#season 2 twd

[bananafire11]

Summary: A small look into the night after the chupacabra episode with Carol taking care of a very out-of-it Daryl.

Warnings: Daryls loopy on pain meds, reference to past child abuse, Daryls scars and mention of injury

Pairings: Caryl, can be seen as either romantic or platonic.

Care

"You've done more for my little girl than her own daddy ever did his entire life."

"..didn't do nothin' Rick or Shane wouldn'ta done."

"I know. You're every bit as good at them. Every bit."

That's what she'd told him before she had left him to himself.

Carol had been horrified by the sight of Daryl all mucked up with blood and dirt, caked head to toe in mud and dry leaves. Blood covering his chin and temple, crusted under his fingernails and fresh bruises forming across his pale skin like black ink across paper.

Even once Hershal had stitched the worst of his injuries and cleaned the majority of the filth off Daryl he still looked like a masterpiece of black and blue. Carol had caught a glimpse of scars, old and new, that covered his back and chest as she'd entered his current room with his food. He had clenched the pale blanket to his chest but she still saw.

It pained her to see him like that because he had gone looking for Sophia. And had still brought her little girl's doll back even amidst the shitshow he must have endured. One step closer to finding her baby.

"Hey," Carol jumped, cocking her head to see Maggie peeking around the corner of the kitchen entrance. The young woman waved her hand. "I didn't mean to startle you."

Carol sighed, snapped out of her spiraling thoughts. "No, it's ok. Do you need something?" Carol stood up straighter where she'd slumped against the kitchen counter.

Maggie gave her a small smile. "I was goin' to tell you that Daddy sent me to ask if you could freshen Daryl's bandages? He would do it but he's busy with the generator outside. It's been a real pain lately." She fiddled with her tank top's strap.

Carol hummed, "of course. I'll get to it right away."

Maggie nodded, brown locks bobbing with the movement. Carol listened as she exited the house, the old screen door squeaking as she did so.

Carol acquired the medical kit from the kitchen pantry and quietly padded her way up stairs to where Daryl resided for the time being. She reached the old tawny door and knocked twice before entering. The lights were dimmed except for the soft warm glow of the lamp on the bedside table. Carol saw the plate she'd brought him for dinner last night except now it was completely cleaned, the exception being a few spare crumbs.

She hummed, glad that he had taken her advice and eaten. It seemed she were right to assume he'd been starving. Speaking of the man himself, he was passed out in the white sheets, drooling into the pillow. She smiled, he deserved the rest.

But she'd have to wake him in order to tend to his bandages. She'd rather do anything but that, but the wounds he had could easily become infected without proper treatment.

Carol stepped closer to the bed, settling herself on the edge, the mattress dipping slightly under her small body. She gently pressed her palm into his bare shoulder, jostling him just enough for him to wake and not to disturb the stitches on his side.

Daryl groaned into the pillow, shrugging her hand off his shoulder, mumbling something she couldn't quite decipher. She snorted at his stubbornness. Carol leaned forward just enough to be able to call his name, hopefully without startling him.

"Daryl, hey, wake up," she coaxed. Soon enough he scrunched up his nose and his eyes opened to peer over his shoulder at her. His stormy blue eyes were foggy and he made a face at her. "Hey, sleepyhead."

Daryl stared at her for a few moments more before blinking at her like she wasn't real. "Wha'..," his voice was thick with sleep. Carol watched as he furrowed his brows and shut his eyes and she wondered if he had a headache. She figured a bullet to the temple would do that to you.

The bandage wrapped around his head had turned a muted red where he'd been shot. She couldn't see the other bandages but they probably aren't looking too great either.

Carol prodded at his arm, rousing him again and she vaguely remembered Hershal giving Daryl some painkillers. That must be why he was so loopy and out of it. Daryl grumbled and swatted lazily at her hand, trying to brush her off. Carol huffed, he was stubborn as ever.

She needed him to sit up in order to reach all the dirty wraps. She rested her hand on his shoulder blade, ushering him gently to lean forward. Eventually she had gotten him to settle on the edge of the bed with his legs hanging off.

Carol gathered the medical supplies and reached for the bandage around his temple first, gently peeling it off. She couldn't help but grimace at the way the skin had been torn, even cutting through his hairline. Applying some gauze onto a rag, she covered the fresh stitches before getting a new clean bandage to wrap his head.

She glanced worriedly at Daryl's face, trying her damndest not to cause him anymore pain then necessary. His eyes were still glossed over when she finished moving his hair out of the way and securing the wraps.

"How are you feeling?" She prompted, almost smiling at the way he blinked dumbly up at her. He licked his lips before humming in response.

"Like shit," he slurred. Carol couldn't help but but smirk at his thick southern drawl, even more pronounced than usual with the drugs faltering his speech.

"I figured as much," she gestured at the large bandage around his waist. "Can I?"

Daryl turned his head to look at where she was looking, like he couldn't register in his head fast enough to keep up with her. He probably couldn't. Both his hands came up to cover his torso best he could. Carol frowned, "What is it?"

The man's brows tightened into a scowl and his bottom lip jutted out. Carol couldn't believe what she was seeing.

Daryl Dixon was pouting.

Despite the hilarious and admittedly adorable image, Carol knew why he was covering himself. After all, she had seen all the scars littering his body the night before. His shoulders were hunched and he suddenly reminded her of a stray dog, distrusting and wounded.

She slid forward, just close enough so he could move away if he wished. Carol tilted her head towards him, forcing him to make eye contact with her. She held her hand out and touched his bicep, warm to the touch.

"Daryl, let me help you. Please."

His blue eyes widened at the sincerity in her voice. The man peered at the hand holding onto his arm, gentle but firm. Grounding.

Carol held his blue gaze even as he dropped his hands to his lap, fiddling with the hem of his pajama pants. She smiled softly at him, her heart swelling with the fact that he trusted her enough to let her see his scarred skin.

She slowly reached for the material around his waist. Delicately removing it and setting it aside to throw in the bin later. She stood and moved to his left side so she could see the stitching up close so as to not disturb anything and have them tear open. With small precise movements she repeated what she had done with his head. She admired the small freckles that were sprinkled across his skin and the warmth of his thigh against hers while she worked.

She couldn't help but grimace at the impale wound. She lightly circled her gauze-covered fingers around it, careful of the tenderness of the flesh there. She let her nails rub along the small scars that were scattered along the soft skin of his belly. She recognized knife slices and cigarette burns and her heart ached inside her ribs.

She wouldn't dare ask him about them.

Finally the job was done and he was wrapped in clean bandages. Carol humphed with triumph at her accomplishment. Daryl cocked his head at her, tongue just about lolling out of his mouth.

"All done," she announced. He hummed in response, clearly not up to speed with what was going on around him. Carol smiled fondly at him. She stood up and stretched her legs which had gone stiff with time. She leaned around his frame, gathering the off white blanket into her arms. "Let's get you tucked in now."

Daryl huffed at her, "M' ain't a baby." He glared at her through his dark lashes and she couldn't help but chuckle.

"Of course not," she carefully ushered him to lay down on his right side, "but you need to rest after all you've done for my baby."

She fluffed up his pillow and pulled the blanket up to his chest. "Still treat'n me like a kid," he grumbled. "Tuck'n me 'n an' shit."

"Well, everyone deserves a little care every now and then. Even tough guys like you," she replied. She thought he was more than tough though. Clever, brave, sweet, even.

He only hummed in response, falling into unconsciousness as soon as he closed his eyes. She congratulated a job well done as he fell victim to sleep he very much needed. Carol leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek, small stubble rough against her chapped lips.

He certainly deserved more than a little care.

[optimist-pine]

Cramps

Summary: Daryl helps soothe you to sleep

Warnings: Menstruation?

Word Count: 551

Era: Between seasons 2 & 3, on the move

It didn't take much conscious effort to pick up on the girls' cycles. When you spend every waking (and non-waking) moment with the same ten people for multiple months, you learn more than a few things. Like how Beth has Maggie to take care of her, and Maggie has Glenn, and Lori, well, she's not in that boat currently of course. But you don't have anyone to fall back on, although, he's sure if you asked Carol she'd be more than willing. Instead, you just dealt and powered through and the others might not even notice except for how quiet you'd get. 

Until tonight.

He hasn't let sleep claim him, though soft snores fill the room, mingling with the moonlight. Yours has yet to join, in its place, a frustrated huff slips out as you turn over again. It's the third time. Not that he's counting... He hadn't missed earlier how your hand would momentarily drift to your middle or your back accompanied by pursed lips and tense breaths.

For a moment he tries to imagine what you're feeling, but the closest he comes up with is the memory of a solid punch to the gut. If it's anything like that then it's no wonder you can't just drift off.

In the pale silvery glow, he faces your back just barely making out the outline of your arm rubbing tired circles on your abdomen. An idea begins to tug at the back of his mind; the desire to help - the need to be useful. The itch to do something compels his fingers forward until they bump into the warm exposed skin of your hip. Your back instantly straightens, a sharp pull of air, but his hand doesn't stop. It slides tentatively under your own smaller digits and begins to move on your lower stomach in slow rhythmic circles of its own accord. 

You're still, unmoving. What if he's totally just screwed up? It suddenly hits him how intimate this is, how many lines he's just crossed with this one action. You've had plenty of physical contact but most of it's been joking and playful. And sure, you've rolled over into one another in the middle of the night, but that wasn't a conscious decision. That wasn't anything remotely near this. He scoots his body closer to yours. "This okay?" He whispers.

You finally breathe. "Don't stop. Please." The warmth of his hand is the best relief.

His concerns evaporate, thoughts turning to the softness of your skin and the pleased little noise that comes up out of you. Something inside of him is beginning to ache less too. Something he's become so adjusted to that he hasn't even considered what its absence could feel like.

His nose brushes the back of your neck, but your lungs continue their steady, gentle motion. Impressive. You're out like a light already. The chilly air seems to retreat in the comfort of your warmth.

It's the moments like this, as sleep overpowers him, that he feels the guilt creep in. That he's grateful. Grateful that the world fell apart. Grateful that he ended up here, with these people. Grateful that he no longer has to be the man that he'd been before. And especially grateful for the proximity of your heartbeat to his own.

[lilgoblinbitch]

Gossip 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

rick grimes x fem!reader

a/n: i based this fic on this post here! i might make a part 2 because i have some ideas in the back of my head of how i think this story could end up going eventually, but idk if i will write it yet. we'll see! also i made up the two random alexandrians in this story :)

summary: rick overhears you and some alexandrian women gossiping, and he decides to confront you.

warnings: 18+, alcohol consumption (reader gets drunk).

wc: 1.5k

“Spencer does not like me, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” You scoffed, taking another sip of the pinot. This was your second glass, and your head was starting to buzz.

Two Alexandrian women became well acquainted with you, offering you a bottle of wine and some dinner after your first week in Alexandria. You decided “why the hell not.” You never really had great friends before the apocalypse and the only ones you had were the group you came in with, so it wouldn’t harm you to make more.

“Oh honey, did you not notice the way he was ogling you at Deanna’s party?” One of them asked — her name was Shannon. The other woman, Vivian, slightly chuckled, taking one last swig from her glass. She nodded, muttering something in agreement.

You sighed. “Even if he was checking me out, it’s not like I care anyway...”

The two women paused simultaneously, looking up at you with ‘bitch, HUH?’ written on their faces. “Y/n, Spencer is a beautiful man! He’s tall, handsome, and he’s around your age I believe,” Vivian gushed. You scowled, displeased at the comment.

You took another gulp from your glass, emptying the contents down your gullet and then setting it on the kitchen island. After licking your lips clean, you said, “Well, frankly, I don't really care if I’m being quite honest.” Your mind swirled with inebriated thoughts; you sort of had a love-hate relationship when it came to alcohol — it either made you perfectly giddy and sociable or very angsty and erratic. But that’s what it did to most people, anyway. Right now, it was making you angsty. “I have someone else on my mind.”

“Oh, my! Okay, who is it?” Shannon asked, her and Vivian both on the edge of their chairs anticipating what you were about to say — well, what they expected you to tell them, that is.

You thought for a moment; should you tell them? It seemed like they lived for that kind of gossip. But that could mean that they might spill your secret, and you weren't exactly ready for that. “I’ll tell you another time. I’m tired, gonna head to bed,” you stated, yawning as you got up from the stool you were seated on. The two women groaned in disappointment, like children who failed to convince their parents to take them to disney world.

After your friends left you strutted out of the kitchen, about to head upstairs when you heard a door open and shut. Instinctively you ran back to the kitchen to grab a knife to defend yourself from a possible intruder or walker, but before you could your body collided with something, or rather someone.

You cursed and looked up at the culprit; it was none other than Rick Grimes. “Rick, what the fuck! I could have stabbed you!” You scolded him, picking up the knife that clattered on the ground. 

“You forget we live together?” He teased, taking a step back to get a good look at you. Your eyes were glassy and eyelids heavy — a telltale sign that you were drunk. Rick had experience pulling over a few drunkards back in his day as a cop, so he knew immediately without even having to smell the alcohol oozing from your breath that you weren’t sober.

You pushed a strand of hair out of your face, swallowing the excess saliva forming in your mouth. You mentally scolded yourself for drooling over a man, but this one was just too beautiful to not gawk at. The sound of Rick clearing his throat snapped you out of your trance and brought you back to reality. “No, no. I didn’t forget. I just…”

“You’re just drunk, right?” He chuckled, turning his head to look at the empty bottle of wine sitting on the dining room table. You rolled your eyes, taking a bite of your lip while trying to think of a plausible excuse. 

“Look, I only had two glasses. Shannon and Vivian from a few houses down brought us a casserole and some pinot. Girls’ night. Sue me, Rick.” You slipped past him and headed to the kitchen, Rick hot on your tail. “There’s leftovers in the fridge, if you or Carl want any,” You said without turning around. When you got to the kitchen sink you started washing the dishes, but you frowned slightly, looking back up at Rick with worrying eyes. 

“Shit. Did I wake the kids? Is that why you’re down here?” You turned off the faucet, wiping your hands hastily on a dry towel. 

Rick shook his head. “No. Only I heard you. But you weren’t very quiet, and when I heard them leave that’s when I came down here,” he explained, leaning against the kitchen counter.

Your heart picked up its pace. ‘How much did he hear?’ You wondered. You pursed your lips and your eyes floated around the room, quite obviously avoiding his intense stare. He made you nervous. That sheriff always made you nervous, and part of the reason was because you were so utterly attracted to him. 

Finally you brought your eyes back to his icy ones, which were studying your body. You blushed and bit your lip again — it was a nervous habit you could never seem to break. “You got a stain–” Rick pointed to the red stain on your shirt, just below your breasts, “Right there.”

You looked down at the stain, it was wine — dark red wine, at that. And you were wearing a white tank top. How convenient.

You looked back up at him, snorting in slight amusement. “Guess I shouldn’t have worn white, huh?”

He let out a low chuckle, showcasing his pearly smile. God, he was pretty. “Thought you knew better than that, Y/n,” he joked, standing back up fully to make his way over to you. Okay, now your heart was really beating fast. 

When he was finally in front of you, face to face, you gulped. He smelled like the forest after a rainshower, and somehow he always did; it engulfed you like a tsunami. You berated yourself for getting so worked up over the smell of him, and just him in general. He was your leader, your friend. And he asked you to live with him and his children because he trusted you. Why were you acting like a cat in heat? ‘It’s the alcohol’, you convinced your mind, it had to be…

The silence was too loud. You had no idea what Rick was thinking right now; frankly, you never did. His poker face was always unreadable. But your tipsy brain gained a few confidence points, letting smugness wash over you.

“Whatcha thinking about, Grimes?” You shifted your weight to one leg and batted your lashes at the man in front of you. He only grinned, then glanced away momentarily only to stare back into your eyes. 

“Y’know, I overheard the conversation,” Rick started, his chest steadily moving up and down as he breathed. One of his hands gripped the counter while the other was glued to his hip. Your eyes trailed up and down his tanned veiny arms, taking in his manliness.

“Mhm. And?” You kept your composure, not wanting to let Rick taunt you; you knew you talked pretty loud when you were tipsy or drunk but it’s not like you said anything negative about him or anyone.

“You girls like to gossip, huh?”

“Well, yeah. We’re women,” you joked, cracking a smile and trying to ease the tension a bit. “What are you trying to get at?” Rick never bothered to indulge in any girl gossip you, Rosita, and Maggie used to partake in, so why was he so invested now?

Little did you know, he was always invested in literally anything you had to say.

Rick licked his lips and exhaled through his nose. “Heard you talking about liking someone. Is it anyone I know?”

He smirked when he noticed how red you turned. Your face would have matched the stain on your shirt if it was a few shades darker. “I– I don’t…” Of course now was the time to choke on your words, right when you were using every fiber of your being to keep your poise in check. But goddamnit, Rick just had to be a sly and cocky bastard.

“I don’t remember even saying anything about that, Rick.”

His smirk never faded. You wanted to slap it off his face, then kiss the hell out of him. 

He tilted his head to the side a bit, furrowing his brows as if to challenge your statement. “Really?”

You nodded and crossed your arms right over the stain. ‘Deny, deny, deny,’ You repeated in your head.

But he didn’t buy your bullshit. He brought his hand to your cheek, fingers barely grazing your skin as if he was afraid he’d scare you away. Your breath hitched in your throat and subsequently dropped your arms to your sides, separating your lips to say something. However, nothing came out.

“Well, I think I know your secret, Y/n. Answer seems pretty clear to me.” His voice almost came out as a growl from how low and raspy it was. Goosebumps awakened all across the surface of your body. You were tongue tied. 

“I’m the one on your mind, aren’t I?”

[lab-gr0wn-lambs]

Daryl sign language compilation

[linusbenjamin]

(◕‿◕✿)

[acecroft]

THE WALKING DEAD 2.08 'Nebraska'

[truck-stop-tiger]

“You and I, Clementine…. We’re far more alike than you realize…”

[rickswh0r3]

my favorite bts photos from season two ❤️

[iiovemichy]

i was joking abt s2… but WDYM “we’ll figure it out on the next one”???? AND PEOPLE WERE CALLING US CRAZY!

[futurecoolaunt]

Although I will never fully recover from this episode, some specific things I loved:

*space to talk about/grieve Carl (I will forever be salty about tptb killing him off 🤬)

*moments of humor sprinkled throughout the episode (reminded me of Danai's play Eclipsed)

*parallel of the post-coitus scene with the Richonne morning scene in "East" (I pray someone comes through with gifs 🙏🏾)

*the RJ reveal and discussion of how he's a combination of his mom and dad 😭

*Danai and Andy's performances were 🤌🏾 I need to hear awards talk 👏🏾

[optimist-pine]

Returns

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Warnings: None

Summary: Daryl finds something in his pack that doesn't belong to him... (ps. it's yours)

Era: Season 2, the farm

A/n: This is a silly little thank you for everyone who's been supporting my writing! If you've liked/commented/reblogged any of my works recently, this is for you. :)

Daryl digs around in his backpack, shoving aside arrow bits and extra clothes in the search for a clean(ish) rag he knows is buried in here somewhere. Ah, there, the glimpse of a red hue must be what he's looking for. He tugs it free, but as he brings it into the daylight it comes to his attention that this piece of cloth doesn't belong to him.

He drops it immediately, head swiveling to make sure nobody saw. But no, he's tucked far away from the rest of the group, not a soul in sight. He gingerly picks up the garment before realizing how ridiculous he's being and shoves it in his pocket. He'll slip into your tent, return it, and get the hell out of there and get on with the rest of his day.

Everyone's either dispersed to other parts of the farm or busy enough completing whatever chores they've taken on to notice him. Even if he didn't already know which tent was yours, it'd be obvious from the plethora of herbs and flowers hanging to dry by the entrance, and the dog-eared foraging guidebook waiting on a lawn chair for your return.

He peers through the screen window to assure himself that you're not around before unzipping the door and stepping inside. A moment too late, he realizes the amount of dirt he's just tracked into your otherwise pristine living space, and curses. Nothing to do about it now he supposes. He squats down, opening your pack and pulling the wayward item out of his pocket.

"Daryl? What're you doing in my-" Your voice makes him jump before your words falter.

His head snaps to you; you're bent down a bit, hands on your hips with sweat dripping down your temple. Your mouth is stuck in a cute little "o" of pure confusion. He's frozen, hand halfway between him and your belongings, lungs stuck mid-breath. He really should say something in his own defense.

"Is that my underwear?" You ask a little more quietly.

"I - uh..." He gapes. He's invading your privacy in so many ways, you're going to think he's a total ass if not a complete creep. And he actually doesn't mind you too much so he doesn't want you to think of him in that way. Not that you think of him at all. But now when you do you're going to hate his guts. "They - uh..." He tries.

"Ohh. I get it." You say, nodding, like this all makes total sense. "I've got something of yours I've been meaning to return, just wasn't sure how to make it not-awkward..." You kneel down beside him, fishing around in a side compartment on your bag. "Buuuut no matter. I believe these belong to you." You hold out a pair of faded boxers that've been rolled up neatly.

"Hey, Rick wants to know if-" Glenn appears in the tent opening and Daryl can practically see the gears struggling to turn in his head as he takes in the two of you so close together, each obviously holding the other's intimates. "Y'know what? Nevermind. Just go talk to Rick when you're done or whatever, okay?" He sighs, walking away.

Daryl wastes no time grabbing his boxers, shoving them in his pocket. You do the same but with more grace, standing to brush off your pants.

You let out a small chuckle, biting down a bit on your lip. "It was so hectic when we left the CDC; must've grabbed each other's stuff then." You step outside and he follows. "Thanks for returning them." You say, stooping to re-zip the tent.

The CDC is such a blur that it takes effort to remember. There weren't enough rooms for everyone and so you'd asked to bunk with him. Even though he was sufficiently intoxicated that night, he'd been lucid enough to appreciate not being alone, your steady breaths in the unsettling darkness had quieted his nerves.

He can't seem to make his eyes stay on you for long, though that doesn't stop your gaze from lingering - he can practically feel every place your eyes land as you study him. "S'no problem." He shrugs.

"Well, I guess I'd better go see what Rick wants..." you sigh, making no noticeable effort to go anywhere.

You're leaving a space for him to say something but he doesn't really have anything to add to that. "Yeah." He replies dumbly.

A soft smile grows upon your lips. "Don't be a stranger, okay? Some of us actually enjoy your company." You nudge his shoulder good-naturedly as you walk away.

He mulls over your words, trying dissect what that last little bit means. You were just being kind, right? He's pretty sure people have barely put up with his company, let alone enjoyed it. Realizing you've already been gone for multiple minutes he pushes those thoughts to the back of his mind and trudges off, noting that there's at least a few hours of good daylight left to make use of. But those thoughts are still there, nagging, toying with him.

---

A couple of days later, when Daryl returns to his camp after a successful enough trip into the woods, there sits your well-loved guidebook. It's laying on the ground where you must've set it when you stopped by earlier and forgotten it when the two of you headed out. He picks it up, flipping through the bent pages and your frequent notes when he passes one that makes him stop and turn back. Next to chanterelle mushrooms you've scribbled 'Daryl - pair w/ venison' . He hadn't caught game that big since back at the quarry, and even then the geeks got to it first. A small swell of pride rises within him at the thought of you planning ahead in this way, of you counting on him to provide.

The feeling follows him as he settles down for the night. Pulling out a flashlight he figures he might as well see if there's anything he can learn from your book... Or maybe that's just an excuse to search for more of your annotations. He'll have another return to make in the morning, but he can't quite bring himself to mind all that much.

[ririchonne]

Wonderful! I’m so glad Danai and Andrew got this new experiences as producer executive and show-runner.

With the success of what they delivered with Scott, I can’t wait to see what other projects they would develop (in and out TWD) because I know propositions and 💰 are coming their way.

With Danai’s artistic premises surrounding black women, african women and her other artistic endeavors, this success promise another level of visibility for her work. And with Andrew’s world view, I know he will support if needed. I can see a new producer duo emerging 🤞🏾 and maybe later a production company Gurira & Lincoln production… 💭 just imagine a studio where creativity, new voices, new stories are respected and nurtured and the team on the field is supported at all levels…Imagine what could come out of it 😮‍💨 🏆 🏆

[scarisd3ad]

Promptober day 7 - “do you think it’s Halloween yet?”

Pairing - (s2)Carl grimes x fem!reader (platonic)

Warnings - none

Promptober ‘23 masterlist

Main masterlist

Taglist

A/n - both Carl and reader are 12 in this fic and there is nothing romantic about it just a cute conversation between 2 kids who survived the apocalypse, Glenn is like readers guardian (like how lee is to Clem in twdg or Joel is to Ellie in tlou)

carl and I are sat in the grime's tent talking about what we miss from the old world. "I miss chicken nuggets" I whisper with a smile. he laughs "I miss...Halloween...do you think its Halloween yet?" he asks with his brows furrowed. I furrow my eyebrows too trying to calculate how long since it's been since the world had ended. the world ended in august, and it's been at least a few months since well that's what Glenn told me. "Maybe I think its October already" I reply I sit up onto my knees and pop my head out of the tent. "Lori, do you think its Halloween yet?" her brows furrowed as she looks up at me and carl who both have out heads popped out of the tent. "I don't know maybe, why do you ask?"

carl and I both giggle before popping our heads back into the tent. "Maybe I can get Glenn to sneak us some candy when he goes back to that pharmacy" I whisper with a smile. he nods "you should ask where is he?" carl asks, and I shrug "I dunno maybe our tent" I reply "go ask..go ask" I agree and quickly get out of the tent and run to Glenn and i's tent. he's sat near it in a fold out camping chair. "Glenn, Glenn!" I shout breathlessly as I stop in front of him. his brows furrow together "what is it did you get hurt? see a walker?" he asks worriedly. I shake my head and smile "can you get me and carl some candy when you go to that pharmacy again?" he laughs as he rolls his eyes playfully. "If they have any left" he says softly.

-

2 days later

Glenn had finally gone back to the pharmacy, so now I'm stuck waiting around for him to come back to the farm. he returns back to the farm in the afternoon. "Glenn!" I shout as he arrives back on the horse he had took. I run up to him and the horse as he gets off of it. he kneels down in front of me, and I whisper, "did you get it?" he chuckles and nods as he reaches into his bag and hands me two chocolate bars. I throw my arms around his shoulders hugging him. "Thank you Glenn" I whisper as he pats at my back lovingly. I pull away and immediately run towards where our groups tents are set up.

"Carl! Carl!" he's sat in his family's tent "look! look!" I say showing him the two chocolate bars. his eyes widened as I crawl into the tent. I hand him a bar and we both immediately open them.

"Where did you guys get those?" Lori asks as she spots both of us with the candy.

"Glenn!"

[herebutnothere]

Just had a thought about dinner at the Grimes' the day Michonne brought Rick home.

I wonder if it felt a bit odd for her, them all being under the same roof. Not a bad odd in that she was unhappy about the arrangement (how could she be? It's what she had been longing for for years), but a good odd in that it was proof of magic, a miracle of unbelievable proportions. (Was this too good to be true?)

I wonder if she thought that this new reality was a reward for all they had lost. (It was time for them to win a little. Surely anyone who knew their story would agree.)

Perhaps she got annoyed with blinking because the short bursts made her miss important moments and so she tried not to blink at all and instead just watched. (Because yes, all of these moments were important, now more than ever. It had been nearly a decade without him and more than a year without their kids. She couldn't bear to lose another second.)

In between the laughter and conversation and passing of food, I bet she saw how Judith kept looking between her and Rick, eyes sparkling with memories of Family Fun Days that were rewards for doctor visits.

She might have watched as RJ took shy glances around the table, moving from Judith to her and back again for some sort of confirmation before landing on his father. The Brave Man. A real, living, breathing person that leapt from community legend to their dinner table, filling the chair—his chair—that used to sit empty.

I imagine that when she looked at Rick, she would see that he wasn't blinking either. She probably saw his eyes take in each of them individually and then together all at once, committing their features to memory before moving towards the living room. She wouldn't have to follow his gaze to know it was seeking the slab hanging on the wall, Carl's handprint safe and preserved in the dark.

But at some point Rick would definitely take her hand in his, squeezing it tight. That I know for sure.

And I imagine that it was then and only then that she allowed herself to close her eyes to savor the moment, a smile gracing her face when she opened them again.

Because there they were in their home, under the same roof. Together.

Editing to add: I just made an extended cut of this over on FF with more installments to come 😊

[acecroft]

THE WALKING DEAD 2.13 'Beside the Dying Fire'

[adsari]

TWD season 1: Oh no, a walker bite me. I'm gonna die

TOWL: So we bomb the whole place, don't run, hide under some material and face a dozens of walkers. Just the two of us. We will be fine.