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hannibals-favourite-meal · 1 year

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.⋆｡Impeachment Part 2｡⋆.

Alpha!Rick Grimes x omega!reader x Alpha!Daryl Dixon

Everything was gone and destroyed but she was still theirs

Warnings: angst, death, presumed death of reader and unborn baby, walkers, violence, captivity, malnutrition/starvation, injury, guilt, sort of amnesia

WC: 4.8k

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness

“I just wanted to come see how you were settling in, I know that being in a new place can be jarring to those who have been on the outside.” As Deanna spoke, Carol slipped from Daryl’s hold and fell in line behind him, as if he was protecting her.

In an unconscious move, Rick stepped forward, using his body as a shield to block the Alexandrian’s view of the group. “We’re just getting used to bein’ behind walls again. Tends to make us jumpy.” The alpha understood, nodding in sympathy.

“You're safe now, both from roamers and other people. These walls are strong, nothing can get in.” Rick's hair stood on end. That's what they said about the prison. The air in the small house was tense as an awkwardness fell over the group.

Carol shifted then, the floorboards creaked loudly.

Deanna's brown eyes flashed, catching sight of Carol’s excited state, but said nothing. She walked back out of the house, glancing back only once with a silent warning to stay in the house. “Have a good rest of your night.”

As soon as the door shut behind her, Carol exploded. “Please, we have to go.”

Rick sighed heavily through his nose. “First, you tell us what happened.” The other's attention flicked back to the omega who was now trembling with nerves.

She glanced around, searching for some sort of approval to take off again, this time with the pack alphas in tow but when she only received looks of confusion and general concern, her excitement died down to a simmer. “I was going to the armoury but something about that woman they had in the infirmary bothered me.”

The house was easy to break into given that there seemed to be no locks in the entire city. Darkness clung to every corner, creating an eerie air that set her on edge as she moved to the basement of the home.

The snarls coming from the back room were downright savage as Carol snuck closer, her shoes not making any sound against the cold concrete. The scent emanating from the room was sour but the undertones were incredibly familiar, like something nostalgic, reminding her of a better time. With a trembling hand, the omega twisted the doorknob, pushing the door open slowly.

Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of the woman curled up in the corner of the room. A tattered shirt hung from her frame, the ripped cloth doing nothing to keep her warm or hide her distended stomach. It looked wrong, the way the huge bump was hanging off her frame, how skinny she now was. The natural softness she carried was now gone, the thick curves she was known for, had disappeared. Her eyes were a bright amber, a tell-tale sign of the omega having gone feral.

But beneath the dirt and grime, Carol could see that young omega they thought they lost, she could see the two claiming marks on opposite sides of her neck, each one with a bite radius matching the two men who had been desperately searching for her.

She gasped involuntarily and the omega's yellow eyes snapped to Carol and a growl echoed through her chest. It was so deep and so unnatural it legitimately frightened the unshakeable woman. A warning. 'Stay away, I will kill you to protect my pup'.

She took a step back but didn’t leave the room. Her head was lowered, her eyes locked on the woman’s. “I'll be back ok. Stay here.” The answer came in the form of another growl as Carol turned and ran out, gunning straight back to her pack.

“Are you sure?” It was Carl that broke the silence when she finished speaking. His eyes sparkled with tears and stepped closer to her. “Is it really her?”

“It ain’t her.” Daryl snapped. “She's dead.” Carl swallowed thickly, leaning into his father's side for some sort of comfort. He had lost two mothers less than 6 months apart from each other and he could hardly bear it.

Rick placed a hand on his boy's shoulder. “We don't know that for sure but Daryl's right, the probability that it is,” he tried to say her name but it caught in his throat, choking him, “it's incredibly unlikely.”

Carol snapped back. “I know what I saw and I was around her enough to have her scent permanently etched into my mind. It's her.”

“No it ain't!” Daryl was red with rage but the tear that rolled down his dusty cheek told an entirely different story, one that everyone in that room knew all-too-well. If she was alive, they had left her behind to die, turning her savage in the process.

Even before the world fell, there were cases of omega and alphas going feral, even some betas in rare instances. It was a survival tactic. With the brain reverting back to its primal self, anyone could survive the most dire of circumstances. It only usually happened with soldiers or people trapped in an abusive relationship.

But now, Rick supposed, it would be extremely common. “But if Carol's right, there's no telling if we would be able to bring Y/N back. Who knows how long she's been feral for.” Glenn pointed out, somehow managing to make everyone feel worse.

“I'll go back and check it out with Carol. If she's right, we can try to help her. We have both of her alphas and both of her pups, that should do something. And if it isn't her, we can move on.” Taking charge, Maggie spoke up but looked to Rick for approval given the severity of the consequences should two members of their group be found wandering well after dark.

His first instinct was to say no, there was no way he could risk all of their safeties for one person (even if it was his omega and unborn pup) but as he looked over his pack and watching how their eyes lit up with both despair and hope, he knew that he couldn't refuse. “If you're not back in 20 minutes-”

Carol had taken Maggie's hand and was out the door before he could finish his sentence. He huffed. “Y'all go get some more sleep, we don't know what's gonna happen tomorrow.” That appeased the others, especially since they had almost no clue who Y/N was save for some vague mentions of her.

Carl and Daryl stayed in the foyer. “It ain't her.” But Daryl's voice was broken and weak. Conflict swirled in the blue of his eyes. He wanted so badly for her to be alive but to be alive and in that condition because of his inability to protect her- it was killing him.

“It's not your fault. Or my dad's. This could be our chance to get her back.” Carl almost begged the other man. “Just have hope.” Daryl scoffed and turned his back on them, storming off to a quiet part of the house.

“Go check on your sister, I'll deal with him.” Rick followed after, his own heart heavy with guilt.

Maggie kept her head on a swivel, watching for any movement from the empty streets and dark houses. Carol however, had her eyes locked forwards, speeding back to the infirmary.

A light drizzle had started, cooling down the warm night air considerably but that wasn't the cause of Carol's goosebumps. They had lost too many already, whether it was from walkers or even other humans, so the prospect of getting someone back was overwhelming. She thundered up the few steps and threw open the front door, Maggie close behind.

Carol was so deep in her excitement that she didn't notice that the yowling had stopped, but the other woman did. “Carol-” She started but her warning went ignored.

The basement door was open just wide enough for the dull yellow light of a lone lantern to illuminate the hallway. The wood slammed into the wall as the door was thrown open by the older omega, making both women freeze.

The room was barren save for a ratty blanket on the concrete ground. “She was here! I swear!” Maggie cautiously inched into the room. She scooped up the torn fabric and brought it up to her nose.

“I believe you, her scent is fresh.” The silent question was left hanging in the air, 'where did she go?'.

——————

It had taken less than 2 weeks for the relative safety of Alexandria to collapse. The first cracks had appeared on that first night. When Maggie and Carol returned alone but with a blanket that reeked of their lost packmate, Daryl had almost gone mad searching the town for her. He had caught her scent only once and it was outside the wall. It led them all to question the strength of the huge steel plates if a starved and heavily pregnant omega could scale it.

Then Noah was gone and the rift between the Alexandrians and them got even larger. It seemed like nothing could unite the two groups, especially after Rick became de-facto leader after Reg’s death.

Everything felt so wrong and out of place. With the discovery of the herd in the quarry and the realisation that Y/N was still alive somewhere, those feelings only got worse for Carl.

Chaos rippled through Alexandria, leaving deep panic and blood in its wake. People had somehow scaled the great walls of the city and had already killed so many of their own. A bulk of the fighters were gone, effectively leaving the women and children undefended and woefully underprepared for any attack.

Adrenaline coursed through Carl's veins, sharpening his senses but his reactions were still a milli-second too slow. There was already a cut along his forearm that burned and his hands trembled. Enid was silent beside him, Judith pinned to her chest as the three of them darted into another house on the outskirts of town.

The image of that man with the 'W' carved into his forehead flashed behind Carl's eyelids, just the same as every other person he had killed. Enid began to speak but he turned his back on her, instead silently looking through the house for any unwanted guests.

This whole thing was so painfully reminiscent of the Governor’s attack and the only thing he could do was keep him and Judith safe. They would survive just like before.

He breathed a sigh of relief as the rooms turned up empty and quiet. “What do we do now?” Enid spoke up, her voice strained with panic.

“I guess we wait.” Dust floated up from the couch as the teens sat down, finally able to catch their breaths.

Judith cooed at her older brother before looking up at the ceiling and repeating the sound, this time even louder. “Is she seeing ghosts or something?” Edith attempted to joke but instead just got silence back and the baby taken from her arms.

“She just likes making noises.” As if to confirm his theory, Judith chose that moment to squeal excitedly, wiggling in his arms without taking her eyes off of the ceiling.

The wood above them creaked, sending a light dusting of plaster down onto the three children. Carl and Enid seized with fear while Judith continued to make noise.

“Stay here.” With the baby quickly thrust back into her arms, Enid had no choice but to remain on the couch, watching with wide eyes as Carl drew his gun and cautiously climbed the stairs to the second floor.

He was sure he had checked every room carefully. He knew he did. But as he got closer to the master bedroom and the noises got louder, he began to doubt himself. His steps were light, desperately trying to avoid any creaky floorboards that would alert whatever was hiding about his position.

His knuckles were deathly pale as he tightened his grip around his gun, the barrel trembled only slightly with his nerves. Carl pushed the bedroom door open with the end of the weapon and once again was met with a completely empty room but the soft groaning was still present and he could now tell that it was leaking from the closet on the opposite end.

A sudden shout from Judith made him jump but his attention snapped back to the closet when something slammed into the wood heavily.

“Just a walker, it’s just a walker.” He murmured to himself. His left hand dropped from the butt of the pistol and he gingerly grabbed the doorknob, ready to turn it and then immediately back off to give himself some room for a clean shot.

Taking in a single deep breath, he steadied his gun and refocused his senses. Then he turned the knob.

Silence overtook the room but only for a few seconds when the sound of chains shifting emanated from the small dark space. Then a foot stepped over the threshold, and a hand curled into the doorframe as whatever was trapped inside finally pulled itself out.

The first thing Carl saw was her eyes- bright yellow with the pupils near the size of pin drops as they locked onto him. They weren’t the eyes of a walker. Even fresh, the ghouls supported milky white irises.

She did not snarl at him nor lunge, instead her head tilted and she sniffed the air. She took another step forward and finally Carl could see her two claiming marks, and more importantly, her pregnant belly.

“Mom.” The word slipped from his mouth before he could stop it. She froze and a purr rumbled through the room. “Yeah! You know me, it’s Carl. And Judith is downstairs. You remember Judith don’t you?” She blinked at him, there was no comprehension behind her eyes.

Carl sighed. “We’ll work on it.”

It was only then that he noticed the heavy chain around her neck. There were spots of blood along her collarbone from where the metal had pulled at her skin. “Shit.” He muttered.

The gun slid easily into the waistband at his back and with his hands now free, he carefully approached her. She watched him but didn’t move which he took as a good sign.

From what he could tell, the chain had been looped around her neck a couple times and then locked to a hook haphazardly drilled into the side of the closet. He was confident that he could pull it straight out of the wall if he got enough leverage.

As he moved closer, Y/N shifted to the side, allowing him to slip into the closet behind her.

The small space was absolutely rancid but he continued forward, albeit holding his breath. She blocked out the light some but he was still able to see where she was bound to the wall. Already one of the screws on the anchor was gone so gathering up some of the slack from her chain, he wound it around his hands and with an almighty tug, it came loose from the drywall.

“See, that was easy enough.” She stood stock still as he delicately lifted her bounds from around her neck, letting the metal drop to the hardwood with a clatter.

Her eyes looked down at it then back to him. “E-e-e-zzz-ee.” She repeated, her voice broken and raspy from disuse.

Immediately Carl lit up. “That’s right! Easy!” The corner of her lip turned up into what he thought was supposed to be a smile but looked more like a grimace to him.

“Carl? You’ve been up here for a while, is everything ok?” Enid called out and just like that, Y/N was once again hunched over and snarling aggressively.

“Stay there!” He called out but he was too late. The teen stepped into the bedroom, Judith still in her arms. She froze, her eyes going wide.

“Who- who is that?” She asked, almost in disgust. She tried to turn away, to somehow shield the toddler in her arms from the sight of the feral omega but as soon as Judith disappeared from Y/N’s eye-line, she let out a deep warning growl.

“Give me Judith,” Carl urged, “right now.”

“Are you crazy?” She hissed, clinging even tighter to the unbothered toddler.

“Trust me.” As soon as Judith was in her brother’s arms, the growling stopped. And when he walked closer, the scent of milk and flowers filled the room. Y/N reached for the pair of them with shaky hands, her fingers just skimming the soft chubby cheek of her daughter.

“That’s why Judy was making so much noise, she could smell her.” Said girl giggled and tried to launch herself at the omega but Carl held tight. As much as he would love to have them properly reunited, he doubted she could support Judith’s weight in her arms after not eating properly for god knows how long.

Y/N looked at Carl while grabbing his wrist. He let her pull his hand away from his sister and closer to her belly. She laid his palm flat against the top of her bump.

The baby moved under his hand, softly kicking at his fingers. Relief washed over the boy and he felt a massive weight lift from his chest. “Dad's not gonna believe this.”

It took some coaxing (ie Carl using Judith like a carrot on a stick) but he was able to lead Y/N out of the master bedroom and down the stairs. He let her cradle Judith's head between her hands as he looked outside, watching for any of those freaks that had attacked them.

Only when he was sure that the streets were properly empty did he carefully open the front door. “Come on. Enid! Let's go!” He called back but the house was silent save for Y/N's purrs and Judith's coos.

“Goddamnit.” He knew he should go look for her but he also wanted to get his mother to safety and she would not be safe in the house where someone had kept her trapped. So, he walked away, heading back towards the centre of town, hopeful that his father and Daryl had returned.

Her bare feet scraped against the concrete as she trailed behind him. While her eyes were fixed on him and the baby, Carl could see the way her nose scrunched and her head tilted, alert for any sign of danger.

“Carl!” Rick's voice echoes through the street, panicked and strained.

He looked back at Y/N who had perked up slightly, the yellow of her eyes now holding flecks of its natural colour. He chanced it. “Dad!” Rick rounded the corner, gun at the ready and with a fire in his eyes but as soon as he saw the trio, he stumbled.

Even from a distance, Carl could see the way the breath was knocked from his lungs. Like Daryl, Rick blamed himself for their omega's disappearance. He felt the weight more heavily because he was not only responsible for her but also for the whole pack, his guilt ran deep, infecting every choice he made and slowly driving him mad.

When Daryl would leave Alexandria to search for her, Rick would stay behind, forcing himself to focus on the rest of his pack. He thought that if he could protect everyone else, the guilt would wane, but it never did.

“Omega!” His voice thundered down the street making Y/N freeze. There was some sort of recognition in her posture: her head bowed, shoulders slack but her lips still curled into a snarl and she attempted to snatch Judith from Carl's arms. She only succeeded in tugging both of her pups closer to her body.

“Omega.” He repeated, this time softer and offering her his empty hands. “It’s ok, I won’t hurt you or the pups.” He bowed his head and dropped his eyes to the ground in submission.

She growled again but it was softer and more confused. “I’m your alpha.” As slowly as he could, Rick extended his left arm and presented her with his wrist. While not as prominent as his neck, his scent still bled from his skin. Her nose twitched and as she leaned forward to sniff at his offered limb while keeping her eyes locked onto him.

Her brows furrowed and she took a step closer, her hand darting out to grip his wrist. Her cold nose rubbed against his cold skin as she inhaled even more of that intoxicating scent that tugged at part of her mind.

Carl beamed when she dropped his father’s hand in favour of burying her nose into the crook of his neck. Judith gave a chirp as she was squished between the two grown-ups, still partially in her brother’s arms and her mother’s.

Rick’s eyes fluttered shut as her own scent washed over him for the first time in almost 2 months, thick with fear and apprehension but it was hers all the same. Her bump pushed into his stomach and he felt like he could cry. She was safe, she was alive and she was back in his arms.

Warmth flooded their bond, bringing a smile to his face. She licked at the mark she had left on his scent gland months ago so Rick placed his hand on her hip, gently pulling her even closer. He winced as he realised just how malnourished she was. “Let’s go get you and the baby checked out and maybe some food.”

Her eyes remained uncomprehending but she followed after him anyway, his hand held tightly in hers.

Bodies lay in the streets, both enemies and friends alike as the moans of the undead just outside the walls form a macabre symphony. Y/N snarled under her breath and cupped her stomach while Carl glanced at his father, panic colouring his features.

“Is that the herd?”

“The plan went sideways but we'll think of a new one.” Rick promised, laying his free hand on the teen's shoulder.

“Enid's gone.”

His face hardened as he replied sternly. “As soon as we have a clear path out, we'll search for her. Daryl's still out there too.” His eyes flicked back to the omega who currently had her teeth bared at the solid walls. “We'll get them all back.” And he didn't just mean those trapped outside the city.

——————

There was a haze wrapped around Y/N's mind. It was like walking through a dense fog right as dawn broke- the light just barely strong enough to let her see a few inches in front of her but every step she took forward, the world that she knew was swallowed up and forgotten. She had no idea where she was going or where she had been but the tugging in her chest pulled her ever forward.

She had brief moments of clarity, snapshots in time that only materialised for a second before the fog descended once more.

The pop of gunfire and the smell of smoke as she ran barefoot into the woods.

Blood pouring from cuts on her hands as she scrambles up a crumbling lattice, the dead reaching for her, their rotting fingers only inches away from her feet.

Feeling the babe inside her belly kick for the first time. She cries.

Two men corner her in an abandoned warehouse. Their tone is comforting but their words are garbled. She tries to speak but all that comes out is a growl.

Another man, this one bigger and meaner looking, wrapping something cold around her neck. He spits on her face before sealing her into darkness.

But none of those snapshots compared to this moment.

Reality slammed into her chest like a freight train. Y/N gasped for air as she desperately looked around. She was in a house, a nice house by the looks of it and surrounded by people she didn't recognise.

The smell of copper and death fill the cramped room as people scream at each other, their voices like nails on chalkboard to her sensitive ears. She winced and attempted to curl into herself but was stopped by her huge belly.

Something about it isn't right but before she can recall why, her attention shifts to the form on the bed next to her. He's no older than 14 but he's tall and his brown hair is long. A white bandage covers half of his face. She knew that face.

Her hands trembled as she cupped his cheek, her thumb brushing against his skin. He did not react at all, just remained deathly still before her, the only movements of his body was the steady and too slow rising and lowering of his chest.

“Carl.” The name came to her and a second later, so did everything else. “Carl?” He was so big now, already growing into his features. He looked so much like his father.

His father.

Her head shot up, eyes scanning the now mostly empty room for her alphas. The front door was wide open, letting in the grotesque sounds of flesh being sliced open and bone shattering. The darkness from outside seemed to grow with each passing second as the moans grew louder.

Y/N leaned over Carl's body as if to afford him some protection if the walkers made their way inside but deep down she doubted that she could do much besides buy him a couple extra seconds. She felt weak, she was tired and her entire being ached.

“It's ok baby, I'll keep you safe.”

Suddenly, bright light streamed through the doorway and an explosion rocked the house. Y/N whimpered and cradled her boy as the sounds of celebration overpowered all else.

“They actually did it.” A plump woman wearing glasses murmured in shock. “I can't believe it.”

As an optimistic mood filled the room, the fog began to descend once more and Y/N could feel herself slipping away. “You!” She barked at the woman who quickly turned around, her eyes wide. “T-tell my alphas that I love them.” Her words slurred and jumbled together but the woman nodded anyway.

Y/N smiled in relief. “Tell 'em to be safe.” She looked down at her boy one more time and then everything disappeared once more.

The smell of gasoline and burning bodies only seemed to add to Daryl's frustration. The past few days had been absolute hell- he was tired, hurt and so strung out he felt like anything could set him off. And that's not to mention the weird feelings that constantly flowed into him through his bond.

Fear, relief, anger, love.

All of it was just too much.

As he watched the horde of walkers burn in the lake, he was consumed by his thoughts. Nowhere was safe, death constantly followed right behind them and some part of him knew that it would always be like that, no matter how hard they tried to change things.

His thick fingers pulled at the fraying threads of the bracelet around his wrist as he thought of his omega. He pictured that she was safe somewhere, holed up in some isolated cabin that had a garden full of food or in an abandoned apartment building that she could scavenge. Carol kept reassuring him that she was alive and ok but each day that passed without him finding Y/N, he believed his friend less and less. Even the blanket they had discovered was quickly losing her scent.

He wanted to get back out there, to keep searching but he was just so tired.

“Daryl!” Rick called over the din. His voice while strained from exhaustion still carried the power of a true alpha. The younger man ignored him though as he continued to watch the slowly dying fire from atop the truck, his hands supporting his weight as he leaned back against them.

Vaguely, he could feel frustration leaking through the bond. “Y/N's here!” That snapped him out of it.

“Wha?” But before Rick could repeat himself, Daryl had jumped down, landing heavily on his already sore legs. “She's?”

His brother nodded. “With Carl but she's feral so we have to take it slow.”

“But she's-” Suddenly he felt like he couldn't speak, his guilt and relief wrapping around his throat in a tight grip.

“She's safe, the pup's safe.” Rick gestured to the infirmary and before he could think, Daryl took off running.

50 days. It had been 50 agonising, tortuous days of unknowing, of guilt and fear. Of imagining the hell which she experienced since the moment that the chain fences of the prison fell.

50 days of self-hate, of knowing he wasn't enough- not strong enough, not fast enough, not brave enough- to save her and the pup.

50 days of her haunting his every thought.

50 days.

And as he ran into the infirmary, all that time, all that fear disappeared the second he saw her again. The clock reset the moment he stepped over the threshold and her golden eyes locked with his blue ones.

He didn't care that she didn't recognise him, he didn't care that she snarled and planted her hands down around Carl's body as if he was a danger to the boy who was almost like his own.

She was alive, she was here. And that's all that mattered.

For the first time in 50 days, Daryl smiled.

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harris-only · 7 months

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Photographed by Amber Grace Dixon

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weretheones · 1 year

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All You Got | Part 11

Part 11: New Trails

Plot: Daryl Dixon hadn’t known much beyond anger and loneliness his whole life, until he found family at the end of the world. Everything he grew to care about was ripped away the day the prison fell; so when he recognized you, an enforcer of his loss, hiding in that cabin, he almost pulled the trigger. But after you end up saving his life, he couldn’t find the indifference to leave you for dead, even if you’d been on the Governor’s side. (Mid-Late Season 4)

Series Masterlist | AO3 Version

Paring: Eventual Daryl Dixon x Reader Word Count: 5k Warnings: typical twd content. mentions of death. A/N: hey remember me? pls say yes :D

A day later, you raided the closest town.

A new multitool, granola bars, some tampons. It wasn’t much, but at least you had the car when the night turned cold.

And Daryl.

Those hints of vulnerability hidden behind a surly mask hadn't disappeared yet. And best of all, he could look you in the eye again. Even if you still couldn’t always quite tell what he was thinking, the reaffirming glance of familiar blue laced with a type of gentleness you’d never noticed before— not even in those quiet moments: when he was patching you up, when he was sick with fever— warmed you up better than any sputtering car heater could.

He’d never forget the prison. The sight of those metal fences shadowing your face. But there was a trail where your feet had landed these past weeks, littered with moments that could convince even a man as stubborn and heartbroken as Daryl that it was the right choice to stick by your side, the shadow of prison fences and all. Somehow, somewhere along the way from that dingy cabin to the car you shared, you’d made it okay.

So things were okay, too. For a while.

But the days went on.

On and on and on…

Limp leaves of brown and red flew in the air around spinning tires. Ahead was a horizon of cracked pavement lit by the thin light of sunset and the beam of headlights. Except for the speeding car, the road was empty. Nothing to see but amber skies.

Then those slipped away. The sun dipped behind tall trees, and it was only those headlights and the cold moonlight. No walkers. Not even an abandoned car. Just an empty road, no matter how many miles you traveled.

“Where are we going?”

For the first time in months, there was an air of hopelessness caught in your lungs. It infected your voice, wrapping around the words like rotten tendrils of ivy.

Daryl’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. White knuckles.

He shook his head.

“I dunno.”

The bus had nearly dashed all your hopes, but there was still that stubborn bit of you holding onto the far-fetched idea that something was still out there to find. To protect. Though the road had become so long over the days, the idea smaller and smaller as north, west, south, and east blended, and slowly you were disorientated. No more paths to follow. No more maps to trace.

You could feel your grip slipping, right as the first flakes of snow fell.

—

Eventually, he taught you how to hunt.

The tracks were the softest thing you’d seen in a week, not since Daryl had smiled at you by that river. Thin ovals imprinted in the dirt under a scatter of leaves that you brushed a hand across, gently.

“Deer, right?” You looked up at Daryl. “How fresh are they?”

He just shrugged. “Wha’ ya asking me for?”

You crouched closer to the tracks. They were relatively deep, the edges cut into recognizable prints. With the back of your knuckle, you pressed into the dirt beside them. It gave away underneath, marking an even sharper and deeper print. The earth was soft this morning, warmed by the pleasantly bright sun despite the first fall of snow a couple of days ago.

The sinking prints could only have been made that day. After sunrise.

“They’re fresh,” you concluded. “Maybe an hour or two?”

Daryl smirked, and you soon had one to match it.

A deer would be more than enough meat for the two of you. The last time you’d had a catch like that, it’d been in the thick of last winter. Taking a deep breath in, you swore you could still smell the stew steaming from your bowl. It was enough to give your step an extra bounce. To give some fuel to that dwindling hope in your chest.

Things weren’t always bad, even if it felt like everything was slipping through your fingers lately.

And then an hour later, you were standing over a dead walker and a dead deer, all chewed up.

—

Still no home. No direction.

The air was damp. An almost suffocating musk that infected every inch of the abandoned motel room. From the tacky wallpaper to the mismatching purple curtains, this place screamed road-trip stop. A little strip of a dozen rooms at the edge of an unnamed town dedicated for only those passing through.

It seemed fitting to spend the night, then.

“You can’t seriously like those things.”

Daryl’s eyes found yours, even in the dim candlelight.

“Love ‘em.” He threw another pig’s foot into his mouth and you cringed.

“Ew.”

“More for me, then.”

That was just fine with you.

You rolled your eyes and took another bite of canned corn. It was too sweet and a bit metallic from its years in a can, but at least it wasn’t a foot.

The pair of you had your backs resting against your claimed, and ironically empty, single beds. After a week of sleeping in that car, taking turns curling into the backseat, it was a treat to have a real mattress to sleep on. Even if it was cheap and full of squeaky springs that dug into your spine.

But somehow here you were, on the floor instead, sharing a late and unexpected meal against dusty, floral bed sheets.

Daryl insisted on holding watch most nights. A simple thing that always seemed to lull you to sleep faster knowing that he was there, he was watching. You stopped doubting if he would keep you safe a while ago. He always did, after all. But tonight, it’d been your turn to do the same for him, to wait for each of those heavy breaths to come and the gentle flutter of his eyes as he fell deeper and deeper into sleep.

That walker had almost got him.

Really almost got him. If you hadn’t fired a bullet when you did, you would have spent the night digging a grave. All for some gas to fill a car you still had no idea where to drive. It was always just the next town, the next house, the next store, the next—

He let you throw your arms around him after the last of the dead had fallen, even if his muscles turned to stone when you did. And he listened after you told him to rest first. Perhaps the memory of that loose, unbridled fear in your eyes had turned him to putty in your hands, for the time being.

It was only a couple of hours before sunrise when he woke up. He asked you to rest, too. Whatever you still could get.

The last thing you wanted was to sleep, to give in to your heavy eyelids and fall away from the world. Not when you could still smell the walker’s rot, could still hear Daryl’s heavy grunts. The crack of that bullet breaking through that monster’s skull. No. No, you wanted to be here. With him.

But you were putty in his hands, as always.

It'd barely been halfway through his turn on guard when an old nightmare slipped its way into your subconscious. A morbid twist of Daryl’s neck ripping underneath that walker’s teeth into the sky high flames you’d never forget from the early days. As you began to toss, the squeaking of your mattress pulled him away from the window. His chest ached to hear the mumble of your fragile voice around incoherent pleads, and then that name— the same name over and over.

He woke you up.

The haunting touch of the dead, cold and cruel, slipped away with the curl of his warm, merciful fingers squeezing around your shoulder. It’d taken more than a few seconds to realize his features weren’t twisted in terror and pain, like all those other faces that you could barely remember anymore had been. Then there was the drumming beat of your heart as you sat up and clung onto him, for the second time that day.

After you let go of him, he sat back on your bed, quiet and rigid as a statue. Back to his usual, touch-adverse self.

So you sat there, listening to your breathing slow and the whistle of the night’s air sneaking past that cracked window.

“I’m sorry,” you finally mumbled, brushing your messy hair away from your face.

The stream of moonlight that slipped through the break in the curtains reached across your face. He followed the movement of your hand, heard the rumble of your voice, thick with sleep, and seemed to warm back up.

Slowly.

He swallowed. “Nothin’ to be sorry ‘bout.”

You nodded, fear shifting into numbness.

“You alright?”

The moonlight fell on him too, highlighting the concern that laced his eyes.

“Mhm,” you hummed.

It was about the most you could muster out; you could still feel the ruthless grasp of dead fingers around your neck.

It wasn’t convincing, of course. That look on his face didn’t let up.

“I’m okay,” you reiterated with a deep breath.

His eyes flickered over you one last time before he finally conceded.

“Alright.”

Daryl shifted back again, looking down to the bed. The sheets were thrown back. Your legs curled up to your chest. He had this burning thought— one that had been simmering for a while now, that made him freeze up with fear of his own. Would it help to brush that one loose strand of hair behind your ear? The one you missed? Maybe then you’d hold him again. That seemed to make you feel better, somehow. All he knew was it made him feel warm and—

He stood up, somewhat abruptly.

“I still got a couple hours, if ya wanna…“

“No,” you blurted. “No, I’m not— I’m not tired anymore.”

He nodded and offered an alternative. No prying and no more nightmares. Just distractions.

That was how the pair of you ended up on the floor. Daryl eating pig's feet from a jar and you playing up your disgust, because the reality was, you’d eaten far worse than pig’s feet in the last few years.

“Some fresh game, diet soda, pig’s feet,” Daryl smirked as he wiped his hands clean. “You’d have yourself a white trash brunch.”

“A delicacy,” you teased.

“More fillin’ than your corn.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Whatever. I’ll stick to my corn, thanks.”

“Your loss.” Daryl took another bite. “Merle ‘n I used to fight over these.”

You huffed a laugh, “Seriously?”

“Mhm. He was a sneaky bastard. Used to wait till I looked away, then swipe ‘em off my plate.”

“Like a dog?”

He chuckled, “Wouldn't be the first time someone called him tha’.”

“Oh? He didn’t get along well with the ladies?”

“Merle thought he did. Don’t think no one else agreed.”

You gave him a small laugh. Though, truth be told, the talk of brothers, no matter how joking, was starting to weigh on your chest. It always boiled back down to him, and you couldn’t think about him right now— not if you wanted your eyes to stay dry and your heart to beat that steady rhythm in your chest.

So you backtracked.

“You ate a lot of white trash brunches?”

“Didn't have much else.”

“Didn’t cook?”

“Didn’t know how. Didn’t have no one to teach me, neither. Not unless ya count over a fire.”

Every meal you’d had in the last two years had been cooked over a fire.

“It counts,” you said.

“Did you cook?”

“Mhm. Loved it,” you sighed. “I was pretty good, too.”

“Better than canned soup?”

“Much better.”

“My mom used to cook. Can’t remember it much, though.”

He had a timid look in his eye, and you held your breath. Ready to share your sympathies— which felt all too frequent, these days.

“She died when I was a kid. ‘Round the same age as Carl.”

“Who’s Carl?”

It was Daryl’s turn to hold his breath.

“He, uh,” he cleared his throat. Shifted in his spot. That mention hadn’t been intentional, it seemed. A slip in memory— that you were new to him. You’d never lived at the prison, never known the people he did. That the only thing the two of you shared, beyond the old stories you shared during quiet nights, were the last two months.

“He’s Rick’s kid.”

He had another look. One that made the air smell like rushing waters and moss.

You felt the words bubble up your throat before you even knew what they were.

“The one I—?“

“Yeah.” He nodded.

The one you saved.

“Sounded like it.”

You took a deep breath of that musty motel room air.

“We didn’t have many kids who knew how to use a shotgun. Never mind kill a man.”

“Carl did?”

“He had to. Growing up on the road. The first time we fought the Governor.”

“Poor kid.”

“He’s tough.”

“Still. I can’t imagine growing up like this.”

Daryl’s eyes fell to his fingers, fiddling with his thumb. Your heart squeezed when his shoulders, as broad and strong as they were, seemed to curl in on themselves. Before you could even register your concern for whatever was running through his head, another question tumbled out of you.

“You think it might be easier?”

He shrugged. “Ya jus’ get used to it. Shit being ugly.”

“I guess,” you mumbled.

But hearing those words, that thick drawl of his tired voice, made something sting inside of you like salt rubbed into a wound. From the small bits he shared, Daryl’s upbringing never sounded easy, or particularly loving. A brother who neglected him most of his life, a mother who died when he was just a boy, and a father he’d never mention. Even if his life had prepared him to survive this sick and twisted world, it didn’t seem fair.

“It still doesn’t make it right.”

Daryl didn’t say much after that. You didn’t want to offend him— you hoped you didn’t. Maybe that comment made it obvious you’d been thinking about his past and his family… Those scars. No matter how hard you tried to forget them, to ignore the intrusive thoughts of how they might’ve come to be, the sight was ingrained in your memory.

So much for lightening the mood.

It was silent. Long enough for your words to sink into the stale air, and for the both of you to finish your snacks. The empty cans sat on the dusty nightstand to your left and your head rested against the back of the mattress. Your eyes almost closed, too.

But with that dark silence came those haunting memories again. Flashes of that nightmare. The desperation trapped in dying screams. Fire and blood.

You stood up. Back turned to the quick look Daryl threw your way, you dug through that bag you packed full after raiding the town’s general store. It was almost bare, save the three walkers you took out, but you managed to find the last of the canned food that now sat on the floor, empty, and a stray sterile pad, kicked underneath one of the vacant shelves.

“Should change your bandage.”

“Alright,” he agreed, moving to sit on the edge of his bed.

It took everything in him to keep his eyes off that pensive expression of yours. Features twisted in contemplation, and a hint of horror, maybe. You tried to hide it from him. In a way, he hid too, concerning himself with only the buttons of his flannel and the leather vest peeling off his back instead of that festering question he couldn’t seem to stop asking. Are you okay? It sat in his heart like a shard of glass, digging deeper and deeper the harder he tried to pry it away— to ignore the urge.

The fabric of his shirt hung off the side of his body. Enough room that he knew you’d be able to sneak underneath and change his bandage without bother while keeping the rest of his torso hidden.

As if you hadn’t already seen more than enough of his tanned skin to keep you up at night with unsolicited thoughts of every kind.

Heartbreak.

Desire.

The bed squeaked as you sat down behind him, feet hanging off the edge as you turned to see the exit wound. You tugged the old bandage off. It was hard to tell what it looked like with nothing but that thin peak of moonlight and the low flicker of candlelight, but with the pass of your fingertips around the wound, you could tell his skin was flat again. No inflammation, no discolouration save that hint of a healing bruise. There was a fresh layer of white tissue where the bullet had passed out of him, which was the best sign of all. You ripped open the sterile pad you found and taped half over the same spot.

Then you moved to the front to do it all over again. Doing your absolute best to keep your focus on the wound and not his watchful eyes, following you as softly as that candlelight danced across his skin.

“How’s it lookin', doc?”

As much as he was trying to distract himself from that heavy look on your face, barely relieved with his stupid quip that you spared the slightest smile for, his curiosity was getting the better of him. Weaving in like the roots of a weed. It still felt foreign to concern himself so attentively with someone without that cursed last name of his; Merle was all he gave a shit about before, and even then, his brother usually rejected that care. Called him a pussy for giving a damn. Then they ended up at the quarry, and it turned out he wasn’t entirely heartless once another Dixon wasn’t around to taunt him.

“Good. I don’t think you’ll need this for much longer.”

Truth was, Daryl didn’t give a damn about his shoulder right now. Not when your eyes were hazed like they’d been when he woke you up.

“How do you feel?” You asked.

It took him a second to remember you meant to be tending to him, right now. Not the other way around.

“Fine.”

He rolled his shoulder as if to prove it.

“How ‘bout you?”

Your eyes stilled, for a moment, then snuck back up to his. As if he’d just caught you red-handed. Another hum hadn’t even the chance to slip past your lips, but you could already tell he thought you were full of it. A slight narrow of blue, flickering over the way you'd been biting your lip and your heavy eyes. He gave you a chance to brush it off again, if you wanted.

Somehow that made your resolve crumble away. Knowing that he saw past it all, but he'd never force you to bare it to him, either. But then those walls you put up years ago were ground down to sand, running through your fingers.

“I don’t have them often. Not anymore.”

“You said a name,” Daryl mumbled. “Alex.”

Pouring free.

You gave a soft nod. Hoped that ringing in your ears would go away as fast as it came on.

“My brother.”

Just like that, his eyes were starting to burn you again, so you looked at your hands. In your lap, where you sat on your knees, just next to him. Close enough to wrap his shoulder. Close enough that you could see his own hands resting on his thighs, fingers just brushing against the frayed edges of his torn jeans.

You picked at the strands of your own, right beside that numb spot on your thigh where a scar was forming.

“I don’t remember it much, but I think it was from the start. When we were at Westwood.”

“Wha’s that?”

“It was a middle school just outside of Atlanta. Some army had set up a base there until they could find a way to move us all to Fort Benning.”

There was a brief moment when his eyes widened. He had a curious stare that forced you to look up before a flash of green sleeping bags and the silver packaging of MRE rations pulled you back into the memory.

“There weren’t a lot of us. Under a dozen soldiers. Few of us from the city. Most of the kids ran off with their parents— if they showed up.”

It hit harder than the Governor had stabbed you, right then, that you’d forgotten their faces. Their voices. Their names. Memories shadowed with ghosts who you couldn’t even tell apart anymore… The smell of burning flesh lingered better than their smiles.

“It went bad quickly.”

He didn’t ask how. Didn’t need to really, the end was all the same. One day it was gone, and so were they, and the road became your path again.

“You ever made it to Fort Benning?”

The edges of his voice had dulled, filed down until the words were nothing but a feather passing along your cheek, beckoning your attention his way instead. Sometimes you wondered how he knew you were picking up the shovel, ready to dig your way into a pit of fear and regret, before the handle ever touched your hand.

You took in a breath. “Yeah. It was nothing but ash, though.”

“We were headed there. Back at the start.”

“Fort Benning?”

“Mhm.”

“What happened?”

“Got held up on Hershel’s farm, instead. Rick ran into some guys one day— bad guys. They told him it fell. Badly.”

Another flash of the dead.

“It did.”

You looked back down.

“Did those bad guys take the farm?”

“Nah. We left ‘fore they found us. Herd ran us out. Spent the whole winter on the road after tha’, runnin’ from place to place…”

Ever so slightly, Daryl stiffened. You knew what that meant.

Until the prison.

“What was the farm like?” You asked.

There was a pleading tone to your voice, twirling up the edges of your words in a way that reminded him of the girl who couldn’t stop asking if he’d stay or leave, who would limp behind him after he silently scolded himself for helping you so much. Back when he didn’t care if your leg hurt or not, or at least, was better at pretending so.

“We weren’t there long.” He shrugged nonchalantly as if there wasn’t a string as taut as his crossbow squeezing around his heart. “Maybe a month. But, it was the nicest place we’d been. Had trees, big old ones. Runnin' water. Fields’a crops and a couple’a horses.” He added that last one even if Nelly had thrown him so hard he wasn’t eager to ride another horse again. “But we were always fighting each other. No one knew what the hell they were doin’.”

Your brow raised. “Not even you?”

“Thought I did.” He shook his head. “I tried.”

A breeze snuck through the cracked window, flickering the flames around you. He took a breath.

“Still am.”

“Me too.”

The shadows cast across your face were softer now. The sun rose on the opposite side of the motel, but he could still see that hope shimmer in your pretty smile. A softer, dusty blue lit up the sky with ribbons of amber dancing across; orange reflecting onto the colour of your eyes he knew so well. Tracing the edge of your curled lips, the curve of your cheekbones. Your hair was getting long, now loose from the toss and turn of sleep. He didn’t see it down often, but it framed your face just as kindly as the light did.

You took in a deep breath. It sounded less strained than before.

“We should head back to the car.”

Daryl nodded.

Then you smirked, and just like that, the charm that made his chest fill with warmth was back.

“It stinks like pig’s feet in here.”

—

The wind danced around you, a whirlwind of fallen leaves and that light dusting of snow, sparking like sugar in the sun. The sky was the same as it’d been the last few days. Pale grey clouds with pockets of blue peeking through. The sun’s harshest rays were always hidden away in the name of winter.

You spared a glance to Daryl who walked by your side, if not slightly behind. Hunter's eyes roamed over the edges of the railroad you passed through, ignoring that crunch of gravel under your feet while he waited for the snap of a branch or the squeak of a nearby rabbit. Crossbow in hand, bolt loaded like always. The sight of him trailing your steps almost made the cold air bite less.

That hopeless air in you felt lighter than you remembered, too.

Almost fading.

The car wasn’t far, now. Maybe twenty more minutes. The rumble of empty stomachs had sent you behind the motel instead of through the town you looted yesterday, where the train tracks cut through the forest, hoping to find some breakfast before you finally filled the empty gas tank and started on the road, again.

Ahead, a rust-coloured train car sat on the second track. A few doodles of white and black spray paint coated the sides, but half of them were covered by a hanging banner, beige and held up by four strings. The bold-blocked words SANCTUARY FOR ALL, COMMUNITY FOR ALL, THOSE WHO ARRIVE SURVIVE were painted in a similarly rusty-coloured red. Underneath the banner was a sign, wrapped in plastic but the lines of a map were as clear as a summer day. Blue, red, and green all lead to a black star in the centre-left labelled TERMINUS.

The pair of you shared a look, your eyebrows drawn together in a mixture of confusion and shock and his eyes narrowed into slits. Inspecting the poster for any kind of warning, any threat, as if a walker was about to jump from behind it.

“They were broadcastin’ this,” Daryl muttered, after a long and tense moment.

Your eyes widened. “When?”

“Before the prison,” he said, sparing you another uncomfortable look before he continued to stare at the carefully wrapped sign. “We heard it on the radio when we were lookin’ for those meds. Couldn’t make it out then, but this is it: ‘those who arrive, survive’.”

The wind tickled your skin, goosebumps rising and bangs fluttering across your face as you lingered by that sign. In the breeze, a long strap of white fabric caught around your boot, pulled from underneath the train car. You bent down to grab it, brow furrowed at the sight of a used strip of gauze.

Your heart skipped a beat.

“Someone was just here.”

The crossbow was held tighter then, as if he could be any more on edge.

“How do you know?” He asked through a clenched jaw.

“The blood.” It looked like Daryl’s had when you changed his bandages every couple of hours instead of days. “It’s fresh.”

Your eyes snapped to the map again— how big it was. It covered most of the state, by the looks of it. You could roughly pinpoint the prison in the upper left corner and could imagine lines of your own where you’d travelled these months. Between pharmacies and cabins and random sides of the road.

And whoever had left this bandage… they’d seen it, too.

“Daryl, look at how far these go.” Your hand traced the lines of railroads, sprawling across Georgia. “This can’t be the only sign. There’s the prison,” you pointed out, “If they have signs across all these tracks then… your people could’ve seen this.”

Slowly, your hand fell back to your side. The look in your eye was like the sun breaking out from behind the clouds; a glimpse of that brightness he missed so fondly. Sparked by the glimmering hope in your eye, Daryl could feel a flicker of warmth catch in his chest again, and the realization of what you meant sunk in.

“If any of them saw this map, would they go?”

He hadn’t even known he was nodding along until that slight curl of your lip lifted.

“Maybe we don't need to find them, just this place.”

Daryl chewed his lip. The lines on the map curved their way through Georgia like vines, crawling through the north, east, west, and south like the ivy he saw across every abandoned building. Who was to say this place was even there anymore? Putting signs up like that, broadcasting their whereabouts for anyone to hear. It sounded more like a last-chance pipe dream than Fort Benning, and he’d already heard how that played out.

He’d had enough of those soul-crushing losses. Enough fill for an entire life, and then some. He wasn’t sure if he could risk that again. Not when you were just about everything he had left.

“I dunno. ’S far.”

“This is our best lead— our only lead.”

He shook his head. “We dunno ‘em. Dunno if it’s even real.”

“You didn’t know me.”

There you were, with raised brows and that look in your eye that somehow reminded him of the forest’s comforts— soft brown fur of nimble squirrels jumping from branch to branch, the bright blue sky breaking through even the thickest trees, green surrounding him like a blanket.

“And really, where else do we have to go?”

A forest he’d spend his whole life exploring.

Eventually, he gave in. A habit he seemed to be picking up when it came to you.

“Guess it’s worth a try.”

And there was that smile again, blooming with new hope.

————————————————————

-> part 12

A/N: omg hi. I took a long and unplanned hiatus. I won't get into it too much but to recap, in case you care/are curious: I went to nyc for the dead city premiere and had a blast, graduated university, started weightlifting (kinda replaced my twd obsession LOL), got really into GOT, and am now back because for some reason daryl dixon being in paris (????) got me going once more. anyway. im excited to continue this series again!! even if it took every cell in my body to finish this chapter LOL. kinda hate it kinda love it. idk. WHATEVERRRR.

more to come. I promise. thank u for reading and being so patient with me <3<3<3 all the love.

if you’re reading this, thank you! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. please feel free to leave feedback, it helps so much and I love to read it. have a lovely day <3

AYG taglist: @fuseburner @itsmeatballworld @rickysgrimes @stevenknightmarc @huffledor-able541 @your-shifting-gurl @hopefulatrocity @strnqer @dreamtofus @fillechatoyante @suniloli @kiaslily @poubxlle @normanplusdaryl @sseleniaa

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paintyoureyeswithavividmind · 1 year

Text

close to home | chapter fifty four

plot: the reader meets Justin, and finally figures out what's been bothering Daryl

series masterlist

Pairing: Eventual Daryl Dixon x f!reader Word Count: 3,027 Warnings: violence, blood, typical twd, explicit sexual content A/N: thank you for reading!!!

After sleeping in a little bit due to the alcohol, you spent the rest of your day with Frankie and Rosita, helping around the Sanctuary like you’d spent the last few days. It was like a repetition of events. But you got word from Daryl in the middle of the day; Rick agreed to the run, and you’d meet a group at the rendezvous point at dawn—something you did not want to think about.

You were in the middle of helping Rosita carry in supplies when you saw the message on the way. The Saviors were right. Your stomach sank into its anxiety, and you glanced at Rosita, who had an angry look on her face.

“They’ve been popping up more and more.” She whispered to you.

“It’s the first one I’ve seen so far,” You said, setting the basket down. “You think it’s safe here?”

“What other choice do we have? We can’t exactly just leave.”

You looked back at the writing on the wall, frowning. You hoped Daryl didn’t see it. He was doing an incredible job running the compound; you didn’t want him to see this. But Rosita said they’ve been popping up, and you knew Daryl knew. Why hadn’t he said anything?

“Hey, I know you.”

Both you and Rosita turned to the man who approached you. It was Justin, a man you had the displeasure of meeting a while back with Sherry--who told you to stay away. While he wasn’t one of Negan’s direct men, he could’ve been if he wasn’t such an asshole. And that was saying something, according to Sherry.

“What was it like, fucking the big man?” Justin asked you, earning a few snickers from the guys behind him.

“Fuck you,” Rosita said. “Don’t you got anything better to do?”

Justin looked back at his friends and then at you. “So, do you just hop from leader to leader? First Negan, now Daryl… if I take him out and take over this place, does that mean you get to warm my bed-.”

Your hand smacked against his cheek, stinging your palm to your fingertips. The red mark on Justin’s face appeared immediately, and his eyes turned to you angrily, but he smirked.

You grabbed Rosita’s arm, “Come on.”

You both turned to walk away, and you’d only taken a few steps before you felt Justin’s hand grab your ass.

“Hey!” Rosita yelled before you could even blink. “Don’t you ever touch her like that!”

Justin only smirked again and sent you a wink before he walked away with his friends, laughing. You shook your head angrily and pictured a thousand ways to kill the man, but you restrained yourself.

“You okay?” She asked you.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You let out all your anger in one long breath. “I wanna go eat.”

***

Daryl never showed up for dinner, which wasn’t unusual, so you didn’t worry about him. But you brought a container up for him, knowing he probably forgot to eat. He wasn’t in the room when you got there, but you knew he had been cause his vest and crossbow were at the foot of the bed.

Which only met one thing.

You grabbed a towel from the closet and headed towards the showers, which, to your luck, were primarily private. The only ones who took a room on the wife's floor were Frankie, Amber, Tanya, Rosita, and Eugene.

Water was running when you pushed the door open. Negan must’ve remodeled the room when he took over because while it had stalls, a few were converted into showers with pipes running along the ceiling.

“Hey, old man,” You said, walking towards the stall he usually showered in. “Has hell frozen over?”

You heard him snort, and you smiled as you started to undress. “I brought you dinner; it’s in the fridge. Why didn’t you invite me?” Showering together was new, and it only started in the past month or so. Daryl didn’t want to at first, but the thought of you being naked in there with him was enough for him to push back his insecurities.

“Figured ya come lookin’ for me,” Daryl said as he opened the door.

Your gaze dropped momentarily, admiring the man you loved, before he grabbed your arm and pulled you under the cold water. You yelped and immediately moved away. “I miss the hot showers from Alexandria.”

Daryl nodded in agreement and handed you soap.

It was quiet momentarily while you lathered your hair, feeling Daryl’s gaze the entire time. “You’ve been staring at me since I got here. Is there something you wanna say?” You asked.

He shook his head and looked away, blushing, which made you smile. You stepped into the water to wash out the soap and then felt Daryl’s hands at your waist. He pressed a few kisses on the back of your shoulder.

“You okay?”

He nodded and kissed your cheek before stepping away to let you finish. You thought about what happened earlier as you washed out the rest of the soap in your hair. “You know the guy Justin?”

“What ‘bout him?”

“Has he given you any trouble?” You asked, turning around and looking at him.

He squinted, and you could see anger cross his features. “What he do to ya?”

“He made a comment--hand me that.” You said, pointing to body soap. When it was in your hand, you continued. “He made a comment about me and Negan. And insinuated that I just fucked any leader this place had.”

When you glanced at Daryl, he was glaring and biting his lip. “Then he said that if he became the leader, well, I’m sure you can imagine what he said about that.”

“What else?”

You chewed on your lip as you rinsed off the soap on your legs. “He grabbed my ass.”

“I’ll kill him.”

You grabbed Daryl’s arm and pulled him away from the stall door. “Don’t. Things are already complicated. I just wanted to tell you… I don’t feel safe around him.”

Daryl’s face softened, and he brought you into a hug. “‘M sorry I wasn’t there.”

You nodded slowly, not because you agreed or thought he owed you an apology, but because you knew he needed to say one. So you pressed your cheek against his wet chest and hugged him tightly.

“Ya don’ wanna be with anyone else, right?”

You shook your head slowly when you looked up at Daryl, with his wet hair pushed back and all his tattoos. “Why would you even ask that?”

“Need to hear it today.”

You grabbed his face with your hands and stood on your toes so you could better kiss his lips. “You’re the only person I want, and have wanted, in a really long time.”

He nodded, putting his forehead against your shoulder, and you hugged him. “What’s wrong, honey?”

“Lot on my mind.”

You reached over and shut the water off. “Let’s go back to our room, and we can talk about what’s on your mind.”

You grabbed his towel and handed it to him before wrapping yours around you. After grabbing your clothes from the floor, you followed Daryl out of the bathroom and down the hall to your room, where you quickly got dressed in one of Daryl’s shirts and then braided your wet hair back.

He called your name as you finished, and you walked over to where he sat at the edge of the bed. His hands grabbed your waist, and he pulled you closer so he was hugging your lower torso. You set your hands on his shoulders and rubbed them gently. You frowned as you looked down at him, worried.

“I love you,” You told him.

Daryl looked up at you with a tired smile, and you felt terrible for how exhausted he was. You wished you could do more for him, but you didn’t know what you could do.

“I love ya more,” He said.

You smiled and pressed a kiss to his forehead. You felt his hands drop around your waist, and you could tell he wanted to say something but couldn’t get his words out. Finally, he tugged at your shirt, and you knew what he wanted.

“We have to be up early,” You said, moving to sit down on his lap. “We’ll be exhausted tomorrow.”

“Ain’ nothin’ new,” He ran his hands down your arms. “I need to feel close to ya right now.”

You nodded and pressed your lips against his, kissing him slowly. You didn’t care if you had to be up early. You didn’t care about a damn thing except making him feel loved, cared for, and wanted. Daryl was always so strong, and only with you did he let himself crumble.

You wanted nothing in the world more than to make him feel better. And the fact that this was how he wanted it, wanted you, you would never deny him of that. You wanted it just as badly.

Goosebumps rose on your skin when you felt his fingertips trail up your thighs to the hem of your shirt. Your slow kiss ended for the time it took him to rid you of the shirt. His arms wrapped around your waist, and he stood up, bringing you with him. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he turned and laid you gently across the bed.

“I love you,” You reminded him, watching as he took off his bottoms before shutting off the light.

Your hands gripped his biceps as he positioned himself over you, and you spread your legs for him as wide as you could.

“I want ya,” He whispered against your neck.

You hummed in agreement when you felt his cock rub against you. “I want you, too.”

He shook his head briefly and started to say something but cut himself off. You wanted to ask him what was wrong but knew giving him time to be in this moment would be better. He would tell you after, you knew it.

Daryl kissed you again, his lips moving slowly against yours. His tongue traced your bottom lip lightly, and he brought his hips down again, rubbing himself against you. You had to suppress every moan each time you felt his tip rub against your clit.

“So wet,” You heard him mumble, “Ya so fuckin’ wet already.”

“For you,” You moaned when you felt his tip again. “For you, Daryl.”

“I wanna fuck ya now, okay?”

You nodded and threaded your fingers through his hair, making him look at you. “Yes, honey.”

Daryl adjusted and looked back up at you as he slowly thrust into you. You moaned, your eyes still locked onto his. It was possibly one of the most intimate moments the two of you ever shared, and you felt tears burn through your eyes.

“Keep lookin’ at me,” Daryl said.

You nodded, biting your lip and forcing yourself not to close your eyes when he pulled out and thrust back in so slowly that you knew it would have you go crazy in seconds. But staring into his eyes was like your lifeline, and your heart beat erratically. It made you tremble with each thrust.

The way he stared at you with so much emotion written across his face. He moved in and out, connecting and re-connecting your bodies in a way you’d never experienced before. This was on an entirely new level. It was something so intimate, so passionate, you wanted to live in it forever.

“Don’ close ya eyes,” He reminded you. You hadn’t realized they’d fallen shut.

“Daryl…” You moaned.

“Tell me.”

You ran your hands down his broad shoulders and around his upper chest. “It feels so good… God, I love it. I love you.”

“What else?”

“I never want it to stop,” You brought your legs up around his waist as he thrust in, causing him to push deeper than before. “Fuck, Daryl, you feel so good…” You felt like you were about to cry from the pleasure.

“Open those pretty eyes, (Y/N).”

Your eyes shut open and met his. He was looking at you so deeply, so lovingly, and the tip of his cock was hitting in that one spot that could make you start screaming if he was going faster. But this slow pace was driving you insane.

“I love ya,” He whispered to you.

You moaned, his words going straight to your core. “I love you too.”

His head dropped down to your forehead, and his hips quicked their pace but half a second. His nose bumped against yours every time he thrust, and you placed your hands on either side of his face and closed your eyes. “I want you, Daryl Dixon. Every morning and every night. Don’t doubt that.”

You heard him mumble something, but his voice was too rough, too full of breathlessness that you couldn’t hear. Then he spoke louder, “Marry me, (Y/N).”

Your eyes opened wide as he thrust into you again, this time harder than before.

“Marry me,” He pushed into you harder. “(Y/N)...” He moaned your name and thrust harder and quicker. “I wanna call ya my wife.” Harder. Quicker. You felt yourself clench around him, and you started moaning too loudly. “Fuck, please, don’ make me beg for ya hand.”

He was pounding into you now, and the headboard slammed against the wall. Your mind was processing everything he said, but you lost all ability to speak each time he slammed into you. He’d never fucked you this hard, this desperate before.

“Fuck it, I’ll do it. I’ll beg ya for anything,” Daryl groaned as he lifted his head to look into your eyes. “Marry me, please? Please…please…please…”

You nodded because you couldn’t find the words, and then he fucked you even harder, and you reached up to steady yourself on the headboard. Everything was a combination of pain and pleasure, mixing to create a perfect balance that had you shaking underneath him.

“Need to hear ya say it,” Daryl said.

You nodded again and squirmed underneath him, feeling your orgasm coming quicker than expected. “Yes, Daryl, yes… fuck, yes…yes.” You tightened your legs around his waist, hips aching as your orgasm hit you harder than ever before. You couldn’t stop moaning so loud, and you were shaking too hard to cover your mouth.

You heard Daryl swear, and then you felt him cum inside you.

“Don’t stop,” You nearly yelled, “Don’t fucking stop.”

While his moments were sloppy, he gave you every ounce of you. He fucked you quick and hard until you knew he was utterly spent, and collapsed on top of you. Your hands shook as your high finally settled, and you winced when you let your legs drop down to the bed to relax.

Your entire body was shaking underneath him, and you couldn’t stop. Your pussy was aching, and you knew you’d have bruises around there, but it was the last thing you were worried about.

Slowly, Daryl slid out from you, and you nearly cried out in pain.

“Fuck, ‘m sorry, are ya okay?” He asked you, grabbing your chin and making you look at him.

“Did you mean it?” You asked.

Daryl bit his bottom lip before nodding. “Can’ stop thinkin’ ‘bout it. Did ya?”

You nodded, blinking back a few tears. “Yes.”

He breathed out a sigh of relief and kissed you. Then he was gone, and you winced when the lamp next to the bed flicked on. You grabbed the blanket from the end of the bed and covered yourself, wincing each time you moved your hips.

Daryl dug through his nightstand, and you moved closer, rubbing your hand on his back. “What are you doing?”

“Made ya somethin’.”

The drawer closed, and he turned around, moving to sit against the headboard. You followed his lead, leaned against his chest, and watched as he showed you what was in the palm of his hand.

“You made this?” You asked, picking up the ring. It was a dark metal, almost black. It was a simple band, and in his messy handwriting were a DD and your initials on the inside, but instead of the first letter of your last name, it was his. “Daryl…”

“I can find ya something’ else…” His voice trailed off.

“No!” You yelled, closing the ring in your hand and keeping it away from his outstretched hand. “Don’t you dare, Dixon.”

“Ya like it?”

“Are you kidding?” You sat up and looked at him. “This is the most incredible, most beautiful…” Your voice trailed off as you looked at the ring. It was imperfect; the band was a little crooked, and one spot was a little thinner than the others. But it was perfect.

Daryl took the ring out of your hand and grabbed your left hand, sliding it down your ring finger. The metal was heavier than you expected, and you smiled at your hand.

“Daryl Dixon… I hope you know that no one will ever be better than you,” You looked back at him and smiled. “Am I supposed to make you one now?”

He chuckled and showed you his other hand around your shoulders. An identical ring for him. You blinked back tears and took it from his hand before sitting on his lap. You grabbed his cheeks and kissed him for a long few seconds.

“I love you, I love you so much,” You mumbled against his lips. “I don’t know how nobody else grabbed you while they could.”

“Never wanted anyone till ya,” He told you.

Your heart melted, and you grabbed his hand, sliding the matching ring on his finger. “If I wasn’t so sore right now, I would fuck you again just for this.”

Your comment made Daryl laugh, loudly, which you so rarely heard him do. You smiled and looked up at him, meeting his beautiful blue eyes. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. The best thing I got from this shitty world.” You told him.

He leaned down and kissed your forehead. “Ya the best thing that ever happen’ to me.”

#daryl x y/n #daryl dixion x reader #the walking dead daryl #daryl fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #twd #daryl dixon #daryl twd #daryl x you #daryl x reader

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lilyevanstan1325 · 7 months

Text

❤️ Built For This World ❤️

Chapter 10

“You gotta understand” Dave sighs as he pours himself a glass of liquor, “We can’t stay out there”

“I miss the part where this is our problem” I hiss giving him my full attention.

The man doesn’t seem irritated by my words, in fact he smiles.

“Listen man, the farm is too crowded as it is.I’m sorry.You’ll have to keep looking” Rick tries to mediate, throwing at me a hard gaze, imploring me with his gaze to keep my mouth shut.

Dave nods.

“Keep looking” he murmurs with his lips pressed against the rim of the glass, taking a moment to swallow the amber liquid.

“Where do you suggest we do that” he finally replies, placing the glass in front of him.

“I hear Nebraska’s nice” I respond immediately with a toothy smile.

Dave laughs in response, throwing his head back.

“Nebraska.You’re so feral, I like you” he chuckles and in a blink of an eye he grabs his gun but Rick is much faster than him exploding a shot straight at the man’s head.

Without thinking twice I turn my back on Rick, leaning it against his and without even aiming I fire two shots at Tony’s chest.

But something seems to be wrong.

There's something wrong with the man who slowly raises a hand to his chest and collapses to the floor.

The man's big, sweaty face transforms into a completely different one.

His round cheeks take on a more angular appearance.

His smooth cheeks are now covered with a light layer of beard.

Some dark locks slide across his forehead and cover his dark eyes.

Actually no...no dark eyes...eyes as clear and blue as a summer sea.

The prominent abdomen fills with blood as it changes shape into a broader, more muscular chest.

The black shirt gradually darkens as the blood soaks it.

A strong calloused hand rests right where the bullets have pierced the flesh.

In horror, I let go the gun, kneeling in front of the man who, moment by moment, is struggling more and more to breathe, gurgling gasps abandoning his lips which are taking on a worrying shade of grey.

“Daryl!I'm Sorry.I'm so sorry” I whine pressing my hands on his wounds trying to stop the bleeding.

Blood slips through my fingers unable to slow the process.

Continuing to press, I look behind me.

“Help me!Help him!”

My scream hurts my own eardrums.

Rick, Glenn and Hersel look at me without moving.

Not even a shadow of the panic on their faces that is currently consuming my every cell.

I return my eyes to the man lying at my feet, his eyes are absent.

“Why don't you do anything!” I scream desperately feeling the heartbeat under my fingers slow down inexorably.

No noise behind me.

The blood flows from the two holes more and more slowly now.

“Please stay with me, big boy.I need you” I sniff at him, my vision blurred with tears.

It can't end like this.

I couldn't tell him how I felt about him.

I didn't have time to tell him how special he was to me.

I couldn't thank him for saving my life in every way a person can be saved.

I didn't tell him that I love him.

“Daryl” I whisper as his eyes turn glassy and a final trembling sigh leaves his lips.

Daryl slips away in front of my horrified eyes.

I lost him.

I lost him forever.

And it's all my fault.

With a clouded mind and a heart full of anger I stand up unable to take my eyes off the archer's lifeless body.

I killed a human being.

I killed Daryl Dixon.

I killed the greatest love of my life.

In the fog of my thoughts I can hear the sound of Rick's boots coming alongside me.

Then another shot.

And now Daryl's face is also covered in blood.

I killed Daryl Dixon.

His coagulated blood between my fingers only reminds me of that.

“Why didn't you help him, Rick?” I ask, my heart shattering as I move my gaze to his face.

The room is dark now.

There are no more tables.

There are no more chairs.

Nothing.

Just me, Rick and Daryl's dead body.

I killed Daryl Dixon.

Rick looks at me with a look of pure hatred, his features a mask of contempt.

“It's all your fault, Summer.You killed him.You killed all of us the moment you came into our lives.I won't kill you” he whispers placing his gun in the back pocket of his jeans, “You deserve to live with this weight in your heart.This is what you deserve”

Saying this, the man turns his back on me and disappears surrounded by darkness.

I open my eyes suddenly, the harsh light of the sun hurts my weak eyes.

From my lips a string of stuttered words ring out in the air as hands grab me by the shoulders.

Instinctively I avoid it curling up, pressing my back against a cold wall.

“It's me, Summer” Carol's voice, soft but with a hint of panic, pierces the fog that clouds my brain, finally making me aware of where I am.

“Where's Daryl?” I pant, hugging my knees to my chest as my shoulders rise and fall furiously matching with my heartbeat.

“Summer-”

“Where's Daryl!” I shout, interrupting the woman.

I don't want to hear or know anything.

I just want to know if he's okay.

I need to know.

Carol doesn't seem scared by my reaction, in fact her expression softens and, smiling sweetly at me, she whispers “Daryl is fine.Do you want me to go look for him?”

“No.No.Don't!” I chirp in agony like a wounded animal.

Carol nods as she sits on the bed next to me waiting patiently for me to calm down.

And I swear, I swear to God, that no matter how hard I try, my heartbeat doesn't slow down.

The air struggles more and more to reach my lungs, my chest tightens more and more until it becomes impossible for me to breathe.

Daryl is fine.

I didn't kill Daryl Dixon.

I blink rapidly trying to free my eyes from the tears that are gathering in them at the memory of the nightmare I just experienced.

It all seemed so real.

Daryl lifeless body.

His blood on my hands.

The anger in Rick's eyes.

You killed us all the moment you came into our lives.

A sob racks my chest.

“Summer everything is fine, it was just a nightmare” Carol whispers without moving closer.

I can see the struggle in her eyes as she tries to keep her hands still in her lap fighting her own instinct to come closer and hug me.

She knows she can't do it because she is aware of the rejection that would follow from me.

For the last two days I have rejected anyone who has tried to approach me.

The disappointment and rejection on my friends' faces is seared into my mind.

I shouted unrepeatable things at them with the sole intention of distancing them from me.

Because I don't deserve their compassion.

I don't deserve their love.

But despite everything Carol was the only one who didn't give up on me.

While the others accepted my repeated refusals with death in their hearts, she remained by my side.

She remained by my side, sometimes talking to me about what was happening and sometimes simply remaining silent.

Silent but constantly present.

Just like right now.

I immediately look down, full of guilt.

“What are you doing here?” I mutter arrogantly.

Maybe if I'm mean enough she'll let me go too.

Carol shrugs in response to my question, her gaze focusing on a spot in the field outside the vehicle following something with interest.

I risk a glance in the same direction as her and my gaze comes across the subject of my nightmare.

Daryl.

A small, shaky sigh slips from my lips.

Daryl is fine.

I didn't kill Daryl Dixon.

The man walks with his head down, shoulders hunched as he rubs his knuckles.

As if he felt my gaze on him, his eyes moved from his hands to rest on my face.

It all lasts a moment.

Just enough time to register his expression.

The same eyes that looked at me with passion and devotion just 48 hours ago are now full of hatred.

Anger.

Wrath.

I look down, squeezing my knees even tighter against my chest.

“Talk to him, Summer”

“Mind your business, Carol”

I regret my words immediately after I say them but I bite my tongue until I taste the iron taste of my own blood to avoid letting slip out the apologies I would like to make to my friend.

I know I'm cruel but what they don't know is that I want to push them away from me for their own good.

You killed us all the moment you came into our lives.

The words that Rick spoke to me in my dream now seem more true than ever and push me towards the same decision I should have made from the beginning.

I shouldn't have let these people get attached to me.

I shouldn't have left my heart free to become attached to them.

To fall in love with him.

Carol snorts in amusement as she stands up.

Surprised by her reaction, I force my gaze to follow her movements and focus on her face.

And even though she's smiling I can clearly see the nervousness in his stiff figure.

“I know what you're doing, Summer” she accuses me, piercing me with her gaze.

“You can push me away like you did to everyone else.Like you did with Daryl.But know that it doesn't work with me.I will be here for you when you'll be ready”

Ignoring my broken heart I shrug feigning indifference even though every single word she said pierced my soul like sharp pins.

No matter how bitchy or mean I am she will never give up on me.

“Whatever” I whisper.

Carol shakes her head as she walks towards the door of the RV but before leaving she whispers my name.

The woman turns her back on me indifferently but her hand tightened around the door jamb reveals all her nervousness, the white knuckles seem to want to pop out from her skin.

“You asked me not to give up…and no matter how hard it is, I'm trying.I’m really trying”

The tremble in her voice makes me shiver.

A sense of shame pervades me making me truly aware of the wickedness with which I treated this poor woman who has just lost her little girl.

“Now I'm the one asking you not to give up.Don't give up, Summer.If you give up I will lose you.Don't do this to me”

And with these last heavy words Carol walks away.

I was there for her.

She's holding on for me.

Now she's here for me.

And I'm slamming the door in her face.

I am a monster.

I smile disgusted with myself.

After all, I already knew that, right?

I'm a monster.

Just like him.

Suddenly the RV becomes suffocating.

If until a few minutes ago this place seemed like a safe refuge to me, now its walls seem to tighten around me, taking my breath away.

Without knowing where to go I force my body to move, if I stay closed in here for another minute I feel like I could die.

The sun outside hits my clear eyes, making me hiss.

Having spent too much time locked in the RV crying has made me lose touch with reality, with what is happening around me.

I've wallowed in my guilt for so long that I've lost sight of everything else.

I can't cope with what I did.

This is what I can't stand.

I know I had to do it but that doesn't give me relief.

I would never let anything happen to my friends and yet that sense of discomfort continues to haunt me.

I killed a human being before he could kill me.

Or Rick.

Or Glenn.

Or Hersel.

Killing so as not to be killed.

It's the new law.

Even if it's not right.

Out of the corner of my eye I notice a figure in front of the barn's door.

Andrea.

The woman has a rifle with her, she will surely be guarding the new prisoner.

With a determined step I reach her, passing by her without even looking at her.

I don't know why I came here but it certainly isn't to get lost in idle chatter with her.

When the palm of my hand rests on the barn's door, her voice behind me halts my next step.

“I can't let you in” the woman exclaims, earning a derisive laugh from me.

I can feel her agitated movements behind me, her weight sliding from one foot to the other.

“Yeah, sure.What will you do?Do you want to shoot me?Again?” I mock her by opening the barn's door and closing it behind me.

I'm sorry to be so bitchy and point out something that's now past my mind but at the moment I don't take orders from anyone.

Much less from the woman who shot me.

The place is in dim light.

Randall sits on the floor with his arms tied behind his back, the rope securing his wrists tightened tightly around a wooden pole.

He's blindfolded.

I smile bitterly.

A week ago I was in the same situation as him.

I carefully watch his figure stiffen and from his swollen face I'm sure he expects to be beaten again.

And judging by the extent of the damage, I'm sure it was Daryl.

I approach the trembling boy and with a quick move I free him from the blindfold and then stand in front of him with my arms crossed over my chest.

“I won't hurt you, Randall” I whisper.

“How's your leg?” I ask sincerely worried about the state of it.

The flesh is red and the limb is swollen.

He's really lucky to still be alive.

The boy doesn't seem relieved that there is a simple girl in front of him, he lets out a trembling breath.

“What is it, psychological torture?Did they send you to get me to talk?Well, I'll tell you what I already told to your boyfriend.I barely knew those guys.I met ’em on the road.I haven't done anything!”

“My boyfriend?” I ask confused.

Why would he believe that Rick and I are somehow connected by a feeling of love?

Randall trembles as if he's remembering something really scary.

“Yeah…that huge man with a scary look.He…he said he would break my neck if I ever looked in the same direction as you again” he chirps with a grimace of pain.

Daryl?

Did he really threaten him like this?

I shake my head smiling interrupting his flow of words.

I don't waste time correcting him, it would be useless and it wouldn't be his business anyway.

I walk over to the chair next to him and drag it across the old wooden planks I place it in front of him.

Remaining silent, I sit down and continue to observe the boy.

“No one sent me here.Nobody knows I'm here.I just want to have a chat.Relax”

But at my words he doesn't relax.

He straightens his back, moving away as much as possible, moving away until his back hits the wooden planks of the walls.

“It was me” I begin, immediately capturing his interest.

“I was the one who killed your friend.Tony”

“He…he wasn't my friend…”

I silence him with a sharp wave of my hand.

I'm not interested in finding out his relationships with those guys, I just want him to understand that if he doesn't cooperate with us he won't have much chance of survival.

I lean forward placing my elbows on my knees.

“Listen to me Randall.I don't want anything to happen to you but you have to help us.If those guys you ended up with are dangerous you need to tell us.There are women and children here” I explain nodding towards the door, “We can't risk it”

The boy looks at me furtively, not entirely convinced by my words.

After all, he was beaten to death, why should he believe the good faith in my words?

“I hate myself for what I did.Even though that son of a bitch was about to put a bullet in my head I hate myself for pulling that damn trigger.I- I- I…” I stammer, unable to continue.

I close my eyes for a moment trying to calm my agitated breathing.

My back hits the back of the chair hard as I bring my hands to my hair, pulling it forcefully from the roots.

Randall doesn't speak, which gives me time to gather the right words in my confused brain.

I reopen my eyes to find the boy attentive, his eyes watchful on my face.

I'm sure he can sense the turmoil stirring inside me and this perhaps makes me a little more credible in his eyes.

“I hate what I did but I would do it again.For these people I would do it again.Even at the cost of losing my soul in the end.Do you…do you understand this?”

Randall nods.

“Good boy.Now you'll tell me where your camp is and above all you'll tell me if you think they will come looking for you” I whisper trying to soften my tone but letting all the seriousness shine through my words.

“They…they…”

His confession is abruptly interrupted by the barn's doors which open and slam violently against the walls, the deafening noise reverberates throughout the entire room, immediately silencing the boy.

I don't need to turn around to know who he is.

Randall's literally terrified look is enough for me to understand who has just made his triumphant entrance.

“I- I- I don't…she's...” stammers the poor boy, lowering his head and curling up in a ball as if he were trying to disappear from the face of the earth.

“Shut the fuck up!” Daryl barks and after a moment his huge hand wraps around my upper arm forcing me to stand up, dragging and yanking me violently out of the barn

Outside, next to the door, Andrea keeps her head down.

I smile.

That woman never knows when it's time to keep her mouth shut.

Daryl drags me a few more steps, his grip on my arm hurts but I won't give him the satisfaction of telling him that.

If this is how he wants to vent his anger on me, I won't stop him.

When we get close to his tent he lets me go.

For a few minutes neither of us speaks.

He paces back and forth, angry like a caged lion.

I limit myself to leaning with my back against the trunk of a tree waiting for the man to find the right words to vomit all his frustration on me.

Suddenly I find him a few inches from my face, his eyes full of resentment.

I never imagined that one day all his anger would be for me.

But after all I deserve it.

I rejected him.

I put him in these conditions.

It was what I wanted after all, wasn't it?

So now I will accept the consequences.

“Wha’ the hell were ya doin’ in there?” he spits the words between his teeth.

His fists trembles.

I smile with the intention of making him nervous.

And I succeed.

A muscle in his jaw twitches dangerously.

“Oh, you mean before you interrupted his full confession?”

My words full of sarcasm seem to catch him off guard.

His attentive gaze studies every part of my face.

His lips are a hard straight line.

“Ain't possible.I beat the shit out of him, doesn't say anything”

I shake my head pushing a hand against his chest trying to push him away.

Having him so close distracts me.

His lips a few inches from mine don't allow me to think clearly.

Daryl stiffens at my touch, taking a few steps back.

Roger.

He doesn't want to be touched by me.

This hurts but it's what I wanted.

I want him to hate me, I want him to despise me so it will be easier to let him go.

It will be easier to distance myself from him.

Liar...

I shake my head to get rid of my conflicting feelings.

“You know, violence is not always the answer” I mock him, nodding towards his skinned knuckles.

Daryl lets out a grunt that could mean anything.

His eyes remain fixed on his boots, the man is clearly avoiding my gaze.

And maybe it's for the best.

This gives me enough courage to be able to speak to him.

“Will you kill him?”

The archer nods without looking at me.

My stomach knots.

“It's simpler tha’ way.’S safer” he mutters, absentmindedly kicking some blades of grass.

I can't help myself.

“Simple?Is killing another human being so easy for you?”

I can't hide the disgust in my words and it finally gets his attention.

His blue eyes, the same eyes I had come to know and love, now seem foreign to me.

There is a coldness in them that I don't recognize.

His eyes, what's behind them, scare me now.

An almost mocking smile stains his handsome face.

“And wha’ would ya like to do, huh?Leave him free ta bring his people here?Is tha’ wha’ ya wan’?”

His words are laced with venom as he looks at me as if he thinks I'm a fucking stupid naive.

I shake my head.

No, he can't be serious.

“You're not like that” I whisper, “You wouldn't kill someone in cold blood.You are a good man”

The archer approaches me again, invading my personal space.

His breath shatters on my lips.

Breath that tastes like tobacco.

Like stolen kisses.

Like whispered promises.

“Really?Do ya really think ya know me?Do ya really think tha’ having kissed me a couple of times makes ya think ya know me?” he laughs evilly, “Well, listen ta me, Summer”

Summer.

Not pretty eyes.

Not sunshine.

Not my sunshine.

Summer.

If he had shot me I would have suffered less.

I lower my gaze, hiding from his eyes how much his words hurt me.

You deserve it.You deserve it, and you know this, a corner of my conscience murmurs.

Two fingers under my chin force me to look up again.

Daryl is punishing me and he knows it.

And he enjoys it.

“Ya don't know me.Yer nobody.Yer nobody ta me, Summer”

A tear escapes my control, sliding silently down my cheek towards my chin, wetting the fingertips of the man in front of me.

A man who looks at me like I'm scum on this planet.

I abruptly free myself from his grip, moving away from him as quickly as possible, but no matter how much I run away, his words haunt me.

This.

This is the right punishment for what I did.

“Hey”

“How are you?”

I shrug.

At this moment I really don't know what to answer.

How am I?

I feel like shit but this man already knows, he was there.

“Yeah” Hersel murmurs, sitting next to me on the porch steps of his house.

“It's not an easy situation” he whispers, leaning forward and resting his arms on his knees.

I imitate his gesture and raise my face towards the sky.

“How's Beth?”

“My girl is strong.She will be okay”

I smile weakly as I watch the sun sink towards the horizon.

It's my favorite part of the day.

I love when the clouds are tinged with fiery red, fading towards warm orange and delicate pink.

The sunlight that slowly hides on the horizon creates a play of reflections and shadows, making this land magical and evocative.

The outline of the trees appears black and mysterious against the vibrant sky.

It is a moment of peace and beauty, when the day gives way to the dark and captivating night.

“Where is everyone else?” I ask without taking my eyes off this spectacle that nature is giving us.

Between death and desolation, Mother Nature has found a way to reclaim the world and make it its own again.

“They're gathering to decide Randall's future” he sighs.

Behind his deliberately light tone I can read a myriad of conflicting feelings.

“You should be there too, give your opinion.A lot of those people respect you, you know that right?”

I smile, turning my gaze towards his face.

His blue eyes are staring at me intently.

“Not all of them, I'd say” I reply, wrinkling my nose, thinking of Shane.

That guy hates me.

Well, Daryl hates me too now.

Hersel laughs.

“Okay, maybe not all of them” he smiles, “But you are very respected.I respect you”

I blink in amazement.

Hersel is a good, intelligent and terribly wise man, having his respect moves me.

“Thank you” I whisper, feeling a lump in my throat.

The good vet gently places a hand on my shoulder, silently communicating his affection for me.

“You know, I keep thinking about what you said to me when we were in that bar.You were right, there is still hope.I had just lost my way...but thanks to you, to your words, I understood how important it is to fight for what you love.For those who love”

I look back towards the sky where the first stars begin to timidly illuminate it.

“I was a bitch, Hersel.With all of them.None of them deserve it but I didn't care, I hurt the feelings of the people who welcomed me” I whisper, torturing the tip of my index finger between my teeth.

“They know it, Summer.Nobody's mad at you” the man tries to console me by smiling at me again in a reassuring manner after which he gets up and then goes up the steps that lead him towards the door of his house.

“Hersel?”

“Tell me”

“Do you agree with this?” I ask, turning to him.

His dull and tired look gives me the answer I'm looking for.

“No but…but I have to keep my daughters safe”

“I understand”

A heavy silence envelops us as we peer at each other.

Sometimes we have to do what is right for the good of those we love, we have to make decisions that leave an indelible mark on our soul.

Like the decision to kill another human being.

“I feel like I'm losing myself, Hersel.What I did…what I did to that man…I feel like I can't bear the weight of my choice.And this…this is hurting people who don't deserve it”

He watches me for a few seconds then comes closer and sits next to me again.

“Would you do it again?”

My answer comes before my brain can process his question.

“No doubt.I would never let anything happen to you”

“But?” he urges me.

I sigh, straightening my back and directing my gaze towards the far edges of the farm.

“But that doesn't change the fact that I took a life.What right do I have to choose who should live and who should die?”

Tony and Dave got what they deserved.

I can't even imagine what they would have done if they had found the farm, what would have happened next.

Hersel next to me sighs, placing a hand on my shoulder.

“You and Rick saved my life.You protected this farm and my family.I'm not saying it's easy or right...I'm just saying that the death of those men didn't represent a loss for this world”

“But having killed them make us so different from them?”

The words burn on my tongue as I speak them.

This is my biggest fear.

Did my action make me soulless?

Have I now become like one of those men?

“Summer, you're not like them.You are full of love, honor.You…listen to me for a moment.Rick killed that man.In your eyes is he like those men?”

And in an instant everything is clearer.

All clearer.

For me, Rick remains a man of strong moral, a good man.

A charitable man.

And the fact that he pulled the trigger on those despicable bastards doesn't change my opinion of him.

I still see a model to follow in him.

His apparently cruel gesture has a much greater motivation behind it.

Protect his people.

The same motivation that pushed me to pull the trigger.

The same motivation that pushed me to move forward day after day.

Don't give up for the people I love.

I didn't give up to make my mother proud of me.

I endured for my father's love.

I fought for myself, to survive.

And now I fight for these people.

For Glenn.

For Carol.

For Rick.

For Daryl.

For everyone of them.

I tried to push everyone away out of fear, out of fear of being seen as a monster.

My hands will never be clean again, Tony's blood will always be there like a ghost between my fingers, but this will be my new starting point.

Now I know how much further I am willing to go to keep my loved ones safe.

Now I know my place.

Now I know what to fight for.

And I know I can do it, hell yes I can!

I nod, silently wiping away my tears with the back of my hand.

“Thank you” I whisper in a strangled voice.

“Anytime”

Hersel gives me one last squeeze on my shoulder after which he gets up and disappears into the house.

“Killing him.Right?”

It's Dale's voice that reaches me first when I finally decide to enter the house.

Hesitantly I stop my steps, again undecided whether to assist or not.

I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans trying to calm the pounding of my heart.

“I mean, why bother to even take a vote?It's clear which way the wind's blowing” continues the man.

His words are followed by a brief moment of silence.

Taking courage, I advance until I find the others in front of me.

The first people to notice me are Carol and Shane.

The first gives me a smile of encouragement while the man looks at me briefly and then returns his gaze to his best friend.

As soon as I turned the corner that will lead me among the others I notice a man next to me.

Daryl is leaning with one shoulder against the wall and his gaze remains focused in front of him.

I am sure that he has noticed my presence as I am sure that he is deliberately ignoring me.

I can tell by the stiffness of his back and his nervously clicking jaw.

“I was there.Before him.I was in his place” I whisper in a faint voice, my stomach tightening in a grip of pain at the thought that the same people who care about me now were not long ago gathered in the same way to decide my fate.

Who knows how many of them agreed to get rid of me.

I feel everyone's eyes immediately focus on my figure.

Especially Shane's eyes.

I wonder if he still wants to get rid of me.

Trying to clear my mind of all thoughts, I try to focus on our common goal.

The safety of this place.

“I too was a stranger like him”

“It's not the same, Sum.You didn't try to kill us" Glenn blurts out, immediately softening his gaze, perhaps happy that I've come to my senses.

I walk towards him, leaving Daryl behind me.

I place a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it lightly, hoping that in my eyes he will see all the silent apologies I am offering him.

His hand immediately reaches mine.

Good, we are good again.

“Well, if people believe we should spare him, I wanna know.Then we can talk through the options” Rick continues, looking into the eyes of every single person in the room and finally focusing on me, giving me a faint smile which I shyly return.

I'm happy that they're not mad at me, that they're not mad at me for my horrible behavior.

I drove them away by hurting them and they are welcoming me back with open arms.

“Well, where I sit, there's only one way to move forward” Shane murmurs.

His intentions are more than clear.

Dale becomes agitated.

“So…that's how it is then!Just Summer, Glenn and I agree that we should spare him?”

The man looks really incredulous as he nervously runs a hand over his face.

Glenn squirms lightly under my touch, looking nervous when Dale rests his gaze on him for support.

On the old man's face I perceive the exact moment in which he realizes that his friend is also turning his back on him.

“Look, I…” the boy stutters, “I think you’re pretty much right about everything, all the time, but this…”

“They’ve got you scared” Dale replies nervously, silencing Glenn who now full of guilt lowers his gaze onto his hands, gripped with an iron grip on his thighs.

“We've already lost too many people” Glenn mutters more to himself than to the others.

Dale sighs in frustration.

“How about you?Do you agree with this?” questions the man addressed to me.

I feel everyone's gaze on me but what weighs most is the gaze of the man behind me, I can feel his eyes digging a hole of anger on my shoulders.

“Can't we keep him prisoner?”

“Jus’ another mouth ta feed”

I knew it.

I fucking knew that Daryl would go against me.

I expected it but that doesn't make it hurt any less.

Not having his support, as he has always done, hurts.

It really hurts.

“It may be a lean winter” I suggest just for the sake of contradicting him and in fact a few moments later I hear him snort and whisper some profanity under his breath.

“It could be an asset.Give him a chance to prove himself” suggests Dale trying to find a foothold in someone's conscience.

“Put him to work?” Glenn suggests, being immediately silenced by Daryl.

“Ain't lettin’ him walk ’round.’S not safe”

If we keep going like this we'll never find a solution but only problem after problem.

Carol has kept me updated these days, despite my apparent disinterest in the whole thing.

She told me how Rick and Shane tried to leave Randall away from the farm but then turned back because the boy admitted he recognized the Green's farm.

“Could you drive him further out?Leave him like you planned” I ask turning to Rick.

“They barely came back this time.There are walkers.They could break down.They could get lost” Lori explains to me next to Rick, shaking her head terrified at the idea that something could happen to her husband.

“We could put an escort on him” Maggie suggests.

Shane shakes his head smiling as if he's just listening to a bunch of bullshit.

“Oh yeah…and who would volunteer?” he asks rhetorically, immediately blocking Dale's prompt response with a wave of his hand.

“I don't think any of us should be walking around with this guy.Let me tell you something, man.Say we let him join us, right?Maybe he's helpful, maybe he's nice.We let our guard down and maybe he runs off, brings back his 30 men”

Strangely I find myself agreeing with Shane's words.

We can't risk that much but I still feel reluctant to accept the idea of killing the boy.

“So the answer is to kill him to prevent a crime that he may never even attempt?If we do this, we're saying there's no hope.Rule of law is dead.There is no civilization”

This time Dale's disappointment is well marked in his desperate words.

His gaze is haunted and incredulous.

I understand what he is feeling.

These are the same questions I've been asking myself over the last few days.

The same questions that poisoned my mind day and night.

Ever since I killed that man I have done nothing but wonder if it had been the right thing to do.

Whether civilization is truly over.

No laws, just the strongest winning over the weakest.

But today, among all these people, I know that it was worth it.

It was worth losing a little piece of my soul if it meant we were all still here today.

Here and alive.

I sigh deeply.

“He's right, Dale.We should not put our own people at risk”

“Really?You too?How can you…”

“I can because I was there.In that bar.I was there.You weren't there.I pulled that damn trigger.I killed that man just to keep you safe, to protect all of you.And if you think that everyone here is taking it lightly, you're wrong.You are wrong.You don't know…you don't know…you don't know what it feels like to kill.You don't know what it feels like to lose a piece of yourself.You…you don't know…”

The words get stuck in my throat creating a ball of pain and desperation impossible to swallow.

A trickle of sweat runs down my spine.

Everything I suffocated is coming back to the surface exploding in a myriad of words soaked in anger and pain.

“I understand your reticence but you have to think about these people” I continue ignoring the pity in the eyes of those present, “Those men are thieves, murderers, rapists.And if you think that Rick or Shane or I will ever let those guys get close to us, you're sorely mistaken.You may not agree but we must do what is right for us.For our safety”

I stop for a moment, breathing heavily.

Revealing my fears to everyone, what I've been living in my head for days, isn't easy but it's the only way to make Dale understand how dangerous his idea is.

In response, the man shakes his head in total disagreement with my words, only increasing my anger.

How can he be so blind that he can't see?

I had come here with good intentions, to be able to look for a point of mediation.

But there is not.

Glenn is right.

We have to think about our safety.

I quickly approach the man, standing in front of him with fury.

“Think about what would happen to Andrea.To Beth.To Amy.What do you think those men would do to any woman here?You know how those two guys in town looked at me, huh?Can you understand how I felt with their gazes ruminating on my body?Would you ever let something like this happen to Lori?To Maggie?Think about it Dale.Our choices will impact us.I agree when you say that we must not lose ourselves but we cannot do it at the expense of our own lives”

A shiver runs down my spine making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

The memory of Dave's gaze on my body, his slimy hand groping his crotch.

Their thoughts were so vivid, so disgusting…

I will never let another woman feel the same sense of inadequacy and horror that I felt.

Dale no longer looks me in the eyes, his gaze is fixed on the hat that he tortures between his fingers.

This time my words hit the mark.

Perhaps for the first time he's realizing how dangerously senseless his idea is.

Around us no one speaks, it seems that everyone is holding their breath.

Too shocked by my own outburst, I quickly leave the room, leaving the house and finding peace in the dark night, the stars made almost invisible by large threatening clouds.

From afar the wind brings with it the smell of rain which I am sure will soon reach us.

Trying to control my breathing, I rest my arms on the balustrade, inhaling and exhaling slowly.

The cool breeze blowing in the air refreshes my hot skin, giving me pleasant shivers.

The door creaks behind me forcing me to turn around.

Shane looks at me while he nervously runs a hand over his shaved head and then leans his back against the wall, bringing his arms in front of his chest and crossing them.

“You know?It may seem crazy to you but I agree with what you said” he snorts amused, lifting a corner of his lips.

I smile too, leaning my back against the balustrade and stretching my legs in front of me, crossing them at the ankles.

I also cross my arms over my chest, as if trying to keep all my shit together.

“I'll tell you, man.I thought the same thing before.Disgusting, isn't it?” I reply and this time a real smile spreads across Shane's face.

For a moment I get a little glimpse of who Shane really was before all this shit.

Maybe, if we had met in another life, we could have even become friends.

Maybe.

Shane shakes his head and turns serious.

“I'm sorry for what you went through” he whispers, looking at me furtively from under his thick dark lashes.

I roll my eyes.

He snorts.

“I'm serious!Look…I know what you think about me.I know what others think.And I know I have a fucking temper but all I want is for everyone to be safe.Do you understand me?”

Yes, I understand that.

I understand this all too well.

“I know” I snort letting out a big sigh.

“We want the same thing, Shane”

“I know…are you with me?” the man asks, detaching himself from the wall with a light push and taking a few steps closer to me.

I watch him carefully as he holds out his hand.

Hesitant I straighten my back, carefully studying every nuance of his face but in the end I accept his hold.

His hand wraps around mine, squeezing it tightly.

“We're good, kid?”

That sly smile again.

I laugh heartily.

“Yeah.We’re good, asshole”

Shane laughs shaking his head without letting go of my hand.

“Do you know?” I murmur amused, taking my hand out of his grip and putting them in the pockets of my jeans, “I feel like I just made a deal with the devil”

Shane laughs again, triggering more laughter from me.

“Fuck you, kid”

This time his words aren't full of anger.

“I love you too, Shane” I giggle.

The door behind us opens again and this time Daryl appears in the doorway.

For a moment he seems dumbfounded.

Honestly, I would be too if I were him.

Finding me and Shane laughing together, the same people who until a few days ago were ready to kill each other, is not easy to understand.

After a moment of confusion, the man regains his composure by assuming that serious and inscrutable frown again.

Shane clears his throat, interrupting the exchange of glances between me and the archer.

“I'll leave you two alone.See you around, kid” he greets me as he walks towards his tent.

Daryl and I stare at each other intently for moments that seem endless.

In the twilight of this starless night silence envelops our tumultuous hearts.

As stiff and inexpressive as the man in front of me is, I am sure that there is chaos inside him, the same deafening chaos that overshadows my heart and my mind.

Cold words and sharp looks are the only things we exchanged and now I feel regret creeping down my stomach making me nauseous.

“Daryl, I…”

“Do ya wan’ to go fer a walk?”

I blink in disbelief, my heart beating deafeningly in an undefined point between my stomach and my throat.

I nod weakly, walking alongside him while a few drops of water fall from the sky, wetting the tip of my nose.

In the thick darkness of the night our steps resonate like the echo of my broken heart.

Pushing these people away, pushing Daryl away, was the stupidest thing I could have done.

I convinced myself that I didn't deserve their love, and maybe a small part of me still thinks so, but I...I need them.

I need him.

He is the only person who can heal my wounds.

The unspoken words weigh me down making me feel like I'm drowning in an ocean of regrets.

Perhaps the time has come to confess in one last hope of redemption.

Maybe my apologies will never be enough, maybe he won't accept them, but it will still be a new beginning.

A new beginning with or without him.

Because even if he rejects me I will continue to move forward for everyone else.

For Carol, for Rick, for Glenn.

For myself.

Our steps slowly make us find ourselves at the edge of the forest, the rain now slides through the leaves and the wind whispers through the branches.

I shudder, shrugging my shoulders.

I stop my steps and so does Daryl.

I stare at his immense shoulders as the man inhales deeply and then sags as if he's struggling with something in his head.

“Daryl…I'm sorry for how I acted.I…”

“Why do ya push me away?” the man interrupts me, continuing to turn his back on me.

With a little courage I approach him, with slow and measured steps I move until I find myself in front of him.

His sad eyes are focused on the ground.

With a pang in my heart I hesitantly bring a hand to his face, slowly stroking it until I wrap my hand around his cheek.

His stubble tickles my hand pleasantly.

God, how much I had missed touching him.

I bring my other hand in the same position on the other cheek forcing the man to look at me.

“I was scared”

“Scared?Of me?”

I shake my head.

“I was afraid of what you would see in me” I whisper in defeat.

Distant thunder shakes the sky.

Daryl directs his gaze, now confident, into mine.

His hands reach mine, intertwining our fingers.

I swallow the lump in my throat.

“I killed a man, Daryl.I felt like a monster...I had to do it, I had to.And now I- I- I...I no longer feel I deserve you... I rejected you because I feared your own rejection” I admit, lowering my gaze.

The archer lowers his face towards mine, seeking my gaze, aligning his face with mine.

His eyes, so young and yet full of a pain as old as the world, look straight into mine.

I shyly look up at his beautiful face, the light rain that slides through the leaves stops as if trapped between his eyelashes.

Small pearls of water that make his gaze even more intense.

Hypnotized by such wonder, I remain motionless, paralyzed waiting for his words.

The rain falls incessantly now, as if the sky itself wanted to wash away the guilt that surrounds me.

The leaves of the trees form an irregular roof over us, stopping the pouring rain and turning it into a graceful ticking over our heads.

The moon's dim light occasionally breaks through the clouds, illuminating just enough for us to see each other.

The more I observe him, the more I realize how this man is an enigma, one of those men who seem to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders.

With a look that hides more than it reveals.

I can't understand what he thinks, what he feels...

But I know one thing.

I understood it perhaps the moment our eyes met for the first time.

I love him.

I love him with a passion that burns inside me.

I love him with a passion that keeps me up at night.

Yet, I'm scared.

I'm afraid to tell him.

Fear for a thousand different reasons but above all because I killed a human being.

A man who had to die.

I did what I had to do but I still feel like a monster.

And I don't want him to see that monster.

I don't want him to discover that perhaps that monster has always been inside me, dormant, waiting to resurface and claw at my heart.

“Ya not a monster, ma’ beautiful sunshine”

And suddenly it's as if I were able to breathe again after having remained underwater for an indefinite time.

My lungs expand again, welcoming once again his sweet musky scent made more intense by the rain.

“I'm sorry Daryl.I'm so sorry.Please, forgive me.Please.I was so scared” I burst into tears, burying my face in the crook of his neck, my hands clinging tightly to his broad and welcoming chest.

And so, under the steady rain, with the leaves as a carpet and the scent of wet earth, I hold myself close to my persona.

No words are needed because my breathing, the frenetic beating of my heart, my fingers forcefully squeezing his shirt speak for me.

His arms that slowly envelop me are absolution for all my sins.

Daryl is my refuge, my forgiveness.

His strong hands caress my back in an attempt to calm the sobs that tear through my chest like thunder rumbling in the sky above us.

His fingers gently wrap around my face, his thumbs dry the tears that run down it with a disarming sweetness.

“I got ya, sunshine.Ya remember?I have yer back.Always.Ya ain't a monster.Yer my light, yer my hope” whispers the archer, blowing the words on my parted lips.

He, with his eyes still marked by the storm of incomprehension, comes closer and closer, silently asking for my permission.

With trembling hands and my heart beating painfully against my rib cage I finally close the distance between our lips.

In the precise moment of contact with his warm and familiar lips the world stops, disappearing, leaving only the two of us at the exact center of the universe.

Now there is only our synchronized breathing, only the beating of two hearts that are reconciled.

His velvety tongue dances with mine, exploring every corner of my mouth.

A kiss that tastes of forgiveness, of desire, of love.

Words are useless.

My hands touch the back of his neck making him vibrate, clinging to his hair as if I wanted to hold on to this moment forever.

More tears now fall down my face, mixing with the cold rain, but this time they are tears of joy.

Daryl pulls away just enough to look me in the eyes.

“I missed ya” he whispers, kissing me again, this time just a gentle brush of lips.

There are no more words to say, only the warmth of our embrace and the silent promise to never leave each other again.

This kiss is our truce, our new beginning.

Squeezed in Daryl's arms I realize that together we can face any storm because our feeling is stronger than any misunderstanding.

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distantvoices · 2 years

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Kelvin Adumekwe by Amber Grace Dixon for Document Journal

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final-girl96 · 10 months

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Broken World: Chapter Seventeen

After everyone was finished eating and everything was cleaned up Jenner showed us the rest of the living area. “Most of the facility is powered down including housing so you’ll have to make do here,” he said as we walked down yet another hallway. Offices lined each side of the hall. “The couches are comfortable, but there are cots in storage if you like. There’s a rec room down the hall that you kids might enjoy. Just don’t plug in the video games, okay? Or anything that draws power. The same applies—if you shower, go easy on the hot water.” That made everyone perk up; the fact that there was hot water.

I was walking behind everyone and watched them all pick a room. My head was a little fuzzy from the alcohol but not enough to not know what I was doing. Shane's head popped out of one of the doors when I walked by. “You are more than welcome to share a room with me,” he slurred, smiling. My face scrunched up in disgust and walked by him, picking up my pace, and slipping into a room at the end of the hall. I threw my bag on the floor beside the couch and sat down with a loud sigh. I looked down at my skin, covered in sweat and dirt letting out a bigger sigh. “May as well take advantage of that hot water.” I began to untie my shoes and kicked them off along with my socks. I shed clothing as I walked to the small bathroom on the other side of the room, dropping them into a pile.

I walked to the shower and turned it on, holding my hand under the water. To my delight, the water got hot fast. I stepped under the water, turning around, closing my eyes, and tilting my head back. The hot water felt so relaxing as it loosened my muscles. The bathroom started to steam up, and I turned around to find soap and shampoo. I grabbed the soap and started to wash my body, watching as the dirt and dried blood washed down the drain. Next was my hair, I took my time with washing it. It would probably be a while before I got to have a hot shower again. They even have new razors in the bathroom, so I took care to shave while I was at it. I knew Jenner said to take it easy on the hot water, but it felt too good.

“Fuck! Shit!” I jumped at the sudden voice behind me and spun around. “What the hell?! You scared the fuck out of me, Daryl!” He was standing there holding a bottle of whiskey looking everywhere but at me. “What're you doing?” I asked. “What're you doin'?! You're in my room” I raised my eyebrow and rolled my eyes. “I'm sorry I didn't see your name on it. Oh for fuck sake, Daryl, stop acting like you've never seen me naked before. Unless, you forgot about that time I can home junior year of college during Christmas break. You know the one where you took my virginity and then ignored me for three months after that.”

“Told Ya it was a mistake,” he grunted. I scoffed, “right.” I walked out of the shower and right up to him. “Because having sex with was the most horrible experience of your life!” I yanked the bottle out of his hand, grabbed a towel and walked out into the room. “Take a shower, Daryl, you stink!” I slammed the door and plopped on the couch. Looking to my right to see a cot was set up and put the bottle to my lips, taking a long sip of whiskey, sucking in air through my teeth at the slight burn it made as the amber liquid raved down my throat.

I wasn't on the couch more than five minutes before I was back up, slamming the bottle on the desk and stalking into the bathroom.

“You know what, Dixon!”

He flinched and turned around and stared at me with wide eyes. “The hell ya doin’?!” he yelled. “You day it was a mistake what happened between us. But it wasn't. You enjoyed it and don't say you didn't! You liked being the first man to be inside me. The first to make me come. You liked how I screamed your name. You're just a coward who runs from his feelings! You let Merle make all your decisions for you!”

“You don't know what the hell ya talkin’ about!”

I raised my eyebrows, dropped my towel, and walked right up to him under the surprisingly still hot water. “I do know what I'm talking about. I might have been the one to leave, but you're the one who pushed me away so many times I felt like I had no choice. You've hurt me a lot, Daryl Dixon. You broke my heart when you ignored the next day and then three months after that. I fucking loved you! And don't you dare say it's our age gap because we're only five ye…” I was cut off by him pressing his lips to mine. My brain was so fuzzy from the alcohol that I didn't respond right away. I was trying to figure out what was going on and how it went from hating each other to now with me wrapped around him and my back pressed to the tile.

Daryl's lips trailed down my jaw to my neck, where He sucked a mark into my skin. His hard length pressed against me, pulling a whine from me. “Please.” Daryl gripped himself, looking down between our bodies, and rubbing the tip of his cock through my slit a few times before finding my entrance and pushing inside of me.

“What the hell ya doin’ woman?!” I jumped at the sudden voice and looked up. Daryl was stalking towards me and grabbing the bottle out of my hand. “Well, I was enjoying a drink and having a really good daydream until you interrupted.” Daryl scoffed and sat on the other end of the couch. There was silence between us. Daryl kept fidgeting, and I started to get annoyed by it. “Will you stop!” I said, looking over at him. “Will you get dressed!” He grunted out. His cheeks started to turn a light shade of pink, and I laughed. “Sure, Daryl, I'll get dressed.”

I stood up, walked over to my bag, and pulled out my clothes. But I didn't go to the bathroom, instead I put my clothes on the cot and dropped the towel. “Fucking christ!” Daryl's face turned even more red as he willed himself to look everywhere but at my naked form.

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serial-serializednovelreader · 3 months

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Nova’s Notes - North and South Weekly - Chapter 4

In which Margaret gets another unpleasant surprise…

“He was gone. The house was shut up for the evening. No more deep blue skies or crimson and amber tints.”

Lovely use of “show, don’t tell” here. It parallels Henry's idealized description of the country from last chapter and in turn, parallels how that idealized version has, as Margaret predicted, dissipated. And in another sense, her idealized version of Henry coming to visit -- where everyone left the visit happy -- has also dissipated in turn.

"How different men were to women! Here was she disturbed and unhappy, because her instinct had made anything but a refusal impossible; while he, not many minutes after he had met with a rejection of what ought to have been the deepest, holiest proposal of his life, could speak as if briefs, success, and all its superficial consequences of a good house, clever and agreeable society, were the sole avowed objects of his desires."

I can definitely see why she assumes this is a man/woman difference (that was obviously an assumption of the time), but that isn't why lol. This is just a coping mechanism and Henry's issueTM! It's dangerously close to Henry thinking Margaret is not missing her friends at London just because she smiles and acts happy around him. *However*, she has something else to say a couple of sentences later I want to highlight:

"Then she took it into her head that, after all, his lightness might be but assumed, to cover a bitterness of disappointment which would have been stamped on her own heart if she had loved and been rejected."

I think this passage right here marks one of the key differences between Margaret and Henry, and potentially what makes them incompatible in a romantic sense. Yes, she does have that initial thought of "how could he act so happy and focused after being rejected what's up with that", but she reflects -- she takes a second to empathize with him -- and realizes that it's probably a mask to hide his feelings! Would Henry have had that same moment of self-reflection? From what we've seen of him, no, I don't think so. Maybe later in his arc, but not currently.

I'm not saying she can't be in a romantic relationship with someone who can't feel the same kind of empathy as her (low empathy people deserve love too!!!), but I think it's more a matter of the reflection part. Her taking a second to rethink her initial assumptions before reaching a conclusion. Being in a relationship with someone who always assumes they know you best when, in reality, they jump to the wrong conclusion would be very exhausting. So far, Henry has not taken her perspective seriously, or taken what she's had to say at face value several times! Meanwhile, in this quiet way, she's making sure to rethink her conclusions to see him in the best possible light.

"Oh dear! how she could have loved him if he had but been different, with a difference which she felt, on reflection, to be one that went low—deep down."

And then there's this sentence between the two I just analyzed...

Live footage of me reading this:

Margaret, you are SO funny, I love you so much. I mean, you're not wrong but...also?? Yeah, I definitely feel a bit bad for Henry here, oof. It goes to show that you can't force romance or compatibility! Either someone will love you for who you are, or you'd have to have a whole personality transplant to make them love you...yikes, that sounds bad. I just mean the right people will love everything about you!! Surround yourself with those! And to be fair, Margaret does love him, just not romantically.

"Margaret had to shake off the recollections of what had been done and said through the day, and turn a sympathising listener to the account of how Dixon had complained that the ironing-blanket had been burnt again; and how Susan Lightfoot had been seen with artificial flowers in her bonnet, thereby giving evidence of a vain and giddy character. Mr. Hale sipped his tea in abstracted silence; Margaret had the responses all to herself. She wondered how her father and mother could be so forgetful, so regardless of their companion through the day, as never to mention his name. She forgot that he had not made them an offer."

I feel so bad for her here!!! She's just trying to organize her thoughts, but -- as usual -- she has to turn a listening ear to her mother's ever-present IssuesTM. She can't even get a break for a second because her dad isn't responding. I wonder if hearing Henry's name mentioned would actually be better or worse for her to hear; though I do know I would hate for my mom to be talking about someone's fashion choices right after I had to reject someone! Also, "She forgot that he had not made them an offer." LOL Margaret, yes that is one way of putting it.

When Mrs. Hale leaves, Mr. Hale asks for her to talk to him about something "very serious" to the family...Margaret is worried:

"Mr. Lennox had never had the opportunity of having any private conversation with her father after her refusal, or else that would indeed be a very serious affair. In the first place, Margaret felt guilty and ashamed of having grown so much into a woman as to be thought of in marriage; and secondly, she did not know if her father might not be displeased that she had taken upon herself to decline Mr. Lennox’s proposal."

Ahhh, again, feel for her here! She shouldn't feel ashamed of being a woman of marrying age, though I guess that is rather strange for her since she hasn't had the chance to be around her parents in so long. It must feel weird to go from a child to suddenly an woman who can get proposed to and have your dad talk to you about it. But she shouldn't feel guilty and ashamed. :(

As for the second point, does she really think her father would force her to accept Henry's proposal? Or does this just mean he would have rather she waited for him to decline it for her? Either way, oof, I hope this wouldn't have been the case. He should let her take care of it!

That's when Mr. Hale drops two bombs on Margaret -- that they must leave Helstone because he's no longer going to be a minster.

Wait...WHAT?! Where did this come from? Is it because of Frederick? No? Then why...

"'Margaret, I will tell you about it. I will answer any questions this once, but after to-night let us never speak of it again. I can meet the consequences of my painful, miserable doubts; but it is an effort beyond me to speak of what has caused me so much suffering.'”

So, he's able to speak on this whole situation that he's apparently caused (it sure sounds like this is a decision he made from this passage)...but only for one night? I don't like that very much. If you're going to make a life-altering decision like that which will affect your entire family, I don't think you get the right to be like "we can never speak of this again after I initially tell you." For one thing, that's not a healthy family relationship and will definitely lead to communication problems later. Secondly, it puts an unfair burden on Margaret to make her bottle up all of her emotions about this change after just one night of being able to voice them! And what of her mother? Will she be able to speak of her feelings, or will she -- as usual -- just pass all of this on to Margaret's ear? Then that's doubly unfair to Margaret and also unfair to Mrs. Hale!!!

“"You could not understand it all, if I told you—my anxiety, for years past, to know whether I had any right to hold my living—my efforts to quench my smouldering doubts by the authority of the Church. Oh! Margaret, how I love the holy Church from which I am to be shut out!' He could not go on for a moment or two. Margaret could not tell what to say; it seemed to her as terribly mysterious as if her father were about to turn Mahometan."

Ok, so this definitely confused me because...what doubts Mr. Hale?? You have some anxiety and that's it? You explain nothing. Also, don't like that he pulls a "you wouldn't understand". Then make her understand!!

Back to the confusion, this post helped me understand the reason behind the mystery (tl;dr, for controversial religious reasons) and this post has notes which speculate specific reasons why Mr. Hale may has his doubts in the church (tl;dr, the act of uniformity and the book of common prayer).

Also, Mahometan means "Muslim" -- which I also found out from this last post I linked -- so basically this shock is as "mysterious" to her as if her father suddenly changed religions!

“"I have been reading to-day of the two thousand who were ejected from their churches,”—continued Mr. Hale, smiling faintly,—“trying to steal some of their bravery; but it is of no use—no use—I cannot help feeling it acutely.'”

I guess I can understand why he's using this situation to try to help him relate, but I feel like this is a bit incomparable. One case is people being forced from the church, while the other is someone choosing to leave the church due to anxiety and other doubts. It seems a bit...unfair to compare the two. Am I the only one who feels that way? I know everyone has different struggles but...I don't know. Just weird to me.

“'But, papa, have you well considered? Oh! it seems so terrible, so shocking,' said Margaret, suddenly bursting into tears. The one staid foundation of her home, of her idea of her beloved father, seemed reeling and rocking. What could she say? What was to be done? The sight of her distress made Mr. Hale nerve himself, in order to try and comfort her. He swallowed down the dry choking sobs which had been heaving up from his heart..."

Thus far, we haven't seen Margaret cry since she was a lonely child, heartbroken at the thought of being far from her home. And here she is again, just past an adult and crying again at the prospect of leaving her home: this time forever. This time, it also comes with the added knowledge that her father is the one to do this and it changes her idealized version of him. It seems that Henry isn't the only one showing his true character and bursting her bubble today....yikes.

The only good news is that her father does try to comfort her and push down his feelings. He's her father, it's his job to be there for her!!! She may be technically an adult (if you count 18 as an adult, which I really don't -- that's still a child/teenager for me, but that may be my age talking lol), but she still needs her father!! So far, she's the one who has had to bear the emotional burdens of her parents, so it's nice to see a role reversal (and the one it should be) for a change.

The bad news is is that he tries to comfort her using a religious reading which she's too upset to pay any attention to (understandable). The text itself -- summed up -- basically is from an ex-clergyman that states that preaching the word while having doubts is not actually good and dishonorable to God. It is then better to set aside the ministry than it is to continue it. For Mr. Hale, he is able to gain strength from this, but Margaret's sobs bring him back to reality.

“'Margaret, dear!' said he, drawing her closer, 'think of the early martyrs; think of the thousands who have suffered.' 'But, father,' said she, suddenly lifting up her flushed, tear-wet face, 'the early martyrs suffered for the truth, while you—oh! dear, dear papa!'"

While Margaret is upset beyond measure, that doesn't mean she's not going to speak her mind. And yep, she's thinking the same thing I am! Comparing his own inner conflicts to matyrs -- those who have died from persecution of their religion -- well, that's...yeah I can't complete my thought either. I don't really know what to say to that, honestly.

“'I suffer for conscience’ sake, my child,' said he, with a dignity that was only tremulous from the acute sensitiveness of his character; 'I must do what my conscience bids. I have borne long with self-reproach that would have roused any mind less torpid and cowardly than mine.' He shook his head as he went on. 'Your poor mother’s fond wish, gratified at last in the mocking way in which over-fond wishes are too often fulfilled—Sodom apples as they are—has brought on this crisis, for which I ought to be, and I hope I am thankful."

Ahhhh it's his conscience that suffers, well in that case...NOPE, still a strange comparison. He uses self-deprecation to make Margaret feel sorry for him (seriously, bearing your own angry thoughts was such a hardship for you, but you actually should have given up your home sooner if not for your "cowardice"? Ok.). THEN, he goes on to blame his wife and say her continual asks about a promotion he hasn't received in 20 years has "brought on this crisis", but he's thankful anyway.

Ok, this gives me LOTS OF FEELINGS but....let's backup really quick. Imagine you have a spouse with a job (in this economy? Congratulations, honestly). It's not a great job, but it's a job! You assume at some point, your spouse will get a promotion so you and your two children can get a bit of a better living. The place where you live is fine but it's not the best it could be. (Plus you may be a *little* selfish and want more comfort, but some of it is genuinely to give your family a better life). Twenty years pass and....nothing. No promotion, no change. People who aren't as ambitious or don't study as much your spouse get promoted, but your spouse doesn't. Everytime you bring it up to your spouse, they tell you to "be happy where you are, they're happy!" or just brushes off your concerns. So, you get more pushy about it. And what happens? Still nothing.

Then one day, out of the blue, they come up to you and tell you: I quit my job and also it's your fault I quit because you asked too much of me for wanting me to promote! So yeah, we have to leave our house, but I feel better about my own inner turmoil now so YAY :) How would you feel about that? I'd imagine not great...

Now, obviously, he's not going to tell his wife exactly that, but still? I feel like blaming it on your wife is so immature. I know in my analysis of Chapter 2, I did side with Mr. Hale and think Mrs. Hale was putting too much pressure on him...but then I got context. And the context I received changed my perception of this a bit. Do I still think it's right for her to constantly complain about their house and tell him to promote? No, not really. Do I think it's her way of showing love (in the sense where she says "you could do so much better than this job! I believe you're better than these other guys that got promoted!" -- which I don't consider that the best kind of love to show to your spouse but I do think that's her way) and that she doesn't deserve actual *blame* when he's the own making the life-altering decision here? Also, yes.

To be honest, I think it's a complex situation; both parties are wrong in some places and both parties have correct points. The reason I'm being hard on Mr. Hale is because he's making such a life-altering change to the entire family without telling them -- that's not fair and anxiety doesn't excuse it. As someone with anxiety, I avoid difficult conversations and conflict whenever possible, but I wouldn't avoid it here! While I doubt he would've been able to just "talk things out" with his wife about his doubts (so far, she doesn't seem the type to be a sympathetic ear in a situation like this, though I'm open to changing my mind), bottling his doubts up until it became this also wasn't the answer.

What I do love from a reader's standpoint is that this isn't black and white for me!!! I get to see all sides and I understand their viewpoints, I love it. :D

"'It is not a month since the bishop offered me another living; if I had accepted it, I should have had to make a fresh declaration of conformity to the Liturgy at my institution. Margaret, I tried to do it; I tried to content myself with simply refusing the additional preferment, and stopping quietly here,—strangling my conscience now, as I had strained it before.'"

So what prompted this was actually the bishop offering to promote him (what his wife had wanted), but he would've had to make a fresh declaration of conformity (basically, restating his vows/creed to the church and its doctrine) and that seemed to be what turned him away. Again, this is HIS decision, yet he's passing the blame on others. And instead of just refusing the promotion...he asked to resign instead. Oof.

She asks him the next obvious question: when is this all to take place? He says next Sunday is his last sermon. It's sudden, but for Margaret:

"...[l]ingering would only add stings to the pain; it was better to be stunned into numbness by hearing of all these arrangements..."

It's sad that she has to take comfort in what she can, and the only comfort she has is that everything is happening so suddenly that at least she can be shocked and numbed from the pain she'd feel (and will likely feel later on once this shock wears off). :((

The next obvious question arises: what does her mom have to say?

“'Margaret, I am a poor coward after all. I cannot bear to give pain. I know so well your mother’s married life has not been all she hoped—all she had a right to expect—and this will be such a blow to her, that I have never had the heart, the power to tell her. She must be told though, now,' said he, looking wistfully at his daughter."

He hasn't even told his wife yet?!?!?!!?!?!?!?!?!?!! There's absolutely no excuse for this type of behavior, I'm sorry. No matter how bad your anxiety is, you can't just *not tell your wife* about a LIFE-CHANGING decision like this!!! If he really wanted to not give pain to his wife and give her "less comfort" than he feels she deserves, I feel like there's some kind of compromise between hating your profession and then quitting your job and moving houses without telling her first!! Just me? Ok. I also don't like the way he's looking at his daughter after saying he doesn't have the heart to tell his wife, but she does need to be told...hm....

“'Where are we to go to?' said she at last, struck with a fresh wonder as to their future plans, if plans indeed her father had."

It says a lot about how far her trust in her father has fallen that she's not even sure if he's made plans for what happens after they leave Helstone. She probably feels like the only rational one in this situation, and with how much she's had to solve problems for her parents lately, I can kind of see why!

Luckily, he does have a plan: they're going to move to Milton-Northern, a manufacturing town. But Mr. Hale has one more issue...

"'Only help me to tell your mother. I think I could do anything but that: the idea of her distress turns me sick with dread. If I tell you all, perhaps you could break it to her to-morrow. I am going out for the day, to bid farmer Dobson and the poor people on Bracy Common good-bye. Would you dislike breaking it to her very much, Margaret?'”

Yep, just what I was worried about. So while Mr. Hale gets to go out and say his goodbyes (probably seeming like a hero/martyr while doing so as that's how he's been portraying himself throughout this conversation), Margaret gets the very fun job (/s) of breaking the news to her mother that not only is her husband NOT getting a promotion, he has quit his job and they will be moving to a manufacturing town where he can get another job! I'm sure that will go over very well, considering how calm, composed and non-whiney her mother has been up to this point (very hard /s).

I also hate that he asks her if she would dislike doing this because it's an illusion of choice. It seems like a way out. But, even if Margaret says "yes, I'd rather not," she's probably still going to be forced into it regardless. And after all of his conflict beforehand, it would make her feel horrible to refuse now. I know he cares about and loves his daughter, but he's letting his own inability to communicate effectively with his wife overshadow that.

Pro tip: if you ever get to the point where you're letting your own child break bad news to your partner -- and it's not due to an emergency or some sort of disability you can't overcome on your end (even then, there are still ways to communicate through those circumstances, but as an example) -- then you're doing it wrong. It's very hard to sympathize with Mr. Hale here.

"Margaret did dislike it, did shrink from it more than from anything she had ever had to do in her life before. She could not speak, all at once. Her father said, “You dislike it very much don’t you, Margaret?” Then she conquered herself, and said, with a bright strong look on her face: 'It is a painful thing, but it must be done, and I will do it as well as ever I can. You must have many painful things to do.' Mr. Hale shook his head despondingly: he pressed her hand in token of gratitude. Margaret was nearly upset again into a burst of crying."

Of course, as I suspected, she feels obligated to take on her father's problems and once again, becomes the one taking on emotional burdens for the family. She puts on a brave facade, but is still very close to tears all the while. She talks of him having "painful things to do" and acting as if this hardship is little in comparison, but honestly -- I don't see what could be worse than what she's about to do. Quitting? He's already done that. Moving itself? They're all going to be a part of it; it won't be his own burden alone. Saying goodbye to his congregation? Sure, that will be difficult, but at least he has the option to walk away if they ask too many questions; Margaret won't have that luxury. And of course, Margaret can't (or doesn't want to) acknowledge the crux of the matter: that he chose to do this, fully knowing his wife would have to know about it at some point in the process. The fact that he probably decided early on he would have Margaret take on this burden instead of him is honestly pretty cowardly and sucky of him to do.

Margaret is sooooo much better than me because I think I would just say no! Sorry, I love you, but you decided to do this to us, so find the courage to tell mom about it!!! 🤷‍♀️ I understand why she agrees to it though: even with her trust broken, her dad was still her hero for such a long time and that feeling will not just go away in the matter of a couple of minutes. Plus, she's already gotten used to taking on her parents' burdens, so this is just another mark in a long list. Not to mention her compassion for others in general. I do admire her for taking this responsibility on -- I just know it's not her responsibility and wish her dad would do the right thing!

Margaret does try to ask her father about the possibility of surviving at Helstone without her father having a job, but that is quickly shot down. She's given a reality check that Frederick needs their money for him to survive living abroad and there's also the matter of Mr. Hale's wants:

"'I must do something! I must make myself busy, to keep off morbid thoughts. Besides, in a country parish I should be so painfully reminded of Helstone, and my duties here. I could not bear it, Margaret. And a hundred a year would go a very little way, after the necessary wants of housekeeping are met, towards providing your mother with all the comforts she has been accustomed to, and ought to have. No: we must go to Milton. That is settled. I can always decide better by myself, and not influenced by those whom I love,' said he, as a half apology for having arranged so much before he had told any one of his family of his intentions. 'I cannot stand objections. They make me so undecided.'”

I think it's a little funny (not funny in a haha way) that Mr. Hale, after all of this, has the nerve to go "I need to move there because it's best for *me*. The jobs there are best for *my needs* where I won't be reminded of *my failure*." Buddy, I hate to tell you this, but the literal last thing you should be thinking about is yourself in this situation. You should be looking for a place that has good work -- yes -- but also will be a good place for Margaret and Mrs. Hale. Aka, your family. Remember them??

Now, from what I've heard about North and South, this book is about labor relations and overcoming prejudices about manufacturing towns (I think??). I'm not trying to say Milton can't or won't be a good place for them to live (I know it probably will be better than they think it is!), I'm just saying the fact that he starts off this passage with listing the criteria *he needs* to live in a town is wild to me after all of this. I guess I shouldn't be surprised, considering it was his own needs that pushed him to do this in the first place. He also mentions the comforts his wife needs, but that almost feels like an excuse or afterthought compared to how much emphasis he puts on his own needs/wants.

Also, the last part of his speech to Margaret is ridiculous to me. That's supposed to be a half-apology? That is one of the worst apologies I've heard yet! And that's after hearing Lennox's love confession (these two have GOT to communicate better because Margaret needs better men in her life, geez). Also "I cannot stand objections. They make me so undecided." ???? Pfft, YEAH, no duh! Obviously, objections will do that, that's what they're for!!!! They're supposed to make you rethink and reevaluate what you're doing before it's too late. Which, in your case, would've been a much better option than doing what you did, Mr. Hale!!! But instead, you chose to follow only what you wanted and didn't think of the family that needed you.

I have no doubt that this decision will likely work out better for them in the end, but it easily couldn't and for me, that's what bothers me so much! Packing your family up just like that and arranging this before telling them anything is just so inconsiderate to me. I understand needing to quit your job for your mental health, but....not like this.

Mr. Hale then talks of how he heard of Milton -- from Frederick's godfather, Mr. Bell who owns property there. I want to highlight this specific part:

"'Well; I had reason to suspect—to imagine—I had better say nothing about it, however. But I felt sure of sympathy from Mr. Bell.'"

So...you're not even for sure whether Mr. Bell will help you or not -- you just felt like he had sympathy???? And he also told you of a job opening for a private tutor from a Mr. Thornton (who I know will be important later!!!!). That's....not the solid plan I would've hoped for. He has a recommendation letter (basically), but still. I suppose there are worse plans to have, but like -- is there any guarantee of a home with that plan? I would not be assured at all if I was Margaret.

This is where Margaret's prejudice shows.

“A private tutor!” said Margaret, looking scornful: “What in the world do manufacturers want with the classics, or literature, or the accomplishments of a gentleman?”

Don't turn into a judgy-pants here, I know you're better than your mother!!! I assume part of her arc will be learning that manufacturers deserve as much of an education as she does, though I had hoped she would already know that! To be fair to her, she has been raised in an environment where her entire family is somewhat judgmental of anyone "beneath" them, so I can understand why she wouldn't exactly see beyond that. She may be more sympathetic and practical than her mother and aunt, but prejudices and biases from how she was raised are quite easy to emulate.

Mr. Hale is actually the reasonable one here (though whether it's genuine or out of interest to convince Margaret his plan is a good idea is unclear), stating that many in Milton want to learn and are actually better than men from Oxford, who don't acknowledge any deficiencies in themselves. I agree with that sentiment!

Mr. Hale again brings up how different it is from Helstone and it's a good thing because they can't be reminded of it -- Margaret can't help but agree, though she lists several reasons why she does not want to live there (mostly from what's she heard from others -- that it's "bleak" and "discordant"). I myself find running away from your problems and then blocking out anything that could remind of that problem to be borderline unhealthy (it can be healthy and work in some cases, but to not talk about it at all is a red flag), but what do I know?

Margaret asks when they're leaving and Mr. Hale replies that it will be two weeks from now. She is, of course, stunned again. but takes it in stride. The only problem is that her mother knows nothing of it!

He replies by lamenting how much easier this would all would be for him if he were by himself and not married. I think that's key to highlight here because while he doesn't seem to have a problem with Margaret (though he does emphasize the "alone" part), he does seem to have a problem with Mrs. Hale and that's where his conflict arises. It sounds like they have some marital issues to work on...

Margaret asks for time to tell her mother -- until tomorrow night. Then, she says:

"'Oh, papa,' cried she with sudden passionate entreaty, 'say—tell me it is a nightmare—a horrid dream—not the real waking truth! You cannot mean that you are really going to leave the Church—to give up Helstone—to be for ever separate from me, from mamma—led away by some delusion—some temptation! You do not really mean it!'”

I think Margaret has entered the "denial" phase of grief here, and I don't blame her one bit! It's so much to take in, and this is all on the same night she was proposed to by someone she only saw as a friend. Needless to say, she's going through a lot emotionally. And I think when she speaks of her father being "separate" from her and her mother, she means emotionally and spiritually, not physically. Because what he is doing will lead to this kind of division, whether he can see it or not. I know personally I would not be able to talk to or see my parent in the same light if they did something similar!

"Mr. Hale sat in rigid stillness while she spoke. Then he looked her in the face, and said in a slow, hoarse, measured way—'I do mean it, Margaret. You must not deceive yourself in doubting the reality of my words—my fixed intention and resolve.' He looked at her in the same steady, stony manner, for some moments after he had done speaking.'"

Oooooooh, this one rankles me. So he's entitled to lament and wish he wasn't married and was all by himself to do as he pleased (which is probably emotionally devastating for Margaret to hear, by the way), but she's not allowed to wish this wasn't real? To cry out for her dad for comfort on the same night she's told she has to leave her childhood home? Wow, not very kind or fatherly of you Mr. Hale. This definitely does not raise my opinion of him.

Margaret stares back at him and sees he is indeed serious. She has no more to sa and she decides to leave the situation. This is probably for the best because I imagine she needs time alone. However, Mr. Hale has one more thing to say:

“'The blessing of God be upon thee, my child!'”

Am I the only one who read this and thought "after all of this you have the audacity...?" Like, yes, of course, as a Christian, he's free to say this. But I see him saying this in the authority of a minster and...he's not anymore. Or he's almost not. The other problem I see with this is if he's blessing her because he feels she "needs it" after her outburst...no, no she doesn't. She didn't do anything wrong. She handled it as well as could be expected. I don't think an 18 year-old is going to just smile and nod at this!! Heck, an adult wouldn't -- just look at how Mrs. Hale is (probably) going to react! He's so worried over her reaction he won't even tell her himself! So yeah, for lots of reasons, this rubs me the wrong way.

“'And may He restore you to His Church,' responded she, out of the fulness of her heart. The next moment she feared lest this answer to his blessing might be irreverent, wrong—might hurt him as coming from his daughter, and she threw her arms round his neck."

Honestly, I saw her response and was like "AS SHE SHOULD!!!" Of course, Margaret is too kind-hearted and loves her dad too much to let that stand, so she makes up for it by hugging him. I love her for that!

I think this passage shows how kind she can be even in the face of such emotional stress. Yes, she says things in the heat of the moment (as I've been told and have figured out, she tends to lash out when she's upset, especially when she feels attacked), but she doesn't let them stand. Could she have walked out in this moment? Yes, and I honestly wouldn't have blamed her for it. Instead, she chose to hug her father and show him she still loves him. It's a powerful moment and shows a lot about Margaret's character!

The moment is quickly broken when Mrs. Hale asks for Margaret. Mr. Hale reminds her of her promise and she agrees, walking away "in a stunned and dizzy state"...

As a final note, I want to make it clear again that I don't blame Mr. Hale for wanting to quit his job for mental health reasons. If the job was too much pressure on him and he felt the need to leave -- that's valid. No one should be forced to stay in a job they hate! However, my problems are with the fact that he never communicated this and chose to bottle it up to the point of quitting his job and arranging for his family to move behind their back, fully knowing they would hate it. He didn't tell them because he didn't want them to influence his decision, which is just...if you can't trust your family to give you guidance: that's bad. I think it was really just an excuse for him to do whatever he wanted, knowing he would get away with it. Finally, my biggest issue comes in with making Margaret tell her mother -- his wife -- of this. That is truly a horrible move on his part and very unfair to both his daughter and his partner!! If he's willing to take all of these steps, he should at least commit to telling both of them. So, yeah, just wanted to make it clear that I don't blame him for why he quit his job, just more how he went about it and the current fallout.

I imagine this next chapter will see Margaret telling her mother of the move...let's see how that goes!

#north and south #another chapter with a lot of feelings #but i love it #north and south weekly #margaret hale #novas notes #long post

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doe-writes-stuff · 2 years

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Hello! I was wondering if I could request:

Daryl Dixon x Younger! Brother or Sister (depending on what you write)

Maybe after the fire on the farm , Daryl and his sibling reunite!

Also, just wanted to quickly say that I love your blog!! Thank you 🤎☺️🤎

Ahh, thank you! I've written so little so far, but I'm happy you're enjoying what content I do have already <3 Please enjoy, and I hope this is to your liking!

WARNINGS: Canon-typical violence, reader is a bit of a hothead (as all Dixons are), strong language

The farm is a total loss, and it didn't take a genius to realize it.

If the flaming barn lighting up the night with an amber glow didn't make that abundantly clear, then the few hundred walkers closing in from the surrounding forest certainly did. Too many to possibly fight off with your ragtag group of survivors. You hadn't heard so many growls in unison since the very beginning of the world falling apart. It set your teeth and nerves on edge. And a familiar paranoia set in.

What the hell had happened? It was one thing after another; first the barn, then Randall, then suddenly a massive horde shows up and everything is in chaos. Where the hell were Rick and Shane? Fuck, where was Carl? You hoped the kid wasn't by himself in this mess.

On top of that, you couldn't find Daryl anywhere. Last you knew the hunter had gone out with Glenn to track, but you'd not seen him return. He was capable and you really weren't worried about him. It didn't matter how many of the dead cropped up, your older brother was a survivor. He'd be fine. Definitely.

You for sure were not worried.

...ok, maybe you were. But Dixons didn't let that shit show, as Merle had taught.

Stray shotgun shots echoed nearby and drew in the horde with more vigor. Herschel, the stubborn bastard, unwilling to give up his home without a fight. You could respect the sentiment, but you didn't plan on dying tonight. Couldn't he see there was no saving it from this many dead?

Your knife finds its way into the head of the closest handful of walkers that approach, felling them one after the one with smooth stabs. But there's always another behind it waiting to get its decaying hands on you. Ugh.

You're making your way towards the house, unsure why but picking a direction and sticking with it. Maybe, if you could find any of the other survivors, you could get the hell out of here in the limited number of vehicles left.

The dead were everywhere. You put down one just to have another 2 closing in from another direction. It was pissing you off, frankly, but there was nothing else to do but keep moving. By coincidence--or maybe by design, you couldn't guess--your uncoordinated path through the walking corpses leads you to Herschel himself, who was practically backed up against his home, shotgun still in hand dealing lead death to any reanimated corpse close enough.

And it's then that you see Carl and Rick beside him, trying to convince him to leave. The sight of others lights a fire under your feet, and you run the last distance towards them.

"Hey!" Your shout draws their attention. "Are we gettin' the hell out of here, or what?!"

"She's right." Rick turned to the old farmer again, laying a hand on his shoulder and shaking his head emphatically. "The farm is gone, we can't stay here!"

"This is my land! I'll sooner die on it than give it up." He stubbornly replies, face set in determined lines. The flaming barn down aways gives a frighteningly loud and groaning creak as the timbers within burn. The structural integrity was weakening, and none of you were sure how long it would hold out.

You're forced to turn and take care of the several walkers that had taken the opportunity to sneak up behind your back. All this standing around...it irritated you beyond belief.

"Old man, stayin' here is suicide!" You yell. "Think of Maggie n' Beth! What the hell do you want us to tell them, huh?"

He hesitates, the reminder of his family somewhere out there starting to shake his resolve--he even gives a glance down at the wide-eyed and frightened Carl who hadn't said a word thus far--but Rick steps in with the finishing argument. The former sheriff shakes Herschel's shoulder roughly.

"Don't leave your daughters without their father! They need you, and you need them."

You look around, realizing that the dead were coming in denser and more numerous waves. You didn't have long before escape would be impossible. And damn it all if you died because of some old man's stubbornness and stupidity. Not on your watch.

Not waiting around to find out if he was in agreement, you grab Herschel's arm.

"We're out of time!" You begin dragging him in the direction you think is most clear of the dead, offering all of you the best chance of escape. He allows it with little resistance, thankfully. Rick and Carl are barely a step behind, eager to be away from the remains of what had once been home, shelter, and safety.

You're several hundred yards away when the sound of the barn collapsing within itself echoes across the clearing, sparks sent high into the dark sky.

Where was Daryl? You'd practically chewed your thumb nail down to nothing, worry presenting itself as a nervous tick. Where the fuck was he? You'd been waiting on this highway for several hours and there was no sign of anyone other than you, Herschel, and Rick.

Well, and more of those dead fuckers who'd caused all this mess in the first place. Only now, with the threat of the horde turning in your direction again, you were forced to hide and stay quiet, hoping for the others to show.

It was testing your patience beyond its limits. Sitting around on your hands, waiting, wondering...it was the worst.

On top of all of that, Herschel was getting on your last goddamn nerve, talking about leaving while you still could.

That was the last straw.

"We are not leaving this fuckin' highway until the others get here." You spit with a scowl, voice low so as not to draw more attention to yourselves.

Whether it's your words or your tone that makes him give you a withering stare, you're not sure. He tightens his grip on his shotgun. "Young lady, we have to think of Rick's boy now. There's no guarantee the others made it off the farm, and waiting around here is only going to put him in more danger-"

"Oh, don't even start with that." You scoff, ignoring the way Rick placed himself between you to try to placate the fighting. The old man's attitude coupled with the last vestiges of adrenaline wearing off had put you in a foul mood. To the point where you didn't even care if Carl was there to witness it. "You wanna know something?"

"Y/N, that's enough." The former sheriff emphasized, but you were too riled up at this point, pushing past him and pointing an accusatory finger at the old man.

"You put us all in danger refusin' to leave the farm last night."

Rick tried again. "Hey, hey, let's all just calm down-"

"We did you a favor draggin' your sorry ass out here to live another day, so until everyone gets here, and I mean everyone, I don't wanna hear a damn word from-"

The rumble of an engine draws all of your attentions, abating your anger momentarily as your gaze swung to the other end of the highway. Hope bubbled from underneath the boiling fury, settling your nerves. Was it...?

It was!

Thank fuck.

The moment Daryl's--well, Merle's--bike came into view a weight lifted from your soul. You'd already lost one brother in Atlanta. You don't know what you'd do with yourself if you'd lost the other. In the lead of the small band of vehicles approaching, Daryl came to a stop several feet away from where you, Rick, Carl, and Herschel were standing behind a stalled-out car.

The reunions commenced, loved ones and friends reuniting, but you only had eyes for your older brother. Walking up to him, an equal amount of relief is in his own eyes, masked to all except you. His eyes swept over you, probably checking for wounds. It was a familiar gesture, from years of hard childhood.

You'd hug him, but you were both Dixons.

Sour mood quickly dissipating, you punched his arm hard with a smirk. "Could've waited up on me, bastard. Bet you didn't even look for me, did you? Some brother you are."

The words were callous and snarky, but you knew he could read between the lines.

I was fucking worried about you.

"Crazy bitch, always hittin' me." Daryl complained, rubbing at his arm to ease the punch. "Almost wish I'd saved myself the trouble lookin' for ya."

I'm glad you're ok.

You give a huffed laugh. "As if you'd get anywhere without me. Still remember which side of those bolts are the pointy end?"

I love you.

"Fuck off, Y/N."

Love you, too.

You caught a glance of a few confused or concerned looks from the other survivors--mostly Lori and Carol--but you didn't give a shit what they thought. It wasn't as if they'd been all that welcoming to the Dixon clan when you'd first settling into the Atlanta camp. They didn't know shit about your family.

Whatever happened after that point, you vowed to stick close to Daryl from that point, never leaving his side, never risking being separated again.

And if his steady gaze was anything to go by, you think he felt the same.

#daryl dixon #platonic scenario #fem reader #sister reader #the walking dead #request #bringinsexybackk69 #daryl Dixon x reader #scenario #twd

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biggerbetterbat · 1 year

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WITH YOU [23] DYING IS EASY

Daryl Dixon x OC!Charlie Reed

Summary: Charlie talks with Beth. Andrea leaves the girl alone and tragedy happens. Daryl gets mad at Charlie.

Warnings: suicide (nothing descriptive), language, agnst with a happy ending

Song: I Found Amber Run

A/N: Hello! I'm editing this chapter with almost no energy. I started my studies again and it's DRAINING me. But here you are, your chapter. I hope you like it - if you do please leave a comment, like and reblog. ENJOY!

"Did Glenn say anything to you?" Maggie asked.

Lori and Charlie were in the kitchen, preparing food for Beth, who was still in a bad condition. Everything was on Maggie's shoulders, so they decided that it would be good to help her even a little.

"Just that it has gotten pretty bad." Charlie shrugged while cutting the cucumber. She was focused on the activity as if her life depended on it.

"He's not the same," Maggie said. "Says he froze. Blames me. Says I got inside his head."

Charlie looked at her with a deadpanned expression, that was expressing her disbelief in her best friend, who was actually like every other guy. Like...after sharing everything with him for those past two or three months, and talking for hours, Charlie really thought that Glenn was the one special guy, a different snowflake, a very rare flower. But no. Glenn was like everyone else, freaking out when things were getting serious. He didn't want to admit that he felt scared, so he just blamed a girl. Men...

But as soon as she thought about him, she realized one slight problem...she was also running away from feelings and when things were getting serious she was looking for a reason to go MIA. Thanks to some higher force, Lori joined the conversation. "He came back. That's what matters."

"Men have to do certain things, you know that." Charlie nodded as she was cutting a cucumber. "And they're either gonna blame the little woman as the reason they do them or the reason they don't."

"I'll tell you something," said Grimes, who was preparing the meat. She had the most experience with men and Charlie didn't mean her romance with Shane, but rather the marriage that lasted more than eleven years. "What happens out there, happens out there. And we...We're just trying to keep it together till they get back."

"Things were good. Maybe I-"

"Glenn's a big boy." Lori cut her off.

"He makes his own choices, and then you..." Charlie looked at her again. "Do you have anything to apologize for?" she asked and to answer her question Maggie just shook her head. "Tell him to man up and pull himself together."

"Just don't say man up," said Lori. "It never goes well."

Greene smiled gratefully and nodded her head. "Let me just get this to Beth."

"You go on." Lori stopped her. "I got it."

"Yeah. Put him in his place." Charlie said. "I'll clean up."

She knocked on the door, signaling that she wanted to come in. She proposed that Lori should rest and not walk around with plates and food, because Charlie could do it as well- that wasn't beyond her abilities. She entered the room and saw Beth sitting on a bed, then she looked at the untouched food.

"Didn't eat a thing, huh? You're gonna..." she said but saw wet traces on the younger girl's cheeks, so she kneeled next to a bed. "Hey. I know how hard it is. I tried for days to reach my mom and get her on the phone. I can only assume..."

"It's just so pointless."

"You have Maggie, and your father, and Patricia and Jimmy. And you've gotta stay strong for them." Charlie tried to convince her. "I wish I could promise you it would be all right in the end. But we can try..."

"You don't believe it." Beth cut her off.

"What?

"You don't believe in those words," she said. "I heard your conversation with Glenn. You want to die."

Charlie looked down and sat down on a bed instead of kneeling, suspecting that the conversation with Beth would be longer.

"I'm right," Beth said. "You want to end this just like me and yet you came here and tried to convince me not to?"

"I want to die." Charlie voiced those words for the first time. "I lost my whole family, Beth. I live with guilt for that. There's nothing for me out there. But you are different. You're sixteen! You have a boyfriend. You have never even had your first drink yet!"

Beth looked at her with sad eyes. "And you don't want to wait and see if there's something for you?"

"I still don't know it." she shook her head. "But you should live and make now better."

"Thank you." the blonde girl whispered.

"I'll be right back." Charlie smiled and got up. "I heard Lori promised you a walk."

She entered the kitchen, still thinking about Beth and how she just stated the fact that they were the same, it was obvious to her. Charlie started to wonder if any other person could see the same thing... Maybe Charlie just shouldn't help Maggie with her? Maybe she should clean or cook something that didn't involve talking to Beth because one day she just might help her. Because she understood her and her way of viewing the world in this moment.

"There was a knife," said Lori, snapping Charlie from her thoughts.

"What?"

"Beth." Lori breathed and started running. "She took the knife."

Charlie was sitting on a kitchen counter, hitting the back of her head lightly on the shelf. After Andrea brought Maggie back house was filled with screams of the sisters. It seemed that the fight was a never-ending story and it would be done the moment they lost their voices.

"Where's Hershel?" Andrea asked.

"He doesn't want to find out yet," said Lori. "It's a family affair. We'll let them work it out."

"That's working it out?" Andrea opened her eyes wider.

Andrea was really from a different world. Charlie knew that she left her family house when Amy was still small and due to a big age gap, their relationship was different. A younger sister was more like a daughter to Andrea, so they probably never fought like that.

Charlie knew what that meant. Luckily Maggie and Beth were both girls, so even if they started fighting physically it wouldn't be that bad. She had brothers, and fighting with growing up men wasn't the greatest experience for a girl."When Beth stops fighting, that's when it's time to worry." Charlie answered.

"This could've been handled better," Andrea mumbled under her nose.

"How so?"

"You shouldn't have taken the knife away." she turned to Lori.

Both Lori and Charlie looked at the woman as if she had three heads. And the second one wanted to use the knife on Andrea. How she could even say something like that? Charlie understood Beth and was thinking similarly to her lately, but still it wasn't a reason to just give her a knife a say here, cut your wrist open. They should try to give her a reason to live first.

"Excuse me?" Lori opened her eyes wider.

"You were wrong, like Dale taking my gun," she said and Charlie whispered Oh, God. "That wasn't your decision. She has to choose to live on her own. She has to find her own reasons."

Charlie started to think about it. In some crazy way- which she would never admit to Andrea- she was right. If one wants to live, they should find their own reason. And that made her think what reason does she have to live? What was keeping Charlie Reed on the planet Earth with living and breathing people? Did she even have a reason? She shook her head quickly to get rid of those thoughts.

"Want me to tie a noose for her?" Lori asked.

"If she's serious, she will figure out a way," Andrea said.

"Doesn't mean I can't stop her or let her know that I care."

"That has nothing to do with it, Lori." The blonde woman shook her head. "She only has so many choices in front of her, and she believes the best one is suicide."

"That's not an option," Lori argued.

"Of course it is," said Andrea. "She doesn't need to be yelled at or treated like a child."

"She needs a loaded gun, right?" Charlie entered the conversation again. "Besides, she is a child."

Lori touched Charlie's knee, grateful that she got her back."You will understand if I don't let you in there."

"I came through it," Andrea said in disbelief.

"And became such a productive member of the group." Grimes nodded.

This time Charlie couldn't stop herself and didn't bite her tongue. "Who shoots other members, ignores what others say, and wants a teenager to kill herself."

"You both." Lori looked at them. "Let Maggie handle this her way."

"I contribute. I help keep this place safe."

Lori sent Charlie a look that said to keep quiet this time and don't start the fight again. Then she looked at the blonde. "The man can handle this on their own. They don't need your help."

"I'm sorry. What would you have me do?"

"Oh, there's plenty of work to go around." Lori leaned on a countertop that Charlie was sitting on.

"Are you serious?" she asked with wide eyes. "Charlie has been sitting and doing nothing since we came here and that's not a problem. She makes a drama every two days and you're in my face over skipping laundry?"

"Pardon? Let me break your bubble real quick." Charlie said, feeling the annoyance boiling inside. "I was running in that woods looking for a girl. I was playing a nurse after you shot Daryl. Patricia needed someone to help her clean? I was there. Jimmy couldn't handle horses? I helped. Hershel was taking cows on the field? I was with him." she said. "You were the one disappearing with Shane."

"Charlie's right." Lori nodded. "Your behavior puts a burden on the rest of us. On me, Carol, Patricia, and Maggie. Cooking and cleaning and looking for Beth. And you...You don't care about anyone but yourself. You sit up on that RV, working on your tan with a shotgun in your lap."

"No, I am on watch against walkers," Andrea argued. "That is what matters, not fresh mint leaves in the lemonade."

"Funny that the only Walker that you protected us from wasn't even a Walker." Charlie interrupted this time, still feeling pity for that. She really didn't know why she was still so angry for that and she knew it was getting annoying, but a small part of her just couldn't swallow it. It was funny because even Daryl didn't care about it so much.

Lori sighed. "We are providing stability. We're trying to create a life worth living."

"Are you kidding me?"

"Look, I went after Rick. I took down two walkers after crashing Maggie's car. Don't act like you're the only one..."

"Ever apologize for that?" Andrea interrupted her.

"You're insane." Charlie sighed.

"No, you are. Both of you." she almost yelled. "You, Charlie, are still a teenager that thinks everything is about you. But you know what? You're not even worth wasting my breath for." she said and turned to Lori. Charlie opened her mouth at her words, but didn't know that the woman would throw a bucket of trash on the other one."And you are the self-centered one, the way you take it all for granted."

"My husband is out there for the hundredth time. My son was shot." Lori answered. "Don't you dare tell me I take this for granted?"

"You don't get it do you?" she leaned on the table. "Your husband came back from the dead, your son, too. And now you've got a baby on the way. The rest of us have piled up our losses. Me, Carol, Beth...even Charlie. But you just keep on keeping up."

"We have all suffered," Lori said.

"Playing house, acting like the queen bee, laying down rules for everybody but yourself." she continued. "You know that? Go ahead. Go in there and tell that little girl that everything's gonna be okay, just like it is for you. She'll get a husband, a son, a baby, a boyfriend."

Charlie opened eyes and she didn't know where she should look. The silence after those words was just too loud. It wasn't nothing new for Charlie, but having Andrea just say this like it was nothing? That was another level of drama.

And Charlie would be the one saying exactly what Andrea did just a couple of days ago, but Lori was so nice to her. Truth be told, she began to like the pregnant woman.

"She just has to look on the bright side," Andrea said and left.

"I think I need some air," Charlie said and stood on her legs, going to the entrance.

It was a sunny day, even if the air was beginning to be cold. It was good though, after a steamy conversation with Andrea, she needed to cool down a little. There was a quiet, but steady sound of metal hitting on other metal, so Charlie followed that and saw Daryl. He was leaning on his motorcycle.

"You need help?" she asked.

He looked up at her and then on his motorcycle, examining what he needed. "Could you hand me a screwdriver?"

"The yellow one or the red one?"

"Allen one," he said.

Charlie looked inside his box and then at him with two question marks instead of eyes. "So the yellow one or the red one?

Daryl closed his eyes and sighed. He appreciated her help and missed her nonstop talking during those past few days, but he forgot how clueless she could be. "Just bring all of them."

So Charlie happily handed him his little box and watched how he took out the right screwdriver and started repairing whatever was broken.

"Were you a mechanic before?"

"Nah," he answered. "I taught myself when we didn't have money to pay an actual one."

"You learned how to hunt, how to repair cars...Any other abilities?" she smiled.

"I know how to open a beer with a shoelace."

"Impressive."

No one ever said that he was impressive. For forty years he had never heard that from anyone, Merle spent with him every day and he did a lot of things for him, yet there were no words of gratitude. He had known Charlie for around two months and she was showering him with kind words. Maybe that's why she was in his mind so much? Because he tried to guess what was making her so kind to him. "Hmm."

"Got a way with those tools," Charlie said as he immersed himself into his task. She rested her chin on her hand, watching his muscles flex in the sun.

"Just doin' what needs to be done," he answered with a screwdriver between his lips. "Ain't much of a hobby."

"I was thinking more like skills. You're pretty handy, aren't you?"

"Well, survival tends to bring out unexpected talent."

"Lucky for me...I mean us. A hunter, a fighter, a mechanic. You're multi-talented," she said again. "Maybe you could teach me a thing or two about fixing things, too."

"Just gotta figure it out as you go," he looked up at her but quickly looking down again.

"If something goes down, I'd rather have you by my side instead of...figuring it out as I go."

"You're searching for protection or just looking for someone to fix your stuff?" he chuckled uncontrollably.

"Maybe."

Daryl looks up from the bike, his hands still coated in grease, and meets Charlie's gaze. There's a momentary pause as their eyes lock, tension simmering beneath the surface. Despite the grime and weariness of their surroundings, there's an undeniable spark between them. Daryl's rugged features soften slightly as he returns Charlie's gaze, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lips. Charlie's expression is equally suggestive, a playful glint in their eyes as they hold Daryl's gaze. There's a moment of tension as their eyes lock, a silent exchange of flirtatious energy passing between them. Neither speaks, but the intensity of the moment speaks volumes.

"So..." he cleared his throat. "You stopped playing house with Lori?" he asked, changing the subject to distract himself.

"Oh yeah. I was almost a wrestling referee," she said and earned a look from Daryl. "Andrea is getting out of hand."

"You really don't like her," he said and leaned in to continue his work.

"She didn't give me a reason to like her."

"Fair enough," he grunted. "How's the blond girl?"

"Not good," she said. "Took a knife from a trace."

"She wants to kill herself?" Daryl asked wiping a smear from his hands into his trousers.

"Yeah." Charlie nodded. "She thinks that life now is pointless."

"You agree with her?" he furrowed his brows. Charlie bit her lips, not answering. "You really agree with her."

Daryl felt this irrational anger in his chest. He felt similar back in the CDC. They never talked about it, so she never confirmed or denied it, but he saw how she hesitated, and if Glenn hadn't forced her to leave she would have stayed with Jacquie.

"She's not completely wrong and y..." she said, but was interrupted by screams that were coming from the house."Oh, shit." Charlie muttered and ran there.

She saw how Maggie stormed out of it with Lori just behind her, they were both looking worried. Well, Maggie was pissed off, if she could she would burn like a fire. If her eyes could kill, Andrea would be dead right now."Where were you?"

"I heard. Is she all right?" Andrea asked.

"She would be if you had stayed with her," Maggie said angrily and repeated her question. "Where were you?"

"How bad is she?" Charlie asked worried.

"It wasn't deep."

"She wants to live." she smiled clearly happy. "She made her decision."

"She tried to kill herself," Maggie said.

"No, she didn't."

"My father is stitching her wrist right now."

"She'll live," Andrea said and tried to pass Greene to enter the house.

"Stay away from her." she blocked her from entering the house. "From both of us. Don't you dare to step foot inside this house again?"

Charlie looked at Andrea and passed all three of them, so she could see what was with Beth. Honestly, she couldn't care less about the argument and about Andrea- she had it coming.

The room was getting dark as the sun was hiding behind the horizon. The only person in there was Beth with her wrist still placed on a table- it was already stitched and wrapped up in bandages. She noticed Charlie entering the room, so she looked up and gave her a pale smile."I'm sorry."

"Don't be." she smiled and touched her shoulder. "What matters is that you're alive."

"You should do it, too," Beth said. "Live."

Charlie looked at her. Her face was still pale, but something changed in the way she was looking at her. It was more sane, her eyes weren't so empty anymore.

"Maybe now you think there is nothing for you here, but I think differently now," she said. "I think there's still so much that life has to offer. You just need the courage to hold on through the bad times."

"You think it's going to be easier?" Charlie asked. "Losing people. Running from the Walkers. Killing."

"I don't know," Beth said and shrugged. "But I know there's a reason for you, too. You said that yourself. There's so many things that you didn't do."

"So drinking your first shot convinced you to stay alive?" she smiled and put a smile on Beth's face.

"I just want you to be sure of the decision," she answered. "I want to grow old, have my own kids, I want to watch them play with my Daddy. I just want a life."

Charlie smiled and placed her hand in hers, caressing the back of Beth's smooth skin.

"But don't try to do this, Daddy's out of painkillers," she said, placing her hand on Charlie's. "Dying is easy, Charlie."

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#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl x reader #daryl fanfiction #daryl twd #daryl dixon twd #daryl the walking dead #daryl dixon series

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thefreakydeaky · 1 year

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After the Thrill is Gone

Part One

Negan Smith x Reader

Daryl Dixon x Reader

Modern AU

Summary: From the first moment you laid eyes on Negan you were inexplicabley drawn to him. The passion between you is hot and only grows more intense the longer you see each other. There is only one problem, you're both married to other people.

Warnings: Dark Fic , Stalking, Stalker behavior, Smuttyness, Adult Language, I'll add more warnings as I post, so please check the warnings for updates on each chapter.

You spoke into your phone in a low voice trying hard not to be overheard.

"You know we can't."

"Can't or shouldn't?" Negan challenged.

You took an anxious breath.

"He'll find out."

"We'll be careful. He will never know." He insisted.

You chewed your lower lip nervously.

"Only to talk, right?"

"Yeah, just to talk." He assured you.

You let out a weak shuddering breath.

"Meet me at the place we used to meet tomorrow at eleven thirty."

"I'll see you there." He promised and hung up.

The next day, you wore the gift Negan had given you when he'd seen you last, a white summer dress with pink flowers dotting it. You slipped into a pair of buff colored sandals and left through the back door.

He texted you the number of the motel room. When you reached the motel, a bleak ugly thing with it's walls of dirty white stucco and fading orange doors, you walked along the sidewalk under the awning. You checked the numbers as you passed, your heartbeat quickening the closer you got to number three.

You knocked on the door. The door seemed to part from the frame slowly, almost spookily since you couldn't see who was standing behind it. You took a step into the room and then another and another.

"Negan?" You called softly.

You heard the door close behind you and jumped. You turned and there he was, in his black leather jacket and grey tshirt. Those beautiful amber eyes were watching you.

He came close to you, leaned down and gave you a kiss, a gentle little peck.

"Hello there, Babygirl. Wasn't sure you were gonna make it."

You swallowed to wet your nervous throat.

He pinched the sleeve of your dress.

"This looks beautiful on you. I knew it would." He rubbed the material between his finger and thumb, but didn't touch you.

"You said you wanted to talk. Well, I'm here. So let's talk." You had to muster up every ounce of confidence you had to say the statement, because you knew him and any sign on weakness he saw, he'd pounce on it.

"Mhmm." He took your hand in his. " Why don't we sit." He led you to the bed.

Careful not to sit too close, you brushed your hand down the back of your skirt and sat down on the tan and orange blanket.

"Tell me why you think we should end our... relationship." He hadnt let go of your hand.

You cleared your throat.

"You're married-"

"So, are you." He interrupted.

"-and if we get caught-"

"We just have to keep being careful, Babygirl. No one will find out."

"-it will hurt people."

His thumb rubbed soothing circles on the back of your hand.

"We won't get caught. As long as we stay careful and neither one of us gets sloppy, they'll never know."

The sigh you emitted grated on his nerves. You could tell by the way his jaw tightened.

"The way I feel about you...it's getting worse. I think about you all the time. I miss you so bad it aches. We can't go on like this. We'll never be-"

"How do you feel about him?"

You looked away guiltily.

"Do you love him?"

"I...well, yes, but-"

"I love her. I don't think either one of us would ever actually leave them. Not for all the world, not even for each other."

You sat there in the quiet for a moment, soaking in his words. Weighing whether or not they were true.

"So what real danger is there in seeing each other if we both know and accept that nothing will come of it?"

You peered into his mesmorizing whisky colored eyes. In their depths you could see he was every bit as addicted as you were. One of you had to do the right thing.

You stood up.

"This is the last time I'll see you." You bent and took a sweet kiss from his lips, drinking from them the last sip of the intoxicating drug that plagued you.

"Good bye, Negan." You said with finality and went out the door.

••••••••••••••

You saw Daryl putting his gun in the safe you kept in your bedroom. You frowned, confused by why he would have taken it out in the first place, but you didn't ask.

"Honey?" You called from the doorway. "Dinner's ready."

He shut the little door and stood.

"What'd you make?"

"Some of that bass you caught last weekend and rice and potatoes."

He laughed softy.

"The kids aren't gonna wanna eat none of that."

You put your arms around him as he came closer.He was getting better at not tensing up when you hugged him, something your marriage counselor had suggested he work on. You were happy to see some improvement.

"Well then, it's a good thing I made them nuggets and mac and cheese."

He leaned forward and kissed you. His lips pressed and molded to yours.

"Mmm, you look nice." He told you, in that gruff voice of his, his hand slipping down your skirt and copping a feel of your ass.

You smiled at him, holding the guilt tightly between your teeth so it didn't make you reveal your secret.

"Thank you, Honey. Just felt like dressing up today."

He was a breath away from kissing you again when the sounds of feet running through your mobile home distracted you both. You turned and saw your middle child chasing after your youngest at the end of the hallway.

"Hunter! How many times I gotta tell you not to be runnin' through this house?" Daryl chastized.

Your three year old daughter came running to you, Nintendo Switch in hand, her wild curls bouncing with her every step. You reached down and took her into your arms.

"Millie took my switch." Hunter complained.

"Shouldn't leave things where she can grab 'em." Your husband reminded him.

Daryl plucked the game out of your daughter's hand and gave it back to Hunter.

"Nooo!" She protested, kicking her feet.

"Shh..." You hushed her, patting her back and followed your family to the living room.

"Alright, y'all it's time to eat." Daryl said tiredly. "Go and sit at the table."

Hunter and Wyatt went and got cups to serve themselves juice. You and Daryl began serving the kids macaroni and cheese. You gave a nugget to your whining three year old to distract her while you placed nuggets on plates. Then you sat her down in the chair next to yours and set her small plate in front of her. Daryl gave the boys their plates.

Then you each served yourselves the fish you had baked. Daryl got a couple of beers from the fridge for the two of you. Then you sat down to eat.

"How was school?" Daryl asked.

Wyatt launched into a story about how he had gotten in trouble for something that wasn't his fault.

"School just started last week and you're already in trouble?" You tried not to sound as disappointed as you felt.

"It's his fault! He talks to me like I'm dumb."

"What, some friend of yours?" Daryl asked.

"No. Coach. I didn't do anything wrong. I just talked to him like he talks to me." He shrugged.

"Now don't be doing that. When you mess up you gotta take responsibility. You can't be blaming it on other people. That ain't right."

Wyatt hung his head.

"But they want me to stay in detention after school all week."

"What does Mom always say?" Daryl prompted.

"If you can't do the time, don't do the crime." Wyatt replied, rolling his eyes.

"That's right. Your actions have consequences. If you didn't wanna be in detention you shouldn't've acted up."

"Yeah." Hunter put in.

"Hunter." You said in warning.

"Yes, Mom?"

"Be nice to your brother."

"But Mom!"

"But Mom nothing. Be nice." You told him.

He sullenly chewed his nugget.

"Ran into Ma at the Valero by the shop. She had Millie with her." Daryl remarked.

"Oh, the baby was acting up and I had some errands to run. I asked Ma to watch her for a bit.

"What errands?" Daryl's green eyes were on you, watching you so intently, it made you uncomfortable.

"I had to stop by the bank to make sure that hold from Amazon didn't go through and I had to go to Walmart to pick up some milk. Just a few little things like that."

"Oh." He turned his attention back to his food.

You fought the compulsion to come clean.

••••••••••••

That night after you put Millie to bed your phone rang. You heard from the other room and quickly made your way to the charger to stop the ringing.

You heart squeezed painfully in your chest at the sight of the screen. Negan never called you during the evening. He knew not to. Why was he calling you? You answered the phone. You went to the kitchen for some privacy.

"Hello?"

"I need to see you."

You sighed.

"I meant what I said. You shouldn't be calling me." Your thumb moved toward the end call button.

"You didn't give me enough time to tell you my side of things."

"I am sorry you feel that way."

"I need...to see you, Babygirl and I know you want to see me. We can meet up Friday morning. Can you make that?"

"I'm sorry, but I can't. Please don't call me again." You said and hung up. It hurt you to say no, but you had to do it. It had to be a clean break for both of you otherwise you wouldn't be able to stop.

A mere thirty seconds later your phone rang. You checked the screen and couldn't believe it. Negan was calling again. You put the ringer volume on mute and set your phone down to charge.

#negan smith x reader #negan x reader #daryl dixon x reader #daryl x reader #twd x reader #negan #daryl dixon #the walking dead

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