn’t hurt anybody here without a damn good reason.”

“I guess so,” you said, thinking back to how you had essentially blacked out and slaughtered those men who were attacking you.

“I know so,” Daryl said.

You shrugged. “I don’t know. If someone—if I even perceived someone as doing something to threaten me… I don’t know,” you trailed off.

“Shane did basically threaten ya yesterday. And ya didn’t murder him. Like I said, ya ain’t a psycho.”

You eyed him for a long moment. “…Why are you being so nice to me?”

The question went straight to Daryl’s heart. The fact that you even would ask such a thing meant you weren’t used to it, didn’t expect it. He could definitely relate to that, purposely keeping expectations low at all times... but it hurt to hear you say it. He thought you were vastly more worthy of some sincere, positive attention than he was. He grabbed a stray leaf off the canvas floor and twirled it between his thumb and forefinger. “I see what ya do for the group. Without anyone even askin’. And I guess, maybe, I can relate to ya.”

You gulped at the nervous tightness in your throat. “What do you mean?” Your voice was soft in the still silence of his tent and it left you feeling like nothing outside the thin walls existed except the droning of the cicadas and chirping of the crickets.

Daryl crumbled the dry leaf between his fingers and watched as it turned to dust. “I’ve had things happen to me, too… in the past, ya know? And I can recognize someone with their guard up ‘cause mine usually is. I guess damaged people just know how to spot other damaged people,” he drawled. He paused and suddenly realized what he’d said. “Not that ya are damaged, uhh, shit…” he murmured, feeling like a complete asshole. But far from looking offended you actually smiled at him and even let out a small laugh. Daryl wondered at the unfamiliar jump of his heart at the sound.

“It’s okay. I am. And I know it,” you said, trying to put him at ease. “But I really think everyone is these days.”

One corner of his mouth twitched up. He watched as you pulled the end of the bandage on your hand free and unwound it, resting it palm up on your knee, staring down at the stitches across your palm. “Thanks for this,” you said. “This is definitely better than the stable…”

He nodded. “Yeah. Ya can take the cot when you’re tired.” He glanced toward the zipped-up entrance. “Gonna plant myself right in front of the door,” he murmured.

“Do you think Shane would—would really try to hurt me?” you asked him. There was no trace of fear in your voice, just a somewhat amazed curiosity.

The archer shrugged. “Honestly, I dunno. If ya had asked me when we were back at the quarry I woulda said no, but… for all his tryin’ to poison everyone to think yer the crazy one, he’s the one who’s slipped.”

You nodded and Daryl was surprised to see that you actually looked sorry, regretful as you thought about him. Despite what Shane was trying to do, you felt bad for him. “He really is in love with Lori,” you said softly. “It is pretty sad when you think about it.”

Daryl was staring at you curiously. “I guess so.”

“It is,” you insisted. “I think Shane is a good man down deep. He’s fiercely loyal… does anything for the people he cares about… but this world takes good people and just—” you broke off, realizing suddenly that you were rambling on a bit and cutting yourself off. You glanced up and Daryl’s blue eyes were fixed on you.

“Just what?” he prompted. He looked genuinely interested in what you were saying.

You shrugged. “Breaks them.” You stared down at the stitches on your palm again. “I think that’s what happened to me.”

“Would ya quit that?” Daryl said sharply. His tone was scolding. “Ya ain’t broken.”

“You don’t know that,” you countered.

“Well,” he said, grabbing a couple nearby shirts and balling them up before positioning them underneath his head as a makeshift pillow as he laid down on the floor. “If yer broken, I’m fuckin’ ruined,” he said. You could tell he was partially kidding, but he was also half-serious and you wondered what trauma was in his past that made him find yours so relatable. Daryl stretched his legs out and crossed them at the ankles, draping an arm over his eyes. His crossbow and knife were lying right beside him and he really was blocking the entrance of the tent.

You shifted on the cot, smoothing his sleeping bag beneath you and pulling your feet up off the floor, trying to settle in. You clicked the lantern off. “You’re not ruined,” you said as you laid down on Daryl’s cot, staring up at the faint shape of the curved roof of the tent.

“You don’t know that,” Daryl retorted from his place on the floor, quoting your own words back at you. You could hear a smile in his voice.

“Yeah. I do,” you said softly. Daryl felt an unexpected electric jolt at this assertion from you.

“Night, Y/N,” he drawled.

“Goodnight.”

[shadowglens]

some preliminary sage timeline thoughts under the cut (warning: i am incapable of shutting up about her, so its really fucking long).

she runs away from her abusive ex-husband liam monroe six months before the wildfire outbreak, living out of her car working odd cleaning jobs to support herself and a three-year-old kit.

continues living on the road with kit post wildfire outbreak, scavenging and killing indiscriminantly and never settling, for about a year. it’s during this time that she gets her trademark facial scarring from a small group of drifters. i’m also tossing up the concept of her running into one of the main twd crew during this time, mostly just to cause drama later. 

about a year into the outbreak, kit is dangerously injured during a skirmish with a group of psychos on the road and sage herself is also badly hurt in the fray. a small scouting party of saviours intercepts her just moments after the gunfire stops, and in a desperate, reckless attempt to save her four year old daughter from bleeding out in the rain, sage offers herself to them. she meets negan a few hours later when she’s shoved to her knees at his feet, soaked in gore and rain and staring him down with more balls than anyone else at the sanctuary combined. 

he keeps her in solitary confinement for a week or so while kit is nursed back to health by the doctor, and initially negan uses her toddler as a bargaining chip to get sage to work for him. with few options left and after getting tired of running, sage begrudingly agrees. she’s given her own quarters after that.

negan bluntly offers for her to become one of his wives within a month, but sage outright refuses and nearly tries to kill him for even suggesting it. she’s valuable to him though, with her clear skills and lack of ties to the outside world, so when the slap she throws at him rings through her quarters, he just laughs and scolds her for the petty outburst.

a few weeks later, they start having angry, rushed sex to vent their frustrations with each other. it’s as fucked up as it sounds. negan loves every second of it. sage will admit she enjoys the release, and that he’s a much better lay than her deadbeat ex liam ever was.

sage is never given an official title or role, so to speak, but she is essentially one of is lieutenants in everything but name. she mostly helps negan with runaways or bounties, because she’s an excellent hunter and survivor out in the shit. she considers leaving many times, but after seeing the way kit flourishes in the safety of the sanctuary, with a roof over her head and a soft bed and toys and comforts, sage stays. for her little girl, she stays with them for about a year.

queue shit starting up with rick and negan. sage doesn’t necessarily disapprove of violence and killing (in her mind old world morals don’t really apply anymore, and the world has become a kill or be killed society), but she still thinks negan can be extreme sometimes. rick and the communities starting to fight back is a turning point for sage though, along with the realisation that dwight (who she has a weird, tense friendship with) is ‘working for the enemy’. when rick attacks the sanctuary and leads the walker herd to their doorstep, she looks at negan caught on the ground with bullets and walkers raining down around him, and leaves him there to fend for himself. she bundles kit up in amongst the chaos, grabs the bags she’s had packed since the day she was given her own quarters, and runs.

the rest is kind of iffy, since that’s where i’m up to in the show. i imagine she falls in with rick and crew somehow and begrudingly gets roped into taking down the saviours despite all they did for her (because she, above all else, puts her and kit’s interests above everything). but yeah, stay tuned for the rest i guess LMAO 🤡

[heartsofbeskar]

smoke and blood

prequel— the store

javier peña x f!oc TWD AU

warnings: TWD canon typical violence and gore and heavy themes, smoking, swearing, angstangstangst

summary: in a twisted version of reality, javier peña tries to force the world to carve him a small semblance of peace, and it seems to work for a time. until it doesn’t.

words: 2.1K

a/n: endless thank yous to @djarinsbeskar for assuring me this was not, in fact, a steaming pile of garbage! sorry i hurt u bb i will make it up to you

writing masterlist | series masterlist (pending)

—

Javi needed a goddamn cigarette.

It had been taunting him around the edges of his mind all damn day, dancing through his thoughts, twisting his mood into something gnarled and ugly.

Bailey had laughed at him as she slowly woke, tangled in the uncoordinated collection of blankets they’d amassed. He'd stood at the small window, cursing the empty carton in his hands.

“Suppose that means it’s a supply run day, then?”

The motorcycle rumbled underneath them, and Javi relished in the feel of Bailey’s hands, pressed so tightly against his midsection. He thought about those hands often— how they touched him with such reverence and love, how soft they could be, despite the hardness the world around them had become.

They passed a group of biters. Their mangled heads turned, slowly, jaws flexing open and shut at the prospect of a meal, but their shuffling feet were far too slow to catch the bike.

Heat poured down from where the sun hung heavy in the sky. It was high, near the zenith, but based upon his knowledge of what direction the highway they rode on used to be, Javi knew it was not yet noon hour.

The batteries in their last watch had died some weeks ago.

Steering around the growing collection of potholes, Javi lamented the concrete he used to drive, with the bike he had actually chosen for himself. He used to figure that was where the world was the most quiet; when it was him, and the road, and his bike. Now, with most of the world dead or undead, he knew he was wrong.

A gas station loomed in the distance. Javi gave a half nod behind him, and Bailey nuzzled closer into his back in response. Almost there.

All of the food had been pilfered long ago from the roadside stop, but there was one thing that seemed to have been untouched, behind a previously locked pane of plexiglass — the cigarettes. Javi’s new favourite brand. Maybe his last brand, he often mused, whenever the supply at this out of the way station ran dry. But he didn’t have to consider that for some time.

Bailey pulled a knife from Javi’s waistband before he cut the engine. With another that had been tucked into his boot, he mirrored her; the two of them stalking slowly through the maze of pumps leading up to the door, checking for any biters that had wandered in since they’d been their last.

Javi fucking hated this part. When every rustle of a leaf on the ground sent chills up his spine, and every shadow from an innocuous object seemed to be a biter lurking around the corner, waiting to surge when he least expected, and bring everything he still had to a bitter and painful end.

As they reached the door, Bailey sent him a warm smile. Javi could vividly remember the first time he’d seen it, in a city of tents set up some miles outside of San Antonio. They’d both been on laundry duty.

He’d been chasing after that smile ever since.

The bell made its signature sound as Bailey gently pressed the glass door open. It creaked in protest, but gave way under her touch.

“The crew’s quiet today,” she remarked, strolling towards the back of the store. Javi eyed her wearily, as he always did when she got that close.

The crew — as she so affectionately liked to refer to them — was biters. A group of them, though they couldn’t be sure how many, twere trapped in the gas station’s freezer, blocked from the main area by a sturdy shelf that had been pushed in front of the doorway. Someone had done it long before they’d ever found the place, and despite Javi’s many objections about the biters pushing their way out, they never had. The shelf, made of metal and still stocked with windshield wiper fluid, had stood strong.

Their growls picked up as they heard Javi and Bailey move about the building.

Javi made his way to the abandoned register — the money still laying inside, untouched and useless — hoisting himself behind the dusty counter to the prize he wanted most. He opened the lock he had picked long ago on the plexiglass door, lifting it with ease. The array of brands was almost near overwhelming, compared to what he was used to now.

“You should really quit smoking, you know,” Bailey had admonished him one day, as they lay stretched out on their bed, lounging in the decaying light of the afternoon, streaming through the dirt streaked cabin window. A cigarette hung from Javi’s lips, and her eyes traced lazily over it as she turned onto her side, pressing her body more against his. In the Texas heat, she was dressed only in a bra and shorts, but seemed to have no qualms about the contact with his own sweat sheened skin. “How do you expect to live a long and healthy life?”

Javi had snorted. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, shaking his head at the teasing smirk painted upon her face. She plucked the cigarette from his mouth, bringing it to her own, and coughing comically when it pulled away again. Javi had laughed, pressing his lips to hers, tasting the familiar smoke that clung to both of them now. He didn’t need a long and healthy life, never had. All he needed was here, in this cabin.

A loud crash pulled his attention from the shelves.

Distinct growls made the hair on the back of Javi’s neck stand at attention.

He leapt back over the countertop, heart pumping violently in his chest. Recklessly, carelessly, he sped towards the noise, towards the back of the store. Bailey, Bailey, Bailey—

Bailey lay underneath the shelf that had previously blocked the freezer. For a seizing, all encompassing moment, Javi thought she was already dead.

“Shit,” she groaned. Breath rushed back into his lungs. Her eyes were open, but far away as he crouched down, and she looked up at him. Blood began to drip down her forehead, from somewhere in her hair.

Beyond them, the tell tale noises of shuffling could be heard in the dark of the freezer. Tauntingly slow, they emerged just into the light, decomposed and twisted faces twisting in their direction, vacant eyes locking in on a meal they’d been deprived of for many months.

Javi knew it was impossible, but he felt a vengeful taint in the air. As if they knew.

“Baby, I need to pull you out, okay?” Javi stretched his arms under the shelf, relieved when he felt her hands slide into his, as they had so many times before. He could feel them trembling.

“Javi,” her voice was small. “Javi, I think my leg is stuck on something.”

“It’s—” he stopped himself. It’s okay? How could he say that to her when now nothing was ever okay? The world burned more and more every day as the dead outnumbered the living, and dead loomed upon them now. No, it wasn’t okay. “Hold tight to me.”

He knew something was wrong — even more wrong — seconds after he began to pull. Her small body, despite having space between the shelf unit and the floor, seemed stuck in its place. Bailey gritted her teeth, and when he strained his muscles to pull with greater force, she couldn’t help but to let loose a scream.

This only enticed the biters beyond the flimsy freezer curtain more. The strips of plastic wouldn’t hold them back, Javi knew.

“Something— shit— something’s caught, Javi,” she panted. Even from a short distance, Javi could see the beads of sweat intermingled with blood on her skin. “My leg. It’s my leg.”

Javi stood, climbing gingerly over the metal, now twisted out of shape from whatever had caused it to fall. Metal rungs stuck out at all angles. As he pried the backing off the area where Bailey lay underneath, the cause of the struggle became blisteringly clear.

One of the metal rungs had gone straight through her thigh, pinning her to the floor. Blood pool underneath.

The cacophony of snarling continued to rise, and Javi spared a look from the carnage of Bailey’s leg into the freezer. His veins seemed to fill with ice water.

The crew — the few biters they’d guessed were back there, perhaps the ill fated employees of the gas station — was so much larger than they’d pictured. As the light continued to fall upon the approaching group, he quickly counted; ten, twenty … it was at least fifty. Crammed into the cold space, which extended feet back into the darkness, where more undoubtedly were waiting.

With the woman he loved crushed and pinned, it may as well have been a horde.

And he did, Javi realized with a pang to his chest that almost keeled him over. He loved her. Was in love with her. He thought of the moments they shared everyday. The quiet mornings, when she’d make him the instant coffee he complained about endlessly, because despite his groans, she knew he treasured a taste of normality. The intimate nights, where they had wrapped around each other so tightly it was if nothing else existed. As if all there had ever been was the two of them, and their cabin, and their coffee and cigarettes. Now his mouth felt full of ash.

“Javi … Javi!”

Bailey’s voice, strained and muffled, reached him. Backing away from the leering eyes of the biters, he knelt down. Her face, dirty and bloody, was stained with tears as well. His heart lurched at the sight.

“I’m going to get you out—”

She cut him off, shaking her head. “Javi, you have to go. I … I can’t feel my leg at all now its—” A sob wracked her before she could finish.

“No,” he pressed on, wedging his hands under the edge of the shelf and attempting to lift now. “No, I’m not leaving you here to die, I won’t.”

The metal groaned under the force of his hands, but as his muscles strained, he felt no give from it. He yelled out, not caring how much attention he garnered now.

“Javi, please,” she cried. Her voice sounded further away. “Even i-if you could lift it .... we both k-know I’ll bleed out before we can ... get away from the c-crew.”

“Don’t fucking give up on me Bailey,” he pleaded with her. His hand gripped a metal bar so tightly his skin appeared white and ashen. “I can’t do this without you.”

“You did.” She gave him a watery smile. “Y-you did this before you met me ... and you’ll do it after, okay? You have to go now.”

Pain blistered through his chest. His hands cramped, one wrapped in hers, the nerves of his skin alight in protest of what he heard. He couldn’t leave her here. He couldn’t let her die, not like this.

“The gun,” he wheezed out. “I’ll go get the gun, I’ll be back, I can’t—“

She gripped his hand tighter, nails digging in to catch his attention. “T-there’s no time.”

As if to prove her point, the first wave of the biters reached the freezer opening. The plastic sheets moved for them easily, and their legs struck contact with the bottom of the metal shelf. They topped easily, like dominos, bent at the knees. At this distance, Javi could see the ice gathered along the craters in their faces, where the skin had long ago caved in to the forces of decay. Their eyes were mostly clouded over, but they didn’t need sight to find food, he knew.

They began to crawl over the metal, undeterred, inching towards him. More followed, in a grotesque parade of death.

Javi felt like he could throw up. Or scream. Or both of those, simultaneously.

Bailey shook his hand again. “I need you to live. Javier, please.”

He nodded, even as tears filled his eyes and blurred his vision. One of the biters was reaching down, towards Bailey’s leg, where he had torn off the shelf’s backing. It would soon have what it wanted.

“I— fuck—“ he cursed, and the words he knew he should say — needed to say now, before he never could — caught in his throat, choking him.

“I love you, too,” Bailey whispered, barely audible over the groans filling the space. She let go of his hand, pushing him away.

Javi stood.

The biters had begun spilling around the sides of the shelf, circling around to him. He stumbled backwards, feet clumsy and bumbling, as if this were his first day walking upright.

His back hit the glass door when he heard Bailey scream, and the sickening sound of tearing flesh.

The fresh air hit his lungs like a sucker punch, and he gasped it in, eager to clear out the stench of dying.

He didn’t look back.

He couldn’t look back.

—

taglist: @asta-lily @djarinsbeskar @the-ginger-hedge-witch @disgruntledspacedad @tacticalsparkles @christina-loves @sherala007 @amneris21 @tobealostwanderer @mswarriorbabe80 @beskarboobs @fucktheforce @gaiuswrites @pedros-mustache

(im going to be remaking a taglist soon from scratch so be on the lookout!)

[thevegandarkelf]

Finding Myself, Finding You: Chapter Twenty-Five

Masterlist

AO3 link

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist <3 (18+ only, MDNI)

Story is 18+ for mature content/themes, minors do not interact please

TW/CWs for this story--implied/referenced past rape, canonical violence, non-canonical violence, blood, gore, referenced past suicide, swearing, surgery, excessive drinking, nightmares, panic attacks, mention of scars, vomiting, amputation, medical procedures, non-con medical procedures, referenced past medical torture, referenced past drugging, attempted sexual assault, panic attacks, mental health struggles, referenced sibling death, referenced parent death, PTSD

Each chapter will have its own TW/CWs listed

This story, Lydia Vector, her family, her bestie, and Jake (c) me, TheVeganDarkElf

TWD & its characters (c) AMC & Robert Kirkman, the writer of the comic series

TW/CWs for this chapter--swearing, aftermath of attempted sexual assault, mention of scars

Word count: 2.8k

We stayed just like that, cozied up next to each other on the couch, for the next couple of hours, until the timer on the slow cooker beeped. Daryl, being the sweetheart he was, insisted on getting the food for both of us. He lifted my legs off of him and rested them on the couch, and I crossed my legs and sat back. Daryl took the ice pack off my face and set it on the coffee table, placing a hand under my chin and tilting my head up and back, and side-to-side, just like he did when he first examined it in the infirmary. He didn’t need to look at my nose at different angles to see its improvement. Truthfully, I think he just liked touching my face. And who was I to deny him that pleasure?

“Lookin’ a lot better,” Daryl commented, and he gave my chin a small stroke with his thumb. He was doing that thing with his eyes again, where it felt like he was staring directly into my soul. The overthinking of his words snapped him out of it. “Shit, I mean the swellin’ looks like it’s gone down. Not that ya looked bad before, ‘cause ya didn’t—“

“I know what you meant,” I laughed, cutting off his anxious rambling.

As he brought my bowl over to me, it reminded me of the first time we had dinner together. That was the first time we’d had a conversation where we really got to know each other. Well, it was mostly Daryl getting to know me. Still, it was a fond memory for me, and a big grin spread across my face as Daryl sat back on the couch next to me.

“What’s got ya smilin’ like that, huh?” he asked.

I stirred my food with the spoon, reflecting on some of the memories that had led to this exact moment. “Nothing. Just…thinking about how far we’ve come is all,” I explained, “we went from you not wanting to share a house with me to…this.”

“Come a long way, haven’t we?” he acknowledged.

“I like it,” I beamed, scooting myself closer to close the gap between us, “I think it’s worked out perfectly.”

“Me too.”

“Thank you for helping me get cleaned up. And making sure I got what I needed. You’re my favorite. I appreciate you so much,” I thanked, the L word that I wanted to use almost slipping off my tongue once again.

“Anythin’ for you,” he replied. He set his bowl in his lap momentarily to take my hand in his and plant a kiss on the back of it. He seemed to be already taking advantage of my permission to be as touchy as he’d like, which I had zero qualms about. However, the butterflies in my stomach were making it difficult to eat. “How ya feelin’ now?”

“I’m ok. Still a little shaken, but I’ll be alright,” I said, pausing to take a bite before I continued, “I don’t know how I’m going to be able to face anyone tomorrow. I don’t think I can look anybody in the eye after that, knowing that they know what happened.”

He cocked an eyebrow at me. “How they know?”

“Everyone was out on the lawn staring at us after he punched me,” I answered, “he tried to make it sound like I did it unprovoked, so I made sure to let them know what he tried to do. Wanted them all to know what kind of man he really is.”

“He’ll be a dead man if I get any say in it,” he scoffed.

“I think everyone knows that. Rick’s not gonna let you anywhere near that cell,” I reminded him. I stirred my food again, my appetite dissipating the more I thought about the evening’s earlier events. “What do you think’s gonna happen to him?”

“Hopefully get rid of ‘im. He so much as looks at ya funny, I’ll kill ‘im.”

I chuckled a little and smirked. “I told him I’d gouge his eyes out and shove them down his throat.”

“Atta girl,” he praised, “see? Don’t take shit from nobody.”

“Isn’t there some shit like that in the Bible? Something about plucking your eyes out if it causes you to sin?” I asked, “I’m not religious, but I think I’ve heard that before. Do you believe in God, Daryl?”

“Used to,” he answered, “not so much anymore.”

“I get that. With the shit I’ve seen, what happened to the world, I have a hard time believing there’s a God just sitting idly by. One that could end the suffering in the world, prevent terrible things from happening, and just… choose not to? I don’t know.” I rubbed my scars lightly, subtly under the sleeves of Daryl’s shirt. A God wouldn’t have allowed something like what caused these scars to happen, I thought.

“Sorry again for raisin’ my voice at ya. Still feel bad ‘bout that,” Daryl apologized. I let out a soft sigh and gave him a little smile.

“You sweet man,” I beamed. I reached a hand up to caress his face, his soft facial hair tickling my skin. “It’s ok. I forgive you. It was a heat-of-the-moment reaction, I get that.”

“Don’t like talkin’ to ya like that. Ya don’t deserve it,” he explained, a pensive look on his face.

A flirtatious streak overcame me. “And what do I deserve, Daryl?”

“Ya deserve to have your family back. To not live in a world like this.” He stared thoughtfully down at the bowl in his lap. “Ya deserve good things. Good things only.”

“I think you’re a good thing. Great thing, in fact,” I said, smiling softly at him. The blood rushed to my face, and I was turning red again. I dropped my gaze to his chest, watching it rise and fall as I waited for him to say something, anything. He brought a hand to my chin and tilted my head up so our eyes locked. His cheeks were tinged pink, so subtle that most people wouldn’t notice. But I did.

“You too, sunshine.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was about a week after the incident, and my nose had improved dramatically. The pain was gone, but there was still a little bruising, nothing too bad. Daryl and I were out on another Rick-ordered run, this time to a department store to try to find some winter clothes for everyone. I didn’t know exactly what month it was, but the leaves had started to change colors and drop off the trees. By that, I guessed it was September or October. While winter still wasn’t for some time, it wouldn’t hurt to get what we could find now before anyone else came along.

I had talked to Maggie, Rosita, and Michonne before going, told them what we were looking for, and asked if there was anything special they wanted me to keep an eye out for. Like myself, bras and underwear were a priority. They’d given me their sizes and told me to keep an eye out for anything particularly cute.

“You should get something nice,” Maggie encouraged, “y’know, to show off to your man.”

“Shut up,” I scoffed.

It was the middle of the afternoon by the time we had finished. We’d found some pants, socks, flannels, and the best finds, winter coats and boots. We’d also found some blankets, and I came in clutch for my girls and found cute undergarments for all of us, myself included. That search was done in secret, as I hadn’t told Daryl about what I was doing. Those items were discretely shoved into my backpack.

“Damn,” I sighed as we climbed back into the car, “can’t believe it took us that long.”

“Wouldn’ta taken so long if ya wasn’t dancin’ through the aisles like a goof,” he teased.

“Are you saying you didn’t like it?” I teased back. He took my hand and interlocked it with his, planting a kiss on the back of it. Every chance we were alone, Daryl was finding some excuse to touch me. Whether it was holding hands, hugging me from in front or behind, a hand on my arm/back/waist, etc., he was doing something. I thanked myself every day for letting him know that he had permission to be as touchy as he wanted.

“Ain’t what I said,” Daryl replied, “just said ya’s goofy.”

“So you did like it?”

“Yeah,” he said “seems like ya been in a real good mood recently. More than usual.” He was most definitely the reason.

“I have been. Feels good to have been in the same place for a couple of months now. Things feel…stable, for once. It feels good to finally have some sense of stability.”

Our ride back lasted close to an hour, the longest one we’d done so far. We talked the whole time, as we always did on our runs. It amazed me how we never seemed to run out of things to talk about. He held my hand the whole time, occasionally stroking my thumb with his or kissing the back of my hand, both of which I returned as well. When we returned home, we were greeted by some of the others, ready to help us.

“Hey!” Rick called out to me, gesturing for me to come over to him as I stepped out of the car.

“Gimme just a minute,” I said to Daryl before skipping over to meet Rick. “‘Sup cowboy?”

“I need to talk to you. About Jake.” My cheery demeanor was quickly overshadowed by a feeling of dread.

Jake had been locked in that little cellar for the last week while the rest of the community decided his fate. People were torn. Some thought he should be killed, some didn’t think he should be killed but deserved to be exiled from Alexandria, and others thought he should be able to stay. Rick hadn’t brought it up to me yet, as he knew I didn’t want to talk about it, but a decision had to be made. And the only opinion he still needed was mine.

I let out an exasperated sigh and looked up at him. “And you wanna know what I think, right?”

“I know you don’t wanna talk about it,” he said, trying to usher me off to the side of the path so we could talk privately, “but since you’re the one he attacked, I’d argue your opinion is the most important.”

I bit the inside of my bottom lip and stared down at my feet, wiggling my toes in my boots. I had thought long and hard over the last week about what I thought should happen to Jake. I’d spent far longer than I’d like to admit contemplating the options, toying with the pros and cons of each. I didn’t like the idea of him staying, as he was clearly dangerous & I was worried he might retaliate against me. I also was concerned about him being exiled, for several reasons. Did I think he deserved to be killed? I was still torn on that.

“Can I finish helping unload the car first?” I asked, “I’ll come find you after. I just…need a minute to think.”

“Course. Come find me when you’re done,” he replied.

I didn’t just need a minute to think—if I was going to talk about such a sensitive topic, I wanted the company of my favorite person. My human security blanket, if you will. I went back to Daryl, who had his back to me, and gently tugged on his sleeve to get him to turn around.

“Umm, Rick wants to talk to me about Jake after we’re finished,” I explained, swallowing hard, “will you come with me?”

“‘Course I will,” he assured. He took my hand and gave it a squeeze, a quick one as there were other people around & he wasn’t big on PDA. It was little, but it did help me feel better.

Once everything had been unloaded from the car, I grabbed my backpack & we went to find Rick. Michonne informed us that he was at home watching Judith. We went over and found him in their backyard, letting Judith attempt to crawl around in the grass. She was at the age where babies usually started trying to crawl, and the little girl seemed to be making good progress so far.

“I’ve returned, cowboy,” I greeted, taking a seat in the grass across from him and crossing my legs. Daryl took a seat next to me, close enough that our legs were touching. Judith looked up at me and smiled, and I couldn’t help but give her a big, goofy grin in return. I’d never wanted children of my own, but I was more than happy to be an aunt to this little cutie patootie. “Can I hold her?”

“Of course,” Rick nodded.

“Come here my love,” I said as I reached over and scooped Judith up, eliciting a string of sweet, soft giggles from her. I sat her in my lap and bounced her, continuing the string of giggles. I looked up at Daryl, who was already looking at me with an adoration in his eyes I’d never seen before. As we were in front of company, I did my best to stop myself from blushing.

“Were you able to think it over?” Rick asked me, then turned his gaze to Daryl, “I already know what you think.”

“I’m torn. He’s clearly a danger. Not just to me, but to the other women here. I don’t want the same thing or worse to happen to anyone else. I don’t think I’d feel safe with him here.” I dropped my gaze to the grass, chomping at my bottom lip as I tried to quell my anxiety.

“How do you feel about kicking him out?” Rick inquired.

“I don’t like the idea of exiling him either. Sure, we could blindfold him and take him out to the middle of nowhere, but he somehow found his way here, right? He could find his way back,” I explained, “or worse, he could find another group & they could all retaliate. I argue that’d be worse than letting him stay. I think we’d be putting the whole community at risk if we exiled him.”

“So you think we should kill him?” Rick asked.

“I don’t know,” I sighed, running a hand through my hair to brush my bangs back, “that doesn’t feel right either. Nothing does. I don’t know what to do.” Daryl put a hand on my back, drawing small circles with his fingers up and down my spine. Not only did it feel good and soothe my anxiety, but it gave me an idea.

“Aye, cowboy. Do you remember how he said I threatened to paralyze him?” I asked.

“He hasn’t stopped talking about it,” Rick explained, “brings it up nearly every chance he gets.”

“Sounds like he’s scared,” I commented, laughing a little.

“Should be,” Daryl cut in.

“Well, all it would take is a small injury between vertebrae T2 and T6 for him to become paraplegic,” I explained. The two of them looked at me like I had three heads.

“Layman’s terms, please,” Rick requested.

“Sorry,” I apologized, “basically, there are 12 vertebrae in the thoracic, or middle part, of the spine. They’re numbered from one to twelve. An injury between bones number 2 and 6 will cause him to become paralyzed from the waist down. What if we did that? Let him stay but take away his ability to walk? He’d be less likely to hurt anyone that way.”

“Might’s well kill him,” Daryl interjected.

“Daryl,” Rick retorted.

I pondered on an idea for a moment. “What if…what if we gave him the ultimatum?” I suggested, “either kill him, or let him stay but go under the knife. His choice.”

Rick looked deep in thought before he replied. “That’s an option.”

“We still need your opinion,” I said to Judith, giving her a kiss on the cheek, “you’re a valuable member of this community too. What do you think we should do?” She replied with a series of babbles.

“Thank you for your contribution,” I replied to her before turning my attention back to Rick, “Lil’ Ass Kicker has spoken. She likes my idea.”

“Ain’t gon’ argue with this one,” Daryl said. He reached over and gave Judith a little tickle under her chin, and she gave her approval with a series of affirming coos and giggles. Seeing Daryl interact with the baby was doing things to my heart.

“I think that’s the best choice,” I informed, “let him decide what he wants. Either way, he won’t be as much of a threat, or a threat at all. I’ll happily sever his spinal cord if he so chooses.”

“I’m goin’ with ya,” Daryl insisted, “ain’t gonna let ya face him by yourself.”

“That your final thought?” Rick asked. I nodded.

“Yeah,” I said, “we’ll let him pick. He’ll get his just desserts either way.”

Taglist: @raddydaddydude @lovenormandixon @angeldemoncrowley

[madbucker]

Silhouettes | Daryl Dixon.

Daryl Dixon x female reader.

II. 

Season 9, directly after chapter I.

MASTERLIST.

Loosely based on the song We Will Become Silhouettes by The Postal Service.

Summary: After Rick’s death Daryl pushed himself away, but he still had someone who would check on him. Y/N cared for him and wanted to make sure he was okay.

Warnings: language, gore stuff (twd style), mentions of death. Will add more warnings depending on the chapter’s content. Let me know if you think it needs some other warning!

Word count: 1.6k

Author’s note: First things first, I’m not a native English speaker, so bear with me! You can send me a message or an ask pointing out some mistakes so I can edit the post. Also, it will help me learn the language, so don’t hesitate! If you have any questions or want me to write about a situation in particular (like how they met, runs, the prison, or whatever you come up with) just send me an ask and if I feel like it fits with the story, then I’ll write it! Anyway, if you are into simple writing and limited vocabulary, then I hope you like it and as I said before, I’ll gladly take constructive criticism! ♥ I MEAN IT, CORRECT ME, PLEASE lol

Gif’s not mine.

The morning breeze kept you awake despite your heavy eyes. You had been smart enough to bring a couple of extra coats to stay warm, but the cold air was sharp on your face. It could’ve been worse, though, winter was still far away enough for you to see it as a break from the hot summer days. Everything was still beautifully green, but if you squinted your eyes you could spot some brown leaves.  Fall had always been your favorite season, even before. 

The sky was clear again, dark blue turning lighter in the horizon with a tint of orange. You were one for sunsets, always had, but you couldn't help but admire the beauty of the world at that moment. Even if it had turned into what it had.

After Rick's death, you almost were forced to be grateful for the smallest things. You didn't want to lose yourself, and as someone wisely said to you six years before at the CDC: you had to find something to survive for. It didn't take you long to find it: the group had become that something. And sooner than later, you realized that not only had they become people you would survive for.

You wanted to live for them.

As years went by, people died, you found others and some of them died too. But the spirit of your reason to live remained there. They were not only your motive but your drive.

All of that almost broke apart when Grimes left you all, but the little things kept you sane.

Rosita asking you to help her train people, teaching Judith the alphabet, Tara welcoming you in The Hilltop even after Michonne's decision and the both of you jamming out to one of Georgie's records… and when you needed to get away from the mess: sunrises, rain, walking barefoot on the asphalt, the smell of the air after a storm.

A lot had happened and in the middle of it all you lost your way more than once. You had been mercilessly vicious and had let rage take over you. You had met death face to face, played with fire more times than you could count. How funny it was, the words that had pulled you back from the dark were the ones of the one and only Shane Walsh.

Find something to survive for.

You repeated them to yourself every time you felt your humanity and your spirit were at stake, or every time you considered giving up. You replayed them the time you had thought of leaving your family because you just couldn’t take it anymore.

Remember who you have to survive for.

Live for them.

Live for them because everything had gone to shit and if you were going to die soon, then at least make it a little bit nicer before saying goodbye for good.

Live because they deserve to do it too.

The zipper of the tent and Daryl's head popping up out of it stopped your wandering.

He deserves it, you thought at the sight of his sleepy but well-rested face. His hair was messy and his puffy eyes gave away how much he had needed to rest.

"Told ya to wake me up." He spoke, his throat dry enough from the snoring to make him cough.

"Nah, didn't want to interrupt your beauty sleep," you stood up and stretched your entire body that was stiffer than you imagined.

If you had to be completely honest, you had rested your eyes for a few minutes when you had made sure the night was quiet enough. But your eyelids felt heavy, and if it weren't for the cold you would be begging for him to take over so you could sleep.

You were okay, you could hold on for a few more minutes. Hours, even, if you tried.

He got out of the tent, and ignoring your determination to stay on watch, he signed you to get in.

"Ya can't keep on doin' that." He didn't sound annoyed, but it did come off as an order, and you knew you wouldn't be able to convince him otherwise.

You stood there, aware that at any moment you would have to get inside the tent. Not entirely because of him, but because the idea was actually starting to grow on you. Sleeping away from Alexandria where no one could knock on your door and ask you to do anything. You could rest knowing someone you trusted was there to keep you safe. But it also meant wasting time, in a way. Time you could spend talking to him and making sure he had everything he needed to stay in the woods, reading him to see if you would have to come back in days, or if he needed to be alone for a while longer.

Were you worrying too much?

He had chosen to sleep uncomfortably, to spend cold nights outside and hot days under the sun. Of course you were worrying just enough. He was fully capable of taking care of himself, he had proven that to you, and himself since he was a kid. But he didn't have to. Maybe you checking in made him feel at ease just for a second, and you were definitely taking that chance.

The tent, the warmth, him still being close to you... it wasn't that bad. Not at all. But for the first time in a long time, he had let you stay without complaining, asking you to leave or putting on his signature facade of not needing anyone, ever. There were things you wanted to say, like the fact that you missed him and that Judith had been asking for him.

"I'll go. In ten." You sat back down and patted the floor next to you. He reached inside the tent and grabbed his crossbow, then sitting cross-legged, facing you instead. You realized he figured out you wanted to talk.

"I guess I have to be straightforward, right?" You started speaking, your voice shaking, surprising you. He didn't say anything, his sight lost somewhere over your right shoulder. "I know you can take care of yourself, and I love that. I wouldn't even think of letting you spend one night outside the walls if it weren't like that." You joked but scolded yourself right after. Out of every copying mechanism you had, that was probably the worst one. "I just need you to tell me-"

You hadn't finished when he looked at you in the eyes, making you stop and expect him to lash out on you. You knew him and chances were you were stepping over some boundaries. Who were you to talk to him as if he was a teenager with communication issues? He was a grown-ass man who had gone through so much shit. He was older than you, too, you weren't in any position to reprimand him or insist on something he clearly wanted to ignore.

"'m not okay." He said before you could retract your words. It was short, simple, and you hadn't expected it, but even then, that plain sentence was filled with so many emotions.

You let go of a breath you didn't realize you were holding and relaxed a little bit. Leaning forward, you stretched your arms and placed your hands on each of his knees.

"You don't have to be." You spoke softly as you straightened yourself, your eyes never leaving his. "And I respect the fact that you're out here, still looking. I would never want to change that."

He lifted his right hand and chewed the skin of his thumb. You noticed how he tightened his lips as he bit the inside of his cheek.

He hated it. He wanted that moment to be over and you were well aware of that.

"But I don't want to lose you, Daryl. Losing someone to death is one thing, and probably one of the worst. But losing someone to... themselves?" Your voice was already a whisper and for the second time in less than 24 hours, a knot gripped your throat, tighter than ever. "That's something I won't settle for."

You wouldn’t, even if it took you years of walking through the woods for hours. You had seen it before when Rick lost Lori. Weeks of taking care of Carl and Judith and trying for Carl not to feel his own father slipping away. He had put two and two together, of course, that kid was well aware of almost everything that happened within the group, especially with the people he cared for the most. But you remembered how everyone tried their hardest to fill Rick’s shoes, which at that moment felt huge, not even all of you could fill them in all aspects.

You stayed quiet for a couple of seconds half expecting him to close in again, but even if he didn't mouth any words, his eyes were screaming. You decided you could continue your conversation after he gathered his thoughts. Perhaps all he needed was to be alone for a while.

You got up and headed to the tent, but stopped on your tracks, turning around.

"Daryl, I-" you didn't finish. He was looking at you and you realized you didn't know what to say.

I miss you, I care for you, I'll always be here, I love you, I respect you, I understand, we'll be alright.

But your mouth felt dry and you couldn't find the right words. You stood there, looking at him with your lips barely open and with your hands over your chest.

He nodded as if he understood.

Maybe he does, you thought. Or maybe he’s just cutting me off so I go to sleep. 

You turned around and got into the tent, making yourself as comfortable as you could. It didn't take long for you to feel sleep creeping in.

Yeah, maybe he does.

[ralith]

Finished PacRim The Black and here are my thoughts. Major spoilers under the cut.

I did enjoy it more than I thought I would, given my issues with the animation. The jaegers look good and the fights are animated rather nice, but I have problems with the human animation. Especially with lighting as in certain bright scenes the character's facial features tend to disappear, like mouths gone.

It's such a dark take on the PacRim world (the heart of the first film is gone once again). A shit ton of characters were eliminated violently, on screen. Majority of it human-on-human. Obviously you couldn't see the actual wounds, but impacts were right there on camera. Lots of human gore (Joel you didn't deserve that. Rest in pieces.)

They once again utilized an aspect of Uprising that I wasn't keen on, how they so easily can switch up Drift partners. And in doing so kinda shafted Hayley, replacing her with Mei too often. It seems like Hayley is just being used as a mother figure to Boy (yes that's his name).

And Boy...what the fuck is that? *rubs temples* I knew he wasn't gonna be human but to make him a kaiju that can transform into a human?! It honestly drew me out of the series. It was almost too ridiculous. Mako and Raleigh didn't die for this shit!

There are plenty of problems with the writers forgetting key details from the previous films:

-pilots not suffering lasting injuries from Jaeger feedback (arm gets ripped off, but the pilot is seen using their arm fine. Then the same happens to another pilot and their arm goes cold the rest of the fight).

-The Jaeger graveyard is suddenly in Australia when the comics established it to be in Hawaii.

-Titan Redeemer was a Jaeger from Uprising but suddenly the Deacon twins were piloting it pre-PacRim? Didn't they pilot Romeo Blue? Y'know a Mark 1?

-And the holy grail of how the fuck can Herc pilot Striker Eureka post-Uprising when it was blown up in the first film??

Also the main villian gives me major Negan vibes from the walking dead. Their whole operation stinks of TWD. Though gotta admit, them weaponizing the Drift was an interesting turn.

Overall, it was fun, but this season was slow and it got really fucking weird at the end. Not sure I like this twist of human-kaijus. Because now they've made a point that anyone can be a kaiju in disguise.

[ibelongtonegan]

Torn (Negan one-shot)

This fic was inspired by the conflict between Negan and Simon at the end of Season 8 of The Walking Dead. I’m still not on board with that storyline or the way they ended it, and will forever believe in the Negan-Simon bromance. Since the writers thought otherwise, I decided to write my version of the story.

Summary: when Simon betrays Negan, he offers him a chance to beat him in a fight. But no matter who comes out as the winner, you will lose one of them...

Characters: Negan x Reader, Simon

Word count: 3,749

Warnings: angst, death, feels, gore, guilt, smut, spoilers for TWD S08E15, swearing, violence

Tags: @negans-network @emoryhemsworth @ridingmoxley @ladysyn @i-am-negan-trash @sleepylunarwolf @letsby @tatertotandcassie

Please let me know if you want on/off my forever tag list!

I appreciate feedback and most days don’t bite. So don’t be shy, please feel free to leave a comment, message or ask me anything!

You were watching the scene unfold with horror, fists tightened into balls. It felt like being stuck in a nightmare without the hope of waking up. Your nails dug into your palm so hard, they almost drew blood, but you didn’t even notice. You wanted to intervene or scream for someone to do something, but couldn’t. It was too late for that now.

Simon grabbed onto Negan’s ear making him bend his torso to the side. After successfully wiggling free from his grasp Negan delivered a series of blows on Simon’s jaw in retaliation. The two men were grunting and breathing heavily, sweat and blood glistening on their faces. They resembled two rabid animals fighting for life and death. Holding onto each other’s arms but with neither of them able to overpower the other, they ended up in what looked like a morbid dance.

You were standing next to Arat, paralysed by fear. Your heart was drumming in your ears, and you felt nauseous, needing to get out into the fresh air, yet you were glued to the spot. Arat’s hand circled your wrist, whether to stop you from doing something reckless or to offer you comfort, you didn’t know.

Gathering all his strength, Negan managed to push back Simon on his heels and using his momentum head-butted him. Simon staggered back and tried to defend himself, but was visibly disoriented from the force of the hit. Using his right-hand man’s momentary dizziness to his advantage, Negan kicked out Simon’s legs from under him, and his massive body hit the floor like a sack of potatoes. Simon tried to get back on his feet, but Negan left him no time and booted him in the face, his heel landing on his nose with a loud crack.

The sight reminded you of a bloody gladiator game where the factory hall of the Sanctuary served as the arena, and the spectators consisted of about a hundred men and women standing around the two opponents in circles, attendance mandatory for the Saviors and all workers. Negan wanted to send a clear message that betrayal would not go unpunished and anyone daring to cross him, regardless of how high they were ranked, would meet the same fate.

You wanted the fight to end with neither and both of the men winning, but knew that was not going to happen.

Negan was now crouching over Simon’s body, his hands gripping his throat with all his might. Simon was unable to protect himself anymore, his arms limp by his side, blood seeping from his nose. Negan growled a series of insults at him pressing the words through his teeth with burning hatred, but your mind couldn’t process the meaning of them.

Your hand flew to your mouth to stifle a silent scream as Simon’s windpipe crushed under Negan’s fingers, the stomach-turning sound echoing off the walls of the factory hall.

Negan released his grip on Simon’s battered throat and stood up on wobbly feet, looking around his people with a smug expression. There was a bruise on his lip and a deep cut on his forehead, blood and dirt smeared over his cheeks.

“What an asshole,” he huffed, the corner of his mouth twitching with an arrogant smirk.

His eyes met yours, and a flash of regret crossed his face as if he had just realised that you were there. He retrieved Lucille from Arat and left without another glance at the lifeless body of his former first-in-command.

Now that the spectacle had ended, people started leaving to go about their business, whispering amongst each other. Your body froze when a hand touched your back.

“Do you want to have a moment with him alone?” Laura’s voice was laced with concern.

You nodded silently not being able to form words.

“I’ll be outside.” she squeezed your shoulder reassuringly.

“Can I borrow your knife?” you rasped, barely above a whisper.

Laura sighed out loud before answering.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N, but I can’t. Negan’s orders. He wants him on the fence as a warning, to make an example out of him for everyone. I tried, but he was adamant.”

Simon was not only dead, but he was going to turn, and there was nothing you could do about it. You wanted to cry, but somehow the tears wouldn’t come.

You gave Laura a curt nod without looking up. When you heard her footsteps fading, you walked over to Simon’s body and knelt down by him on the ground. His face was even more bruised and bloodied than Negan’s, and there was a huge purple mark around his right eye. His eyes were staring into the distance, dull and glassy.

You tucked a strand of stray hair out of his face, gently caressing his forehead. You closed his eyes, and his lids moved obediently under your fingertips. Retrieving a handkerchief from your pocket, you wiped off parts of the blood from his nose and lips. When you were finished, you sat back on your heels and tried to take in his features one last time. He looked as if he had been only sleeping. Peaceful almost.

You wanted to say to him so many things before the fight but couldn’t. Simon was cheerful and optimistic. Being bigger and taller than Negan he was confident in his win. He didn’t even want to say goodbye to you.

“It will be over before you know it,” he asserted with his signature toothy smile.

You should have told him the truth then, but didn’t have the courage.

You leaned forward and placed a kiss on his forehead.

You heard heavy footsteps approaching and knew your time was up. The Saviors were there to collect the body before it would turn.

After one last look at Simon’s face, you stood up and were about to leave when Laura stopped you.

“He wants to see you.”

She didn’t have to say who.

Your first reaction was to object but decided against it. Laura was only the messenger and had nothing to do with the order that had been given to her. You were going to have to face him sooner or later anyway.

You followed Laura up the stairs in silence, completely absorbed in your thoughts. When you reached the familiar red door, she knocked twice and then opened it wide, motioning for you to step inside.

Negan was sitting on the couch, Carson tending to his wounds. His leather jacket was draped over the armrest, and dirt and droplets of dried blood stained his white shirt. The cut on his temple was cleaned and stitched already. Upon your arrival, Negan dismissed the doctor with a wave of his hand and Carson obeyed packing his kit hastily, visibly relieved that he wouldn’t have to witness what was going to follow. On his way out he gave you a polite half-smile that you didn’t return.

You were startled by the sense of calm that came over you. You thought that coming face to face with the man who killed Simon with his bare hands would make you sick, but you felt eerily serene.

“Would you like to sit?” Negan offered, motioning for the chair opposite him, but you shook your head, preferring to keep your distance.

Negan leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees.

“I’m sorry you had to see it,” he lamented entwining his fingers in his lap.

You didn’t answer or acknowledge his words and kept looking at him, motionless.

“I know you hate me right now, but I didn’t have a choice. Simon...he forced my hand,” he probed, searching your face for emotions or at least some form of confirmation that you understood what he was trying to tell you. When he found nothing, he ducked his head between his shoulders and continued, his voice faltering, no trace of his usual theatrics.

“I tried to find another way, but if he had lived, my people wouldn’t have learnt their lesson. They would have tried to overthrow me again, and I have to protect the people here. I have to keep them alive.” He sounded almost desperate now, and his emotional nakedness caught you off guard.

You knew he was right. The rules were strict, but for a reason. Negan had established them to ensure that the people at the Sanctuary could survive. They had to work hard and follow the rules, but in return were safe from walkers, had a roof over their head, two warm meals a day and access to medical attention. It was more than most people living out there on their own could hope for. It wasn’t perfect, but it worked because Negan kept everyone in line by enforcing the rules relentlessly.

Until Simon decided to betray him and take over as the leader of the Sanctuary.

Negan stood up from the couch and strode over to you. Testing your reaction, he carefully closed the distance between the two of you and raised his gloved hand to your face, cupping it gently.

“Doll...say something,” he pleaded, despair written on his face.

Your answer was instantaneous and caught him completely off guard. You raised your hand and slapped him hard. A stinging sensation shot through your palm where it connected with Negan’s cheek. You tried to hit him again, but this time he was prepared for it and caught your hand mid-air.

“He was my brother!” you shouted hysterically, sobs shaking your body.

“I know, baby...I’m so sorry,” Negan murmured and pulled you against his chest.

“And you are letting him turn! How can you do that to him? To me?” you screamed trying to wiggle free, but he was holding you tight.

“You know why,” he whispered in your ear, his voice cracking. “I don’t have a choice.”

Hearing the torment in his words, your body went limp in his arms, and the tears that had been absent before finally spilled over.

“I offered to fight him to give him a chance. I didn’t want to kill him like a coward,” Negan insisted.

His words were like a dagger piercing your heart, but you knew they were true. Negan could have just killed Simon when he apprehended him after exposing his plot. Under any other circumstance, such an act would have been punishable by death, but Negan decided to give Simon an opportunity to beat him in a fair fight. It was more than generous, and you knew he did it only because of you.

“I thought I was going to lose you!” you wept into the fabric of his t-shirt, feeling a wave of guilt wash over you from not only feeling this way but saying it out loud.

“I’m here, sweetheart,” Negan cooed. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

You hugged him back, hoping that it would numb the ache in your chest. Closing your eyes, you let your head rest on his shoulder, enjoying the soft caress of his fingers on your back. Your body betrayed your mind and melted into him, the shock over Simon’s loss dulled momentarily by relief that Negan was fine. Craving more contact, you tightened your hug around his chest, eliciting a loud wince from him.

“Are you hurt?” you asked alarmed, searching his upper body for injuries.

“Just a bruise, doll, nothing serious,” he assured with a smile and lowered his head, his mouth hovering over yours.

You relaxed against him and closed your eyes, revelling in the warmth radiating off of him. You felt like a tiny planet pulled in by the gravity of the Sun, not being able to withstand it despite the danger of being absorbed into it eventually.

“You are my everything. And now more important to me than ever,” Negan confessed, his breath caressing your nose and lips.

You looked up at him with a frown. His eyes were burning with sincerity and determination.

“I will take care of you. Both of you.”

Your eyes widened at his comment.

“Yes, I know. Carson has explicit orders to inform me about a pregnancy immediately.”

You only found out about your condition that morning when Carson did a routine check-up after you experienced nausea and weakness that you attributed to stress. When the results came back, you were staring at him in shock, barely able to process that you were six weeks pregnant. You pleaded him not to say anything about it, and he was visibly uncomfortable with your request but agreed to give you some time. At least he kept his word and didn’t tell Negan before the fight and risk the news clouding his judgement, as you feared it might. It was no secret around the Sanctuary how much Negan desired an heir, but despite having multiple wives, none of them had gotten pregnant.

Up until your paths crossed when Simon brought you back to the Sanctuary three months ago.

Simon was the only family you had after your parents had died in a car crash. There might have been an age gap between the two of you, but he always had your back and protected you, whether from bullies at high school or boyfriends who got too aggressive. After the outbreak, you became separated, but you never gave up hope that one day you would find your brother again.

You were wandering aimlessly, weak and starving, having run out of supplies days before. When your body threatened to give up on you, you collapsed on the side of the road, feeling death near. Your only wish was that it was going to happen before a walker stumbled upon you.

But it was Simon who found you first.

He couldn’t believe his luck when he spotted you on his way back from a supply run. Your hair was longer and messy, your body thinner, and dressed in filthy rags, but he recognised you immediately. He carried you back to the truck in his arms, drove back to the Sanctuary and stayed by your side while Carson patched you up. You were finally reunited with your brother, and he promised that he would never leave you again.

And then you met Negan. He came down to the infirmary after he was informed about your arrival. Simon knew his boss and recognised the meaning of the mischievous look on his face right away, just as he noticed the blush appear on your cheeks in response to it. He did everything to stop you from falling for Negan, warned you about how dangerous and unpredictable he was, not to mention the harem of wives he had at his disposal.

Seeing Simon’s disapproval, you tried to resist Negan’s charms. You did your best to evade him and limited your interactions to polite but formal chats. But you could only prolong the inevitable. Negan was a tenacious man, and after sending Simon to an outpost for a pick-up, he invited you to his room for dinner. You said yes and didn’t leave until the next morning, after spending the night in his bed.

From then on you had had a secret affair with Negan, but didn’t dare to tell Simon, especially not after you saw the tension between the two men escalate. Simon thought strong retaliation was the answer in dealing with rebelling communities, but Negan believed that people were a resource and therefore had to be made to co-operate. You didn’t know if Simon’s plotting had anything to do with his fear of Negan having you, but you knew he was up to something. He didn’t tell you what it was to protect you, but you felt that it wasn’t going to end well. You even broke things off with Negan a month ago in a futile attempt to solve things, but you fell back into each other’s arms the following night.

Now Simon was gone.

And Negan was responsible for his death.

You cast down your eyes in shame at the thought.

Negan cupped your chin and tilted your face up.

“You don’t have to work for points anymore. You will have access to everything you need,” he continued, his eyes never leaving yours. “Baby clothes, diapers, formula, everything. I have already given orders for my room to be refurbished to accommodate a baby cot and extra storing space for the baby stuff.”

You were astonished how he had everything planned out already.

“I appreciate it, but...I have a job and would like to earn my keep.”

You could tell that Negan didn’t like your answer from the way he narrowed his eyes at you.

“Absolutely not. You will not go near the laundry room and all the chemicals there. And I sure as shit will not let the mother of my child work for points like a common worker!” his eyes were burning, but not with anger.

“Negan, I need to work. I have to do something to occupy my mind. Especially now that...” you trailed off rubbing your temple as a headache began to form from all the crying.

The gesture didn’t go unnoticed by Negan, and his eyes softened immediately.

“Fair enough. But I’m moving you to a different job, one that means no risk for you or the baby. Carson will monitor your health continuously, and you can work only until he deems it safe.”

You didn’t expect him to give in like this but were immensely grateful that he respected your wishes.

"Thank you, Negan,” you whispered truthfully.

His eyes flickered as you said his name and he brushed your lips with his gloved thumb, silently asking for permission. The air in the room changed, and you felt a shiver go down your spine from the intensity of his gaze. You parted your lips in silent approval, and Negan captured your mouth in a kiss.

He was tender and slow, exploring your mouth as if it had been the first time, savouring the taste of you. A low moan escaped your throat as he deepened the kiss, his tongue massaging yours lazily. The metallic taste of blood filled your mouth as the wound on his lip ripped open, but you didn’t mind. A whiff of fresh sweat, leather and his spicy body wash reached your nose and invaded your senses.

His gloved hand wrapped around your throat, tilting your chin up for better access as he lowered his lips to your jaw and neck, trailing soft bites and licks on your skin before returning to claim your mouth again. Your tongues began to dance, battling for dominance and you let him win easily. You could practically taste the essence of hunger on him that was no doubt fuelled by the left-over adrenaline from the fight and it made you heady with anticipation. He was impatient to release the pent-up energy, and you were more than ready to let him use your body for it.

You found your back pressed against the wooden door as Negan pinned you to it with his hip, pushing his solid erection into your core. His free hand was roaming your body greedily and squeezed your ass, rocking his pelvis into yours. You buried your fingers in his hair, tugging at the curls at the nape of his neck, urging him on.

“I want you.” he husked into your ear and started grinding his body against yours for more friction.

Moving his hand to the hem of your t-shirt he lifted the garment and skimmed your stomach, his fingers leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Deftly unzipping your pants, he slid his hand into your panties and traced your slit, groaning into your mouth at the feel of your slick arousal coating his digits. He started rubbing tiny circles around your clit with his thumb, and you spread your legs submissively, desperate to feel him inside you.

Every nerve ending in your body was on fire, and you moaned out loud, losing yourself in the feeling of pure pleasure. You couldn’t think about anything else but wanting him to take you, own you, and cleanse your body with his touch from your sin.

Then images of the fight appeared in front of your eyes, breaking through the haze of desire and feeling Negan’s fingers tighten around your throat made you panic. The same hand was entwined around Simon’s neck merely half an hour ago. A cold sweat broke out on your forehead, and you felt the room closing in on you.

The warmth of Negan’s lips was all of a sudden not pleasant anymore: it felt like white-hot iron pressed against your skin, burning you, branding you. You needed to get out of the tightness of his embrace and the heat of his kiss before it consumed you.

Your eyes flew open and placing one hand on his chest pushed him away, abruptly breaking the kiss. He pulled back confused, his eyes half-lidded and clouded with lust. Panting hard he tried to kiss you again, but you placed your other hand on his chest and held him at arm’s length.

Your body might have taken over your mind earlier, but it reclaimed control now and stopped you before things escalated, and Negan’s pull could draw you in completely. No matter how much you wanted him, and how tempting the thought of numbing the agony through sex sounded, it was not the remedy for your pain.

“I’m sorry, but...” you sighed breathlessly. “I can’t...” You felt your throat tighten and your eyes well up again. “I need time to...to...”

Negan put his index finger on your lips, silencing you.

“Shhh...I know, baby,” he leaned down and touched his forehead to yours. “It’s okay. I got you.” He pulled you back against his chest and started caressing your hair.

Closing your eyes you relaxed against him, feeling relief spread through you as Negan’s words chased the horrific images of the fight and the bitter taste of guilt in your mouth away.  

But deep down inside you were torn. Despite the despair you felt over losing Simon, you still loved Negan. Simon might have been your brother, but Negan was your friend, lover and now the father of your child. How could you deny your feelings for either one of them?

You could only hope that wherever Simon was now, he would understand what you were going through. Your heart might have been broken into two, and the part that belonged to Simon was dead, but the other was still beating for Negan with all its might.

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 5,050 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria Warnings: Language, coerced marriage, gore, violence, sexuality, typical TWD stuff (recommended NC17+) A/N: This is part of a series! Find the previous parts on the Masterlist! Summary: Inside Sanctuary, Y/N tries to figure out where Daryl is and what his condition is as well as developing a plan to get him out.

Your name: submit What is this?

You forgot how much damn time was wasted in that place, just sitting around with the other wives trying to think of something to talk about or something to do with your time. You visited the library frequently but you couldn’t actually focus enough on the books to really read. It was like you just stared and turned the pages in some charade while your mind obsessed over where Daryl was… what state he was in… Days went by and they all felt the same, all tinged with you on edge, wracked with anxiety over finding him. You were worried you were going to lose track of how long you had been there. You were constantly looking for that golden opportunity and watching for danger at the same time. Constantly trying to scout out the building, spy on Dwight, and make sure no one was getting suspicious of you.

Finally, you managed to follow Dwight early one morning as he was delivering something to a cell. And you caught a glimpse of a huddled form as he shut the door, a man with long, wavy brown hair. You heart hammered in your chest as you pressed yourself back against the wall around the corner. Daryl. It was him. You knew it. You only needed to see him for a brief moment to know it was him. He was alive. He was alive.

But you didn’t breathe a sigh of relief for long. You knew what they were likely doing to him. You rushed back to your room and grabbed two slices of bread from your kitchenette. You laid some slices of cheese on each and tucked them into your bag, wrapped in some paper towel. You wished you could give him water, but you could only deliver whatever would fit in the small space beneath the door.

Daryl was sitting in the darkness, staring down at the dogfood sandwich Dwight had delivered him, his stomach turning but panging with hunger, when a soft noise suddenly drew his attention.

He looked to his left and saw that something was partially blocking the light beneath the door. He put his hand down on something soft. He felt it with his fingers and leaned down. Food. Someone had slipped in some bread and cheese beneath the door.

Was this a trick? Daryl stared at it for one moment before he picked it up and took an eager bite. It tasted like ambrosia to him. All he had been given was dogfood between thin slices of stale bread since he had been thrown in there. He’d never tasted something so wonderful in his life… but the question now was who the hell had slipped him the food?

And it continued. At least once a day, often more than that, something, sustenance, was slipped under his door. The archer was baffled, but he wasn’t about to question it.

You never dared to linger outside the door to try and talk to him. That was too risky. But you at least could make sure he had something to eat, something with some nutrients. You got creative with what you could make thin enough to fit—cutting apples into thin slices, vegetables, meat and cheese, cooked egg. Anything. But more than anything, you longed to see him, to inspect his condition, know how he was… to speak to him, to tell him that everything was going to be okay. Your heart felt broken, limping along in your chest out of habit, as you thought about how close you were to him and yet how far away.

One day you were gathered with the other wives and Negan in the early evening. It happened.

Dwight walked through, holding Daryl by the back of his filthy sweatshirt. Your heart actually stopped. You concentrated on keeping your face blank even while your heart stalled in your chest. It didn’t take more than two seconds before he saw you there, his blue eyes meeting yours. He actually tried to take another step in toward you, like he was being magnetically pulled and couldn’t help it but Dwight tugged back on him harshly. His brain didn’t comprehend what he was seeing at first. He really thought he was hallucinating it. Maybe he had finally cracked. You were so beautiful. He thought of you so often while he was in there, using his memories of you as an escape from the hell he was in. He thought of how you bit your bottom lip when you were concentrating. He thought of that goddamn smile you always gave him. He thought of how you scrunched your nose up at him when you were trying to pretend to be annoyed… But—no. This was something else. This was new. You were there. You were actually there.

You could see that Daryl had black eyes and cuts on his face, bruises. He’d been beat up and he was filthy, but you were relieved to see that he was mostly whole. But he looked broken, somewhat defeated, his shoulders hanging on his frame, so unlike the man you had come to know, except when you caught his eyes… there was a raging inferno there. The sight of you in that room, the realization that you had “given” yourself to Negan, had fanned it. He felt like he could be sick right then and there, just double over and vomit. You managed to shake your head ever so slightly as you held his eyes, hoping he knew that you meant he shouldn’t give away his connection to you. It took everything in him not to just start throwing punches.

Daryl’s mind was spinning. What the hell had happened? How had you come to be there? Had Negan captured you? Had he taken you forcefully? Had he simply convinced you in exchange for some benefit to the group, to Alexandria? How could you possibly be there, with him? And not just there, not just in the Sanctuary. You were one of his wives. The thought of Negan touching you, his hands on you, kissing you… doing more, whatever he wanted… especially having seen the terror in your eyes when you had told him about your past. It was too much. Daryl clenched his jaw, biting down hard and trying to control his breathing, his expression, trying to prevent his hands from balling into fists.

“There he is!” Negan exclaimed with a smile, standing up from his place in an armchair where he was receiving a shoulder massage from his wife, Frankie. “Daryl! How’s it hangin’? Don’t answer that. Don’t care,” he said with a laugh. “Dwight, I think you should take Daryl down for some fence duty. He’s been in time-out in his hole for long enough as punishment for that hilarious escape attempt. Oh—Daryl. You haven’t met my wife Y/N before. Ya see, Y/N here escaped. Just like old Dwighty boy there and Sherry. We’re gonna call that temporary insanity, right, baby?” He shot a look at you. “But she. came. back. Because she realized that there is no better place to be than here.” Negan walked over to where you were standing against the wall. “And all is forgiven,” he said softly. He reached one hand around to your lower back and tugged you against him. He slid his other hand into your hair and kissed you, deeply, heatedly… his tongue exploring your mouth and his hands exploring your body. And Daryl had to avert his eyes. He couldn’t look. He felt bile rising up into his throat. He was worried Dwight would feel him trembling. Anger was bubbling in his chest at a rolling boil. He imagined ripping Negan off you and beating him into the ground… but he had to just stand there. He had to just let it happen. Finally, Negan broke apart from you and smoothed a thumb over your cheek as he clasped your face, unmistakable desire in his eyes. When he looked back at Dwight and Daryl, his eyes were twinkling and there was a smile on his face. “Ya see, Daryl? Just stop fighting it! And your life will get so much cooler!” He laughed and waved a hand to dismiss him and Dwight tugged him out.

You stood there with your chest heaving, staring down at your shoes, thinking only of the condition Daryl seemed to be in. Your heart was breaking and you had to choke down a swelling of nausea which was becoming all too familiar, almost a constant. If you survived this, you were sure you were going to have an ulcer.

Negan soon left with Frankie announcing that he desperately needed one of her full body massages and you felt as if you could collapse with relief that you wouldn’t have to endure him that night. As soon as he was out of the room, you went to the bar and leaned on it, staring vacantly at the wall. You sensed someone beside you suddenly and looked up to see Sherry. She glanced over her shoulder, clearly making sure Negan was really gone and that no one else was close enough to overhear.

“You know him,” she said quietly.

Your eyes snapped over to her in surprise. “What?”

She studied your expression. “It’s alright. I won’t say anything. And it wasn’t you who gave it away,” she said.

Your brow furrowed in confusion as you tried to guess at her meaning. “What are you—”

“I saw the look in his eyes when he saw you. His face when Negan kissed you. And how he was looking at you when your eyes were elsewhere…” She looked down at her hands sadly. “It’s how D sometimes looks at me,” she said, lighting up a cigarette and blowing out a cloud of smoke up toward the pendent lights over the bar. “Or, maybe, how he used to. How do you know him?” she asked.

You thought you had to have misheard her. What she was implying was that Daryl… “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, wrapping your hands around your empty drink glass.

She nodded. “You do. But it’s alright.” She sighed and studied your face again. “He helped us.”

Now your eyes met hers. She took another long drag on her cigarette. “When D and I escaped with Tina. He helped us even after we tied him up, threatened to kill him… he helped us. And we screwed him,” she said softly. You could tell this was weighing on her heavily. Her face contorted a little with emotion.

You didn’t say anything. What was there to say? You still wanted to kill Dwight for what he’d done, what he was doing to Daryl. Sherry’s remorse didn’t change that.

That night, when you got back to your room, you were sick in the toilet and sat on the floor, curled up, crying until you had nothing left. Eventually, the pain faded into numbness and you turned the shower on as hot as you could stand it and stood beneath the jet of water for a long time.

_ _ _ _ _ _

“Joey!” you called, smiling widely at him as he came toward you down the hall. “I have a favor to ask you. That is, unless you’re too busy,” you said, making sure you batted your eyelashes at him.

“N—no. I was just—I’m not too busy. What is it?” he asked eagerly.

“Well, I wanted to move around some of the furniture in the seating area in my room but I just can’t do it myself. Would you mind helping me? It doesn’t have to be now,” you said, stepping closer to him and reaching out to smooth the collar of his button-up shirt.

He gulped and seemed stunned, unable to talk for a moment. “I—I—I can help you with that now,” he stuttered out.

You grinned widely at him. “Oh, thank you so much! Just this way,” you said, leading the way back to your room. It was working. You needed to turn up the heat a little bit. You wanted to keep him off-balance, oblivious, distracted. You stepped inside and gently closed the door behind him after he entered. He was nervously shifting his weight, his eyes fixed on you. “I hope this doesn’t make you uncomfortable,” you said softly. “Being in my bedroom. Just don’t say anything to Negan or he’ll get jealous,” you said, winking. You went over to the bed and sat down, reaching down and pulling off your high heels, making sure to move slowly. You tossed them to the floor and straightened up, closing your eyes and rolling your neck from one side to the other, sliding a hand down the side of your neck. “Mmm. Those heels are torture,” you murmured.

He cleared his throat, wide-eyes still staring at you like he’d never seen a woman before.

You smiled at him and hopped off the bed. “Thanks again for doing this,” you said. “If you could just move that couch over there, and switch the chair and the end table I think it will be perfect.”

Fat Joey nodded rapidly and started trying to heave the couch to one side. He was huffing and puffing, becoming a bit red in the face when you slid in close next to him, bending down so your face was right next to his and pressing your hands onto the arm of the couch that he was pushing on, making sure to brush your finger against his. “I bet we can do it together,” you said, cultivating a dewy expression on your face.

“W—What?”

You giggled and rolled your eyes. “Move the couch, silly!” you said, playfully hitting him on the arm. God, even pretending to be this vapid was making you hate yourself.

“R—right. Yeah.”

You both pushed again and when the couch finally started to move, you pretended to slip on your bare feet and brushed against him as you slid to the floor, laughing. He didn’t feel that you had swiped his set of keys as you fell.

“I’m such a clutz!” you said, taking his hand as he helped you to your feet.

“Are you alright? Your ankle—do you need to go see the doctor?” he asked urgently.

You waved him off, rubbing your ankle and flexing your foot. “I’m fine. I’m completely fine. But I think we’ll take the universe’s hint and just leave the furniture the way it is,” you said with a laugh, again catching his eyes and smiling. “Thanks anyway, Joey. I do appreciate it.”

“Oh—okay. Yeah. Sure. Anytime. Let me know if you ever need anything.” You smiled at him and batted your eyelashes one more time before he left. As soon as the door was closed, you rushed to it and locked it.

You withdrew your hand from your pocket, staring down in disbelief at the wad of keys in your palm.

You collapsed backwards onto the bed and clutched them so tightly they cut into your hand.

And then more waiting. Based on the laps you’d been doing around the building late at night, you knew Dwight wouldn’t sleep, but he would be ensconced in his room with the television up loud. And you knew who else was on duty, made sure it was the pair of guards who usually fell asleep at their posts by 3 am.

The upper floors of the Sanctuary were quiet as you slipped out of your room. You hugged the wall, one hand in your pocket, clutching the keys, and the other on the strap of the small bag you had slung over your shoulder. You got to the first corner and peeked around. Empty. You turned. You slipped past Dwight’s door, glancing back over your shoulder in paranoia, half-sure he was somehow going to just know what you were up to.

A few more anxious moments passed as you slipped through the halls but you finally arrived at the door. You were so close. You had spied on Dwight enough to make sure you knew when he usually checked on Daryl. Night was a safe bet. There were fewer guards on duty on the upper floors at night. Most of them were pulled off for the factory floor and perimeter or were otherwise off-duty.

Your heart was pounding so loud you thought half the floor would hear it.

You withdrew the keys as quietly as you could. At first, when you had swiped them, you wondered exactly how you would know which key was the right one—there were too many to try each. You’d certainly be caught if you had to be in the hall that long, fitting every key on the ring into the keyhole. But Fat Joey had done the work for you again.

Apparently, he had a hard time remembering which key went to what, and so he had labeled them. The one to the door of Daryl’s cell was labeled with a #2, matching the number on the door. You were almost lightheaded as you slipped the key into the lock as silently as possible.

Inside, Daryl shot awake where he was huddled in the corner, dozing purely out of sheer exhaustion. He heard the key sliding in and the click of the pins. His heart was immediately pounding wondering what new hell was in store for him now. He had no concept of time in the blackness they kept him in. He assumed it was morning and that Dwight would appear and chuck a dog food sandwich at him like he always did.

But something about the way the key had sounded when it went in was odd… and so was the silent pause before the door handle started to turn excruciatingly slowly.

Daryl steeled himself for whatever or whoever was coming, pressing his back hard against the wall behind him, staring into the darkness, his arms pressed tightly across himself protectively. In keeping with the strangeness, the door began to open at a snail’s pace. Daryl squinted as the dim light in the hallway filtered in. He had a hand up to shield his eyes when the crack revealed you kneeling on the other side of the door. Your face desperate and frantic as you looked in at him.

Daryl’s jaw dropped open and his chest heaved as he took in shuddering breaths, staring in disbelief that you were there in front of him, so close and opening the door of that hellhole. Alone. Just you.

You slipped through the door and into his cell, closing the door softly behind you and returning it to darkness. You could hear Daryl’s ragged breathing in the pitch blackness. Before he could say anything, you grabbed onto him. You threw your arms around him where he was cowered on the floor, kneeling in front of him. You pulled his head against you and he pressed it into the crook of your neck. He didn’t resist. He fell into you. You pressed your hand gently to the back of his head, smoothing his hair. “Daryl…” you whispered to him. “Daryl. You’re okay. Thank God. You’re okay.” You whispered it over and over like a mantra. His name leaving your lips was maybe the most wonderful thing he had ever heard. You could feel him trembling, hear his shuddering breaths, feel the wetness of his tears falling against you. “It’s ok. It’s alright. I’m right here. It’s gonna be okay.” You were struggling to hold back your own tears. His hands, which had been tightly crossed over his chest flew around you and clung to you, smoothing over your back and feeling every angle of your shoulder blades, the curve of your spine, tangling his fingers into the ends of your silky hair as much as he dared, clutching to you. He again really thought perhaps he’d finally cracked and maybe this wasn’t happening at all, but your hands found the sides of his face in the darkness, even then wiping his tears gently with your thumbs, so light it could have been a breeze, and it rooted him in reality. This was real. He was reeling with the implications. “Just—just a moment. I’ve got—I brought—”

You dug a hand into the bag you had brought with you and pulled out a towel, which you laid across the bottom of the door to block the light from the next item you retrieved from your bag. You pulled out a small camping lantern and turned it on. The sight of you immediately brought Daryl to tears again and for a moment you just looked—you just looked and looked at each other. You grabbed his face in your hands again, being careful to be gentle and mindful of the bruises and cuts. His eyes closed at your touch. He’d had no physical contact with anyone that wasn’t just sheer violence since he’d been taken. Your hands on him were like medicine and he felt ten times stronger instantly. You shut your eyes too and pressed your forehead against his. “It’s okay. It’s alright,” you breathed. His hands clutched to your shoulders and his chest heaved again with shuddering breaths. “Daryl…” You pulled back from him with some effort and looked into his face again. You brushed his hair away from his cheeks. It was hanging in dirty strands, sticking to the wetness left from his tears.

That was when Daryl’s shock waned and he felt the rising creep of humiliation, embarrassment, guilt… God, you looked so beautiful, even there in that fucking hole by the light of a tiny, shitty lantern and he was a filthy disaster. He was like trash someone had discarded… and yet you were touching him with kindness and affection, no care for how dirty he was—he was overwhelmed again and couldn’t meet your eyes any longer. He was struggling with never wanting to look away from you but also feeling unable to hold your gaze.

You saw the change happen and smoothed your hands down his arms. You turned your attention back to your bag and pulled out a canteen full of water for him. “Go slow, okay?” you said, as he desperately grabbed it and drank deeply. “And here,” you pulled out a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a cut-up apple. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t get more this evening without drawing attention but—”

He hadn’t said a word to you yet and his voice was hoarse from disuse. In that place he would go days without speaking, maybe longer even… He cleared his throat and tried to swallow the scratchy feeling.

“This is—more than enough,” he rasped, hungrily devouring your offerings. “You’re the one who’s been slippin’ me food.”

You nodded.

“Ya shouldn’t. Ya could get caught.” You watched him with a sad smile and moved beside him so you could press against him better without his bent knees in the way. You just needed to touch him, to remind him that there was more than this place, to show him you were there for him. To prove this was real, to him and to yourself. Your shoulders were pressed together.

He kept stealing tiny glances over at you while he ate and you could practically hear the wheels in his head turning. When he had finished eating and drinking, he fidgeted and stretched his legs out in front of him. You could tell he was purposely not looking at you. You knew something was on his mind and that he was working up to speaking it aloud. Finally, he did.

“What happened? How are—why are ya here?” he asked. “Did they find you in Alexandria? Did—how?”

You studied his expression. He turned his blue eyes to you again and you saw worry and fear in them. “No. They don’t know that I have any connection to Alexandria, and it needs to stay that way. We don’t need to give them any more leverage than they already have.”

“Then, how?” he asked again.

You averted your eyes away from him now. You knew he wouldn’t take the next bit of news well. “I—I came back. I told Negan I made a mistake running away and that I wanted to be here.”

A shadow darkened his face. “What did he do to ya?” His chest was heaving again, this time in anger. His eyes were whirring over every inch of you that he could see, looking for evidence that you were hurt.

“Nothing. He—he didn’t do anything.” You stared down at your hands.

“Why are ya here? Why d’you come? After everythin’ ya told me—” His questions were desperate.

Your brow flickered down momentarily in confusion that he even had to ask that question. “I came to get you out.” Your eyes searching his face in disbelief that he didn’t know. You sat up on your heels, kneeling beside him again. “Daryl, did you really think we would just leave you here? Did you really think I would? I know what happens in this place.” He had a tortured expression on his face. “Nah. Not like this. Ya gotta go. Ya gotta get out. You can’t be—ya can’t let him—” His face screwed up as the image of you kissing Negan flashed in his mind. He knew what you being his ‘wife’ meant. “Nah. It ain’t worth it,” he argued harshly, his voice raspy. “It ain’t worth that.”

“Yes, it is,” you said forcefully. “Don’t you get it? You are worth it.” Daryl could see tears glistening in your eyes again but you blinked them away. “I’m not leaving you in here. It’s done, Daryl. It’s done. I’m already here.” The muscle in his jaw twitched as he clenched his teeth. “Hey. Look at me,” you said. His eyes found yours again and you studied his face, reaching out gently to clasp it again. You traced a finger along his jaw, grazing lightly over the stubble there. “I’m getting you out of here.” The feeling of your hands on him was like a tonic for all his pain.

He looked away, ducking his head in that way that was so Daryl. You cleared your throat and dropped your hand to his arm. “Alright. Tell me. How are you? Rick said you were shot or something… And you’re obviously beat up.”

“M’fine,” he said. “Doctor’s been treatin’ me.”

“Let me see.”

Daryl begrudgingly pulled down the neck of his sweatshirt and you lifted the gauze pad taped on his chest to look at the wound. It looked okay. No infection. You smoothed the bandage back over it and nodded. You adjusted his sweatshirt and pressed your hand flatly against his chest. You could feel his heart beating hard beneath your fingers. Daryl felt warmth spreading out from your touch. You examined the bruises on his face and you knew there were surely worse ones beneath his clothes. “Are you hurting? I found some painkillers,” you said, digging in your bag. His hand closed gently on your wrist.

“M’fine. Ya should go before we get caught.”

You didn’t want to leave him. The last thing you wanted to do was return him to being alone in the darkness there. He could read it on your face.

“S’okay. Just—just seein’ ya, talkin’ to ya is enough,” he said, so quietly you almost didn’t hear it.

You threw your arms around him one more time, pressing him into you. His hands were strong against your back, stronger even than they had been when you first hugged him, and you squeezed your eyes shut. As you pulled away, you smoothed your hands over his hair and brushed it away from his face one more time. You clasped his face and pressed a kiss to his forehead and another to his cheek. Daryl reeled at the action before you tore yourself away from him. He felt speechless. He knew he was a complete mess. It wasn’t like they were letting him bathe or clean up regularly… And still you had just pressed your soft lips to his skin. You were brushing his dirty hair aside. “Okay,” you nodded, gathering up what was left of what you had brought him. “I’m working on a plan to get you out. But it’s going to take me a little time. Just—just hang in there. Don’t do anything rash. I need you in one piece.”

“Where’d ya get the key?”

You held up the ring of keys and showed him. “Keys. All of them.” Daryl’s brow contracted with worry. “Nothing to worry about it. I pinched them off of Fat Joey. I think he has a crush on me,” you murmured, rolling your eyes. “He’s too scared and too incompetent to know. He probably just thinks he lost them and I’m guessing he won’t tell anybody because he’s afraid of what will happen if he admits it.”

Daryl nodded. “Alright.”

“I’ll be back tomorrow if I can.”

“Nah, don’t—”

“I’m coming, Daryl, and you can’t stop me.” You gave him one last look and clicked off the lantern, grabbing the towel you had used to block the light and stuffing it back into your bag. He heard you shuffling in the dark and then saw the expanding sliver of light grow before it was blocked out as you left. You glanced over at him once more as you left, a sad smile on your face. The door shut quietly behind you and he heard the key turn in the lock.

His cell had never felt so empty, so dark, or so silent.