#walking dead season 4

[goldenispunk]

[old-cardboard]

clementine >:)

[darylssunshine]

currently and also perpetually thinking about season four daryl

[redvelvetbunny]

hihi

what do you reckon Louis’ hair looked like when he was around clems age in s1?

here’s the little man, louis! (…and his friends. ^_^)

[violetineprompts]

Yea

[blindinghope]

crying, throwing up, banging my head against the wall, putting my car in reverse and standing behind it, breaking all of my limbs, digging my own grave

[dreemchara]

I drew Violetine as that Scott Pilgrim art trend !!

Man i love these two!

[acecroft]

THE WALKING DEAD 4.04

[wantart1]

forwards, beckon, rebound

ngl this is my first piece in a long while so it a bit wonky, first time not putting my characters in a plain background too so like, hope you guys like it!! you could never make me hate Violet TWDG Telltale series

[carlsangel]

CRUSH

carl grimes x adhd!dixon!fem!reader

(carl loves to hear about your hyper fixation.)

tags: fluff!

masterlist here!

(this takes place in season 4 at the prison!)

Growing up, you’d gotten interested in many things. You were really educated on a lot and your dad, Daryl honestly couldn’t keep up with it. He tried his best, since he’s a pretty quiet guy he’s a great listener. Although, sometimes you wished he’d give you some sort of feedback or maybe ask you questions about whatever it was you were telling him about.

Even after the turn he never really had time to talk about anything. He was always going on runs or he went out hunting. He was really important in the way the prison ran, so he was always busy. You always felt sort of anxious about it, you could never really talk or share your thoughts or explain the interests you loved. They were especially important now as most of your hyper fixations were what was getting you through it all.

You talked, and you talked a lot and there’s nothing wrong with that. But in a world that suddenly had gone quiet, it was hard for people to listen to you considering how adapted they’d become to the silence. You were like a burst of energy that most people weren’t exactly ready for quite yet.

Except for Carl.

He always thought you were the cutest and funniest ever, even when you were younger like at the quarry or the farm. There, you never really had freedom to be yourself because the adults would always tell you to hush and be quieter. That’s why at the prison, he loved to watch you be who you truly were. He’d seen you interact with the other kids at the prison and had gotten angry at them for brushing you off when you were excited about certain things and began to ramble. So, one day at the tables outside the prison, he did something not many people did.

He asked you your favorite book series.

You were ecstatic, even though you realize this may not an invitation to explain to him every bit of lore of the story, you were happy he’d even put in the effort to ask. You tried to stay as calm as possible. “It’s called A Series of Unfortunate Events…it’s quite complicated…” You explain shyly, not having really opened up to him like that before. Sure you’d gone through a lot with him but you stayed quiet a lot of the time because of how discouraged you were by adults.

“Complicated? How so?” He questioned. Which is exactly what you wanted. Your eyes widen a bit but you try your best to stay calm so you don’t completely scare him off.

“Well how much do you wanna know, I mean it’s quite a lot it could take me hours to explain and I’d feel quite bad if you wanted like a quick synopsis and not an entire look on the lore and…” Your voice trails off when you realize you’d been rambling. He however was admiring you completely. He found you so refreshing. “I wanna hear everything.” He tells you. Again exactly what you wanted. Was he always so cute? Or is that something you’d just noticed?

“I guess I could start with the basic information, there’s three siblings right, theres Violet who’s the eldest sister and she’s an inventor, she always ties her hair up with this ribbon and that’s how you know she’s gonna make something good...” You continue to ramble and smile at little details you explain. “Then there’s the middle child, Klaus who’s a boy and he is very intelligent, he remembers basically anything ever told to him which I somewhat relate to considering I get really interested at certain things but anyway,” He giggles at you a bit, enjoying everything in front of him at the moment.

“They also have a little sister Sunny who’s just a baby but they understand everything she says and she has these teeth that are super sharp even though it’s just four but she could probably bite off a finger if she really wanted to.” His eyes widen a bit. “A finger? Wow…and only four teeth?” He inquired, very intrigued at what you’re saying.

You continue to talk to him a bit more, explaining a good amount of the plot to him and he listened intently. You’d stopped for dinner but continued to talk with him during. At some point, Daryl had to come and pry you away from him so you could actually go the hell to bed. Carl didn’t want you to go, you’d already gotten him invested and he wouldn’t be able to sleep without knowing what happened next. He also wanted to just spend time with you.

“Cmon s’time for bed.” Daryl told you, you then turned to Carl and a small frown was displayed on his face. “We can talk again tomorrow morning…if you want.” He immediately nods. “Yes- yeah I’d love to.” Daryl looks between the both of you, knowing how much Carl had admired you. He also knew that if Carl was listening and wanting to know more, you’d also admire him just as much. You smile at him and nod. Daryl directs you in the way of the cells and he stays back to talk to Carl.

“You got somethin for my daughter?” He interrogated Carl for a moment. “W-what?” Daryl looks back at you to make sure you’re far enough before continuing. “Those books…she’s been dyin to talk to me about those since I found em for her. Haven’t had the time.” He explains. “No one else seems to want to hear about it. What’re you up to?” Carl tilts his head a bit. “I just wanted to know her favorite series…I suppose I enjoy hearing her talk.” He smiles.

So Daryl left him alone about it. He was glad to know you had someone to talk to while he was busy.

The next day at breakfast, you were eating while reading back at the benches. Once he gets his plate he walks over and sits across from you. His paper plate hit the table with a bit a thud and you notice, looking up from the book. “Oh…hey.” You look up at him and smile, he takes a moment to respond as he’s quite flustered to see your smile straight off the bat. “Hi…which one are you reading?” He points to your book.

“The twelfth book. I’m kinda sad about it though…” You give a small pout and he picks up a bit of bacon to take a bite. “Why, cause it’s gonna end?” He chews his food and waits for your reply. “That and I don’t have the last book.” You fold the page’s corner, sort of a way to mark your place. Carl takes note of that. He does however feel horrible that you’re missing the last book. “Oh really? I’m sorry…maybe we can make up our own ending. Once you explain the rest of it to me.” He does his best to cheer you up.

But somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he had to solve your problem. Although he was too young to go out scavenging, his best friend wasn’t. So after breakfast where you explained the second book to him, on his way to do his chores he stopped Michonne on her way out of the gate. “Do you think maybe if it’s not to big a deal you could stop at the library? I’m looking for a book.” He explains, not quite mentioning you currently. “Is this for your new old ‘friend’?” She questions, somewhat teasingly. He rolls his eyes but nods. “Yes. She’s missing the last book. The thirteenth.”

“The last book? Tragic. I know the series, I overheard your guys’ chats yesterday.” She smiles.

So she left and you didn’t see Carl till later that night in the cell block after dinner. He stopped by your cell with a small bag in his hands. He pushed the curtain open to see you lying on your stomach atop your bed, on the final pages of the twelfth book. “Almost done?” He sort of startled you but you immediately smile once you realize it’s him.

“Mhm.” His visit was rather unusual, usually you’d just talk to him during the day but not before bed. You sit up and make room for him to come sit beside you. “I got something for you.” He reaches into the bag and pulls out a book, the thirteenth book. “‘The End?’ Really? How…I mean my dad’s been looking for it for me but-” You look up at him with a bright grin. You don’t really say anything before swiftly tackling him in a hug. He hugs you so tightly, all he wanted was to see you happy.

After pulling away from the hug, he reached back down into the back and pulled out a hook bookmark. It had a little arrow charm. Fitting for a Dixon to say the least.

“I mean…this makes sense.” You tell him, he laughs at your comment. “I just thought I’d have Michonne find you the last book. I’m quite invested in it myself. I love hearing you talk about it…I love hearing you talk.” He explains, sort of staring at you admiringly. You notice and look a tad skeptical, knowing there was something more appealing to him than just talking.

“I uh..I have a small crush on you…if that explains everything.” He admits, his face turning a light shade of pink.

You smile. “Yeah, I could tell.”

a/n: i thought this was quite fun to write, i love a series of unfortunate events muehehehe. anyway i hope this is what anon wanted, i did some good research for it to ensure it was okay :)) okay love u bye

tag list: @zomb-1-egutzz @lunarnightt @ilikestrawberriesandwomen @hiro--aoki @h00d-tr4sh

[azehearts]

Nostalgia with The Walking Dead Game!

I love Louis and Clementine so much!

(They remind me a little bit of Suki and Sokka, and a bit of Katniss and Peeta)

This was fun! It's always enjoyable to make subtle changes in the art style whenever I switch to a different fandom haha

There's no crutches on Clem coz I thought of her having a prosthetic leg at this point, but then I only made a half-body drawing haha 😅 oh well

[robin-munson]

I have so many thoughts about this man

[optimist-pine]

Granny

Summary: You and Daryl have a secret confusing love language of insults

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,236

Era: Seasons 1-5(ish), The quarry - Alexandria

It had started shortly after your first encounter with Mr. Dixon. Simply a passing (slightly pointed) comment - nothing more - as some of you gathered around the fire that night.

Dale stands near the flames, removing a whistling pot from the heat. "Anybody want a cup of tea? Kettle's hot."

"Why dun'cha ask granny over there?" Daryl suggests, nodding towards you with a snigger. Merle's not around tonight, and so it seems he's found a way to create a bit of entertainment.

Your head snaps up when you realize you're the butt of the joke, hands stilling as you set down your work. A crochet hook or knitting needles find their way into your hands as often as that damn crossbow ends up in his; usually when it's too late in the evening to be doing anything else. "You know what? I would love a cup of tea. Thank you, Dale." You reply, taking the steaming mug that's passed to you with a smile that melts into a pointed glare the second Daryl's eyes meet yours.

The corner of his mouth twitches mischievously. "Somebody get out tha' fancy china an' the biscuits an' we'll have ourselves a real tea party." He's prodding the coals with a stick, and in the darkness, the slope of his shoulders brings to mind the image of a caveman. The thought amuses you.

You nod your head, contemplating. "Hmm... I'd be down for that. In fact, I have a feeling we might even be in the presence of a tea party expert." You say knowingly. Sophia and Carol sit cuddled up to your right, and the little girl looks curiously up at you, cradling a well-loved teddy bear. You turn to the child, lowering your voice. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about tea parties, would you?"

She curls into herself a little, shyly. But at her mother's gentle urging, she nods her head, a tiny smile appearing on her face.

You clap your hands together. "It's settled then! Tomorrow we shall have a tea party." The last part is aimed at Daryl - you feel proud of yourself, but the confused look on his face makes you question why. It's like you've taken his accusation as a challenge to prove just how grandmotherly you can be, and funnily enough, he's probably right. You're actually looking forward to hanging out with Sophia tomorrow; she's a pretty cool kid.

Carol tuts softly. "After school." She adds.

"After school." You agree, shooting Sophia a conspiratorial wink.

Every time Daryl spots you working with your yarn he can't resist the urge to tease you about it. Maybe it's because you take every jest in good humor, or maybe it's because you always have a quick, witty comeback. He's never quite figured it out, but somehow it's become a staple of your interactions. Even though so much has changed, he's oddly glad that this hasn't.

One night, in the dead of winter, as the wind howls through gaps in the window frames you get an ornery glint in your eye. Daryl's already found your behavior suspicious, whatever current yarn project you've been committed to hasn't made a single appearance the entire evening. And the way you keep glancing at him almost nervously is... unsettling.

When he looks up again you're walking towards him, hands tucked behind your back, trying so hard to look casual that it doesn't take long before all eyes are on you. You stop in front of him and promptly shove a box in his face. No, not just a box. It's a present, wrapped perfectly in polka-dotted gift wrap with a glittery bow to top it all off.

He stares back at you, wondering what punchline he's missed.

You roll your eyes. "It's a gift, Daryl."

"Why?" He asks. He'd trust you with his life any day, but right now - with that box - he absolutely does not.

"Well, why don'tcha just open it and find out?" You taunt, shaking the present just a smidge.

He takes the box, feeling awkward and clumsy as he tears away the paper. Having never opened a present before - at least nothing like this that is - feelings of stupidity and excitement and pressure blend within him.

He dumps the object into his palm. It's cool and smooth to the touch; a black mug with white writing that says "World's Crankiest Grandpa".

You're trying so hard to withhold from laughing that your face is turning pink.

"Think ya could get yer money back on this one?" He asks, spinning the cup around to critique it.

You slap his arm lightly. "Ah, Dixon, you're no fun."

"She might'a hit the nail on the head there." Rick chuckles.

You sit back down, finally pulling out your yarn like all is now right in the world. "Ah, I found it a couple days ago. Couldn't resist. S'pecially not after the dream I had where you were yellin' at the walkers to 'git offa yer damn lawn'..." You shudder. "Took me a bit to get that one outta my head."

That earns quite a few laughs from the rest of the group. Once again, you've managed to lift the mood of those around you. It seems to be a habit of yours.

He turns the mug over and over again, running his thumb across the letters. He knows it's only a gag gift, but he's not blind to the effort that went into it. And it's not an exaggeration to say that this silly mug is by far the most thoughtful gift he's ever received.

He hangs onto that mug, using it proudly every day. Of course, it garners the occasional question from the new folks, but he doesn't mind. Soon enough he's got a matching handmade hat, scarf, and gloves as proof of your continuing love for the grandmotherly hobby.

When the prison falls he misses those gifts severely.

But then, Alexandria. The day he comes across you there on the porch in a creaky rocking chair, with your cup of steaming tea and a ball of yarn, the once-familiar urge to say something a little stupid and a lot annoying takes over.

He stoops down and leans in. "Where's yer glasses at, old lady?"

You wave your hand to shoo him away. "Ah, git yer muddy boots off'a my porch ya ol' geezer." You nag, the smile you're trying to hide peeking out like a sun ray from behind storm clouds. He holds his hands up in mock surrender, clomping down the steps. But it's not like he's trying to hide his own smile or anything... Not at all.

When he returns home that evening, there, sitting on the end of his bed, is a small box. It's perfectly wrapped in paper that's covered in birds and trees, encircled with a pristinely hand-tied bow. He can't deny the flutter of excitement as he plops down to unwrap it. It's like Deja Vu, the coffee mug tumbling into his palm. This time it's white with black lettering that reads "I don't always roll a joint, but when I do, it's my ankle".

With a snort he falls back onto the bed, letting old memories wash away the burdens of the day. However he can, whatever it takes, he'll hold onto the hope that you'll both end up old and gray and worn someday - together.

[darylssunshine]

Tease

Summary: The meeting has been going on for a lot longer than expected, so Daryl helps alleviate your boredom.

Paring: Daryl x reader (gender neutral)

Genre: Suggestive?? I guess?? (like it's not smut but it almost is)

Word count: 666 (😈)

A/N: I've had this idea in brain for at least a month I NEEDED to write it down (I have a thing for being publicly teased) ((I'm finally getting some motivation to write again!))

~~~~~

You leaned your chin against your palm and glanced out a far window, and sighed softly, half listening to Hershel’s concerns about the prison. He had summoned you along with Daryl, Carol, Sasha, and Glenn to a council meeting. There was talk of future supply runs, watch schedules, tending to weapons, and just general upkeep of the prison and its inhabitants. You did genuinely care about the prison and wanted to keep it safe for as long as you could, but frankly, you were bored. This meeting had been going on for over an hour at this point.  

Your gradually dulling eyes looked over to your boyfriend, Daryl. He returned the kind look with his shimmering ocean blues and rubbed your shoulder as reassurance, kind of as a way to say, 'I’m sure it’ll be over soon.'

Heshel and Glenn were sitting on one side, Sasha and Carol were sitting at both ends, and you and your redneck were seated on the other side. Everyone was so wrapped up in their respective conversations. It was as if you and Daryl weren’t even there. So he used that to his advantage.

Daryl suddenly stopped leaning on his fist, moved a stray hair out of his eyes, and slowly moved it underneath the table. It started with him rubbing his hand on your knee. You tilted your head lovingly and side eyed him with a smile.

After about a minute of this loving motion, without any warning, he snaked his calloused hand under your long, black skirt and placed it on your thigh. You suddenly sat up, now not thinking about anything Hershel just said about how to properly clean a revolver. He kept running his palm up and down your smooth thigh, his fingers getting tantalizingly closer to the edge of your panties. 

You were keeping your composure despite his teasing, until he fucking squeezed. You gasped a bit through your nose, biting the inside of your lip and clasping your hands together on top of the table, not even daring to glance at Daryl, because you know that there is a small but devious smirk on his face. He’s even engaging and chiming in to the current conversation. That motherfucker. He did it again, but harder this time. His large hand was engulfing most of your thigh and squeezing so hard that there most definitely were bruises blossoming. But you didn’t mind. You wanted to be marked, wanted people to know that you were his. 

The archer finally looked over at you, his ocean blue eyes now darker from the lust consuming him. With a raise of his eyebrows and a smirk, he mouthed, ‘Don’t fuckin’ react.’ 

He fucking knows that you were being tortured. He could feel you slightly squirming underneath his hand and had to hold in a chuckle. He finally released you from the torture when Hershel announced that the same meeting would be happening at the same time next week, signalling that it was over. Daryl ended the torment by running his finger under the waistband of your panties, releasing it with a small snap. You were breathing heavily now that everyone was out of the room, your now heavy head resting on Daryl’s shoulder. “I fucking hate you.” You breathed, resting your hands on his bicep. He snickered deceitfully and kissed the top of your head as an apology. “Sorry, sunshine. Just love yer reactions.” He gently guided your chin upwards with his free hand, your eyes finding his. “I wanted to help with yer boredom. You should be thankin’ me.”  

“Oh my God.” You rolled your eyes to the back of your head and looked away from the archer. He could see right through you, though. You wished the meeting had lasted longer just to see what else he’d do. 

“Can you do that again later?” You sheepishly asked while looking back at him with a soft grin.

“O’ course. Love markin’ ya. But I’ll use mah teeth this time.”

[ahhrenata]

baby Dixon

[lovesicklovermia]

𝙧𝙚𝙜𝙧𝙚𝙩𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙛𝙖𝙡𝙡

﹒﹒ ﹒summary - after a difficult few days on the road in the heat, you're left feeling down about motherhood, and the wellness of your daughter. thank goodness your husband noticed.

﹒﹒ ﹒set in - season 5, before the storm

﹒﹒ ﹒pairing - daryl dixon x reader

﹒﹒ ﹒ content inclusions - dad!daryl dixon, mom!reader

parched whines, which for once were not released from the walkers mouths, had been all you’d heard for several hours. guilt, expanding and wrapping around your lungs like ivy trellis. your baby girl, just like rick’s, was hungry, and innocent. bob had said, before his life ended one solemn night, that the world ‘was going to change’, for he could tell by the pure appearance of you, as well as your leaders, young children. nowadays, it was difficult to tell whether she’d change the world, or if she’d still be fulfilled, well-rested enough, and most importantly, happy enough to do so.

pregnancy, around the same time as lori, the dear woman who was lost too soon, yet lost too far back to recall the days events without a hazy vision and mind, and without an elicited sob. you seemed to sob all too frequently lately. your baby did too. 

it seemed that, for so long, both judith and your baby were cooed and fawned over, yet, in closer days, it seemed coos and giggles were replaced by rumbling stomachs, and sighs of absolute defeat. it was honestly surprising that many of the members of the team hadn't given up completely, yet you supposed they each had their reasons to stay alive. father gabriel, by his faith. abraham, for rosita. maggie, even in her damaged and devastated state, for glenn, and for affirming and keeping beth, and herschel, and everyone’s memory alive.

as for your husband? well, for your baby, of course. she was a joint creation, and that was abundantly clear, for she possessed your husband’s bright blue eyes (although a teasing michonne assured that all babies had blue eyes), and your nose and lips. he loved her with every inch of his redneckin’ heart, and despite the sweaty heat of the summer months, he’d held no obligations to wearing a scarf wrap, an easy way for you to smile gently at your baby. of course, he was terrified of sneaking walkers, for your baby seemed to hold the ability to be forever calm and docile in whichever situation was thrown at the girl. 

he’d been terrified of you slipping away from him since day one, yet through the struggles and hardships of the last couple of months, his team had hardly had paid attention to the tears you shed when people glanced at your child for too long, if they asked if his baby girl had been fed, or anything remotely questioning on the livelihood of your child. yes, you knew she was struggling - you knew she deserved to grow up in a gentler world. the world had been no kinder than it was before, yet now previously closed doors were open, and horrific individuals were free to roam.

you’d heard all about it. you’d heard the horror stories - hell, if it wasn’t for your husband shielding you from the troubles, you would have experienced quite a few days of misjustice yourself.

instead, your only misfortunes came from your mind, and the guilt that ate away at your heart. from too many moments that you felt your baby was going to starve, or dehydrate, or even perish from boredom. it had been too many days, far too many, and as you, for once, held the baby to your chest, wandering aimlessly down the straightforward road, you couldn’t walk in silence much longer. speaking to your baby, carol had once told you, was the ‘best way your baby could learn to love you’. yet, with the way things were going, there was nothing left for her to love. you felt practically skin and bones, and your stomach rumbling was now occurring constantly - it hardly stopped. so, today, as you spoke quietly to your baby, you spoke words that seemed easily generalizable. 

‘you been having so much fun?’ was the first words that escaped your lips, projecting lies immediately onto your child. oh, lord did this feel manipulative. your child was a victim of the apocalypse, not a resident of a soft play centre. something of a frustrated sigh escaped your lips, as your child only stared at you, reaching out to tap at your neck. it’d be easier if she just cried - at least she’d still be showing signs of active participation.

‘your mama - i think she’s stopped - i think, maybe -’ yet you couldn’t so much as choke out the words, without an angry tear slipping down from your eye. ‘maybe i’ve stopped trying for you, and i haven’t realised, and-’ the rest of the group were further back, far enough back that you could sit yourself down on the road, holding your baby up, so you could clearly see her red, heated cheeks, and sweating head. ‘i’m really sorry, but that’s not enough, and-’ 

a familiar tap of a foot behind you, and you couldn’t help but squeeze your eyes shut momentarily. this wasn’t how parenthood was meant to be - your husband, your child’s father, walking in on you holding up your baby and crying over her lack of food and drink. yet, here he was, and his reaction was worth waiting for. 

you, from the burning sun, were practically sizzling, so he approached with such gentleness, it only made another small sob escape your lips. ‘yea, i know.’ he mumbled, placing a dirtied, yet, to you, incredibly gentle hand on your wrist, reaching over to press a quick and soft kiss to his baby girl’s forehead. ‘i know, i know, but-’ 

and daryl paused. you hadn’t expected that. he could spew out pointless lies with the best of them, but with you, he could never. his pause delivered truth into his next words. 

‘you’re doing the best you can.’ it was enough for you to melt, because although it didn’t feel enough, from such a hard-working individual, it felt, indescribably, a message that provided safety to your beating heart. ‘for us, and for ‘er, and for the future of-’ he gestured back to the group, all gathered aimlessly. ‘our baby will know the choices we woulda’ made, if we coulda’.’ you couldn’t disagree with that. it wasn’t your fault that streams didn’t flow nearby, that it was summertime, that the berries on bushes had already been picked. 

cupping a hand around your back, the archer wasted no time in gently assisting you to stand, before lifting his baby’s body to his hip. a soft crinkle from her nose, and an even softer sneeze from the girl, and you couldn’t help but both let out a tiny, fortunate laugh. and as a splotch of water fell upon your shoulder, then another on daryl’s crossbow, then a final one on your daughters head, you quickly gained the most amount of hope you’d ever felt, let alone after days of hardships.

‘an’, anyway -’ your husband continued, throwing your daughter slightly up, before catching her and chuckling at her squeals. ‘we don’ need mother nature. we’ll just tell baby that you control the weather, how about tha’?’ the squeal from his daughter, and the grin from his wife felt better than any amount of rain, but he supposed he’d keep that to himself.