dontwalkwiththedead

[dontwalkwiththedead]

Alice hadn't thought past the point of what she'd do if and, inevitably, when these men realized she didn't have bullets in her gun. They were all armed to the freakin' teeth, outnumbering her by a dozen. Their smallest bastard had her beat in terms of size. She had nobody from her group coming. It was really hard not to let her mind wander to one of the worst case scenarios she had heard horror stories about. She decided right then and there if that was her fate tonight, she'd make sure at least a couple of these men lost their eyes or teeth. She didn't expect a thirteenth man to come busting into the circle, bat swinging.

First thing Alice thought - Jesus that's a movie star smile if she ever saw one.

The black hair neatly combed, the hazel eyes, how decked out in leather he was...the commanding boom of his voice...enough to make the animal in any girl with eyes purr.

But that dumb chemical reaction only lasted until it clicked in her brain he was the big boss, and if she was gonna threaten to kill anyone it should be him, not whoever the hell she had her boot on.

Ignoring the barb wire teeth of his blood stained bat, she stormed straight up to the man in leather and rammed the barrel of her gun under his chin. "I'll accept your apology if you and your men let me continue walking. If not..." she clicked the trigger into place. "...use your imagination about how that would go."

The Wolf | closed starter for @everyuglything

If Alice learned one thing from surviving this long, it was that when it rains, it pours. 

Being behind the walls of Alexandria had been an adjustment after being on the road for so long, to say the least. Waking up in her own bed, having unlimited access to a shower, opening her pantries to always find food, having a job–it was all so normal, it felt abnormal. The lack of things waiting for her around the corners of their new home, made her feel jumpy. She had survived on adrenaline for so long, it left her restless. Didn’t help that Deana would rather her help teach the kids, than guard the walls or go on runs. Alice hadn’t figured out who, yet, but she knew somebody said something about her being one of the reckless ones in those damned interviews. Or maybe she shot herself in the foot by admitting to being a teacher before the fall. She guessed figuring out a routine for herself helped. The only thing she managed to stay consistent with though was drinking a glass of apple juice in the morning. That morning, however, she had barely finished filling her cup when their “safe” home descended into chaos from an unprecedented attack. Wolves. She recognized the group by the markings on their heads. Needing the target practice, she aimed for those etched marks as she stalked out of her house with her gun drawn to assist. 

The rain started right about the time a couple of the bastards smashed a truck through their walls. 

It didn't start pouring though until Alice climbed out of the hole to save Spencer’s ass from getting sliced in ten different directions by a wolf’s machete. Instead of him covering her from the other beasts charging them, he kicked her down as a distraction so he could get back inside. By the time she stood up to spit out grass, and empty the rest of her clip, the horde Daryl, Abe and Sasha had spent the morning drawing away were pouring back in. Alice had two choices. Run for the woods, hope she wasn’t followed by too many dead, or run straight into the hundreds of hungry mouths standing between her and her apple juice. 

Alice lost track of how long she had been running in the woods. Any signs of her being civilized were covered in brownish red splashes of walker blood. There were more leaves in her tangled nest of curls than on the trees she swerved around. Her clothes, clean this morning, were filthy with debris and torn from tripping early when a couple of biters knocked her down. Her gun had no bullets, but she held it with a death grip, figuring having something to hit the fleshy scalps of walkers with was better than nothing. By the time she outran the last cluster of them, her lungs were burning. She was exhausted, sweaty, thirsty, hungry–all the bad things to be when you got cut off from your group. It was getting dark. While Daryl had an aptitude for surviving in the woods, she did better in dusty buildings. Finding the closest backroad, then making her way into the nearest town seemed smart. She’d sleep, find supplies, then try to retrace her steps back. If she knew she’d be walking straight into a large group of men she’d never seen before, scouting the area, Alice would’ve stayed hidden. By the time she realized they were there smoking, chatting and fucking around on the streets, they caught sight of her in the beams of their headlights illuminating the surrounding area. She tried to run, but instead found herself in the center of a jeering group. All their voices overlapped so loudly and cheerily she couldn’t pick out who said what, but as soon as one of their guys decided it’d be funny to grab for her ass, Alice flipped the walker blood stained heel of her gun around and cracked it across his face. 

“Try it again! Fucking try it again, make my day, cause I’ve had a really bad fucking one and need to release some stress!” She yelled, loud enough to make her throat feel raw as she shoved the barrel of her gun into his temple. She didn’t have any bullets, but these assholes didn’t need to know that. She stared out at the couple dozen men with venomous blue eyes. “Part the chode sea and let me walk or I’ll make sure your buddy misses dinner.” Alice pushed all her body weight into the barrel against his sweaty skin. “Did I stutter?”

[dontwalkwiththedead]

The Wolf | closed starter for @everyuglything

If Alice learned one thing from surviving this long, it was that when it rains, it pours. 

Being behind the walls of Alexandria had been an adjustment after being on the road for so long, to say the least. Waking up in her own bed, having unlimited access to a shower, opening her pantries to always find food, having a job–it was all so normal, it felt abnormal. The lack of things waiting for her around the corners of their new home, made her feel jumpy. She had survived on adrenaline for so long, it left her restless. Didn’t help that Deana would rather her help teach the kids, than guard the walls or go on runs. Alice hadn’t figured out who, yet, but she knew somebody said something about her being one of the reckless ones in those damned interviews. Or maybe she shot herself in the foot by admitting to being a teacher before the fall. She guessed figuring out a routine for herself helped. The only thing she managed to stay consistent with though was drinking a glass of apple juice in the morning. That morning, however, she had barely finished filling her cup when their “safe” home descended into chaos from an unprecedented attack. Wolves. She recognized the group by the markings on their heads. Needing the target practice, she aimed for those etched marks as she stalked out of her house with her gun drawn to assist. 

The rain started right about the time a couple of the bastards smashed a truck through their walls. 

It didn't start pouring though until Alice climbed out of the hole to save Spencer’s ass from getting sliced in ten different directions by a wolf’s machete. Instead of him covering her from the other beasts charging them, he kicked her down as a distraction so he could get back inside. By the time she stood up to spit out grass, and empty the rest of her clip, the horde Daryl, Abe and Sasha had spent the morning drawing away were pouring back in. Alice had two choices. Run for the woods, hope she wasn’t followed by too many dead, or run straight into the hundreds of hungry mouths standing between her and her apple juice. 

Alice lost track of how long she had been running in the woods. Any signs of her being civilized were covered in brownish red splashes of walker blood. There were more leaves in her tangled nest of curls than on the trees she swerved around. Her clothes, clean this morning, were filthy with debris and torn from tripping early when a couple of biters knocked her down. Her gun had no bullets, but she held it with a death grip, figuring having something to hit the fleshy scalps of walkers with was better than nothing. By the time she outran the last cluster of them, her lungs were burning. She was exhausted, sweaty, thirsty, hungry–all the bad things to be when you got cut off from your group. It was getting dark. While Daryl had an aptitude for surviving in the woods, she did better in dusty buildings. Finding the closest backroad, then making her way into the nearest town seemed smart. She’d sleep, find supplies, then try to retrace her steps back. If she knew she’d be walking straight into a large group of men she’d never seen before, scouting the area, Alice would’ve stayed hidden. By the time she realized they were there smoking, chatting and fucking around on the streets, they caught sight of her in the beams of their headlights illuminating the surrounding area. She tried to run, but instead found herself in the center of a jeering group. All their voices overlapped so loudly and cheerily she couldn’t pick out who said what, but as soon as one of their guys decided it’d be funny to grab for her ass, Alice flipped the walker blood stained heel of her gun around and cracked it across his face. 

“Try it again! Fucking try it again, make my day, cause I’ve had a really bad fucking one and need to release some stress!” She yelled, loud enough to make her throat feel raw as she shoved the barrel of her gun into his temple. She didn’t have any bullets, but these assholes didn’t need to know that. She stared out at the couple dozen men with venomous blue eyes. “Part the chode sea and let me walk or I’ll make sure your buddy misses dinner.” Alice pushed all her body weight into the barrel against his sweaty skin. “Did I stutter?”

[dontwalkwiththedead]

Beth never thought she'd have to endure her first heat under her current circumstances. She always pictured it as the perfect week indoors, cuddled with her Momma while they watched old rom coms and baked sweets to snack on. Not staring at the grey walls of her cell, in a nest of blankets as she drummed her eraser against the blank page of her journal while she lost her mind in bliss and panic. She thought she could continue her routine as normal. The first couple of days she managed. She pushed past the cramps, and feverish flush of her skin as she tirelessly cared for Judith. She had found comfort in the baby's scent and the warmth of holding that bundle of chocolate eyed joy. To the point, she snapped at anyone who insisted on giving her a break. At one point she wondered if Maggie noticed her current erratic state, but it seemed to glide past her awareness. Beth thought about mentioning the heat to her anyways, or her Daddy, but they wouldn't understand. Not the way her Momma would and frankly...she was embarrassed. Overwhelmed with new sensations, longings, scents and feelings she didn't fully understand. It left her in an anxious, restless state. It sent her into a serious state of social withdrawal, and as the production of her slick got worse, she found herself curling up and clamping her knees more in hopes of hiding it.

When she couldn't stand sitting still, she'd wander through the prison and yard to collect things. Rocks she liked, flowers, books, trinkets from the prison's former lost and found bin to fiddle with. By the third day her bed had twice the amount of blankets, while every layer had a treasure hidden.

By the fourth day, after yellin' at Maggie for breathing to loud, Beth decided she had to retreat until she rode this out. She couldn't stand all the sights, smells and chaos of their growing group. She wanted the quiet of her cell, so she gave Judith to Glenn, told her Daddy she had a head cold and went to hide in her cell. She prayed this would wrap up soon, or that she'd be able to find relief in her words until it finished. Second it was over, she planned to find suppressants. The last thing she needed or wanted was to deal with this again. She didn't want it to attract the attention of any...specific people...a mission she realized she failed when Daryl appeared in the door way of her cell with a cup of soup. She couldn't smell his scent past the overpowering perfume of hers, but his presences made her breathing labored as she slammed her journal shut and pulled a blanket over her, hoping it'd mask the way her thighs wouldn't stop squirming, or how distressed her state was.

"I'm fine. Just getting over a cold." She snapped, laying her cheek down on the plushest part of her pillow as she peeked out at him with glassy blue eyes. "I already ate. I'm not hungry. Go give that to somebody else." She demanded, pulling her knees up to her chest under her blanket. "I'm resting. If I wanted someone here, I'd call Maggie."

No she wouldn't. No matter how bad her untouched skin crawled with the desire to be cuddled, comforted or just touched, she wanted to deal with this alone. Daryl was the worst possible person to be in the same room as her. She didn't want to be tempted. While the notoriously religious Greene family--except Maggie--recgonized heats and ruts were natural, they firmly believed in no mating or...certain kinds of touching before marriage. That's why a sibling or a parent were designated as the omega's support, but Beth's support got shot in the face by Shane when her Mom stumbled out of the barn.

Grabbing a pillow, she threw at him. It missed, barely landed near his boots. "I said get out Daryl, I don't want soup!"

@dontwalkwiththedead // plotted starter.

Daryl thinks he might be the only one who notices all this new behaviour: how Beth carries Asskicker and never lets go unless she has to, how she quietly squirrels items away into her cell, how her words are clipped and her temper is high and when she's finally calm-- finally able to sit, or relax, or anything-- she's curled up, or pulling her knees to her chest, or generally doing her best to be so small nobody sees her.

And in a way, he can't blame the others. The prison is such a well-oiled machine now because everyone works hard-- everyone sticks to schedule, everyone works and rests as agreed upon, so on and so forth. With all the members of their group with actual time to live their lives, it's easy to let some things fall through the cracks. Daryl only has the good fortune of living in those tiny, in-between spaces.

It's the middle of the day when he approaches Beth's cell. He caught Asskicker in Glenn's arms only minutes earlier, and was right to assume Beth had opted to lie miserably in bed. The fact it's a lovely afternoon makes the behaviour even more obvious; if this were any other day at all, Daryl was sure he'd see Beth outside instead, smiling under the sun or making her music.

Only when he's right by the bars does the scent hit his nose: something sweet, almost to the point of being sickening. His mouth fills with saliva instinctively, but he swallows it down and shakes his head. Having just returned from a hunt the day before, the alpha in him is more or less calm-- Beth's heat only leaves ripples in its slumber, though he imagines a lesser alpha might have started to lose their mind.

A growl rumbles quietly in his chest. It's more disappointed than aggressive, at least.

His knuckle knocks against the keyhole to the cell door. With no-one else in the block right now, at least not at this time of day, he doesn't worry too much about the noise.

"You're not well," Daryl says bluntly. If he'd only come with his words, this would have been the most pathetic olive branch on the planet.

Fortunately, there's a mug of soup in his free hand, and though he's not sure whether Beth would be able to smell it considering her state, he's certain it'll help. They call it heat for a reason-- it burns through you from the inside out. With suppressants more or less cleared from every pharmacy they've tried to hit so far, the best Daryl can do is to treat it in as natural a method as he can.

"You gotta eat somethin', Beth." He's not moving until she acknowledges him, either. "C'mon. Get up from there."

[dontwalkwiththedead]

Closed starter w/ @backwaterscum || Better Together - Billy x Daryl

□□□□□□□□□□□□□□

Billy stood on the porch with stiffer muscles than a statue and chalkier skin than an apparition. His fingers curled around the porch railing, white knuckling it as splinters from the old wood pricked his palms. He sucked in what tunnel of air he could get past his tight throat, but no amount of fresh, crisp, morning air could loosen the muscles clamping around his racing heart. He thought he could do it. He thought he could handle sleeping without this walkman's headphones humming his favorite songs against his ears, but he couldn't. Every time he fell asleep without listening to music, the nightmares came full force. He could hear his parents and the people they sheltered in the church dying over and over and if that wasn't bad enough his subconscious would torture him with what it must've looked like.

He didn't watch them die. He only listened to it in the attic above the congregation but the horrible screams of agony were enough to paint a picture.

He still regretted leaving their reanimated, mutilated bodies there. Billy managed to jump out the attic window--his twisted ankle was still healing--, but he couldn't bring himself to go back inside to honor them with a proper burial. He couldn't stomach it. He didn't want his memories of his mother's bright smile, or his father's boisterous laugh tainted. He wanted to remember them alive and music helped his denial.

Rubbing his palms together, he hunched his lanky frame over the porch railing to count the ants in the grass. Strands of his black hair fell in his face, getting in his lashes. He had to cut it. Until then, he would stare at the bugs living their happy little lives as he debated how to get a battery for his walkman. It took double A battles, but Uncle Hershel had more important things to worry about like that injured kid, Carl.

At the sound of a zipper gliding open, Billy's eyes flickered to the unkept, forever dirty, sight of Daryl rolling out of his tent. His throat bobbed with an immediate endorphin rush. His nostrils flared as the alpha's scent wayfarered over. The smell of wet forest, cigarettes and dark chocolate tickled him with a sense of intense calm he couldn't find in anything else--not even music. Every time he got a good hit of it, it immediately brought his mind back to the river bed the older man found him in.

Billy's clothes had been entirely drenched and every inch of his bare skin was caked in mud as he used his good leg to unsuccessfully kick off the biters rolling with him in the water. Another second and his blood and flesh would've mixed with the stream. Whether an alpha saved him or not, he was forever grateful.

Daryl was very survivor oriented, maybe he had a couple of batteries in that pack he always dragged around.

Wetting his lips, Billy stepped around the porch railing and jumped down the stairs. He never knew how to stand around the other male, so he settled for crossing his arms over his chest when he got close. For an omega, Billy was monster sized. He almost, almost, had an inch on Daryl.

His boots stopped at what he believed to be the boundary of man's little setup. "Hi. Good morning. Weather's nice." He cleared his throat. "Hey, um, kind of random and it's okay if you don't have any or don't want to share, because I know stuff is hard to come by but..." he swallowed again, meeting his eye with a shy, dimpled smile. "Got any double A batteries? Two to be exact. My walkman ain't working and I'm a white noise kind of guy." He chuckled. "If you can call Queen blaring white noise."

[dontwalkwiththedead]

PLOT HUNT

Hey all!

After a lengthy hiatus, I've found myself with loads of time on my hands and I'm dying to get some Walking Dead plots going. I'm down to play my Canons or OCs. I'm down to double (bonus points if you are) and I'm down for some drama and spice.

I have a few things I'm itching for, but the muse is high so I'm open to hearing any suggestions ya'll have! Here are a few plots and pairings I could go for:

Queer Daryl x Canon or OC. ( I can play either. )

Beth x Daryl ( I can play either. )

A/B/O Dixon-Verse (I have a specific idea for this one.) Villian Era (Essentially an AU where Rick's group are the bad guys.).

Shane Walsh x my OC Alice.

Shane Walsh x my OC Billy Greene

My OC Peter Dixon x Your OC or Canon character.

These are just a few pairings and plot musings I have, I'm very open to discussion. I also LOVE playing against OCS. My only stipulation is that they're well-fleshed out. I can tell when an OC is written for the sole purpose of being with a Canon and that's not my cup of tea.

Like this post or DM me if you're interested in writing!

[dontwalkwiththedead]

Alice made sure she gave Negan the nastiest eat shit and die stare she could manage. She had been so close to escaping. She was halfway through the back gate, before one of his asshole men pulled her back so hard she fell over and cut herself. "I guess things just don't work out the way we want." She grumbled, flinching as Doctor Carson put the final stitch in her arm.

Muse: Negan (45. Bisexual. Season 7-8 based)

Open to: M/F

"Well, well fucking well. What happened to you never wanted to see my ass again? Couldn't stay away huh? I told you Daddy's always right."

[dontwalkwiththedead]

Alice hated how unpredictable the new world was. Not that the old one was much more formulatic. It just traded modern-day unpredictability for chaotic nightmare shit. Instead of getting laid off, your boss would eat you. Instead of not making enough for rent, you had to worry about surviving blood bath fights with other survivors over the few safe places left. Minor injuries and illnesses could kill you. The water could kill you. The food could kill you. Your friend could kill you. She'd kill for her former problems. Loud neighbors? Fine by her. Kids in her class are giving her a hard time? Bring it on. Something broke in her used car again? She would rather have that piece of shit than walk everywhere. If she really let herself think about it, she could easily get depressed. Instead, she tried to stay optimistic and find a way to survive and rebuild the few good people she found. It was going great until it didn't. And now she was running through the woods with an empty gun in her hand.

Unlike most people running these days, Alice actually had a destination in mind. Her people set up a few different bunkers in the event something happened. She just had to get to the one closest to her. Then she could wait out the walkers. Seemed simple enough--until she found herself swarmed, without a useful weapon and her lungs burning. When she entered the thicker part of the forest, her plan had been to climb up into one of the trees so she could catch her breath, but thick forest floor made her lose her footing and crash into it. She barely recovered from her fall when she saw a man pointing a bow in her face. Before he finished telling her to duck, she was already back on the ground and frantically searching the forest floor for a rock or something that could be used as a weapon.

By the time her fingers wrapped around one, a walker was lunging for her. He fell on her with gnashing jaws as she swung the rock into his temple with a satisfying crunch. Two more blows, and he was on the ground, and she was back on her feet, smacking the next walker across the face with the same rock. Its dark blood splashed across her face and her forearm, but she rather reek like the dead than join 'em. "Eat dirt bitch!"

OPEN STARTER: DARYL

Despite the fact the world is falling apart, and despite the fact there's walking corpses going around eating people, he still enjoys traveling. Well, he still enjoys traveling in the woods. Cities are brimming with walkers but the woods? Not so much. The woods are quieter and calmer now that there's less organized hunting. Gone are the days of pollution and busy hunting seasons. Now nature is free to take over. Deer frolic, birds sing, and wolves prowl... Until they don't.

He knows something's wrong when the birds stop singing and when the squirrels stop their angry chattering. Shrugging his crossbow off his shoulder, he fires one, two arrows at the walkers. They fall to the ground with audible, almost echoing thumps. Despite his fresh kills, the birdsong doesn't return. Instead, leaves crunch and twigs snap. These days, the snap of sticks remind him all too much of the sound of walker teeth crunching through bone.

There's more walkers coming, and they're chasing something... Or someone. The person trips and a walker takes advantage of the fumble to get dangerously close. The person rises but the walker is just inches away from their shoulder by the time they stand again. "Duck if you wanna live!" he shouts to the person, notching an arrow and getting ready to fire.

[dontwalkwiththedead]

Daryl knew Merle was about to snap at Pete long before it happened. He spent a majority of his life studying both him and Will Dixon for clues that they were in a bad mood or gettin' into one. If he knew soon enough, he could hide. Reduced the number of ass whoopins. Peter had learned to pick up on their daddy's tells, but he was clueless around Merle. He'd always swear their brother would never hurt him like a naive idiot. If Daryl was spiteful he'd let him fall flat on his face but when you raised somebody, it was hard to see 'em get hurt.

Daryl stood up fast, practically spilling his arrows as he did. "You lay one hand on 'im I'll knock back to Tuesday." He warned, before lightly smacking Pete upside the head. "Go get the rest of 'yer hunting gear. We're goin' soon and stop being an asshole." He scolded. He also knew their baby brother's tells and Peter's lip always curled before he gave ya' attitude. Last thing he needed was to break up a fight. He was already pissed about the argument from early. Shane's only condition was that they stay on their side of the camp and away from the women and children. Easy rules. A dog could follow 'em.

Peter's features twisted with a snear as he stood up. He wanted to call Merle a dick, but he wasn't stupid enough to call him names. And if he was Daryl calling him one would've diverted his attention. He looked between both brothers. "I'll go bum one off Jim." He grunted, slinging his gun over his shoulder as he walked away.

Before he got out of reach Daryl took the gun from him. "Don't be stupid. You walk over there with a gun he'll shoot you." He warned.

Peter didn't say nothin' he just kept walking and mutterin' everything he wanted to say.

Daryl whipped back around to Merle. The day barely started and he was already breathing hard from fighting his anger. "The hell we gotta talk about?" He snapped, stealing Peter's former seat so he could finish setting up his arrows.

( closed starter w/ @merlexxdixon )

Keep Merle from getting shot by that pig Walsh and hunt enough squirrels to feed him, himself, and Peter. Not a hard couple of tasks on paper, yet two nearly impossible ones to execute. Merle hadn't shut up since they joined the commune of suburbanite bitches and Peter kept inhaling their jerky like it was his last meal. If he stopped smoking his damn weed or stealing pills from the saddle bag on Merle's bike, his appetite would even out, but he never listened. He was worse when Merle was around. He worshipped him, did everything just like him, and Daryl didn't get it. Their eldest brother was a dick, solely out for himself. While Daryl was thirteen and tossin' himself between their daddy and baby brother, Merle was off fucking around. By the time Daryl was twenty and trying to figure out how to feed eight year old Peter, Merle was getting cozy in jail. When he finally came home, he didn't so much as look at him. Just asked what beer they had. To say he fostered animosity for him over the years was an understatement. Unfortunately, he was cursed with that blind Dixon loyalty and now he was babysitting two grown ass men while trying to avoid dead ones.

That mornin' started off just fucking dandy. Merle had pissed of Dale and Shane and Daryl had to convince them not to kick them out. He told 'em he'd get squirrels for everybody if they forgave Merle. A job to big to complete in a day, by a solitary hunter, so he enlisted Peter to help him. The little shit was givin' him lip over every damn thing. He was always an asshole when Daryl woke him up before noon. Despite being just as Dixon as the rest of them, Pete also hated hunting. He wasn't bad at it, but he had irritatingly low patience. Still, Daryl rather have him bitchin' next to him all day than Merle.

He rested his crossbow next to his thigh as he counted and sharpened his arrows. Peter sat next to him, bouncing his gun on his knee as his deep-set eyes shot daggers across the camp. Occasionally, they'd drift to Daryl messing with the bow. He hated being stared at, no matter who was looking. "What?"

"Nothin', just wondering who pissed in your juice this morning." Peter grumbled as he reached out to smack Merle on the arm. "Can I have a smoke? I'm out."

Peter knew his lack of sobriety the past couple of weeks was stressing Daryl out to the max, but he couldn't help it. One minute, they were selling pills in dive bars. The next, they were getting chased out of Atlanta by ass-eaters. They barely made it out before the bombs dropped. In seconds the few dreams, two friends and couple of prized possessions Pete had disappeared in a blaze. Any sane man would smoke. In his opinion, anyways. "Merle." He repeated. "I want a smoke."

[dontwalkwiththedead]

Alice had never been more relieve to hear the blaring horn of a car. Granted the sound echoed off the mountain walls for miles as Glenn peeled back into the camp but it was better than silent fear. Especially when she saw the van following him. Abandoning her coffee, she joined Jim in ripping open the hood of the red sports car so they could rip out the horn. She turned to scold Glenn, only to realize a man she'd never before had ran by her to crush Lori and Carl in a hug. It, admittedly, took her longer than it should've to realize who the man was, but the second Shane looked at her she knew. She heard his names enough time from Carl and Lori. It was Rick Grimes.

Lori never believed in ghosts, fate, or anything supernatural but seeing Rick walk out of that van made her believe in everything she once denied. She couldn't run into his arms fast enough as her and Carl held him and cried in disbelief. He was real. The warmth of his touch. His earthy scent. The brush if his whiskers. All of it.

Crossing her arms, Alice turned away from Shane and the teary-eyed reunion as she counted everybody with 'em. Andrea, T-Dog, Glenn...they were all accounted for except one. "Where's Merle?" She asked, hoping they had a good fucking answer cause Daryl would be back from his hunt soon and she didn't wanna deal with his temper this early.

Glenn rubbed the back of his neck. He wasn't scared of Alice, persay, but he also didn't wanna admit they basically left Merle to die and saved the new guy instead. They had a rule about saving as many as they could. Good or bad. Alice implemented it herself.

( closed starter w/ @rickgrimesdoingrickthings )

ALICE x RICK

One of Alice's worst fears had always been losing her family. She couldn't imagine life without the sweet scent of her daddy's cigars, her mom's colorful flowers filling the vases of their family home, or sneaking six packs of gas station beers into the barn with her three older siblings. She was one of the fortunate few who was sincerely close with her family and one of the unfortunate ones to lose everybody the first night shit hit the fan. The plan had been for everybody to meet in downtown Atlanta for dinner after she got off work at Peachtree Middle School. By the time she fought her way out, Atlanta was burning, and all she had left of her family was a voice-mail of her mom sobbing that everyone was gone before she got cut off by an explosion. The bombs.

It's only when your worst fear gets horrifically realized that you have an opportunity to discover your strength.

Alice found her strength on a highway outside of Atlanta at two am. A former police officer named Shane Walsh needed help getting a couple of families up to the quarry campsite and off the roads. She ended up ignoring her grief in favor of saving those she could. By sunrise her and said police officer were laying out a plan to survive for a bunch of scared people. Within twelve houes over a dozen men, women, and children were relying on the two of them. She was the only one other than Shane who could shoot well. And, admittedly, it was easier to lose yourself in a job you weren't asked to do than acknowledge everyone you've ever loved was gone.

Alice sipped the bitter black coffee from the tin cup as she lingered near Lori and Carl and watched the country road that led up to their camp. It'd been hours since Glenn and his group was supposed to be back with supplies from Atlanta. She was worried. She kept checking her watch. An old piece she found in Dale's junk drawer. If they weren't back in thirty minutes she was gonna take the car and go look for them. She knew it was stupid letting that many people go with.

[dontwalkwiththedead]

Yeah, Daryl probably wouldn't make it but that was his whole life story. He was always the guy that was doomed, just as much as he was always the guy who fucking survived. He used to hate Rick. He blamed him for Merle, Sophia and a plethora of the bad things that happened to 'em all. Then, somewhere in the madness, he came to the realization Grimes saved him. He gave him a second chance and a purpose in their group. A reason to fight. It was his turn to save him. He rather die tryin' than watch another one of their leaders needlessly die.

"Stay with me man!" He shouted, only to have his hoarse voice lost in the war playing out around them. Even if he heard him, it would've been pointless. Not even a full thirty seconds after he said so, Rick passed out from the severity of his injuries. In an instant every muscle and vein in Daryl's body strained with the desperation to get him out to the foods. Bullets smacked the ground near his feet, and walkers lunged from every smoky corner. At one point be had to drop him to kill a few before picking him up and continuing.

Whether it was God, perseverance, or dumb luck--Daryl somehow carried him away from the prison and out into the woods. By the time he put a mile or two between the two of 'em and their lost him, he was gasping for breath. Deciding to take a second, he dropped the former Sheriff down once more and propped his back up against a tree. He pressed his shaking fingers to the vein in his throat. The pulse was there but barely. He needed medical care.

Repositioning him so he was laying down, Daryl hurried to unbutton his shirt so he could access his wounds. He immediately noticed the bruises over his ribcage and the variety of gashes and cuts.

Sitting back, Daryl rubbed his hands over his sweaty face. Fuck. He needed to get them somewhere secure and find medical supplies.

The prison had fallen. Phillip Blake had almost killed Rick with his fists, the explosions, the walkers, it became pure chaos.

Michonne striked The Governor, but then the undead broke in, the survivors spread, no one knew who was alive or dead.

"CARL! SAVE CARL!" Rick yelled in despair to Michonne, a chain of walkers split them- he saw the woman running to the boy. The sheriff stumbled, looking for Judith- but all he found was an empty craddle, bloody.

As Beth ran to the bus and it departed, Daryl and Rick were left alone. Rick fell on his knees, one of his hands on the bloody craddle, sobbing, unable to breath properly because of the gunshot that hit his lung.

"CARL!? MICHONNE!?" the man wandered, lost, completely lost, searching for a way out. The bus had left him behind, he couldn't see Tyreese or anyone. Rick just run to the gates- tried to run. His leg also had been shot and he had no one to rely on to keep moving. Walkers were starting to close the path ahead of him, he was going to get caught.

@dontwalkwiththedead

[dontwalkwiththedead]

When Shane slid down into the waist-deep hole with Billy, he couldn't fight his smirk if his life depended on it. Up there, he saw that rock of need from across the field, but up close he could hear the way Shane's breathing quickened with excitement and he liked that. He liked that a lot. He stepped into the former officer's space. Billy was a couple of inches taller but Shane was more jacked. Shamelessly, the farm boy caught the front of his shirt to undo the last couple of buttons. "Maybe I was waiting for you--" he pushed the shirt off Shane's shoulders. "Or maybe I couldn't care less." As more of Walsh's skin was exposed, so were the little bruises Billy left over him from the previous night. His heart jumped into his throat as his own blood started coursing down. Licking his lips, he undid the button of his pants and the zipper but he didn't kick them off. He let them hang low on his waist, exposing his hipbones. "You fix it. Take 'em off me." He challenged, his normally soft voice becoming a deep rasp. He reached out to tug on the metal necklace around the other man's neck. "Or are ya scared of getting caught?" He teased.

"Easier to move around and get undress." A smirk danced across the young man's lips. His eyes glistened with mischief as he continued ramming his shovel into the broken ground. Originally, this had been a chore. A hole to start making a new water well after they spilled a walker's guts into the old one, but now it was a game of how long it'd take for Shane to crack and join him in the dirt. Billy hadn't stopped thinking about the noises he made and the way the former officer squirmed since their first night in the bathroom. His gesture started innocent. He had been helping him figure out the shower, but one accidental, adrenaline filled, brush led to another and they ended up getting clean together. Billy had done a lot of wild things, but Shane was easily the wildest.

[dontwalkwiththedead]

( closed starter w/ @merlexxdixon )

Keep Merle from getting shot by that pig Walsh and hunt enough squirrels to feed him, himself, and Peter. Not a hard couple of tasks on paper, yet two nearly impossible ones to execute. Merle hadn't shut up since they joined the commune of suburbanite bitches and Peter kept inhaling their jerky like it was his last meal. If he stopped smoking his damn weed or stealing pills from the saddle bag on Merle's bike, his appetite would even out, but he never listened. He was worse when Merle was around. He worshipped him, did everything just like him, and Daryl didn't get it. Their eldest brother was a dick, solely out for himself. While Daryl was thirteen and tossin' himself between their daddy and baby brother, Merle was off fucking around. By the time Daryl was twenty and trying to figure out how to feed eight year old Peter, Merle was getting cozy in jail. When he finally came home, he didn't so much as look at him. Just asked what beer they had. To say he fostered animosity for him over the years was an understatement. Unfortunately, he was cursed with that blind Dixon loyalty and now he was babysitting two grown ass men while trying to avoid dead ones.

That mornin' started off just fucking dandy. Merle had pissed of Dale and Shane and Daryl had to convince them not to kick them out. He told 'em he'd get squirrels for everybody if they forgave Merle. A job to big to complete in a day, by a solitary hunter, so he enlisted Peter to help him. The little shit was givin' him lip over every damn thing. He was always an asshole when Daryl woke him up before noon. Despite being just as Dixon as the rest of them, Pete also hated hunting. He wasn't bad at it, but he had irritatingly low patience. Still, Daryl rather have him bitchin' next to him all day than Merle.

He rested his crossbow next to his thigh as he counted and sharpened his arrows. Peter sat next to him, bouncing his gun on his knee as his deep-set eyes shot daggers across the camp. Occasionally, they'd drift to Daryl messing with the bow. He hated being stared at, no matter who was looking. "What?"

"Nothin', just wondering who pissed in your juice this morning." Peter grumbled as he reached out to smack Merle on the arm. "Can I have a smoke? I'm out."

Peter knew his lack of sobriety the past couple of weeks was stressing Daryl out to the max, but he couldn't help it. One minute, they were selling pills in dive bars. The next, they were getting chased out of Atlanta by ass-eaters. They barely made it out before the bombs dropped. In seconds the few dreams, two friends and couple of prized possessions Pete had disappeared in a blaze. Any sane man would smoke. In his opinion, anyways. "Merle." He repeated. "I want a smoke."

[dontwalkwiththedead]

The more Beth talked, the more aware Rick was of any curious glances or listening ears. Catching her by the elbow, he escorted away from the prison courtyard and inside one of the former offices. "Beth," he shut the door behind them with a bang. He rested his hands on his hips. "You know it's not like that. I can't...I won't complicate things...not after how hard it was to get everyone to get along." He rubbed his thumb over his forehead. "It ain't you."

open: m/f/nb

muse: Rick Grimes

connection: any

"I want you to forget this ever happened."

[dontwalkwiththedead]

"Easier to move around and get undress." A smirk danced across the young man's lips. His eyes glistened with mischief as he continued ramming his shovel into the broken ground. Originally, this had been a chore. A hole to start making a new water well after they spilled a walker's guts into the old one, but now it was a game of how long it'd take for Shane to crack and join him in the dirt. Billy hadn't stopped thinking about the noises he made and the way the former officer squirmed since their first night in the bathroom. His gesture started innocent. He had been helping him figure out the shower, but one accidental, adrenaline filled, brush led to another and they ended up getting clean together. Billy had done a lot of wild things, but Shane was easily the wildest.

open: m/f/nb

muse: Billy Greene ( comics )

connection: any

"I'm not wearing any underwear by the way. Thought you'd like to know."

[dontwalkwiththedead]

Daryl despised how unpredictable their new world was. Almost as much as he despised how comfortable they had gotten in the prison. For a second, he truly thought they had forever home behind the bars and fences and that nothing could touch 'em. He saw the potential to rebuild society, for families to grow, and friendships to flourish. Then, with the snap of the Governor's fingers, Hershel's head went rolling, their walls crumbled, and their people scattered every direction on the God damn compass.

He ran out of bullets first. Seven rounds from his small handgun wasn't much to begin with. The arrows came next. He indiscriminately shot walkers and the men storming their gates. Then, when the bushel on his back was gone, he pulled out his sharpened hunting knife to make quick work of anything stupid enough to get close. In the space of five minutes blood and dirt smeared over his exposed skin and his clothes got torn up. Still, he saved as many as he could. Especially the kids. He lifted dozens of them up into the bus until it was full to the max.

As it peeled away, he started dodging walkers left and right as he collected his arrows. Only to drop them when he saw Rick hugging Lil' Asskicker's blood stained baby seat. If he had time to vomit he would've but Grimes was already tearing at the seams so he opted to be the strong one.

"Come on, man! We gotta go!" He shouted. The smoke choking his lungs made his throat sting as he grabbed Rick by the waist and dragged him to his feet. He was in bad shape. Barely conscious. Daryl was his only hope, and he wouldn't let him die. Instead, he bent his knees and hoisted the former Sheriff's body over his shoulders so he could carry him across the battlefield and towards the woods. Adrenaline was the only reason he had the strength to do so.

The prison had fallen. Phillip Blake had almost killed Rick with his fists, the explosions, the walkers, it became pure chaos.

Michonne striked The Governor, but then the undead broke in, the survivors spread, no one knew who was alive or dead.

"CARL! SAVE CARL!" Rick yelled in despair to Michonne, a chain of walkers split them- he saw the woman running to the boy. The sheriff stumbled, looking for Judith- but all he found was an empty craddle, bloody.

As Beth ran to the bus and it departed, Daryl and Rick were left alone. Rick fell on his knees, one of his hands on the bloody craddle, sobbing, unable to breath properly because of the gunshot that hit his lung.

"CARL!? MICHONNE!?" the man wandered, lost, completely lost, searching for a way out. The bus had left him behind, he couldn't see Tyreese or anyone. Rick just run to the gates- tried to run. His leg also had been shot and he had no one to rely on to keep moving. Walkers were starting to close the path ahead of him, he was going to get caught.

@dontwalkwiththedead

[dontwalkwiththedead]

( closed starter w/ @rickgrimesdoingrickthings )

ALICE x RICK

One of Alice's worst fears had always been losing her family. She couldn't imagine life without the sweet scent of her daddy's cigars, her mom's colorful flowers filling the vases of their family home, or sneaking six packs of gas station beers into the barn with her three older siblings. She was one of the fortunate few who was sincerely close with her family and one of the unfortunate ones to lose everybody the first night shit hit the fan. The plan had been for everybody to meet in downtown Atlanta for dinner after she got off work at Peachtree Middle School. By the time she fought her way out, Atlanta was burning, and all she had left of her family was a voice-mail of her mom sobbing that everyone was gone before she got cut off by an explosion. The bombs.

It's only when your worst fear gets horrifically realized that you have an opportunity to discover your strength.

Alice found her strength on a highway outside of Atlanta at two am. A former police officer named Shane Walsh needed help getting a couple of families up to the quarry campsite and off the roads. She ended up ignoring her grief in favor of saving those she could. By sunrise her and said police officer were laying out a plan to survive for a bunch of scared people. Within twelve houes over a dozen men, women, and children were relying on the two of them. She was the only one other than Shane who could shoot well. And, admittedly, it was easier to lose yourself in a job you weren't asked to do than acknowledge everyone you've ever loved was gone.

Alice sipped the bitter black coffee from the tin cup as she lingered near Lori and Carl and watched the country road that led up to their camp. It'd been hours since Glenn and his group was supposed to be back with supplies from Atlanta. She was worried. She kept checking her watch. An old piece she found in Dale's junk drawer. If they weren't back in thirty minutes she was gonna take the car and go look for them. She knew it was stupid letting that many people go with.

[dontwalkwiththedead]

   jealous / possessive  meme

“ you’re mine. you hear me? ”

“ were you with him/her? ” 

“ why is she/he calling you? ”

“ do they know we’re together? ”

“ were you with him/her? ”

“ i don’t want you seeing them anymore ”

“ did she/he make a pass at you? ”

“ i know you were with her/him ”

“ you belong to me ”

“ i can’t believe you were with her/him ”

“ i don’t like the way he’s/she’s looking at you ”

“im NOT jealous ”

“ i thought you only had eyes for me ”

“ he/she can’t make you feel the way i make you feel ”

“ you’re too good for her/him  ”

“is there someone else?”

“ you were flirting with them ”

“ they were flirting with you ”

“ i don’t want you talking to them again ”

“ i can’t stop picturing you with him/her ”

“ the thought of you with him/her makes me sick ”

“ tell me i have nothing to worry about ”