#way down we go series

[ficnation]

Chapter 6: Facing the Strangers

Series: Way Down We Go || Season 1 Word count: 2,5k+ Pairing: Rick Grimes x Female! Reader; Shane Walsh x Reader; Daryl Dixon x Sister! Reader Warnings: usual twd themes A/n: Aye, it's WDWG time! I wanted this chapter to be as packed with tension as it was possible. Let me know your thoughts and theories! If you’re not on the taglist but you’d like to be added let me know!

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You woke up to the warmth of the morning sun, the rays streaming into the backseat of the car where you had fallen asleep. Merle snored in the reclined passenger seat, his boots propped up on the dash. You shifted your body into a sitting position, the wound on your side still aching horribly. You clenched your teeth and peeked through the window, gaze searching for Daryl and his beloved crossbow. 

Your younger brother stood near the lake, observing the water shimmering in the morning sun. He was finally taking a break from patrolling the perimeter. You wondered how long it has been since he got some rest—some real sleep—not a fifteen-minute-long nap. 

After the stunt Merle pulled at your camp near Turner Reservoir, you both agreed you’d not let him take another watch shift alone. You, though injured, were more trustworthy than him in spotting incoming threats and getting rid of them. Merle turned out to be too reckless, and you couldn’t risk coming all this way just for him to fuck up again.

As you stretched, the car creaked with your movement, the sound of metal and fabric shifting before settling into silence again. You slid out of the vehicle, unbothered by the loud slam of the door as you pushed it closed behind you. You secretly hoped it was clamorous enough to wake Merle from his deep slumber.

Daryl looked up from his spot near the water as you dragged your feet forward, rubbing the sleep away from your eyes. At least your injury wasn’t pulsing as painfully as it did the day before—that was a win in your book.

“You should get some sleep, Daryl,” you said when you reached him, standing by his side and looking at the water ahead. It was so peaceful.

“Don’ think tha’s a good idea,” he replied, looking you up and down, lost in thought. “Does it still hurt like a bitch?”

“Yeah, but less than yesterday.” You hid your yawn behind your palm. You only managed to get a few hours of sleep—the pain on your side was too unbearable to allow more than that. “Seriously, you should kick Merle out of the car and take a nap yourself,” you insisted, studying the dark circles underneath his eyes and the paleness of his face.

“Nah, I should probably catch us somethin’ to eat.” Daryl stretched his arms above his head with a groan before letting them drop down to his sides.

“Can I go with you?” you asked with an excited glint in your eyes.

You used to do that together when you were kids—when Will took you to the cabin and all the cupboards were empty. Every mention of your hunger was a reason for him to lash out; he used to yell about how ungrateful you were, saying you should finally learn to fend for yourself. You were just a kid, and you had to worry about finding something to satisfy your hunger because your own father was an asshole who refused to provide for you.

Although Daryl is younger than you, he was always the resourceful one while you followed him like a lost puppy, clumsily stumbling over every branch and rock. When you got lost in the woods, he was the one who got you food and clean water as you bawled your eyes out. He was the one who taught you which berries and mushrooms are safe to eat and which can make you wish you were dead.

You shook your head to will the memories away as Daryl responded, “Nah, ya should stay ‘ere with Merle.” Just when you were about to protest, he fixed you with a challenging quirk of his eyebrow and you instantly shut your mouth. “Yer wounded.”

You groaned in exasperation, then nodded your head in agreement. You had no reason to get pressed—even though you could move a little bit easier now, you’d still be a nuisance to him on a hunting trip. “Alright,” you mumbled in agreement.

The moment the words left your lips, your ears picked up noise in the distance. You whipped around toward your brother, meeting his gaze in a silent question. His squinted eyes told you that he heard it too.

The noise got closer and closer with every passing second—its source was definitely heading your way. You could see the gears turning in Daryl’s head as he realized the same thing.

“Get to the fuckin’ car!” he ushered you, swinging his crossbow off his shoulder while his unoccupied hand pushed you gently toward the vehicle.

You listened to him without a second thought, moving forward as fast as your legs allowed you to. You got to the car just in time for another vehicle to come barreling forward and skidding to a stop by the lake, and the large boulders you occupied yesterday. As the door to the black Jeep Wrangler opened, Daryl’s crossbow was already raised and aimed in that direction.

First, a muscular man jumped out of the driver’s seat, then the other doors opened, and a few women exited the car. They had yet to notice your presence. You felt Daryl nudging your arm—a silent sign to get into the truck before they spotted you.

But before you could do anything, the metal door opened with a loud creak as Merle darted out of it. He had the best timing ever—you had to give him that. You heard the commotion as the strangers finally noticed your group of three. And oh my god, Merle had a gun.

You stopped in your tracks, motionless, your eyes darting toward the newcomers. The driver also pulled out his gun as he started moving toward you. Daryl was saying something to your older brother, but your brain turned itself off, focusing solely on the dark-haired man ahead. He came to a stop not too far away, but not too close either, his weapon raised in your general direction.

You had a chance to give him a good look over as the world seemed to slow down around you. His eyes were dark brown but seemed almost hazel as the morning sun hit them. The hair on his head was black and wavey, a subtle stubble decorating his scowling face.

You don’t know what exactly happened, but suddenly those same rich brown eyes were studying your person, almost concerned. “Ma’am, do you know these men?” he asked, his voice deep as his gaze darted between you and your companions.

Daryl moved in front of you, shielding you away from the stranger’s view. No one answered the man’s question—no one even thought about it. You noticed Merle tense up next to you, clutching tightly the pistol in his hands. The stranger’s expression remained unwavering, but his eyes did glance at your older brother’s weapon briefly before they tried to catch a glimpse of you once more.

A thought popped into your head, and you looked down at your injured side, quickly connecting the dots. Now, you understood the glint of concern in his eyes. Your shirt and jeans were still stained with the dried-up blood—you completely forgot about it.

You peeked over Daryl’s shoulder and your gaze met the stranger’s. You’re not sure what he saw in it, but it somehow encouraged him to take another step forward in your direction. Your heart was pounding hard inside your chest. Everything looked like it was in slow motion, the man’s movement, the crowd behind him watching your stare off, every twitch of your younger brother’s muscles. The silence hung heavily in the air as you waited with bated breath to see who was going to fold first and finally say something.

Someone from the unknown crowd walked over and took a stand by the dark-eyed man. “Ma’am, are you injured? Do you need help?” The voice belonged to a woman, it was gentle, with a hint of annoyance at the unnecessary hostility between your groups. “Shane, put the gun away,” she urged the man beside her with a hushed tone—almost a whisper.

Shane listened to her, and although tentatively, he did lower his weapon. The woman stepped forward with a confident walk, escaping the arm that shot out to keep her from going any further. She was a woman on a mission, you could respect that. Her gaze locked on Daryl as she tried to sidestep him, but his aim followed her. You could hear Shane say something to her—maybe even to all of you—but your brain didn’t quite catch it, once again. Merle was oddly quiet.

“Woman, ya step any closer an’ I’ll blow yer pretty brains outta tha’ head.” Yep, he's still here.

Merle didn’t take his gaze off her, he was still clutching the gun, ready for the stranger to try something. Daryl looked even more uneasy than before, and you wondered whether the end of the world squashed all of your trust in humanity into the ground or have you always been like that—you were leaning more towards the second theory. Your older brother, however, seemed calm, like he was the only one who was in control of the situation. He looked around, sizing everybody up with a mean look in his Dixon blues.

“Where did you come from?” Shane asked, tensing up as your older brother stepped into the woman’s path when she tried to sidestep Daryl again.

You noticed the mocking snort that escaped Merle, his knuckles almost white from gripping that pistol so tight. Maybe he wasn’t as sure of himself as he was pretending to be. You had a feeling he was about to do something stupid.

You grabbed him by the wrist, shaking your head disapprovingly. He rolled his eyes, but let you pull him back, seeing the imploring look in your eyes. Don’t do it.

The unknown man’s expression grew darker when he noticed you weren’t really caving in. “Drop your weapons,” he ordered. “We don’t wanna harm you.”

Daryl and Merle didn’t say a word, simply refusing to give up their weapons. You lifted your leg, then kicked the old man in the calf, not too hard, but not too delicately either. He dropped the pistol in resignation, grunted, and pushed it a step away with his foot. Daryl agreed wordlessly and lowered his crossbow.

“Wha’ do ya all want from us?” Merle barked out, towering over the petite woman that finally gave up, understanding she wasn’t going anywhere near you.

You don’t know what gave it away, but the strangers seemed to understand the two men at your side were your friends rather than kidnappers.

“We have a camp nearby. We come here almost every day,” the woman spoke, looking you up and down once you sidestepped the protective wall consisting of your two brothers. “Are you injured?”

“She’s good. Old blood,” Daryl responded to her question. He was met with a suspicious look from the strangers once again.

“The woman can speak for herself, for fuck’s sake.” Shane sighed deeply, clearly annoyed by the whole situation already.

“She don’ speak.”

“Oh…” You took the chance to look the brunette up and down. She was quite skinny with sharp cheekbones and long wavy hair with side-swooped bangs. From her behavior, you figured out she was a classic example of a woman who thought she was untouchable.

“Can I at least take a look at it?” she proposed—a pinch of concern in her voice.

You noticed the way her companion looked at her with admiration at her “selfless” attitude—like a love struck teenager. You guessed he was probably her husband—a lover at least. The man must’ve felt your eyes boring into him, he met your gaze, making you withdraw it instantly. The texture of the ground beneath your feet suddenly seemed far more interesting.

“Wha’? Ya wanna get a chance to feel up mah lil’ sister?” Merle, please, shut your fucking mouth.

“Dressing’s old. Might probably need a change, or it’ll get infected,” Daryl’s response surprised you, your eyes shot up to his face and the worry-etched frown decorating it.

“We have a medical kit back at our camp. We can bring it around, or you can come with us.” The brunette seemed just as shocked as you did, judging by her expression. She probably expected him to put up a fight and refuse to say anything about your injury. “You didn’t set up camp anywhere nearby, did you?”

“Nah, we’re jus’ passin’ through.” Daryl’s shoulders relax visibly as he let out a deep breath. “Plannin’ to head into Atlanta once ‘er wound heals up a little.”

“Atlanta?” Shane snorted loudly, earning himself a disapproving shake of his companion’s head. “Man, you got a death wish?”

You glared at him, his tone toeing the line between surprised and sarcastic. Judging by the scowl that started growing on Merle’s face—he was the one who had a death wish. Shane must’ve felt your eyes boring into his face, he stood a little straighter, holding your gaze.

“Place is swarmed with those things,” the woman added, nodding her head in agreement. Her eyes darted between you and Shane, a frown growing between her thin eyebrows.

“You heard ‘bout the refugee camp?” Shane asked as his gaze left yours, focusing on your younger brother instead. Daryl’s nod confirmed his suspicions. “It’s not there anymore. Don’t think it survived the napalm.”

The archer looked at you, and you could almost see the gears turning in his head. You could’ve met the same fate if you didn’t leave the city to look for them. The thought that he could’ve lost you made him sick to his stomach. He exhaled deeply, his chest shaking with the trembling of his breath. You squeezed his arm briefly—a simple reassurance that you’re still there in one piece.

“Guess our plan jus’ died,” he mumbled out, mostly to you and Merle. His words were a weight off your chest.

Shane eyed Daryl’s crossbow, and an idea popped into his head. “You good with that thing?” He nodded his head toward the weapon, making the archer look between him and the crossbow confused.

“Shoots since he was a lil’ bastard,” Merle butted in before his brother could muster up a response. “Should’ve seen how many squirrels and bucks he brings back from huntin’.”

There was an uneasy feeling stirring up in your gut, Merle had a plan, and you were almost one hundred percent sure it wasn’t one worth considering. God, you’d give anything to know what silly little idea he brewed up in this empty skull of his. But he put it in motion before any of you could talk him out of it. Seeing the amazement in the brunette’s eyes and the silent understanding between her and her friend—it was too late for you to save the situation.

“You guys have a tent?” The man asked, crossing his muscular arms over his chest. Did you just see the corner of his mouth quirk up?

“Nah, why?”

Taglist: @yttricuz @twdeadlysins @donttelltheelff @spidergirla5 @depressedfrog2 @clemscult @lonewolf471 @btsiguess-kpop @notquitecannon @the-daily-multi-fandom-post @xhannahbananax03 @sourwolf-sterek32 @wonderful-writer @phoenixblack89 @yolobloggers @sexyseabass @sweetpotatospock @witch-of-letters @capsiclesdoll @kingtwhiddleston @incorrectcapsicle @queentorresstuff @witheringblooddemon @hopefulatrocity ​ @jaiboomer11 @mewlingoizys

[saintobio]

hello am still alive but the corporate hustle is sucking the life out of me. i’m sorry sy11 is taking awhile but i’ll try to find time whenever i can 🥹

[thirdeyeblue]

“Nine would have treated Martha better than Ten did”

I need to talk about this argument that never seems to stop circulating.

Note: Not a venomous/anti post. There’s more than enough of that across fandom spaces as is, and this is supposed to be a place for ✨sweet, blissful escapism✨

When making this argument, people seem to envision a scenario in which Nine never met Rose.

While I can appreciate a good hypothetical, recognizing Rose's significance to the Doctor (Nine and Ten) is essential to understanding why things with Martha played out the way they did in the first place.

In the third series, the Doctor is grieving. This grief is deliberately threaded into nearly every script, whether spoken aloud or not (and these are just a few examples):

He's burning in Rose’s wake the entire time Martha travels with him, which is why it’s so frequently called upon: It’s 100% deliberate in framing his grief. He grieved as Nine too, of course— having been fresh on the heels of the Time War — but then he met Rose, which changed everything.

Back then, he was still a rude, traumatized pain in the ass, but we watch Rose soften more of those jagged edges with every episode as they grow closer; as he lets his guard down and forms a deep connection with her.

He falls in love (against his better judgment) and it's game over.

And yes: provided S1E1 had been titled 'Martha', one can realistically assume things might have unfolded similarly to how they did with Rose. However, it wouldn’t have been that way just because the Doctor was Nine and “Nine was different” — it would be because he wasn’t already in love with someone else. The same can't be said for the start of S3.

Think of it like this: if Rose AND Martha had been in that cellar — if Nine had taken both of them along with him in S1 — we’d eventually be looking at the most melodramatic love triangle ever, what with him living in close quarters with two brilliant, gorgeous, compassionate young women... But Doctor Who is plenty “soap opera” as is with just one woman in the TARDIS.

(I certainly wouldn’t object to reading that fic, though)

Now, regarding the unrequited elephant in the room…

His inability to be romantic with Martha isn’t because he thinks her lesser, nor is it for lack of compatibility. It isn't because Rose is any better than her. It certainly isn’t just because he’s Ten.

It’s really only for one reason, which can't be denied — and now I’m a broken record:

He is still in love with Rose.

(cut from a tenrosedaily gif)

Nine is Ten, and Ten is only such a mess in S3 because he’s just lost the love of his life. Martha merely got caught in the crosshairs of a volatile Time Lord in mourning, and yes — it sucks. Absolutely.

But it also feels dismissive to chalk Ten and Martha’s relationship up to little more than some sort of mindless dance of pining, jealousy, and toxicity.

Ten trusted Martha with his life over and over again — and hers, with him. He constantly praised her brilliance, happily carting her around time and space with no intention of letting her go. In the BBC’s extended universe of novels/comics/cartoons/etc, there’s so much depth to their relationship: love and trust and trauma and sacrifice. They had their own special bond as mates, their own complexities — so it’s a bummer that it's forever overshadowed by the other things.

I’m not denying that there was a lot of stuff that sucked/was for sure toxic about Ten's S3 behavior, but so many of the things I've seen him catching flak for can be directly attributed to being A Clueless Fucking Alien Idiot (not a trait that’s unique to Ten) — as well as his flat-out obliviousness to Martha’s feelings.

So yes, I agree: if Rose never existed, he would have treated Martha differently as Nine. He also would have treated her differently as Ten. Certainly.

But Rose did exist, and when discussing canon, it matters.

“He tells me that he absolutely, 100% loves Rose... He tells me how my daughter; my wonderful, beautiful, clever little girl saved him from himself before… And he says that’s all because of me! I made her into the Rose Tyler that saved him.”

-Jackie Tyler, Flight Into Hull!

Martha got the short end of the stick in S3. She came round at the wrong place and time, but that doesn't mean it was all bad. It doesn't mean the Doctor didn’t adore her. It certainly doesn't mean the time they spent together was wasted or worthless. They were brilliant!

Sure, he could be a twat, but let it be known that he was a twat with Rose as well, both as Nine and Ten. I’m sure Tentoo can be plenty infuriating, too. So while I'll defend Ten (and Tentoo) into the ground forever and ever and ever, I'll concede that he's fucked up.

The Doctor is a certified Pain In The Ass. It’s one of the things I love so much about this character — dynamics.

But never forget that Martha was goddamn tough as nails and overcame every bit of it. She moved on with her life, and the Doctor moved on with his. One can only pray that, when they inevitably drag her back onto the show (which feels inevitable if I'm honest), we see at once that she's been living her best life for all these years.

[lenny-zesty]

good morning everynyan. remember that grass is green, the sky is blue, cyn and the solver are different beings, and uzi didn’t kill her classmates just because they were rude to her

[silverraes]

don't mind if I just

the main boys? actually comforting and talking to each other? being there for each other?? in my Thai BL????

[solradguy]

If Daisuke Ishiwatari ever drops substantial Gear biology lore you all better buckle the hell up because it's all I'm going to talk about. I've been unwell about Gear biology since translating Begin. Chomping at the bit over here. GIVE ME MORE

[birb-tangleblog]

I'm seeing the 'happy anniversary' posts roll in, and fans lamenting the show's writing shortfalls in retrospect-

And if you weren't in the fandom when the show was airing and only watched it after it ended, I really can't understate how optimistic the fandom was at the time?

If you go back and look through the old bingo sheets, you can see a snapshot of what the prevailing theories/predictions were and what fans expected. (I have tags on both this blog and my art blog, #tts bingo, but I wasn't able to RB all of them- digging through '#tangled the series bingo' in the search will pull up more.)

People were eagerly looking forward to returning characters (the Brotherhood, ZT's disciples) in nearly every tentpole episode, rematches and fights, flashbacks, cameos, for Cass to redeem herself by the midpoint of season 3 so ZT could step up as the big bad- so many interactions and plot threads that never resolved to anything.

I think a lot of this is the product of a normal airing schedule with (mostly) weekly episodes and long hiatuses, but it also speaks to the show's potential and how frustrating the lack of follow through on the setup of seasons 1 and 2 was.

Special shoutouts to:

Fierce debate on if Cass or Adira would be the traitor in 'Destinies Collide'.

Adira and Hector working together to get the moonstone back after dedicating their lives to protecting the world from it. (nope)

Fans thinking that Quirin would appear and have a role in the episode where Varian gets kidnapped. (no)

Surely Cap will show up after 'Islands Apart', or share a heart to heart with Cass in the finale. (F)

Cass rejoining the main group and redeeming herself any episode now... annnyyyy episode now.....

[atopvisenyashill]

my hot take of the day is that clearly the people who swallow the in universe targ & valyrian exceptionalism are being completely taken in by the exact system that george is trying to critique but also i think the people who over correct into this idea that not a single targaryen is worthy of like, our empathy or sorrow or are rightfully chafing against the structures put in place by valyrians, first men, and andals alike are also being incredibly 2d in their analysis. i feel like this happens most often when people try to make the case that andals are somehow oppressed in westerosi society on a cultural level simply bc valyrian supremacy trumps andal culture. i think this is incredibly silly to say or posit as the truth in universe because there is in fact some oppression of culture in westeros but it’s not the andals lol!!! it’s the first men, the dornish, the rhoynar/greenblood orphans, and the ironborn. there Is some level of,,,, idk bigotry/xenophobia towards valyrians but only valyrians who don’t worship the faith - people like larra rogare, who still follow valyrian gods, do face this bigotry because they’re Too Foreign, the same way someone like thoros, melisandre, taena, etc who are essosi but not from a still heavy valyrian-based society like volantis and lys, and that’s definitely important to the conversation, because it shows the Dominant Culture is in fact the Andal culture when it comes to westeros and that’s like,,, fine, and even more interesting to me to see how andals, who have been the dominant force on westeros for thousands of years, interact with valyrians, who clearly want to keep ideas of valyrian supremacy alive somehow and essentially try to get the other dominant force in westeros to buy in (which they do!). like, are these two at odds sometimes? yes! but i don’t think it’s correct to say that the andals face ~prejudice for being andals or followers of the faith either!

[boasamishipper]

i can tolerate a lot of things from writers and showrunners but outright condescension and disdain for their fans is not one of them

[ficnation]

Chapter 5: The Quarry

Series: Way Down We Go || Season 1 Word count: 2,8k+ Pairing: Rick Grimes x Female! Reader; Shane Walsh x Reader; Daryl Dixon x Sister! Reader Warnings: usual twd themes A/n: I’m sorry that this one is shorter. It’s kinda a filler chapter just so I can set the scene and get back into this series. I still hope you enjoy it! <3 If you’re not on the taglist but you’d like to be added let me know!

𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐖𝐄 𝐆𝐎 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 || 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 

It all happened so quickly that you could barely remember how you found yourself lying in the back of the pickup truck, pressing down on the gnarly wound on your side with all the force left in you. The blood kept running down your body, seeping into the seat and leaving a nasty stain that’ll probably stay there, forgotten for the rest of your days.

“Ya ain’t bleedin’ out in my car, Baby,” Daryl declared confidently, but his voice reached your ears, muffled by the constant ringing in your head.

You felt lightheaded and could barely think—speaking wasn’t even an option. You let out a quiet grunt in response, eyes almost rolling to the back of your head when the car swayed and bumped on the uneven road. The pain was unbearable, the worst one you’ve ever experienced in your life, but to be fair, you’ve never before been impaled by an arrow. Just the thought of it made the situation you found yourself in just a few hours ago play back in your head.

You could hear the groans of the undead again. You could feel the air thickening and the persistent pulsing of adrenaline in your veins. And when the infected surrounded you, the forest became their playground—a dangerous maze for your group of three.

Daryl ran over to you, grabbed Merle under his other arm, and helped you drag him forward while the latter yelled over and over again how you were all fucked and dead already. His words only made you clench your teeth, tears blurring your vision while you hauled him forward as fast as you could.

You remembered how at some point, you were too tired to get going, so Daryl took all of Merle’s weight onto himself, telling you to get your rifle off your back and shoot. You quickly realized that there were too many of them and the car you left behind was your best shot at escaping.

While you put yourself together and killed off a few stragglers that got too close, Daryl doubled back toward the camp without a word, and you followed in his steps, watching his back.

Going back to the clearing only seemed to worsen your situation. You found yourself stuck between two groups of infected in the middle of the night.

The last thing you remembered was wrestling on the ground with one of those creatures and Daryl getting pushed by another one of them just when he released an arrow to take out the creeper that was trying to rip you apart. The arrowhead pierced through your side at a weird angle but didn’t go all the way through.

You had no other choice, no weapons left. With one hand holding the straggler by the neck at arm’s distance, your other one encircled the arrow in a tight grip, and you pulled it out with a scream. The undead trashed around when it smelled the blood, lowering its jaw toward your stomach. You took the chance and yanked its head back, stabbing the sharp point through its eye with the last drop of your power before everything went black.

“How long has she been like tha’?”

You clenched your eyes shut tighter at the familiar drawl. Your head throbbed painfully, and you were afraid if you opened them, you’d not only have to deal with your asshole brothers but also with the blaring sun that warmed your skin. God, you felt like dying would be less painful and much easier than what you were currently going through.

“Doesn’t matter. She ain’t dead.” You recognized Daryl’s annoyed mumbling.

“I wish I were,” you responded with a raspy voice. You decided to rip the bandaid off, so you opened your eyes wide, wincing from the sudden brightness. “Where are we?”

You blinked fast, trying to get used to the light before you let your eyes wander around the pickup. Daryl was still behind the wheel while your older brother sat in the passenger seat with his boots propped on the dashboard and one arm lazily hanging out of the window.

“Doubled back to Atlanta,” the archer answered, keeping his eyes on the road. “Heard on the radio, they’ve some kind of a shelter there.”

You tried to sit up and look through the window to get an idea of how far you already got, but it only resulted in a painful hiss before you slid down onto your back. It hurt just enough to make you forget about trying again. You lifted up your bloody shirt to assess the damage. The wound on your side was bandaged up now, but you could still see a large splotch of dried blood on it. It must’ve been a while since it was dressed.

“Did you cauterize it?” you asked curiously, your fingernails scratching the flaking blood off your skin but nowhere close enough to the wound for it to make you wince in pain. You’d have to take a long bath in a river to scrub it all off.

“Did we?” Merle looked around the car, surprised by your question.

“Ya didn’t do shit. I cauterized it,” Daryl growled out, rolling his eyes. He glanced in the rearview mirror at you. “Ya were passed out, most likely didn’t feel a thing.”

You nodded gratefully at him. “So…” you drew out, looking curiously between your brothers, “What’s the plan? Last time we doubled back somewhere, it bit us in the ass.”

“We don’ need no plan. We’ve survived without one long enough,” Merle protested, his voice booming.

You rolled your eyes when he gesticulated wildly, almost smacking Daryl in the face. Your younger brother eyed him like he’s lost his mind. How did this guy avoid the massive hangover after the stunt he pulled in the woods? He seemed to be the luckiest of you three, coming out of any situation without a scratch while fate kicked your own ass mercilessly.

“Not sure.” Daryl pulled his bottom lip between his teeth—one of the many nervous habits of his. When you were younger, you used to smack the back of his head when he did that, making him chomp down on it and groan in pain. It always worked. “We’ll see when we’re there. Maybe—”

“Last time I was in the city, it didn’t seem safe. The streets were swarmed with cars and those things,” you butted in before he could finish the next sentence.

It was the truth, but the bigger reason for your resistance had little to do with the undead and blocked streets. You didn’t care if the shelter existed or not. Atlanta was your prison. A prison that you broke out of, and you desperately clung to any reason not to go back there. You took a deep trembly breath, slumping against the seat further when you let it out. You weren’t brave enough to protest more, but you were sure as hell ready to do anything to avoid stepping foot in Atlanta.

The drive to your destination was unnecessarily long and tiring. You spent most of it lying across the backseats, trying to fall asleep, but the constant swaying of the vehicle only made you more aware of the wound on your side. You gave up with an annoyed snarl, making Daryl look back at you in worry.

For the rest of the ride, you busied yourself with trying to stay still. It was a task that turned out to be more difficult than you expected. Your mind was running a thousand miles per hour, and you could do nothing to stop it. You were far too close to the city for your comfort.

Daryl slowed down the car when you reached the blocked main road to Atlanta. Merle stuck his head out the passenger’s window and whistled slowly, almost amazed.

“Ain’t no way we’re gonna squeeze through,” he remarked.

“How much gas? Maybe it’s not too late to find a safer place to stay the night,” you butted in, hope already stirring in your head. You wanted to be as far as possible from this damned city.

Daryl glanced up at the gauge, squinting in the evening sun. “Not enough to go on a road trip now. Tank is almost empty.”

A heavy silence fell over the three of you as you tried to figure out the best solution. You didn’t have many options to choose from. If you tried to push through, you’d have to abandon the car, and there was no way your injury would let you take more than ten steps by yourself—and ten was already pushing it.

Daryl shifted his shoulders and looked out into the distance. He sighed and scratched the stubble on his cheek thoughtfully. Then, after another few seconds of contemplation, he turned around toward you.

“Ain’t no way yer gonna walk by yourself?” Merle interjected, firmly inserting themselves into the conversation.

“No fucking chance.” You snorted, shrugging your arms hopelessly. “I can’t even sit up.”

Daryl nodded, then glanced back towards his brother. Merle seemed lost in thought, leaning against the truck’s door handle. He shrugged as well, seemingly indifferent to the situation. That was helpful; if he didn’t open his mouth, you had a better chance at convincing Daryl to turn back.

“Well, what do ya think we should do then?” The archer asked, sighing deeply. He had too many backup plans to decide which one would benefit you all or at least give you a chance to survive.

You considered your options carefully. Option one was to abandon the car and try to hitchhike to Atlanta, hoping that you wouldn’t bump into a horde along the way. The second option was to find gas and get back on the road to find some kind of refugee shelter. And the last one was to find a peaceful place nearby where you could get some sleep, eat something and then decide what to do in the following days.

You paused for a moment before answering, choosing your words and the tone of your voice carefully. “Let’s look for a safe place nearby, okay? Then tomorrow, we’ll decide what to do next and see if we can pick up some gas from those cars.”

“Works for me. I’m fuckin’ exhausted,” your older brother agreed, stretching out his legs and kicking them up on the dashboard. He groaned in relief, slumping down against the seat. Merle’s mere existence was giving you a headache.

You didn’t think your younger brother would agree with you from the jump. Damn, you wouldn’t blame him for being skeptical. Your gaze landed on his face, trying to decipher the emotion he was hiding behind those Dixon blue eyes. His eyes remained narrowed in deep thought. You could almost see the whirlwind spinning in his head.

“Aight... Let’s drive,” Daryl murmured finally, turning the ignition on again. He eased forward, pulling the car in reverse before he began driving off into one of the side roads.

This time you’ve won. You exhaled in relief, letting your head fall back against the seat.

As soon as the car came to a complete stop, Merle unbuckled his seat belt and hopped out onto the dirt. You sat up carefully, moving as slowly as possible. You looked out at the sprawling landscape of the quarry, the lake in the middle surrounded by large stones and trees from every side. It could be a good place to stay for a while.

Daryl hopped out of the driver’s seat to open the back door and help you out of the car. Once you were on your feet, you took in the marvelous view. The water shimmered in the evening sun, creating a sparkling effect on the lake’s surface. It was so peaceful, almost like the end of the world you once knew had never happened.

Daryl walked ahead, scoping the area for any potential threats. Merle stayed with you. He leaned against the side of the vehicle, looking around curiously as he whistled a tune under his nose. Your eyes were wide open, keeping a lookout for anyone or anything that could be lurking nearby. You wanted to trust this place so badly, but the world was now too dangerous to be ignorant.

When Daryl finished his stroll, the two of you huddled together near the water, unsure of what to do next. You cautiously lowered yourself onto one of the sizable boulders surrounding the lake, the wound on your side not letting you forget about it even for a second. It was a constant reminder that you were not safe, no matter the serene and peaceful scenery around you.

You wondered whether staying here would be a mistake, but the exhaustion and pain from your previous ordeal left you with little choice. You knew you all needed to rest.

Merle, however, seemed to have other plans. He kept his distance by leaning against the car with a stubborn expression on his face. “If you ask me,” he said loud enough for the two of you to hear him, “we should keep movin’.”

“Yeah, and get attacked by the undead and die?” you chimed in, not quite ready to argue with Merle but having already grown tired of his negativity. He had no right to dictate what was safe and what wasn’t; he let a group of the infected stumble into your camp just because he was drugged out of his mind. You and Daryl could’ve paid with your lives for his slip-up.

“We had a plan,” the man grumbled before Daryl interrupted him.

“She ain’t wrong, Merle. Stayin’ here is the safest of our options right now,” he agreed. Your older brother huffed, seeming unhappy with the decision. God, you wanted to punch him again so badly.

“Man, I don’t get you. You agreed with me when you saw the blocked road. What changed?” you asked, throwing your hands in the air in exasperation. You quickly regretted it when the wound on your side throbbed painfully, making you gasp. Daryl looked at you concerned, but you waved him off wordlessly, your hand reaching to hover over the injury.

“I changed mah mind, so wha’?” Merle responded, folding his arms defiantly across his chest. You were quick to join him, crossing your own arms in an act of defiance as if that made you a true member of the Dixon brothers’ little gang.

“It’s close to the water and far away from any roads,” you argued, trying to make him see reason. “We won’t find a better place anywhere nearby.”

“Yeah, this is jus’ a small-ass quarry. We need a real camp and some damn food.” Merle still wasn’t giving up, sounding increasingly annoyed.

You snorted at his words. “Food won’t magically appear out of thin air.”

“We don’t have enough gas to keep drivin’ back an’ forth,” Daryl reminded him.

You stayed silent, letting your brothers deal with the situation. Your body desperately needed sleep, and your mind wanted nothing more than to escape the chaos of your environment. You just wanted some rest, no matter the location.

Merle scoffed, shaking his head. “I know that I ain’t stupid. Jus’ let’s go find a better place, ’kay?”

The archer rolled his eyes at his brother’s persistence. “What if this is the best we can find?” Daryl raised an eyebrow. He glanced around, surveying the surrounding landscape and trying to find the flaws that his older brother saw in it.

“What if it ain’t?” Merle crossed his arms, glaring at him. He then looked at you, searching for support and finding none. You decided to join the fight now.

“We’re not taking any fucking risks today. I didn’t live through this,” you spoke up suddenly, pointing your finger at the wound on your side, “just to die tonight because the gas ran out, and we still had no place to stay. No fucking way.”

Both brothers were surprised by your outburst—you even surprised yourself. They raised an eyebrow, waiting to see if you’ll continue your angry speech.

Merle perked up, ready to fight your words, he opened his mouth to counterattack, but Daryl cut him off before he could say a word.

“Can ya, for a change, shut up? Yer annoyin’ me,” he snapped at the older man.

Merle’s scowl grew as he figured out he was outnumbered and wasn’t changing your mind anytime soon. Yet, he refused to back off, wanting to have the last word. He got in Daryl’s face and sneered at him.

“I’m tired of yer attitude, Darylina. I told ya we just need to find a better place.”

“We ain’t goin’ anywhere.” Your younger brother held his ground, and you had to admit you admired him for it. You’d have probably faltered if Merle did that to you.

“Fine. Just know, if anythin’ happens, it’s on ya,” the older man grumbled before he stepped back from Daryl and jumped into the car, slamming the door behind himself.

@yttricuz @twdeadlysins @donttelltheelf-x @jessica-mikaelson18 @spidergirla5 @depressedfrog2 @kpopandharry @daryldixonstorm @clemscult @lonewolf471 @btsiguess-kpop @notquitecannon @the-daily-multi-fandom-post @xhannahbananax03 @sourwolf-sterek32 @wonderful-writer @huffledor-able541 @phoenixblack89 @yolobloggers @sexyseabass @sweetpotatospock​ @witch-of-letters @capsiclesdoll @kingtwhiddleston​​ @incorrectcapsicle @queentorresstuff​​ @witheringblooddemon @hopefulatrocity​ ​ 

[shima-draws]

Shut up shut UP I’m FINE this didn’t make me emotional,

[kaythefloppa]

Playing one of the old Jake and the Never Land Pirates games on Flashpoint made me realize that the game, Journey Beyond the Never Seas, makes a better finale to the show than the actual final episode.

[cak31ssuperi04]

Henna not being back in any capacity in the second Mariposa movie gives me two impressions:

1). untapped potential for a 3rd movie where we get Henna reformation or some such.

2).

Mariposa: I wonder how Henna's doing out there.

Willa: ..... what if she's dead 😧

Mariposa: 😨

Honestly it's entirely possible that she IS dead; a lot of her control over the Skeezites hinged on the promise of invading Flutterfield, and we can see their patience wearing thin throughout the movie. It's possible her failure to follow through would be the final straw, and that her lights would only be able to carry her so far when her entire army is against her. I do like the potential for another sequel to tie up that loose end though, in no small part because "dramatic revenge declaration followed by offscreen death that's never mentioned" is just kind of anticlimactic. Even if it's been a decade and that ship has sailed at this point. We could've had it all. Two fairy trilogies. Also consider: The Skeezites don't seem to be a threat--or even present at all-- in Fairy Princess. They're not once brought up unless in past tense. Regellius brings up Flutterfield defeating them when that's not necessarily how it happens in the first movie(which she does point out but focuses more on the method than the outcome so it's still unclear). Yeah they succeed in driving them off, but if Mariposa's quest or the fact that they've been terrorizing the kingdom for centuries says anything, it's that there are probably way more hanging around than Henna's immediate army. I'm imagining a midquel where she manages to get the Skeezites to hold out for a little longer so she can get her Revenge Plan in, and Flutterfield deals with them for good.

[fictionadventurer]

I would like to publicly debate Mr. Andrew Peterson about his stance on endings please and thank you.

[crownrots]

↳ SIDE HOTD (2 /∞ ) 📜🏹 DYANNA THORNWOOD ── glass is only brittle until it breaks, then it's sharp. (x) (x) (x)

[airenyah]

today in my thai class:

i blame @killiru. i know for a fact it's her fault <3