#where do y'all think Rick came from?

[cantarella-if]

Ignore the fact that I'm mixing up blogs again and reblogging fandom stuff on here.

Also yes, I'm simping for Tom Sturridge's Sandman. What of it?

[rickmymanrick]

one rule | chapter seven

[rick grimes x original female character slowburn]

series masterlist

summary: the plan goes wrong. daphne and glenn find themselves in a precarious situation, but at least they have each other, right?

notes: double update. i couldn't help myself. i love this chapter so much for some reason. it just flows together so nicely to me. scratched my brain the right way.

also if you’d like to read a little bit of rick’s pov in the last chapter (6), be sure to check this out.

Glenn's POV

The plan was simple. It wasn't my walkie-talkie lying abandoned in the middle of the intersection, but I was the fastest out of the group.

If we wanted any chance at succeeding, it would have to be me.

And things were going as smoothly as possible, up until I turned into the alley I planned to meet Daryl in, finding a group of strangers instead.

"Who are you?" One of the men snapped immediately.

"Uh—um—" I had no idea what to say, wondering how to stall until Daryl got here. If shit hit the fan, the odds of me winning against three of them weren't high at all.

"He asked you a question, pendejo," said another one.

"He's got a gun," one of them observed quietly, nudging the burliest dude in interest.

Yeah and I'm about to use it on you fuckers if you try anything.

The fence behind me rattled dangerously and I twisted instinctively. The walkers had caught up, pushing against the gate in a chorus of groans.

The next movements happened too fast.

The back of my shirt was seized aggressively and I was thrown into the brick wall, my gun grabbed from my pocket and pointed against my temple.

One of the other guys grabbed my radio and showed it to the other curiously.

"Where did you get the gun, huh?" The guy who held me against the wall by the collar asked.

What the fuck do I say? What do I say? I panicked, a nervous sweat breaking out on my hairline. Where's Daryl?

"Where did you get the goddamn gun? There's gotta be more wherever they came from!" He clicked the safety off.

"Uh, I found it. On—on the road. There was just one." I lied horribly.

"He's lying," the guy with the radio sneered.

"Are you alone? Are there others?"

I thought of Daphne and how she had no clue how badly shit just hit the fan. "It's just me." I said quickly.

"I don't believe you, puto. Tell the truth before I blow your goddamn brains out!"

The fence creaked dangerously. I side-glanced, hoping it wouldn't collapse.

"I am," I winced at the harshness of the barrel.

"Glenn?"

Fuck. We all looked at the CB in the dude's hand, my heart dropping to my feet.

"Glenn, can you hear me?"

"Alone, huh?" He pressed his gun even harder and grabbed the radio from his friend. "Who the fuck is this?"

"Glenn, I'm at the store. We missed some things. Are you guys finished?"

Daph, for the love of God, shut the fuck up. Please.

"The store? Y'all found a place that hasn't been ransacked?"

I stayed silent.

"Listen to me, boy. I want you to answer her. No funny business. You understand me?" He curled his finger around the trigger.

"Okay," I gasped, watching as he brought the radio close to my mouth. He pressed the button.

"Daphne?" The first sign I hoped would give her a hint thatsomething was not right. I usually called her Daph. "Daphne, uh, we-we found Hector. Um, but I think he's with Shane."

We didn't even know a Hector. Before the fall or now. But these guys didn't know that.

"What?" She responded.

I made tense eye contact with the gunman.

"The signal must be cutting out. He's with S—Shane."

"Um, okay... can you meet me here? I think there's a good amount of things we can take back."

"Ask her where she's at," the buzzcut demanded.

"You're on the corner of Penn and Seventh, right?" I prayed to any force above that she wasn't a complete idiot.

"No, on the corner of Peachtree and Third. What the fuck is going on?"

I cringed instantly. She is an idiot.

The three men all stared at me blankly.

"I'm geologically challenged?" I winced, hoping he wouldn't shoot.

Keeping the gun pressed to my head, they began to drag me to the opposite end of the alleyway where there was a running car.

"HEY!"

Daryl came running down the alley all of a sudden, crossbow at the ready as he tried to figure out which guy to shoot at.

"Let's go!" The burly dude yelled, slamming the back door open.

Daryl got tackled by one of the smaller guys, a tussle breaking out on the concrete.

Quickly, I was thrown into the car before Daryl could break free. I watched as they willingly left the kid behind, shifting into drive.

"Let's check out this store."

Daphne's POV

I'm scared shitless.

I wasn't afraid to admit it. At least not out loud. I had no idea why I thought this would be the best option, and had less of an understanding why Glenn agreed with me.

At least Rick had the sense to disagree with the plan. Looking back, I should've just listened to him instead of being petty.

Still, I forced myself to hustle, crossing the empty streets of Atlanta with my heart in my throat.

I was alone. At first, it wasn't my preference but I didn't want to drag anyone on my side mission to retrieve our supplies we'd put aside yesterday. I knew exactly where to go and Glenn was the only one who could safely take the rest of the group back to Merle's rooftop.

I almost dropped to my knees in relief once I safely made it into the mini market tucked at the bottom of a large corporate building.

There was bound to be a few dead stragglers. They did invade this building yesterday. Creeping silently, I held my knife up (Rick gave it back to me before I left) and counted my breaths.

At 3, I lunged out behind the first aisle, ready to stab into walker skull.

There was only three and thankfully, they'd been dead for a while now. Slowly limping with flesh barely clinging to the bone. I could see their skeletons staring back at me, wasted away and rotting. Suppressing this morning's breakfast, I made quick work of the first one, stabbing into its head swiftly before the second one set its sights on me.

Its long hair swung as it turned towards the noise, limping at me with a broken leg. I grunted as it tried to grab onto me, forcing me to back away into the aisle, cans of food rolling by my feet.

"Shit," I hissed, its nails scratching the air beside me. I swung my bloody knife into its temple and grabbed one of the cans, chucking it at the last walker.

It smashed into its forehead, a chunk of skin and brittle bone falling off and effectively knocking it to the ground. Quickly, I stomped on the head without thinking, the crunch giving away to brain matter as it died beneath my foot.

I gagged as I pulled my foot out, shaking the slimy stuff off my shoe. After waiting in silence for a minute, I finally moved again. There was no sound but the rushing wind between the skyscrapers.

Fortunately, our pile of stuff was untouched. Piles of diphenhydramine, ibuprofen, antibiotics, vitamins. Packs of non-perishable food items.

I grabbed my CB, simultaneously stuffing all the medicine into my pack. "Glenn? Glenn, can you hear me?"

I was met with staticky silence. Undeterred, I readjusted some knobs.

"Glenn, I'm at the store. We missed some things. Are you guys finished?"

Dread began to fill me the longer I waited for a response.

"Daphne? Daphne, uh, we-we found Hector. Um, but I think he's with Shane."

I let out a sigh of relief before realizing what the fuck he just said.

"What?" I answered, wondering if he was on drugs.

"The—the signal must be cutting out. He's with S-Shane." Glenn's voice sounded distorted, shaky. Why did he sound so nervous?

Something definitely wasn't right. Unless I'm losing my marbles, Shane definitely threw a hissy fit and stayed at camp and we don't know a single person named Hector.

"Um, okay..." I tried to think of what to say. Were we being listened to? "Can you meet me here? I think there's a good amount of things we can take back."

It took a little longer for Glenn to respond this time. I clutched the walkie in confusion.

"You're on the corner of Penn and Seventh, right?"

"No, on the corner of Peachtree and Third. What the fuck is going on?" In hindsight I probably should have went along with what he was saying, but I got fed up and I'm clearly an idiot.

Silence.

"Glenn?"

I looked at the CB, banging it against my thigh but still there was nothing but static. I rolled my eyes, knowing Glenn can handle his own if nothing else. He'd meet me here.

I went back to the aisle where I'd left the corpses, stepping over the mess of guts and brains. I did two rounds, making a nice pile of Chef Boyardee next to the rest of our supplies.

My arms were aching as I looked down at all the stuff proudly.

"Hands up."

I jolted in surprise, feeling the cold barrel of a gun at the base of my neck.

I did as I instructed, heart pounding against my chest. I didn't know what was worse— finding another walker in here or this.

"Turn around slowly. I wanna see those hands."

I tried not to make any sudden movements, not wanting to die at 23.

Standing before me was a man with buzzed hair, tanned skin and a scowl etched on his lips. He stared at me behind his pistol, just as another man came through the broken windows on the other side of the store.

"She gave herself away," the other one snickered, stepping over the walkers and heading toward the pile behind me.

A horrible thought crossed my mind and I was paralyzed in fear of what they'd do to me.

"You play nice and I won't have to pull this trigger, preciosa."

We waited in tense silence as the other guy stuffed all the canned food in a large sack.

"Other guy had a gun. Check her too."

Other guy? They must have Glenn, Rick or T-Dog.

I made the connections in my head as he patted me down for any weapons, taking my trusty knife that was covered in walker blood.

Glenn sounded nervous, not at all his usual self minutes ago. These assholes must've taken him and tracked me through the CB. Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

"Alright, lights out, princess."

Alarmed, I looked up at the gunman before he swung the gun against my temple hard enough to knock me out.

My head was throbbing as I regained consciousness.

"What the fuck just happened?" I groaned, rubbing my temple and trying to adjust my sensitive eyes to the brightness of wherever I found myself.

"Hey, welcome back to the world of the living."

I pushed myself up into a seated position, giving myself whiplash as I spun to look at Glenn.

He was on the ground next to me, looking as roughed up as I felt.

"What happened?" I demanded, bringing him into a quick embrace. At least he was alive. "Where are we?"

We were in a room with four white walls, empty aside from an empty medical cart and a window that was barred up. The floor was surprisingly clean.

"We ran into some guys. They took my gun. I guess their plan is to lure the others so they can steal the rest of them."

"Fuck," I threw my head down into my hands. "I practically baited them over the walkie, huh? Guns and supplies."

"Yeah," sighed Glenn. He looked utterly defeated, staring at the wall with pure regret.

The door suddenly swung open and in came the same guy that knocked me out. Two other guys came in after him.

My muscles tensed.

"Your little friends are here," he sneered at us before turning to one of the dudes. "Hermano, get them tied up."

I knew better than to try to fight back. I'm pretty sure I'm concussed.

Hastily, they put sacks over our heads and tied cloth over our mouths, the world becoming distorted and incredibly itchy on the eyelids. They tied around our hands, hoisting us up and dragging us out.

I tried to gather as much information as I could, listening for any unusual sounds but the men who were dragging us were too damn loud. Talking about a kid named Miguel and 'some hillbilly.'

Daryl.

I didn't know whether to feel relieved or even more terrified that they were here. God knows how many of them were in this group. How many were loaded with weapons.

A door slammed open ahead of us and suddenly the piercing Atlanta sun beamed onto our bodies, wind whipping my air around. The hand around my arm tightened, halting our walk.

"Oye!" I heard from... below?

I was dragged a few paces before the bag was roughly snatched off my head, a few strands of my hair along with it.

The sun beat mercilessly into my eyes but it wasn't the first thing I noticed.

It was the three story fall that awaited me half a step away.

I gasped against the gag, feeling the man behind me push me forward threateningly. My eyes scanned the scene below.

Daryl and Rick stood in the courtyard, weapons raised, across from a large group of armed men. I found Rick's gaze first, his eyes wide in fear. His grip on the pistol slipped the tiniest bit before his eyes hardened in anger and his lips twisted into a scowl.

He turned back toward who I assumed was the guy behind this entire operation.

"I see two options. You come back with Miguel and the rest of your arsenal. Everybody walks. Or you come back locked and loaded, we'll see which side spills more blood."

The leader looked up and I followed his gaze to find T-Dog on one of the rooftops, aiming a long-distance gun at his head.

Rick kept his gun up, his gaze once more flickering between Glenn and I before resting on me.

I wanted to shake my head and tell him to go back to camp. But my captor was holding the back of my head steady.

Our eyes remained locked for what felt like minutes before Daryl began to tug the back of his collar, slowly retreating from the courtyard.

His eyes stayed on mine until they reached the doorway and the doors were promptly shut.

"Alright, the theatrics are over," the guy who held my arm said with a sigh and loosened his grip significantly. I threw him a confused look over my shoulder as he walked me back toward the door, leading me down a staircase and taking us back to our empty room.

"I'm sorry for all the manhandling but we needed to make sure y'all weren't a threat."

Glenn and I both looked up with a startle, the leader of the group was standing in front of us looking genuinely apologetic.

"Nope," I said weakly. "Just mildly concussed."

"And you?" He looked at Glenn.

"Uh, mildly terrified."

The guy laughed and the hairs on my body stood up. It wasn't common to hear something like that nowadays.

"Look, my name is Guillermo, but everyone around here calls me G. We don't wanna hurt you guys."

"Didn't seem that way earlier," I said. "I got smacked in the temple."

"You know how it is. If you've stayed alive this long, you know you gotta protect your own."

I did understand. But I didn't believe we were in the clear here. This is the first group we've encountered since the world went to shit. Who knows what they've done to survive?

"Look, if your friends make the deal or not, you can stay here. You seem like decent people." He said with a shrug. "We need the muscle. You'll see what I mean soon enough."

I shared a glance with Glenn.

We in fact did see what he meant. My throat went dry as he led us out of the room, our hands finally untied. I stuck close to Glenn, keeping a hand wrapped around the bottom of his shirt.

This was a nursing home. Elderly people lived in each room, some in hospital beds, some playing board games with each other, others knitting.

"Are you kidding?" I asked without malice. "You had us thinking you were all some mafia."

"Appearances," Guillermo shrugged. "Hey, Judy. You doing alright?" He asked an older lady as we passed by. She waved at him with an adorable toothless smile.

"I'm hoping we can talk about those weapons you got."

We stopped at the end of the hallway, all three of us facing each other and I made brief eye contact with Glenn. Out of the both of us, I was the better liar.

"Look, what you've seen is what we've got. The guy in the cop uniform brought a small bag of weapons with him from his precinct. A few pistols, a revolver, and a rifle." It wasn't the complete truth but it wasn't a complete lie either. That was what we brought with us on this mission. Everything else was at the camp.

"That's it?" He looked unimpressed. "He didn't grab anything else?"

"It was just him. I guess that was all he could take on him."

"Where were you?"

"He joined us later on. He's from the outskirts of Georgia. He was looking for his family."

"Did he find 'em?"

"No," I lied, not fully trusting this random man. I made it a point to look disappointed, like I felt bad for Rick.

He looked disappointed as well, but likely not for the same reason. I felt a little bad for them. I could see that they weren't bad people, they'd stayed behind to care for the elderly. I could respect that.

"Y'all can make yourselves useful for now. We could use the extra help," he said.

"Uh, sure," Glenn glanced at me. I nodded at him in agreement. "What can we do?"

We ended up on housekeeping duty— checking in on the patients and making sure they weren't missing things like clean towels, soaps, blankets. Anything of that sort. I could tell we weren't being threatened anymore. In fact, the elderly seemed delighted to see us, even more so when they realized I also spoke Spanish like some of them.

My heart felt lighter than it had in weeks, my cheeks aching from how many smiles I'd handed out to all the grandmas and grandpas that greeted us warmly. No one was giving us strange or mean looks, there was not a weapon in sight.

Everything was going smoothly until one of the abuelitas came running down the hall, clutching our wrists and pulling us along with a panicked look.

"Can you help us? Mr Gilbert, he's having trouble breathing! Carlito can't find his asthma stuff!"

"We'll try, ma'am," said Glenn politely. She took us into a large room, people huddled around a hyperventilating man. We rushed over.

"I'm going to find Felipe! He—he knows where the medicine is!" She hobbled off quickly.

She returned in a few minutes, but it seemed like it had been seconds. I'd been distracted looking in every nook and cranny for an inhaler.

Felipe, the asshole that took all our chef boyardee, stood by Mr Gilbert, whipping out an inhaler and bringing it to the elderly man's lips.

Glenn and I gave each other a relieved look.

"What the hell is this?"

My head shot over to the back of the group, finding Rick standing there with a perplexed look. My eyebrows rose in confusion and surprise.

"An asthma attack," Glenn answered, barely sparing him a glance. "Couldn't get his breath all of a sudden."

"I thought you were being eaten by dogs, man," exclaimed T-Dog angrily.

Rick scanned me from head to toe before turning toward Guillermo. I tuned out most of their conversation, walking over to T-Dog and placing a grateful hand on his shoulder.

I knew it couldn't have been easy getting in here. Despite these people being mostly passive, they were still heavily armed. I don't even know why they want any more guns.

I gave Daryl a nod and then walked over to Rick, staying close as he followed Guillermo to the same room they put us in before.

"What about the rest of your crew?" Rick asked.

"The vatos trickle in to check on their parents, their grandparents. They see how things are and most decide to stay. It's a good thing too, we need the muscle. The people we've encountered since things fell apart. The worse kind— plunderers. The kind that take by force."

"That's not who we are," said Rick firmly.

"How was I to know? My people got attacked and you show up with Miguel hostage. Appearances."

"I guess the world changed," T-Dog mumbled.

"No, it's the same as it ever was. The weak get taken. So we do what we can here. The vatos work on those cars. Talk about getting the old people out of the city. But most can't even get to the bathroom by themselves so that's just a dream. Still, it keeps the crew busy. That's worth something. So we barred all the windows, welded all the doors shut, except for one entrance. The vatos, they go out. Scavenge what they can to keep us going. We watch the perimeter night and day and we wait. The people here— they all look to me now. I don't even know why."

"Because they can," Rick said, handing Guillermo a rifle and a pistol before turning around and unexpectedly grabbing me by the wrist. I startled, looking up at him in alarm. He didn't even spare me a glance, instead leading me out into the hallway where we encountered Felipe and the other guy that knocked me out.

Just the reminder made me glare at them, rubbing my temple with my free hand. My other hand was hyperaware of Rick's warm grip.

It was silent for a moment as we stared each other down. Then he reached back and the guy who knocked me out handed him my pack. Felipe offered it to me slowly and I took it. In it— the children multivitamins and about half of the medicine we'd scavenged.

None of the cans of food though.

"Fine, keep all the chef boyardees," I grumbled, instantly annoyed once again.

"Oye, yo no te crié así!" Felipe's grandmother cried, appearing all of a sudden to give him a solid whack in the side. "En mi hogar se..."

The man gave her a halfhearted glare, rubbing his ribs tenderly.

She raised her little wrinkly hand again.

"Se comparte," he said quickly with a sigh as he took the small plastic bag she was holding. I could see the fondness in his eyes as he looked back at his abuela.

"Thanks," Rick said, his grip on my wrist tightening ever so slightly as he leaned forward to grab a few cans. He shoved them into my bag.

"Alright, well this was cool but I'd rather we go now," I quietly told Rick, leaning up on my toes to get closer.

"Yeah, yeah," he finally looked at me now. His eyes dropped to our hands as if he hadn't realized he'd been holding on the whole time. Slowly, he dropped my arm, looking back up into my eyes. My breath hitched in my throat, cheeks burning slightly as I looked at his pale blue eyes. I'd never been this close to him other than the hug he'd given me yesterday.

"I'm glad you're okay," he told me as we let the rest of the group lead us out, falling to the back easily. There was this underlying need for privacy, as if our conversation was sort of intimate.

"Thanks for coming back for us," I told him with a serious look. "You could've just gone back to camp but you stayed."

Rick gave me an incredulous look. "Like I'd leave you."

We weren't anything to each other. We weren't even friends. Just former coworkers. But the way he said that made my heart flip in my chest.

Stupid emotions. Stupid, stupid crush. I felt like a giddy teenager.

Feeling a little brave, I placed a hand on his forearm. "Thank you," I looked him in the eyes, trying to convey just how grateful I was.

Maybe Guillermo would've let us go with or without Rick's interference but without any weapons or a vehicle, there was little chance we'd have made it back to camp alive.

I couldn't stay here and leave Shane, Lori or Carl behind. Even if Glenn was with me because I knew he felt the same. We'd all grown to care about each other, despite how many times I deny it. Glenn isn't the only important person in my life anymore.

We were all, like it or not, a family now.

"You don't have to thank me, ever." He grabbed a pistol tucked into the back of his belt loop and offered it to me smoothly.

I eyed it and then accepted with a small smile. "Tha—"

I cut myself off as Rick rose his eyebrows. His previous words repeated in my head.

"Sorry," I whispered, pocketing the gun with a wider smile and taking my hand off his arm.

Both smiling like blithering idiots, we rushed to catch up with the rest of the crew, heading back to reality.

"Hey, wait," I said loudly as we walked outside. "Where the fuck is Merle?"

taglist: @lovelyygirl8 @aleemendoza2425-blog @catlalice @ho3forchr1sevans

i wrote a little rick pov for chapter six if you'd like to check it out :)

[smutinlove]

You were my light (Part 3)

Carl Grimes x Reader

Warnings: Angst, reader says bad bad shit to carl, depressing stuff, mentions of killing (let me know what I missed)

☽ Author's note☾ Oh, God. This one is really messed up. And I think y'all will see why. There's also a few Taylor Swift references cause why the hell not? Anyway. Back to the messed up shit. SO. Uh, don't hate me but the messed up shit is yk really messed up. Oh god. I'm scared. DO NOT STEAL, COPY, OR TRANSLATE MY WORK.

Thank you for reading! Reblogs, likes, and comments are very much appreciated!

Part 1

Part 2

Part 4

Part 5

≿━━༺❀༻━━≾

Summary - The daughter of the now dead Negan Smith is walking in the woods. She thought she was alone. But she wasn't.

❝ I didn't have it in myself to go with grace 'Cause when I'd fight, you used to tell me I was brave And if I'm dead to you, why are you at the wake? Cursing my name, wishing I stayed Look at how my tears ricochet ❞

≿━━༺❀༻━━≾

And then they "detained" you for being violent. So, no. Your plan to kill Carl Grimes did not end well.

And, for everyone's safety, they moved you into a white room, far away from the Alexandrians, but still in Alexandria.

The bed was white, the floor was white, the chair was white, the table was white, the door was white—I think you understand what I mean.

Slowly, you were going insane. White, white, white.

You felt like you were going to have another panic attack. Which was not good.

Maybe you were dreaming. Maybe you were imagining it all. Carl, Rick, the saviors, your dad, Alexandria—all of it was just a dream. But it wasn't.

And you knew that.

The truth sucks, doesn't it?

"Knock, knock. It's me, sweetheart." The door opened, and you saw your least favorite person, Carl fucking Grimes, holding a plate of food.

It was dinner already, huh? Time flies when you're fucking stupid enough to get captured by the 'enemy.'

"Can you stop calling me... that?"

He laughed. "No, I don't think I will. And I like making you all mad and pissed off, sweetheart."

He placed the plate of food on the table and sat down on your bed. "Fuck, this is so comfy! I might just sleep here," he joked.

"Can you stop?"

"Can you loosen up a little? I'm messin' with ya, babe." It was sickening. 'Babe.' What is this? 2010? It might as well be.

"Just leave," you muttered. "Oh, but where's the fun in that, huh?" He got up from your bed.

He walked over to you. "My, you are so beautiful, darling," he complimented. Carl planted a kiss on your cheek. "You like that, don't you? You like my touch. You secretly adore me, baby. I just know it!"

Don't give in. Or... maybe. No!

You slapped him. "What the fuck!" You heard.

He was taken aback. "You fucking bitch! You slapped me!"

You rolled your eyes. "Oh, wait, I did? Oh, Carl! I am so sorry. Do you want me to do it again?" You snickered. That motherless son of a bitch deserved it. He had been horrible to you. He fed you dog food!

"You deserve it. I hate you! You think you're so fucking cool. But you're not, Carl. Go... kill yourself or... whatever."

Without another word, Carl quietly left. And then you realized what you'd said. "Oh, my God."

You did not mean that. Sure, you wanted to kill Carl. You hated him. But telling him to kill himself was messed up. "Fuck, fuck..." You whispered as a tear slipped down your cheek.

"I'm—" You couldn't even form a proper sentence. "God, what have I done?"

≿━━༺❀༻━━≾

"Carl!" Rick called out. "Carl!"

"Get back here!" Rick shouted. Carl finally stopped and turned around. "What?"

Rick looked at him in surprise. "Carl, are you—you're not. Son..." He brought Carl into a hug, and he sobbed into his father's shoulder.

"Dad..." He cried out. "I know, son. I know."

≿━━༺❀༻━━≾

Carl never came back. It was always Rick, Daryl, or a woman named Rosita. Sometimes, you'd just glare at the plate of food they'd bring you.

It was better than dog food, but you missed Carl, his stupid jokes, his gorgeous face, and his taunting smile, but you would never admit that. Never.

"You hurt him a lot, Y/N," You heard a woman say. It wasn't the Hispanic woman, and it sure as hell wasn't Rick or Daryl. You had seen her before, during the war. But you never heard her speak, and you barely saw her.

The woman in front of you had a sweet smile on her face. "What?" You finally said.

"Carl. You hurt him a lot. I don't know what happened between you too, but that was a horrible thing to say, you know?" She explained.

You scoffed, but it was true—it was horrible. What you said was cruel and stupid. "What? Are you his mom or something?" You laughed.

"Don't," she warned. "I'm gonna bring you to him. And I want you to apologize for whatever you said, okay?" The woman said sweetly.

"No."

"It wasn't a question. You will apologize to Carl. But first, eat," she ordered. The woman stared at you. She was waiting for you to pick up the spoon and eat.

And you did just that.

You finished eating. "Happy?"

The woman chuckled. "Very."

≿━━༺❀༻━━≾

She let you out of the room, and it felt great to finally leave. You looked up at the blue sky. You missed this life. Alexandria felt like a dream. It was so magical. It was like the old world, but it also wasn't. It was different.

The people here were scarred and broken, but they hid those scars with happy smiles and went on with their day like everything was normal. That no one died.

Pathetic.

The house with the yellow door. You were dying to see how this would end.

You stared at the door. "Knock," she ordered. You sighed and knocked on the door. "I'm Carol, by the way."

"Nice to meet you, Carol." You smiled.

She left, leaving you standing on the porch of the house with a yellow door. The door opened. "Hey—what?" Cold.

Torture. Love. Warn.

"I'm—" You put on a brave face and stared into Carl's eyes, well, eye. "I'm sorry, Carl. I was horrible, and what I said was not acceptable, and—"

"I've heard enough."

"Carl, I am sorry. I—"

"I know. Go," he demanded.

≿━━༺❀༻━━≾

Some of the Alexandrians, one of whom was Rick, were starting to lose hope in you. But Carol vouched for you. She begged Rick to let you stay.

Now, you could walk freely in the streets of Alexandria. A part of you wanted to run away. Alexandria was weird. People pretending to be okay.

You pretended to be okay.

Look. Dream. See.

Thing. Crash. Look. Style. Walk.

Dreamt. Crashed. Watched. Stunned. Walked.

Okay...

Fine.

Free.

The safety of Alexandria was something you wouldn't take for granted. But after being out there for so long, you just wanted to run. Run away from everything.

Carl avoided you. But it seemed like there was another reason why he was avoiding you. But hell, you couldn't just march up to him and ask, "Hey, why are you avoiding me?" You could not do that. You would not.

Sweet smile. So right. Arms. December night.

...

Part 4?

[fields-of-grimes]

Kiss and Makeup  | Carl Grimes  Fights Part 3

Carl Grimes x Fem!Reader

CW: strong language

----------------------------

You woke up around mid afternoon, you had a restless night. Sleeping seemed hard now since you didn’t have Carl cuddles, you got out of bed and got ready for the day, when you got downstairs you saw the group on the couches, you said hey to everyone but your eyes were looking for one person,Carl. “Where’s Carl?” You asked looking at Rick, “he said he didn’t want to come, he’s been in his room since he found you.” He said making your heart drop, you excused yourself from the house and booked it straight to Carl’s. You made it to his room and knocked on his door.

“Go away! I don’t wanna see anyone!” He screamed through his sobs, you sighed and closed your eyes. “Not even me?” You asked, and almost laughed at the sounds of stuff falling over as he ran to the door. The lock quickly unlocked as the door swung open. “Carl..” You said as you saw that his once bright blue eyes were now a dull grey. “Why are you here?” He asked trying to sound hateful but you knew he was glad to see you.

“I wanted to see you, see if maybe we could talk?” You asked as you walked into his room and sat on his bed. “Talk about what?” He asked closing the door and looking at you. “Us.” You said as you rubbed your arm looking down.

You heard him sigh as he sat next to you. “Thought there wasn’t an us anymore.” He said as you looked at him. “I just needed some time to think Carl. I mean, you told me you wished your dad never found me, all because i was trying to comfort you. Do you know how bad that hurt? Hearing the person you love more than anything say that to you?” You said before looked away from him. He sighed as he cupped your face making you look at him, “I told you i didn’t mean it forgive me please.” He said with a pleading look. You smiled “Kiss and Makeup.” You said as you kissed him, when you two kissed it felt like sparks went off, everything felt right in the world again, there wasn’t any death or walkers, just you and Carl.

After you two made up, you both walked to Glenn and Maggie’s, cheers came from everyone. You saw Glenn throw a candy bar at Daryl, you looked at Daryl confused. “Glenn’s mad he lost the bet on how long it would take for y'all’s damn romance novel to continue.” Daryl said making you laugh, and give Carl a side hug, everything was back to the way it was.

----------------------------

Why is throwing a candy bar something Glenn would've actually done

[miamorpm]

happiest - shane walsh x fem ! reader

you are rick's younger sister and he is very protective over you. you have always had shane around you growing up, because he is a friend of your brothers. you had always had a crush on him, it developed over the years. rick doesn't like this.

au : you are roughly around 22/23.

y/n's pov

i sat on a rock next the the river, i was trying to get a tan. it was scorching out today and, even in a zombie apocalypse, i wanted a tan. i opened my eyes and looked around camp, everyone was getting on with whatever they had to do. dale was on top of the RV, lori and carol were teaching sophia and carl, daryl was working on merle's motorbike, rick and shane were sitting around talking about old times. as i was looking around, i happened to catch shane's eye. i blushed slightly and waved at the two of them.

"hey y/n, why don't you come over?" rick said, smiling back. i nodded and walked over to them. "what y'all talking about?" i said, sitting beside shane. "you know, old times." shane said, smiling. i nodded. "remember when you went to that party, got shitfaced. we came to pick you up and you started dancing on the cop car?" rick said, laughing. "no, we agreed that we would never mention that night ever again!" i said, laughing but also embarrassed.

"oh god, man. that was so funny!" shane said, laughing. i hit his arm to try get him to stop laughing at me, it didn't work. he looked over at me and winked. i sank down in my chair and blushed, heavily. rick never saw this though. 

time skip!

everyone was sat around the campfire, eating dinner. i was sat beside lori and carol, shane was sitting in front of me. as i talked with carol, i felt eyes on me. carol's eyes flicked over to shane then back to me. "you know you've got a little admirer over there." she whispered to me, nodding her head over to shane. i looked over and saw shane looking at me with a smirk on his face. i couldn't help but smile. 'how can he be so hot? oh my god'. i turned back to carol, "you can't tell anyone this, especially not lori. i really like him. i know it's weird because he's my brother's best friend but i have liked him for ages." i gushed. 

carol was smiling, "i think he feels the same about you." i shook my head, "no way, really?" she nodded. "by the fact that he hasn't looked away from you shows that he really does like you." she said. i smiled, "maybe he does." i got really excited, 'i hope he does, i've liked him for years.' 

i noticed that lori had moved, i think she went to her tent. shane had got up to put his tub into the RV, he also brought out a blanket. he came over to where i was sitting and moved the chair beside me over a little bit, he unfolded the blanket and placed it over me and him. "you looked cold, i thought you would appreciate a blanket." i smiled, "thank you shane." 

when shane had done this, i noticed rick give him a weird look but shane never noticed this. 

no one's pov

after a while, everyone started to go to bed. the only people left infront of the campfire was shane and y/n. they were talking and laughing. y/n started to get really tired, she started to lean her head on shane's shoulder. "come on, we should get you to bed." shane said. she grumbled, "carry me." y/n said.

shane chuckled, "okay, just this once." he got up and carried y/n bridal style to her tent. no one had noticed that rick had his tent slightly unzipped so he could keep an eye on shane and y/n. he was so protective of her. shane, carefully, placed y/n inside her tent, making sure to cover her up with the blanket. she smiled, "thank you shaney."

he blushed at her words, "your welcome." he leaned over her and kissed her forehead. she smiled again and quickly fell into a deep sleep.

time skip!

y/n's pov

i woke up, the sun was shining through my tent. i remember last night, talking and laughing with shane. i smiled to myself at the memories. i got out of my tent and stretched. i was one of the only people awake. "y/n, can i talk to you?" rick said, he didn't seem to be in the best moods. i nodded, he led me over to the start of the forest.

"is there something happening between you and shane?" he asked. i shook my head, "and don't lie to me." he said, his temper started to become apparent. "nothings happening between us." he shook his head, "then what was all last night about? the blanket, the staying up talking, him carrying you to bed? hmm?" he always acted like this when any boy had my attention, he was very protective and i had enough of it.

i started to get angry, "i like him, a lot actually. i know you won't like it, you never do. i get your being protective and i really appreciate it sometimes, but i hate it sometimes as well. every single time i have a crush or boyfriend, they always have to be up to your standards. i'm sick of it. i like him so much and last night, he made me the happiest i've been in a while." rick looked at me in shock. "let me be happy." i said, looking rick in the eyes. i started to walk away to the water.

all eyes were on me or rick. shane had got up and followed along behind me. "hey y/n, you alright?" i nodded, "yeah, i need to tell you something." he nodded and say down beside me next to water.

"i like you a lot, and i have liked you for years. i didn't want to say anything because of rick and how he reacts. i understand if you don't feel the-" i was cut off with shane kissing me.

"i've liked you for a while too, y/n."

[fandompolycule]

Rick Sanchez X ED Reader

TW: ED

Disclaimer: This is not meant to romanticize ED's, it is meant to be comfort for those who struggle with ED's. THIS FIC WILL NOT BE FOR EVERYONE.

Since your parents died in a tragic accident you moved in with your uncle Jerry and his family, including his father-in-law.

Things were shaky at first between you and the scientist, him hating you as he expected very little from you as Jerry's niece, and you hating him for his overall dickish attitude.

However, over time, you two came to realize there was more than what met the eye in each other and though neither of you would admit it to yourselves, you had developed feelings for one another.

So when Rick noticed your dramatic decline in weight, he became suspicious, watching your every move carefully through narrowed eyes of suspicion, especially around food.

Until one day he decided to finally address his suspicions after believing he had garnered enough evidence. He made his way to your room in the basement and opened up your door without knocking.

"Rick? What are you doing?" You asked surprised to see him in your room.

He casually leaned in your doorway, hands in his pockets, before moving over to your bed and having a seat. He took a swig from his flask and burped before speaking, "S-so, h-how long did you th-think you where going to k-keep this a s-secret for?"

You appeared flustered, "What do you mean?"

"Oh, come on. I-I'm not an idiot, (y/n). You're about as inconspicuous as S-Summer s-sneaking out." There was a brief pause as you refused to speak, feeling a mixture of shame and guilt. "L-Look, y-you don't have to t-talk to me, b-but you c-can't k-keep this up. Y-you're b-body is going to give out e-eventually."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

As the days turned to weeks and the weeks turned to months, Rick noticed your condition only getting worse. He had ignored your condition himself, knowing you'd only get help when you're ready, but he progressively became more and more enraged by what you were doing to yourself. Anymore, he couldn't stand to look at you because how did this once strong, smart, capable woman become this frail and dazed?

He began to think you're weak, just like Jerry. You do share DNA with him after all. How did you go from being like him, to being like Jerry? Maybe, you were never really like him at all. Maybe you were always like Jerry. He cursed himself for ever allowing himself to fall for someone so incompetent and weak.

"What kind of 'intelligent' life form purposely denies itself the very sustenance that keeps it alive?" He thought to himself.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

One day you were in the garage helping Rick build a gadget, when you dropped a vial, shattering it on the ground, as you fainted and fell on the shards.

You awoke on the sofa, bandaged up with Summer by your side.

"What the hell, grandpa? She could've gotten seriously hurt!" Summer shouted.

"What the hell me? No, what the hell you. It's her own damn fault and y'all are just watching her *burp* get worse every day!" He shouted back.

Just then, Jerry walked in with a sandwich and a banana and offered it to you, hoping to bring your sugar levels back up.

"Oh no, Jerry. That may scare her. Looks like it's too much for her to handle."

"Dad, why are you being so mean to her? Look at the poor girl, she's clearly not feeling well."

Rick looked at his daughter in disbelief. "A-am I really the only one who sees what's going on here?"

"Well, whatever it is, you two better get this straightened out, cause we're a family and we're going to act like one even if it kills us." Beth paused, "Now I'm going to be late for work. When I get back I expect everyone to at least be acting like one big happy family."

Soon Beth and Jerry cleared the room as well.

You sat up and sipped the apple juice box Jerry left on the table for you after checking the calorie content. Your voice was barely a whisper when you spoke, "I'm sorry, Rick. I didn't mean to drop it."

"You think that's what I c-care about?! God, how d-dense are you? Wait, don't answer that. You're J-Jerry's niece, that explains it. I-I can get a million of those vials." He paused, "Do you r-really not see the problem here?" You wearily shook your head 'no' feigning ignorance. "*Burps* J-Jesus, are you really that dense or have you just starved your body to the point it's beginning to consume your brain?"

Your eyes stung with tears. Why was he being so mean to you? You thought you all had moved past this. You thought you may have even had something special. But, no, he's still the same old jerk he was before. You threw the blanket and fled to your room in tears, flinging yourself on the mattress and sobbing into your pillow.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Later, in the garage, Rick and Morty were working on the gadget again and could hear your sobs from beneath the floor.

"G-Geez, Rick. She sounds pretty upset. D-do you think you should m-maybe, I don't know, a-apologize?"

"Apologize? For what? Her own lack of ability to take care of herself. L-Listen M-Morty, in this w-world i-it's eat or be eaten, a-and she's chosen not to eat, and the n-natural *burp* c-consequence of that is to be e-eaten."

"Jesus, Rick! That's b-brutal!"

Rick shrugged. "It's the l-laws of n-nature."

"Y-you r-really sh-shouldn't be so harsh on her. Sh-she's really sick. Sh-she's tr-trying h-her best you know. G-give her a b-break." He paused. "I-I'm going to go check on her "

With Rick being left alone in the garage, he thought about Morty's words, feeling remorseful for his actions. He set the gadget aside and hopped in his car and flew off.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It had been a week since anyone had seen or heard from Rick. Beth was becoming concerned that her father wasn't coming back and had abandoned her again and meanwhile you were comforted by Summer and Morty. You had reached out to Rick's friends trying to find out where he is, but to no avail.

You were sitting in your room, watching telly at two in the morning, cuddled with a giant stuffed bear that Rick had won for you at Blips and Chitz when your door swung open.

Rick approached silently and left a bottle of blue liquid on your nightstand and headed back towards the door without a word.

You sat up and looked at him, "What's this?".

"Drink it. *Burp* It'll make you feel better." You continued to stare at him and he realised you weren't going to take a sip without further information. "I-I was t-too harsh on you e-earlier. I-I know your s-s-sick." He paused, "I-I c-can't c-claim *burp* to u-understand what y-you're going th-through, b-but I want you to g-get b-b-better." He paused again. "I-I-It's a s-serum from an al-alternate dimension. I-it w-won't c-cure you, but it's enough to k-keep you physically h-healthy and ease the h-hunger pains w-while we g-get you h-help."

You gave him a soft smile and drank the serum. He gave a soft smile back before putting his hands in his pockets. "I-I'll *burp* be in the garage if you n-need me."

"....Rick?" he turned to look at you and you stopped to think about what you wanted to say to him and all that could come out was, "Thank you."

Disclaimer: This story is written the way it is because I feel like Rick doesn't really care about most things until it's in its later and more dire stages, then he puts his guard up as he feels out of control of the situation, and then he inevitably comes around to acceptance and forgiveness.

[fearlessinger]

I watched the Mark Oshiro interview and noted down the rrverse-relevant passages for y'all

(I would rec watching the vid in its entirety if you have time to kill; Mark is super charming and thoughtful, just like I remembered them from their "Mark Watches" days, and says a lot of interesting stuff abt writing and the publishing industry in general)

– Rick had the full outline ready: major arcs & themes figured out already

– there’s stuff in the outline Rick had been planning for years, he had it sitting for a while

– Rick sought Mark out specifically, then Mark was asked to “audition” by writing the first 3 chapters that would be later seen by various ppl including some of the Disney publishing ppl. Mark decided to tweak/change some stuff. Kept 90% of the outline changed a 10%. They felt they needed to figure out/visualize things that weren’t in Rick’s outline, that were left unspecified there (the way Mark talks abt it, it feels like it’s mainly worldbuilding/lore stuff they are talking abt). Mark says Becky Riordan was very helpful with this, she knows the canon deets better than Rick.

– Rick wanted Mark to write first draft bc even tho the story is Rick’s, he wanted it to be told through an authentically queer perspective, with the nuance and sensibility that he as a straight man doesn’t feel capable of understanding/conveying.

– There’s things in the final draft that Oshiro decided to leave to Rick bc they felt Rick knew the characters better

– Oshiro talks abt the reactions of the ppl who have read the quasi final drafts and how one of the Disney editors said the book was for rrverse fans “like Spiderman No Way Home was for spiderman fans”, meaning this is a book that respects the identity these characters have built through the prev books and the history they have while still managing to take them somewhere new, which is exactly what Mark was trying to accomplish, and which they say “Rick is deeply thoughtful about. He cares a lot.” – Mark wanted to give these characters their due and also (said in a lighthearted but also clearly committed & passionate manner) make the gayest Percy Jackson book ever published

– talks a bit about an upcoming horror YA book of theirs and calls it “the fist dual pov book I’ve written”. The book comes out march 2023, it seems likely Mark’s started working on this before the solangelo book so… probably means nothing re: whose pov solangelo is told from?

– Mark thinks Rick has the ability to inject levity in extremely dark moments without lowering the intensity/stakes, which is essential when writing for middle graders while still wanting to take the story to emotionally challenging places, but very few authors can do it as well and as effectively (I AGREE)

– there’s a scene in the solangelo book where Mark kinda wrote themselves into a corner bc it was too scary and they realized it might not fly for the intended readership “and then I thought of the silliest way to deflate the terror” and they are very proud of that bc they feel they captured the quintessential Riordan tone. Bc the PJO books are great and complex and telling important stories etc but quote: “they’re fucking weird as hell” too.

– Mark actually only started reading the saga in 2018. Read them all in a week and was like the Lady Gaga meme. At the time they feel like they were only missing TON (if this was 2018 they were missing TTT too so either they are misremembering the year they read them in, or that they were missing TTT too). They reread them all when TON came out, and twice again last year.

– “the best time to start reading Percy Jackson is always.”

– They know it’s cheesy but their fave char from the moment he was introduced was Nico, and there’s a big reason for it that Mark can’t talk about bc it’s stuff that is in the solangelo book. It’s plot spoilers. Mark will be free to say it when the press tour for the book starts. (This seems contradictory tbh but it is how Mark explains it)

– They like Annabeth and Grover a lot

– “My favorite surprise character that at the beginning I was like ‘ehhhhh’ and at the end I was like ‘I would die for him’ was Apollo.”

– after reading series 1 Mark was like how are there 10 more of these where can this story possibly go, and then Rick did “a thing” (no spoilers) in series 2 that made the narrative world bigger, and then he did “another thing” in series 3 that concerns the character of Apollo, “and Apollo grew on me so much”, he goes “from the most annoying character on the face of the planet who judges everyone around to ‘all of these demigods are my children and I will murder for them’, it’s just incredible to watch that whole thing happen. Which means I also love Meg, and I love Meg’s growth too”

– there’s another character too that Mark loves and feels deserved the spotlight so they put them in the new book. “We don’t talk abt them enough” (Mark’s kinda joking as they say this, tho the love feels sincere)

– Mark’s godly parent would be Hades whom they liked in the PJ books but also always liked in general and share an aesthetic with

[heartsbreaking]

someone mentioned this as a potential plot once and i said no to it back then but apparently it lived in the back of my mind, i wrote a lil short oneshot type thing about it at like 2am last night.

i was hesitant to post it cause some of y'all can't be mature and recognize people can write deeply fucked up dynamic without approving of it or romanticizing it.

i only write kat and carl romantically with one person, so don't come asking me about that aspect of this piece cause that's not gonna happen. it was just the lens i chose to write this through

to clarify: i am looking for ne.gan writers for an alternate verse, and people who'd be willing to write in a world where this plot happened. i am not making this canon to my main verse

the plot in question: kat is taken hostage by the saviors and shown off as one of ne.gan's wives to fuck with rick, maggie and carl

if you're interested message me, if you absolutely hate this, i don't wanna know. yes it's meant to be gross and uncomfortable.

“you never told me what it was like,” carl started quietly.

“what what was like?” kat asked, looking up from her potato peeling to follow carl’s gaze off the porch to where an older man was working. negan. “oh.”

“you tell me pretty much everything, but,” he shrugged, “i guess i just didn’t know how to ask.” kat had put herself on the line for him and the group countless times. he remembered when she’d been so scared of walkers just the sight of one made her shit down and now she was one of their best when it came to that. he just couldn’t remember a time when she’d kept something to herself for this long. it had been years and it still bothered him when he saw negan around.

kat looked back down at the potato in her hand and started peeling again. “there’s nothing to tell.”

“really?” he didn’t believe that for a second, but he’d let the subject drop if she insisted.

she ran her tongue along her front teeth and  shot a glance back at negan. “no, i just don’t want it to bother you.”

he looked at her pointedly. “it bothers me not knowing, kat. it bothers a lot of us.” those who weren’t so keen on trusting negan remembered. it had kept them up at night then and every so often it still did. all the possibilities made his blood boil.

“he didn’t fuck me, if that’s what you’re asking about.” it was blunt and she regretted how she said it immediately. “he didn’t even touch me like that or want to…i don’t think. it was just for show. to make you and rick and maggie mad, and make me scared.” she remembered the feeling of a calloused hand on her chin tilting her face up to look at him. the sickening scent of him as he leaned down to whisper in her ear and-

“kat?” carl frowned. he never saw her drift like that before. one second she was talking, angry but talking the next she was somewhere else in her mind. 

“i’m fine it’s fine,” she took a deep breath and picked up a new potato to peel. 

“i remember he had you on his lap with the other’s.” he didn’t want to say wives because they weren’t not really. “you looked miserable.”

“i was. i kept thinking he was going to do something to try and set you off, touch me or kiss me.” she’d been straight as a board and she remembered the ache of her back as she willed no part of her body to physically touch him.

carl set his jaw, asking “he didn’t?” 

“he didn’t.” kat assured him. what carl saw was all it was, a show of power and nothing more.

“i could have killed him.”

“i know.”

“i was so happy when you came home,” carl nudged her with his shoulder and stayed there with the crest of his upper arm on her’s.

kat smiled softly. “me too, i missed you…and i was terrified alone.” they’d all hugged her and she’d let them. daryl’s she remembered the clearest, long and so tight she thought he was going to crush her. he’d said “glad to have you back, kid.” like it was just any day but she knew he’d been worried.

she’d slept in carl’s room that night, not wanting to be alone. she knew he remembered that. she’d snuck in through his window and he’d pulled the blankets up around them both. 

“you want him gone still?” carl asked, taking the knife and potato from her hand and closing his fingers around hers.

she nodded, “every single day, i don’t think he deserves a good place like this.” letting him stay hadn’t been a unilateral decision, or they would have blocked it. 

“you’re okay though?”

“i’m okay, i promise.” 

[queenofbaws]

Good morning (...or night?), for Like Wringing Blood, what is 16, 17 & 20? Hope you're doing good :)

well good morning-night yourself!!! ;P i'm all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed today, whatever the time may be, and getting to chat about the hacketts only makes it that much better!!! hehehe

16. What was the easiest scene to write?

hands down, the easiest time i've had getting a scene down is...something i haven't posted yet, ALAS! i'm so excited to finally get there, but...i've referenced it before, and i'll reference it again by simply saying it involves OLD! MEN! FIGHTINGGGGGGGG!!!!! 🥳

when i first started writing all in the family, the oneshot-turned-whole-fic precursor to like wringing blood, this scene came to me so...fully. and vibrantly. and intensely. that i decided i had to write like wringing blood, if only for this one scene to live. it wouldn't do as a oneshot, not in my mind, and it needed context so that it could (eventually) have catharsis, and just...i'm very, very excited to get to the old men fighting. and i hope, of course, that all y'all out there will enjoy the old men fighting, and i hope it'll show, how the fic as a whole kind of grew from that one angry, angry seed.

17. What was the hardest scene to write?

so my cop-out answer for this one is this: literally any scene that involves travis and constance interacting. lmao. i've for sure commented on that before, but man. it's just. a lot. having the two of them in a scene together. any time i'm working on something that features both of them heavily, the vibes are just...rancid, and i always end up having to get up and walk off some of the grimacing. it's not just a "shitty parent interacting with their kid" thing either, believe me, because i do not have the same issue with say, jed and chris. this is a constance-and-travis-specific issue and BOY. it makes getting through certain chapters...ROUGH!!!

a less generalized answer, though, is that there is another scene i haven't gotten to yet involving chris experiencing some...l...light haunting, let's say. that's non-spoilery enough, i think. chris experiences some light haunting during the course of camp, and i am having a hell of a time getting that scene down because it's also very alive and very big and very bright in my mind, but conveying it all in words has been a challenge. i keep rewriting it, keep adding things and taking them out, and short of making that particular chapter fuckin 75k words on its own, i think i'm going to continue to struggle with it for a minute, ha!!!

20. What is something you wish more people noticed about this fic?

i just want people to acknowledge that the fiddlers and hacketts being related doesn't only make sense, it exPLAINS SO MANY OF THE PLOT HOLES IN TQ AND

i wish someone would go "OH THAT'S WHERE LAURA GOT THE EYEPA

i would love for anyone to notice that the first letter of every chapter spells out rick astley's never gonna give you up

hehehe okay, for real though, i'm genuinely so flattered and even touched that people have been reading and enjoying this fic at all, given it's (1) not shippy, (2) centered on a really difficult/uncomfortable family dynamic, (3) focusing on characters who are morally grey at best, (4) deeply, deeply ugly at times. that in and of itself is all that i could ask for, truly, because this is such a personal project and so much of my own stuff is sort of being worked through within it, so anytime anyone says anything about it, my heart grows three sizes <3

the only itty bitty thing i'll say, though, and it's not really me hoping people notice so much as i hope they'll realize as time goes on, is that...nothing in this fic is there accidentally. this is not a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants story, everything in like wringing blood has been planned out and put where it is for a very, very specific reason. if those reasons aren't apparent yet, it just means we haven't gotten there ;) so if there are details that have stuck out, if there are pieces-parts that feel...conspicuous, that's all by design. i have so many planning docs for this fuckin fic, i have been sowing so many seeds. can't wait until it's time to reap them :)

behind-the-scenes fic asks!

[deputygonebye]

@luposcainus

there were probably more halfbies out there. who knows? caspian can only tilt his head. “ if there are more like me , we are living a life of good fortune, we do not have to worry about dead breaking in because we smell like it.” he said. the halfbie’s accent was strong. he stands up . he remains calm in all of this. his expression remain blank while putting his hands out. controlling his urge to feed off others was getting easier, but it does not mean it will happen. eating dinner, made that thought of him shiver. he rather eat things that are outside, hunt, like an undead would do. “ do you want to see my half rotten form?” he asked in a sarcastic tone. caspian raised a brow. the walkers were not a bother to him. it was the humans. they changed . they all did. caspian only offered to stay because he saved a life from being eaten.“ dinner it is a thing that i fear the most. any pulsing vein is sure to leave me hungry. ”

Blanketed in the bodies of the dead that they carved, into both chunks and pieces, of blood and flesh alike, when it came to shielding oneself from Walkers, it was the Halfbies who had the advantage. A natural defense against the undead, a scent that smelled of a rotted graveyard to they. It was a sense of peace that none in the camp had come to know since the Outbreak. Neither Shane nor anyone else, always did the Geeks find them, hunted them down through redolence alone. Sweat and whatever else that decided to gather along their skins; a luck that had been blessed onto Caspian. His soul damned or not, for Shane still debated the very idea, it was clear that he was favored, nonetheless. Caspian was within good graces. By the powerful hands of the Lord, by Rick, who stood and listened with such honest fascination, who seemed just about ready to offer the English man a permanent position within the group. Great talents coupled with an even more wonderful gift - Shane could see the gears turning inside of Rick's head.

"Hey! You best keep that to yourself. The kids don't need to see that. Nobody does." Shane recoiled, disgusted at the very thought of a decayed Caspian before his eyes, disgusted by the sarcasm.

"Yeah, well, you think about eatin' any pulsin' vein in this camp instead of the fried fish and canned green bean dinner that these folks have prepared for you, and you'll be lookin' down the barrel of my Mossberg 590. I ain't kiddin', Caspian. One wrong move against any of these people, and you're done for. Now, why don't I fetch y'all a seat."

Roughly handling the nearest lawn chair that he could find, placing it just so near the small fire that the camp had used for cooking, Shane picked Caspian's spot for him. His makeshift dinner table for the night, an easy-to-see seating arrangement, least for the ex-deputy who still refused to fully lay down his weapon. Guard for the meal - an overseer to the feastings - a still curious questioner.

Shane announced, proudly, "here you go. Carol already fixed your plate for you. It's on the paper plate. But I ain't finished with you. I need answers. These things, the Halfbies, where the hell did they come from? Where did you come from? Accent ain't like anything I've ever heard in King County. What is it? Irish? English?"

[made-by-sky]

New Song!

This ones called 'Maggy' and is my efforts at a story based country rock song. I got the idea for it when I was listening to a song bt "The Wallows" that had a line, 'why are girls in songs always 17' and I thougt that was true as shit. You always here about 17 year old girls in songs, so I decided to write a song about a girl who isn't 17. No, shes 18.

But really though, after that lyric making me want to make it, I was mostly inspired by the music of Kings Of Leon and Joe Pug for this one. I didn't try to write it as a country rick song, but that's usually where my more serious effort songs end up going.

I've never known anyone personally that went through this scenario, but I've heard many stories from women who've felt like they were forced into porn by lack of options and need for money. I wanted to try and capture how that feels from a more outside, more cycnical point of view. One that pretty much tries to say, "well what did she think would happen? We told her." Knowing full well the manipulation at play. It's about the lies of the big city dream, that if you can just get there, you can make it. It's about how we go to low places when we feel cornered, and about how shamelessly people take advantage of those sunken folk.

All in all, this song is about a girl who was desperate for money so she could live. All in all, this is meant to be a 'fuck capitalism' song.

Keep an eye out on my YouTube for an upcoming live performance of it!

Lyrics:

Now I've met a fair shair of people going through 'bout my days

Heard many tales a' caution

Seems there's shit all over the place

And I've got one such tale that I'd like to share with you

So y'all sit there right in your chairs as I spin my yarn to you

This is the story of a girl

She's just turned 18

She saved up to move to the city

And She's gonna live her dream

Ya See she's gonna be an actress

And it's gonna be sweet

But she could only afford the ticket

And now she's living in the Street

But straight off the plain

She was fresh and she was green

And soon to learn the truth

Of the city made of dreams

***

Maggy bought the bullshit

That she was always told

Maggy bought the only lie

That she was ever sold

She believed them when they told her

"Baby we promise you gold"

So trust us darling when we say

they'll really love your smile

So just keep smiling

***

At first she was a waitress

getting auditions now and then

But she couldn't keep that up though

As she'd only made one friend

And the wadges she was making

Were shitty as could be

And Maggy now was struggling

She couldn't find a place to sleep

So she turned to the adverts

Put her name down on the list

And a kind old man said i can take ya

If you'd only do just this

***

Maggy bought the bullshit

That she was always told

Maggy bought the only lie

That she was ever sold

She believed them when they told her

Baby we promise you gold

So trust us darling when we say

They'll really love your smile

So just keep smiling

***

She started as a model

Showin off in lingerie

But it wouldn't be too long

Before she couldn't get her way

See Maggy now was desperate

She needed money bad

And every time the call back came

She had to take the cash

You could see it on her face now

She'd finally got her dream

And she made it there by smiling

Every god damn week

***

Maggy bought the bullshit

That she was alway told

Maggy bought the only lie

That she was ever sold

She believed them when they told her

Baby we promise you gold

So trust us darling when we say

They'll really love your smile

So just

Keep

SMILING~~~

[apersonwholikeslotus]

A v unprofessional rating of every* book on my shelf bc i'm bored

*every book i've read bc I still haven't gotten to some of them, also skipping the Rick Riordan books bc i'm sure y'all have heard plenty about them, and also not any of the history/government/theology books.

A Spartans Sorrow by Hannah Lynn - 3/5, it was a book, I loved it but the end just completely lost my attention. Like yeah ik that's how the greek myth goes but tbh should've stopped 3 chapters ago.

Circe by Madeline Miller - 5/5 ik y'all keep talking about song of achilles but holy shit Circe

Lore by Alexandra Bracken - 0/5 I legit got 2 chapters in and gave up. I'm so sorry. cannot believe i spent $13 on this thing.

Loki; Where Mischief Lies by Mackenzi Lee - 4/5, I read this once when I was 13 and enjoyed it a lot but i'm not sure if I would now. sticking Loki in Victorian England was honestly a 10/10 choice aesthetic wise.

Children of Ragnorok by Cinda Williams Chima - 5/5 a lot of ppl didn't like it apparently I think it's absolutely amazing and love it and you all should read it but that could be the hyperfixtation talking

The Goddess of Nothing At All by Cat Rector - 10000000000/5 ac hbdcksjlzmpx[ac ovcjnmxjklo nvsoiu jkoxicn hdikxcv hubisjkvixd9jcg hujkcu cvbmdskjxcjv gchxskc vcxdc nc gh ybgf7duhibjfdijdg yvwebdjvgy f7fhfjbknionbh fbdjff hfdfubhxukcjhukzixc bhnnxjk. READ IT RIGHT NOW I SWEAR GO READ NOW

The Librarian of Auschwitz by Antonio Iturbe - 4.5/5 Good book, very heavy and bc of that took me a bit to get through.

The Nightingale by Kristen Hannah - 6/5 I spilt tea on this book twice and both times kept reading before it had even dried all the way

Cloud Cuckoo Land by Anthony Doerr - 4.5/5 I see his other book All The Light We Cannot See talked about a lot more but legit this one is so much better. People from the far past to the distant future and they're all learning about the same thing?? amazing idea???

I Must Betray You by Ruta Sepetys - 5/5 I read Between Shades of Gray and Salt to the Sea and preordered this one immediately afterwords. I was saving it to be a 'summer book' but read it in like 2 days the moment in came in instead.

The Good Earth by Pearl S. Buck - the school book we had to read that I liked enough I bought a copy. Sucker for "here's a guy living his regular life." books.

The Book Thief by Markus Zusak - 5/5 i swear to everything if you do not like crying over books do not read this. I don't cry over books and I cried so hard over this one my sister asked me if I was okay the next morning bc I woke her up accidentally.

The Dictionary of Lost Words by Pip Williams - 5/5 I think about this book regularly, still a sucker for 'here's a person living their life' book.

American Royals by Kathrine McGee - 3/5 too much romance, not enough politics from a made up world that doesn't effect me.

Red, White, & Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston - 4/5 we love politics from a world that doesn't effect me, lost a point on the ending but i'm bad at those too so such is life ig.

Her Royal Highness by Rachel Hawkins - 3.5/5 it was a lovely read for a day i had nothing else to do on. don't think I would read it again tho.

The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid - 5/5 LOVE goodness I was not expecting who the love of her life would be, not to mention I adore anything with platonic soulmates.

They Both Die At The End by Adam Silvera - 4/5 i uh, i convinced myself they weren't gonna die at the end.

Dear Evan Hansen by Val Emmich - 4/5 the book??? is so much sadder than the musical oh my gosh????? was mad to find they cut out half the important stuff about Conner in the musical.

The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by V.E Schwab - 3/5 one of those times i listened to booktok, was very disapointed.

The October List by Jeffery Deaver - 5/5 a hughdscalc gchkcjs;ln jcxsumj km ITS WRITTEN BACKWARDS AND THE SUSPENSE IS INSANE YOU KNOW EVERYTHING AND NOTHING AT ALL

One of Us is Lying by Karen M. McManus - 3/5 Decent, but not good enough that after I set it down I picked it back up. I had like 20 pages until the end, still don't know who the killer was.

The Trumpet of the Swan by E.B White - 10/5 back when I was a small child and didn't have money or transportation the library and had a limited of selection of books this is what I read. I have it memorized and also somehow thought the title was 'the trumpeter swan' until literally yesterday.

The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas - 5/5 someone take away this french mans pen.

[crossbowking]

Honey & Whiskey

Summary: (Set throughout series) When the world ended, everything good died along with it. At least, that's what Daryl Dixon thought. But then he met a stranger in the woods and his entire world turned upside down.

A/N: HOLY MOLY. I can't believe it's here! I've been working on this story since October and I'm so excited for y'all to finally read it. This story is absolutely my favorite of all time and it's 20,835 words of pure Daryl POV (which is just *chef kiss*) — that being said, it’s also a slow burn...and I mean an entirely self-indulgent SLOWWWW burn. So strap in, y’all.

PSA: There are mentions of 'Dog' in this story that are sort of non-canon, especially now that we've seen a backstory as to how Daryl actually found him in the show...so for the sake of the story, let's just pretend 10.18 doesn't exist :)

Anywho, please be sure to share your thoughts with me afterward!

Happy reading!

xx Jess

Masterlist

Tip Jar

The sun dipped below the horizon, the sky alight with brilliant orange and yellow rays.

Daryl tilted his head back, glancing up at the shifting colors as night drew near. The air was crisp, a welcomed change from the usual summer heat. The streets of Alexandria were fairly empty, most already settling into their respective homes before nightfall. Though the unusual silence was near deafening, the archer paid it no mind.

He appreciated the quiet these days.

The grass poked and prodded beneath where he sat, but he simply shifted, drawing one knee to his chest, the other leg splayed out in front of him. He picked absently at one of the holes in his worn jeans, tugging at the string hanging off the fabric.

And then he thought of her.

Leaves and twigs crunched beneath Daryl’s boots as he traversed through the otherwise silent woods.

The farm was destroyed, winter was approaching, and there seemed to be an ever-looming pang of hunger in the pit of his stomach. He pushed away any inkling of weakness, forging ahead with determined strides. His people were waiting for him, hunkering down in an abandoned diner less than a mile East, hoping he’d bring back something to dull the growing ache inside all of them.

Daryl’s steps faltered — ‘his’ people.

The thought had come so naturally it nearly took him off guard. The feeling of community, of belonging, was something he’d never felt in his entire life. It was a strange notion, but that drive, that need he felt to provide, pushed him further out into the forest.

The archer kept his footsteps light, practically imperceptible, listening for noises only a seasoned hunter could distinguish. When a twig suddenly snapped off to his left, he froze, scanning the stillness around him. He raised his crossbow, the weight familiar in his grasp as he took a small step in the direction the noise had come from.

A moment later, Daryl spotted it — a lone raccoon just a few yards ahead.

The archer felt a rush of adrenaline, a tingling sensation in his fingertips as they hovered over the trigger. He exhaled a soft breath, focusing all his attention on the animal. But with his concentration elsewhere, it wasn’t until after he’d pulled the trigger that he’d realized he was no longer alone in the woods.

Daryl spun around, coming face to face with an incredibly grotesque-looking walker, teeth bared, arms outstretched, launching itself towards him. The archer braced his arm against the biter’s throat just in time, grunting under its weight as he stumbled backward.

“Shit,” he snarled through gritted teeth, tossing his unloaded weapon aside as he fought against the attack. Using his free hand, he reached for the hunting knife secured on his belt, grabbing onto the hilt.

But before he could yank it out, the world began tilting rapidly around him.

Daryl’s back slammed against the harsh wooded ground, his foot tangled up in an exposed root. He spat another vicious curse as the walker thrashed on top of him, snapping its mangled jaw closer and closer, growling in starved desperation.

Then suddenly, it stilled.

The archer froze, his gaze locked on the unexpected sight of one of his arrows now embedded through the biter’s temple. He snapped out of his reverie, shoving the dead off his chest and scrambling back to his feet.

And then he saw her.

She stood just a few feet away, her rapid breathing mirroring his own, looking as though she was seconds away from passing out. Her hair was matted by a mixture of blood and dirt, her clothes were torn and ratted, her wide eyes seemingly too big for her gaunt features. She had a nasty cut across her temple, blood dripping down the side of her face, past her neck, pooling at the collar of her shirt.

Daryl’s eyes bounced back up to meet hers — his guarded and calloused, hers unsure and fatigued.

“I’m assuming — this — is yours?” she spoke between heaving breaths, tossing something in his direction, the motion causing her to sway unsteadily.

Daryl glanced down, spotting the raccoon he’d shot earlier now lying at his feet — but the arrow he’d used to kill it was no longer there.

Now, it was lodged through the skull of the walker that’d attacked him.

The archer focused back on the stranger — but before he could respond, her skin was suddenly paling, her body crumpling to the ground like a paper doll.

Daryl stared down at her unmoving form in bewilderment. He could tell by the shallow rise and fall of her chest that she was at least breathing. The cut on her temple was still bleeding, the wound looking fairly recent — his best guess was a concussion or exhaustion. Most likely both.

He took a small step forward, almost hesitantly. But when his approach didn’t stir the stranger, he found himself facing an unforeseen decision.

He could leave her — he should leave her. She wasn’t his responsibility. She was a complete stranger. She chose to intervene, not him. She made that choice. Not him. Her.

Though as he turned to leave, as he scooped up the limp raccoon and shoved it into his bag, as he grabbed his strewn crossbow and strapped it across his back, one thing became startlingly clear.

He couldn’t do it — he couldn’t just walk away.

Daryl huffed a defeated breath. “Shit.”

He could’ve sworn that day in the woods was an entire lifetime ago.

Rick had nearly lost his damn mind when he’d returned to the diner with not only a small woodland creature in his pack, but a stranger slung over his shoulder.

“Is she dead?” Carl pressed nosily, hovering by the booth where the stranger was now laid out, still unconscious.

Lori quickly intervened, moving forward with one hand on her protruding belly, the other grabbing onto Carl’s shoulder. “Step back, baby. Give Hershel some space to work, okay?” she cautioned, pulling the inquisitive boy away.

“Oh, it’s quite alright — I’m just about done here anyways,” Hershel drawled, setting aside the blood-soaked cloth he’d been using to tend to the stranger’s head wound.

Daryl watched the exchange from across the room, arms folded tight against his chest, ignoring the stares coming from other group members.

The front door of the diner suddenly swung open as Rick marched through. He shot the archer a disapproving look before addressing the others. “I think we’re okay,” he finally spoke, re-holstering his pistol. “If Daryl had been followed here, I’m sure we would’ve known by now. We’ll keep somebody on watch — jus’ as a precaution — an’ get back on the road first thing.”

The archer gnawed on the inside of his cheek as the rest of the group began whispering amongst themselves, clearly distressed about the possible danger his decision may have put them in.

Rick approached a moment later, his steadfast strides immediately setting Daryl on edge. “Can I speak with you?” the sheriff hissed, glancing over his shoulder and locking eyes with Lori’s worried gaze. “In private?” he added in a hushed tone before turning around and storming back outside.

Daryl scoffed under his breath, pushing away from the counter he’d been leaning against and stalking after Rick.

The archer yanked the door open, the cool air biting at his skin as he followed suit. He spotted Rick pacing back and forth across the parking lot, surveying the surrounding woods warily before spinning around and facing him head-on.

“What the hell were you thinkin’?” Rick demanded, taking a step forward.

Daryl fought back the instinctual urge to be on the attack. Instead, he took a breath. “What was I supposed ta’ do, man? Jus’ leave her out there?” he countered, eyes narrowing.

“You don’t bring her here,” the sheriff snapped before pinching the bridge of his nose, attempting to collect himself. “We — we have ta’ look after our own, Daryl — you know that. We have no idea who she is, where she came from, who she’s with,” he specified sharply before shaking his head. “That’s jus' not a risk I’m willin’ ta’ take. Are you?”

Daryl held Rick’s gaze for a long moment before looking away, glancing towards the tree line. The sheriff had a point, he couldn’t deny that. But there was something inside him, a nagging sensation in the pit of his stomach that said otherwise.

Rick slowly nodded, interpreting Daryl’s silence as an answer. “When she wakes, she’s gone,” he finally resolved, stepping past the archer and back towards the diner without another word.

But Daryl couldn’t let it go. “Hey,” he called after Rick, the sheriff’s strides halting mid-pace as he glanced back, the harshness in his features fading, unveiling a man with nothing but the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Back when Carl got shot, if Hershel had turned us away, what’d ya think would’a happened?”

Rick paused before exhaling a long, heavy breath, some of the fight leaving him with it. “That’s not — it’s not the same —”

“It is,” Daryl interjected. “It’s the same damn thing.”

The air grew quiet as Rick’s shoulders sagged, one hand resting against his hip. “My family…” he suddenly murmured, shaking his head sadly. “I can’t risk it.”

Daryl nodded once. “I get it. After everythin’ with Shane an’ Randall, losin’ the farm the way we did, I get it, man,” he rasped, regarding him earnestly. “But m’ tellin’ ya…this’s the wrong call, Rick.”

The diner door suddenly flung open, interrupting the conversation and revealing a flustered-looking Glenn.

“Uh, hey guys,” he interrupted, sending the pair an awkward wave. “Just wanted to let you know that she’s, uh — she’s awake.”

Rick and Daryl shared a look.

“And kinda freaking out,” Glenn quickly tacked on at the end.

Daryl didn’t hesitate. He stormed past Rick and back into the diner, making a beeline towards the small crowd that had gathered around her.

“— okay, it’s okay. We’re not gonna hurt you, sweetheart,” Lori spoke softly, holding her hands out in front of her as though approaching a caged animal.

The archer pushed through the group, spotting the stranger a moment later.

She was still sitting in the booth he’d initially laid her out in — though now she was huddled away from everyone, back pressed up against the wall, knees drawn to her chest in a cowering stance. Her gaze darted frantically around the room, clearly confused and disoriented and overwhelmed.

Daryl couldn’t even begin to understand why, but he felt a wave of outrage course through him.

“C’mon, people. She ain’t a fuckin’ zoo animal,” the archer growled abruptly, taking a defensive stance in front of the booth and motioning for the rest of the group to move back. “Give the girl some damn space.”

The archer waited until everyone stepped away before turning back around and glancing down at the stranger. He was surprised to see her eyes trained on him — even more surprised at the flush of heat that spread across his chest. He held her gaze a second longer before Rick appeared, parting through the crowd like Moses and the Red Sea.

The stranger shrunk away.

Daryl wondered why the sight bothered him so much.

Rick came to a slow halt in front of her. “What’s your name?” he finally asked, his tone measured and firm.

The stranger did another sweep of the room, as though surveying just how much possible danger she was in. But when her eyes flashed up towards the archer once again, some of her unease faded. “Y/N,” she spoke hesitantly.

Rick nodded slowly before extending his arm. “Rick Grimes.”

Y/N looked at the gesture cautiously. Still, she reached out and took his hand in hers.

She appeared composed but Daryl noticed the slight tremble in her grip.

After a brief shake, Rick grabbed an empty chair and sat down at the end of the booth, resting his forearms against the table. “So, Y/N,” he began, giving the archer a look of resolve. “What happened ta’ you?”

The time after the farm fell was foggy, each day blurring into the next, suffocated by a heaviness the unknown inherently brought. But that day, the day he met her, ran stark against the rest.

Y/N had told her story like Rick asked her to do. She spoke of the small group she’d been staying with and the refuge they’d built, ultimately destroyed by the dead. Everybody had scattered — and if they hadn’t…

Any previous hesitancies the group held melted into understanding and sympathy almost immediately.

Daryl had known Y/N would be accepted into the group. Rick had hardened since the farm, but he wasn’t heartless. He wouldn’t be able to turn her away, just as the archer hadn’t been able to leave her out in those woods.

Spending the winter season on the run had been difficult for everyone — constantly running from the dead, cold and bitter nights, supplies growing scarce. The road was unforgiving, proving time and time again how completely fucked this new world was, how things would never return to the way they were, how this was now the new way of life.

Though for Daryl, if he was being honest, it wasn’t all bad — not in comparison to what his old life had given him.

He’d choose a lifetime of running over the stench of whiskey and the sting of belt buckles any day.

The only other person who’d appeared unaffected was Y/N. Besides showcasing a natural skillset in survival, she’d found her place amongst the group with ease — so effortlessly that Daryl hadn’t been able to recall what life looked like before her. She exuded a warmth that people were drawn towards — that the rest of the group clung to during the darkest of days.

But not Daryl.

He’d kept her at a distance, kept her at arm’s length because he refused to let her in as everyone else had.

Little did he know.

Daryl swiped at the beads of sweat dripping down the sides of his face.

The Georgian heat was nearly suffocating, blanketing over his body and setting his skin ablaze. He pushed away the discomfort, bending down and grabbing the ankles of one of the many walkers spread out across the prison’s courtyard. He’d lost track of how many bodies he’d dragged out, his group working tirelessly to clean out their newfound home.

The archer had just pulled the limp body through one of the fences, nearing the pickup truck used for disposal, when he heard someone approach.

“Need a hand?”

Daryl stilled — he glanced up, his eyes locking with Y/N’s, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Her hair was pulled back out of her face, a thin sheen of sweat laid out across her forehead. One hand rested on her hip, the other hovered near her face, blocking the sun rays. The sleeves of her shirt were rolled up past her elbows, streaks of dirt and blood visible against her exposed skin.

He realized then that she was really rather beautiful.

The intrusive thought caught the archer completely off guard. He quickly turned his attention downward, grunting a half-assed ‘nah’ before continuing his trek to the pickup truck, determined to preserve some space between them.

But instead of leaving, as he’d assumed she would, Y/N remained rooted in place.

Daryl faltered, the expression that flickered across her face hinting that maybe she hadn’t come to just ‘lend a helping hand’. She had something on her mind — he could tell by the way she snagged her bottom lip between her teeth, gnawing absently as she shifted her weight back and forth.

The archer dropped his hold from around the walker’s ankles and straightened. “What?” he demanded gruffly, curiosity getting the best of him.

Y/N’s eyes found his as she took a small step forward — Daryl fought back the urge to back up. “I, uh —” she paused, her mouth twisting to the side as though fumbling for the right words. “Just — thank you.”

Daryl’s brow furrowed. “For what?” he huffed.

Y/N’s head cocked to the side, seemingly surprised. “I — I don’t know,” she murmured, a soft, sort of bewildered laugh slipping past her lips. “For bringing me here, for introducing me to your people — for everything, I guess,” she expressed sincerely. “You could’ve just left me out in those woods that day — most people would’ve.”

The archer chewed on the inside of his cheek, feeling incredibly exposed for some strange reason. “Was nothin’,” he finally grunted, ignoring the prickle of heat at the tips of his ears.

“It wasn’t nothing,” Y/N replied indignantly, like she was offended at the notion that he didn’t deserve her gratitude. “You saved my life.”

Daryl shifted uncomfortably, wanting nothing more than for this interaction to be over with — because once that happened, he could go back to maintaining his distance, he could go back to allowing the air between them to be just that. “Figured I owed ya,” he finally mustered, recalling the first day they’d met.

Y/N’s lips curled up into a megawatt smile and Daryl could’ve sworn he’d never seen anything so damn captivating in his entire life. “Okay,” she grinned, sticking her hand out in front of her. “We’ll call it even then.”

The archer glanced down at the gesture before warily reaching forward, taking her hand in his, and shaking once, twice, three times. Her grip was firm and she didn’t seem to mind the grime coating his skin.

When she pulled away, Daryl felt the empty spaces she’d filled set ablaze.

Y/N shot him one last smile before turning around and heading back towards the courtyard. But she’d only made it a few feet when she paused, glancing over her shoulder. “Make sure you eat something, okay?”

She didn’t wait for a response — instead, she narrowed her eyes, shooting him a look in mock-seriousness as if to say ‘I’m watching you’. Then her face broke out into another grin before she sent him a small wave — and she was gone.

Daryl watched her leave, unable to pull his gaze from her retreating form.

He tried to ignore the mess his mind was becoming, littered with confusion and insecurity, the nagging voice that lingered telling him he’d never be good enough, strong enough, brave enough for anything other than what he’d always known.

He wouldn’t let her in — he couldn’t let her in.

But as he bent down, grasping onto either ankle of the walker at his feet, he felt a tingling sensation in his fingertips he swore had everything to do with the Georgian heat and nothing to do with her.

A gentle breeze roused Daryl from his thoughts.

He shifted from where he sat, reaching into the pocket of his jeans for the pack of cigarettes he kept there.

The package was falling apart, half-crushed, half-wrinkled from everyday wear and tear, but the archer slipped one of the few remaining cigarettes out anyway and caught it between his lips.

It hadn’t taken long for him to realize that keeping Y/N at arm’s length was a futile attempt — he’d been naive to think it was possible in the first place.

Before he knew it, she’d wormed her way into the forefronts of his mind and found herself a nice, cozy corner to call home. She’d done it as effortlessly as the blink of an eye or the beat of a heart. It just happened — no rhyme or reason, no explanation or logic. It just happened.

Which made leaving that much harder.

“Daryl!”

The archer ignored Glenn’s shout, marching further into the woods and approaching a snide-looking Merle. “C’mon, bro,” the younger brother grunted, worried if they didn’t leave right then and there, he’d change his mind and return to the prison with the others.

Merle’s booming laugh sounded, drawing Daryl from his thoughts. “Well, I’ll be damned,” the man sneered, tossing an arm around the archer’s shoulders. “Looks like somebody decided ta’ grow himself a big ole’ pair a’ cojones while I was gone,” he snarked, pushing Daryl forward and falling in step beside him.

The archer pressed his lips together, swallowing his retort and focusing ahead.

“Hey, wait up!”

The voice that sounded halted Daryl in his tracks. He spun around, spotting Y/N making her way through the forest, her strides long and determined as she headed straight towards him.

“Well, would ya look a’ that,” Merle quipped under his breath, leering at her approach, his tone sending a swell of aggravation through the younger brother.

“Jus’ gimme a minute,” Daryl quickly waved him off, ignoring the prickle of heat creeping up his neck as he trudged towards her.

Y/N came to a stop in front of him, slightly out of breath, her eyes searching his for a long moment.

She seemed to have something to say, a reason for chasing after him — but it was as though she couldn’t get the words together. She glanced down, shaking her head slowly before taking a deep breath. When she looked back up, Daryl noticed a resignation in her gaze that wasn’t there before.

“Are you sure about this?” she finally asked, her troubled expression sending a pang of guilt through him.

Daryl looked away. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure — he wasn’t sure about anything anymore.

He shifted his weight, focusing back on her. “Ya watch out for yourself, ya hear me?” he rumbled, pushing away the unexpected worry gnawing at him.

Y/N’s shoulders sagged in disappointment, her defeated expression damn near changing his mind altogether. “I will,” she murmured, a bittersweet smile ghosting across her features.

Daryl held her gaze a moment longer before nodding once, turning without another word.

But he’d barely taken a step when he suddenly felt her grab his wrist and twist him back around.

Before he knew what was happening, Y/N was hugging him. She threw her arms around his middle and squeezed tight, leaving Daryl completely and utterly dumbfounded. His arms hung limply at his sides, caught off guard by the surprising gesture. Though as soon as it’d begun, it ended. Y/N unwound herself from around his body and took a step back, a pink tinge to her cheeks he hadn’t noticed earlier.

She whispered a somber goodbye — though Daryl couldn’t hear it over the sound of the blood rushing to his ears — and then she was gone.

The archer fought back the urge to follow, telling himself over and over again that he was making the right decision — he was choosing blood, he was choosing family, he was choosing —

“Hey! Where’s my hug at, sweet cheeks?” Merle’s suddenly hollered, calling after Y/N.

She didn’t look back and Daryl fought back the impulse to start swinging.

But Merle just laughed, the noise loud and boisterous as he sauntered forward. “Damn, lil’ brother. Didn’t think ya had it in ya! I was startin’ ta’ think ya played for the other fuckin’ team’,” he jeered, clapping the archer on the back with more force than necessary.

Daryl’s entire body tensed up, his darkened gaze snapping towards his brother. He noticed then that Merle was also watching Y/N — though his eye line was fixated on one specific part of her body…

“Let’s go,” the archer spat under his breath as he spun around and stormed off, his hands balling into fists.

He had to walk away. Otherwise, he’d lose it — he’d give in to instinct, he’d allow the rage coursing through him to take over, and all of this would’ve been for nothing.

So he took a deep breath, relaxed his clenched fists, and dismissed any lingering thoughts of her.

Daryl scoffed at the memory, an unlit cigarette still caught between his teeth.

He pulled out his lighter and flicked his thumb against the wheel, sparking a small flame before inhaling a deep breath. The familiar taste of nicotine and ash filled his senses as he drew smoke into his lungs, immediately feeling a rush of calm flow through him.

Daryl existed in the quiet, taking another long drag of his cigarette. He pulled his legs towards his chest, resting his elbows atop his knees, letting his hands dangle in front of him. He watched the lit cigarette butt dim and dance between his fingertips, the embers burning off and drifting into the grass.

It’d only taken a single day for the archer to come to his senses — to realize the mistake he’d made in leaving with his brother. And if he was being honest, it’d had nothing to do with Merle. He couldn’t blame his brother because his brother hadn’t changed — his brother was still the same brash, volatile, ill-tempered redneck he’d known his whole life.

No, it was him — he was the one who had changed.

“Would ya slow yer damn roll? I ain’t the athlete I used ta’ be, ya know!” Merle bellowed from somewhere behind Daryl, clearly struggling to keep up with the younger brother’s pace.

But the archer didn’t slow, his strides matching the beat of his pounding heart. He ducked under tree branches and side-stepped exposed roots, the prison growing nearer with each step he took.

It wasn’t until Daryl heard a sudden thud, followed by a viciously snarled curse, that he slowed. He spun around, spotting Merle pushing up off the forest floor.

“Ya good?” Daryl called out, crossing back and reaching down, offering his hand.

But Merle just swatted him away, his expression twisting in contempt as he staggered back to his feet. “Lemme ask ya somethin’,” he growled. “How the hell ya think this’s gonna go, huh? Ya think those assholes are jus’ gonna forget ‘bout everythin’ that happened? Ya think we’re jus’ gonna hug it out an’ sing ‘round the campfire like some kinda damn afternoon special?”

The archer fought back the urge to roll his eyes. “Ya —”

“This ‘bout that skirt from yesterday? Huh? That it?” Merle steamrolled over his attempt to interrupt, taking a step forward, the brothers now toe to toe.

Daryl felt a prickle of heat flush the back of his neck, his chest tightening. Merle was just trying to get a rise out of him — he knew that deep down — but damn, was it working. “It ain’t ‘bout her,” the archer growled defensively, fixing him with a glare. “It’s ‘bout survival, ’bout rebuildin’ — ‘bout tryin’ ta’ make somethin’ outta this shit world. It can’t jus’ be us out here, man — not anymore.”

Merle rolled his eyes. “Oh, c’mon, did Officer Friendly force-feed ya that bullshit?”

Daryl stiffened before huffing a breath and waving his brother off. He turned away, determined to continue his trek back home before it was too late — but he’d only made it a couple of feet when Merle called after him once more.

“It ain’t ever gonna work,” the older brother voiced, his usually brash tone dimming into something surprisingly vulnerable. “It — it jus’ ain’t. Not after everythin’ — not after what I did.”

The archer glanced back, watching Merle’s notorious bravado finally melt away, replaced with something he could’ve sworn looked like guilt. “We ain’t dead yet, man,” Daryl rumbled simply. “Still time ta’ make shit right.”

Merle considered his words for a long moment — but before he could respond, the sound of barraging gunfire exploded through the air.

Daryl’s head snapped in the direction of the noise, feeling his stomach drop when he realized where exactly it was coming from.

He took off into a sprint, Merle’s pounding footsteps echoing directly behind him.

Daryl lied to his brother that day.

In his defense, it hadn’t been deliberate. When Merle had questioned his intentions, alluding to the idea that Y/N was the main reason for his urgency to return home, the archer had denied it.

He hadn’t known it back then, but the truth became startlingly clear once he’d made it back to the prison, marched up the pathway leading to cellblock C, and laid eyes on her.

Daryl found Y/N crouched down beside Axel’s unmoving form, one hand resting on his shoulder.

His steps faltered, feeling as though he was intruding on a private moment — but he couldn’t help himself. The Governor had attacked the prison, his people were shaken, and damn it, he just needed to make sure she was okay.

She stood a moment later, turning to rejoin the rest of the group huddled by the fence, her despondent expression filling his bones with a red-hot rage.

But then her eyes met his.

Y/N’s footsteps stilled, her gaze widening in disbelief as she looked at him. A heartbeat passed between them before Daryl noticed how she was holding herself — hunched over slightly, one hand wrapped around the opposite arm, blood seeping out from between her fingertips.

He crossed to her in three long strides, ignoring the heat that flushed his chest the closer he neared.

Instead, he focused on the wound — that he could deal with, that made sense.

Unlike the unexpected and rapid thrumming of his pulse.

“Daryl,” she breathed in disbelief, her voice thick as though the word had gotten tangled somewhere in her throat.

His name sounded like honey the way it rolled off her tongue.

He shrugged off his crossbow and tossed it aside, wordlessly reaching forward and pulling her hand away from the injury. He examined the laceration carefully — which upon closer inspection appeared to be a gunshot wound — though luckily enough, the bullet seemed to have only grazed the side of her arm.

The archer reached into his back pocket, grabbed the red rag he kept there, and gently pressed it against the wound. “Jus’ keep pressure on it, alright?” he rasped, guiding Y/N’s limp hand to rest over the cloth, stalling the blood flow.

He glanced down at her, doing a slight double-take when he realized she was watching him, a slightly strained smile pulling at her lips. “You came back,” she whispered, her eyes warm despite the blood splattered across her cheek, the pallor in her complexion.

Daryl swallowed the lump in his throat, incredibly aware of how little space remained between them. He managed a stiff nod in response, his voice suddenly lost.

But Y/N’s smile merely grew, like the first hint of sunshine after a devastating storm.

And the tightness in his chest finally faded.

The archer inhaled another long drag from his cigarette, the smoke spilling past his lips and disappearing into the growing night.

Returning to the prison had given Daryl a sense of purpose, a sense of hope — he was back where he belonged and the threat of the Governor just didn’t seem so insurmountable anymore.

And then his big brother went and got himself killed.

Daryl stormed across the field that led to the prison’s courtyard, shoulders set, fists balled, eyes rimmed red.

The Governor would pay — he’d pay for what he’d done.

To Glenn, to Maggie, to countless others.

He’d pay for what he did to Merle.

The archer’s footsteps faltered, only briefly, when he spotted Y/N pacing back and forth behind the gate. Her head snapped towards him as he approached, her worried expression melting into relief as she quickly pulled the gate open for him.

“You okay?” she called to him, brow furrowing as she craned her neck, now looking behind him. “Where’s Merle?”

Daryl kept his gaze forward, digging his fingernails into the palm of his hand as he marched past her without a second glance. “Dead,” he grunted, ignoring the prickling sensation growing behind his eyes.

“What?” he heard her exclaim, though he didn’t turn around — he kept his momentum pushing ahead, hellbent on going after the Governor and taking him down once and for all.

No matter what the cost.

He stalked towards where he’d parked his motorcycle, slinging his crossbow over his back and mounting the bike in one swift motion.

But Y/N was just as quick.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” she jogged towards him, planting herself in front of the bike, an alarmed look in her eyes. “What’re you doing?”

Daryl felt a swell of anger wash over him, an unusual feeling when directed towards her. “Move,” he growled, using his heel to knock the bike’s kickstand up.

Y/N’s brow furrowed, his intent becomingly startling clear. “No.”

He was caught off guard by her protest, though snapped out of it just as soon — his scowl deepened, his eyes darkening, seeing nothing but redness and fury and Merle’s reanimated corpse flickering through his mind. “Move, damn it,” he snarled once more.

But Y/N stood her ground regardless of the wariness in her gaze. “No.”

The archer’s rage churned inside him, his grip white-knuckled around the throttle. “Ya —”

“Please, don’t do this,” she interrupted his brusque retort, shaking her head. “I promise — I promise — he’ll get what’s coming to him, but Daryl…this is not the way.”

He knew deep down she was right, but he didn’t want to hear it — he didn’t want to hear ration or reason or the pity in her voice.

He didn’t want to hear any of it.

“I’m sorry,” she suddenly whispered, emotion clouding her eyes. “God, I’m so sorry about Merle. I’m —”

Something inside the archer snapped. “Ya know what, ya can drop the damn act,” he hissed, springing off the bike and shoving it to the ground with a deafening crash. He ignored the way Y/N flinched as he barreled towards her like a surging storm. “Ya can stop pretendin’ like anyone in this fuckin’ place gave a single shit ‘bout my brother!” he fired back, his voice rising. “Or me, for that matter!”

Y/N recoiled away from him, eyes wide. “I’m —” she started, shrinking under his heated approach. “I didn’t —”

“Forget it,” the archer spat, unable to stop the fervor spewing out of him. “Ya don’t know shit.”

A beat of silence passed as they stared one another down — but the more the quiet stretched on, the more a different emotion began to seep through the archer.

Guilt.

Unable to watch the hurt settling across Y/N’s features, Daryl turned away, allowing his brewing vehemence to carry him across the courtyard and to the doors leading into cellblock C. He paused at the doorway, unable to stop himself from looking back.

He watched Y/N’s head lower, her shoulders drop, before she slowly reached down, grabbing his toppled motorcycle by the handlebars and propping it upright.

The archer swallowed his remorse, buried his instincts, and stalked inside.

Daryl hissed a breath as the burnt end of the cigarette singed his fingertip. He stubbed the flame out against the heel of his boot, flicking the butt away into the grass.

Still, to this day, he felt bad about losing his temper. The anger had clearly been misdirected, but in the moment, he hadn’t been able to get a handle on it — Y/N had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Despite the aftermath of his outburst weighing heavily on him, he’d kept his distance from her throughout the days that followed.

Old habits die hard.

Daryl woke with a start, his eyes snapping open, chasing away lingering images of the nightmare he’d found himself immersed in.

Sleep had never been kind to him, even before everything went to shit — tonight was no different.

He could still see flashes of redness and death, smell the scent of rotting corpses and bloodshed, hear the sounds of tormented screams and anguished whimpers —

Daryl’s thoughts faltered as he quickly pushed up onto his elbows, straining his ears.

He realized then that the whimpering wasn’t coming from just his imagination. No, it was real — and it was coming from somewhere inside the cellblock.

The archer sprang up, untangling himself from the bed sheet coiled at his feet before shuffling towards the doorway. He paused there, his senses on high alert, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end as he listened carefully.

When another soft cry sounded, he moved from the entryway, slowly slinking past cell after cell and following the noise.

It wasn’t long before he found himself standing outside Y/N’s cell.

Daryl peered into the shadowed room, just barely able to make out the shape of her beneath the covers. She murmured something jumbled and incoherent, her words muffled as though her face was pressed into the pillow. She tossed and turned for a moment before finally settling.

When she remained still, the archer nearly left for his own cell.

But then he heard a quietly gasped sob and began moving forward before he could think twice.

Daryl crouched down beside Y/N’s bedside, turning on the lantern she’d left sitting on the floor. He shielded his eyes from the light until they adjusted before focusing on her.

She was curled up, covers drawn to her chin, faint tear tracks marking the sides of her face. Her brow was knitted, causing lines to form across her forehead — he fought back the urge to reach out and smooth them away.

Apparently, he wasn’t the only one sleep was unkind to.

Another soft whimper blew past her lips and Daryl reached for her, gently shaking her shoulder.

Y/N immediately jolted awake, shooting upright, disoriented and alarmed as her bleary eyes darted around the cell.

“Hey, hey,” Daryl quickly rasped, holding his hands out in front of him. “It’s alright.”

“What — what happened?” she croaked, her voice thick with sleep, her wide gaze finally settling on him.

The archer shook his head, pulling back slightly, second-guessing his decision to wake her. “Nothin’ — nothin’, alright? We’re okay.”

“What —” she sounded, a bewildered look flitting across her face as she settled her hand against her undoubtedly racing heart. “Are you okay?”

Daryl’s brow furrowed at her question, confused as to why that would be her next question and not ‘what the fuck are you doing in my cell?’ Regardless, he nodded once. “Yeah,” the archer brushed off her concern, sitting back on his haunches. “Ya — uh, ya were cryin’,” he revealed hesitantly, scratching the back of his neck as he watched for her reaction.

Y/N straightened, the top bunk just grazing the crown of her head as she dabbed her fingertip at the corner of her eye, appearing almost embarrassed suddenly. “Oh,” she whispered, wiping away the tears that’d formed.

Daryl gnawed on the inside of his cheek. “Ya alright?” he rasped after a long moment.

She quickly nodded her head, waving off his worry. “Oh, no — yeah, no, I’m fine,” she replied flippantly, shooting the archer a tight-lipped smile.

Despite Daryl seeing right through her bullshit, he didn’t push.

Instead, he nodded once and clambered back to his feet.

But he’d just barely turned to leave when Y/N spoke up once more. “Hey, Daryl?”

The archer faltered, glancing back at her. “Yeah?”

Her demeanor appeared collected, though he could see her hands twisting nervously around the sheet splayed out across his lap. “I —” she paused, seemingly working up the nerve to say what was next. “Are we okay?”

Daryl felt his chest tighten, the heaviness that’d grown between them splintering in that moment. There was something about her words, the smallness in her voice, that had him kicking himself for being so damn stubborn, for not making things right sooner.

She raked a hand through her tousled hair. “I just — I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have — I mean, I wasn’t trying to —”

“Stop,” Daryl cut off her rambling, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I was actin’ like an asshole,” he grumbled admittedly, the shame he’d buried creeping back in.

The tension in Y/N’s features softened as she regarded him. “It’s okay.”

For some reason, her easy forgiveness made Daryl’s insides churn.

“Nah, it ain’t,” he shot back sharply, almost wishing she’d curse him out instead. “Wasn’t right ta’ take that shit out on ya.”

“You were grieving,” she justified, her explanation simple and understanding.

Daryl worked his jaw, clenching and unclenching as he stared at the far wall of her cell, his gaze darkening — he didn’t deserve her compassion. “Well, ya probably stopped me from doin’ somethin’ real stupid,” he muttered dryly.

She merely shrugged, still completely unfazed. “Grief makes us do stupid things,” she murmured, defending him yet again. “I am sorry about your brother, you know,” she whispered a moment later, the sincerity in her voice knocking down the wall Daryl had worked so hard to keep between them.

He nodded slowly, clearing his throat before speaking again. “Merle was no hero,” he finally rumbled. “But he died tryin’ ta’ make shit right,” he mustered, his eyes finding hers amidst the shadows of her cell.

Y/N shot him a small, somewhat sad smile. “Then he didn’t die for nothing.”

Daryl swallowed the lump that formed in his throat, feeling as though his heart was moments away from bursting out of his chest. It was as though the cell was shrinking around him, the walls closing in — and the only thing keeping him above the surface was her.

“Get some sleep,” he managed gruffly, turning to leave once more.

“Daryl?”

The archer stilled. “Hm?” he sounded, not trusting his voice.

“Can you stay?” she whispered, so softly he almost missed it entirely. “Just a little longer?”

Daryl shifted his weight back and forth, feeling the overwhelming urge to run, to retreat to his own cell and pretend he hadn’t heard her.

But the slight tremble in her voice, something others surely would’ve missed, pulled him right back in.

The air thickened as he walked towards her, every fiber of his being screaming at him to make a run for it while he still had the chance. Y/N watched him approach, slightly wide-eyed, his steps faltering the closer he neared. She maneuvered slightly on the bed, moving towards the wall as though making room for him beside her.

Instead, Daryl did the most rational thing he could think of — he grabbed the empty mattress on the top bunk, slid it off the frame, and dropped it onto the floor next to her.

Y/N’s brow furrowed. “Oh, you don’t have to —”

“G’night,” Daryl interjected abruptly, avoiding her gaze as he quickly turned off the lantern and laid down. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest and squeezed his eyes shut, his face surely on fire.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Daryl peeked an eye open, certain she could hear his thrumming pulse from where she sat. But a moment later, the bed creaked as she settled back down against the rickety mattress.

He released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

The archer wasn’t sure how much time passed before Y/N’s breathing evened out, the stranger from the woods all those days ago finally falling into a deep and restful sleep.

He, on the other hand, remained awake until morning came.

She’d asked him to stay and that was exactly what he was going to do.

Not even sleep could take him from her.

Everything changed after that night.

After the people from Woodbury moved into the prison, the demand for supplies nearly tripled. The archer found himself going on runs more often than not, hunting for game or scavenging local businesses — but the days and nights he was home were spent with her.

They fell into a routine of sorts. The days were spent working the fence or tending to things around the prison — but most nights, they’d sneak away from the others and spend hours sitting atop one of the unused watchtowers.

It became ‘their spot’, as Y/N had put it.

Some nights they sat quietly, existing in comfortable silence, watching the vast night sky. Other nights, Daryl would learn things about her — those were his favorite nights.

Y/N would talk about anything and everything — the mundane stuff, the deep stuff, the things in between — while Daryl would rest his head against the watchtower and close his eyes, listening to the way her voice rose and fell. She’d tell stories of her life before the end and her hopes for the future as though there still was one.

And over time, despite the world decaying at its very core, even Daryl started to believe that maybe, just maybe, there could be one.

She became his solace.

Hell, maybe she always had been, but he’d been too damn stupid to realize it.

“I’m sick of hearing myself talk,” Y/N suddenly spoke, a soft laugh following.

Daryl’s eyes snapped open as he glanced over at her, his brow furrowing.

She shifted from where she sat, the side of her face illuminated by moonlight. “Tell me something about you,” she said sweetly, her knee brushing against his as she rested one shoulder against the watchtower, giving him her full attention.

The archer felt his face warm under her curiosity. “Ya know plenty,” he grunted — and it was the truth. He’d told her more about himself than anyone else in his entire life.

“Oh, come on,” she countered and though Daryl couldn’t see it, he sensed an eye roll. “Just one thing? Something I don’t already know and then I’ll leave you alone.”

He huffed a breath. “Fine,” he grumbled, giving in.

Y/N waited patiently as the archer fell into thought, racking his brain for something to share — something even worth sharing. The silence that dredged on wasn’t helping either — if anything, it only added to the pressure. His life wasn’t all that interesting, never had been, never would be.

Daryl snuck a glance at Y/N — well, maybe that wasn’t entirely true.

“Uh,” he rumbled, scratching the back of his head. “I don’t know. Guess I always wanted a dog?” he mustered, the confession coming off more so a question than an actual statement.

Still, Y/N’s face broke out into one of her million-dollar smiles. “I can totally see you with a dog,” she beamed. “You never had one?”

Daryl almost shook his head, but then a faint memory came to mind. He looked away, propping his elbows against his knees and focusing straight ahead.

“When, uh —” he cleared his throat uncomfortably, picking absently at the skin beside his thumbnail. “When I was a kid, I was walkin’ home from school. Found this stray covered in mud, damn near skin an’ bones. An’ so I took it home,” he pressed his lips together before snorting a breath. “Even tied my shoelace ‘round its neck like a leash.”

“Aw,” Y/N sounded softly.

“Mhm,” the archer mumbled, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

After a stretch of silence lingered, she spoke up once more. “But you didn’t keep it?”

Daryl began picking at his skin a little more aggressively. “My old man — he was on a bender. Started screamin’ an’ hollerin’ when he saw me ‘cause he ‘didn’t wanna take care a’ no mangy mutt’,” he bit out, echoing his father’s words from all those years ago. “He threw somethin’ — don’t remember what. Maybe an empty whiskey bottle. Poor dog was scared outta its mind,” he murmured, shaking his head. “It pissed on the floor, right in front a’ him.”

Y/N’s expression turned troubled, her lips forming into a small frown.

Daryl ignored the tightness growing in his throat. “So he tossed the dog in his truck, drove off, an’ that was that — I never saw it again,” he finished, wincing as he ripped a small piece of skin off his thumb, drawing a drop of blood.

“What’d your dad do?” Y/N asked, her voice small.

The archer wiped the blood off onto his jeans. “Don’t know,” he shrugged, glancing over at her. “He never said an’ I never asked.”

She held his gaze for a long moment before letting out a soft sigh.

Daryl turned his head, staring out over the railing and into the darkened forest. He’d never told anyone that story — not even Merle, who’d been doing another stint in juvie at the time. The truth was, he carried a lot of guilt from that day. Sure, he was only a kid, but he was the one who’d brought the stray home in the first place.

Whatever happened to that dog…well, that was on him.

“Hey,” Y/N murmured, gently poking the side of his arm, drawing him back to her. “Maybe we’ll find you a dog of your own someday.”

Daryl quirked a brow, unconvinced.

“You never know,” she shrugged. “What would you name it?”

He scoffed softly in response, shaking his head.

“Come on,” she reached over and poked him once more. “Humor me.”

“How ‘bout this,” the archer relented. “If — an’ that’s a big-ass if — we ever find a dog someday, ya get ta' name it.”

Y/N’s face immediately lit up. “Me?”

“Mhm,” he nodded his head, feeling the corners of his lips twitch.

She exhaled a breath, her gaze widening. “This…this is a shit-ton of pressure, Dixon,” she whispered, the wheels in her mind, very obviously, turning.

Despite everything, a soft laugh rumbled from deep inside Daryl’s chest, the sound strange and unfamiliar. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d genuinely laughed — the noise got stuck in his throat, like his body was physically rejecting the sensation.

When he noticed Y/N watching him, a cheeky grin plastered across her face, his skin flushed.

“Okay, okay, let me think…” she grew serious, closing her eyes and resting her chin against her clasped hands. Not even a second later, her eyes shot open. “Got it!”

Daryl motioned for her to continue. “Lemme hear it.”

“Alright,” she shifted, facing him head-on. “Dog.”

The archer’s brow knitted together, his gaze narrowing. “Dog?”

“Dog,” she nodded resolutely.

“Ya — ya wanna name the dog ‘Dog’?” he questioned dubiously.

“Yup,” she grinned, popping the ‘p’.

Daryl rolled his eyes, fighting back a smirk. “Ya got a couple a’ screws loose, ya know that?” he teased, tapping the side of his head.

“Shut up,” Y/N laughed softly, nudging him with her elbow.

A beat of quiet passed between them before Daryl cleared his throat. “We ought'a head back,” he grumbled, starting to stand.

But then Y/N reached out, grabbing onto his hand. “Hang on,” she objected, looking up at him. “Just a few more minutes?” she asked, gently tugging his arm down.

The skin on his hand tingled beneath her touch as her gaze, warm like honey, melted further into his.

Before he could think twice, he found himself settling back down beside her, his hand still intertwined around hers.

Besides, when had he ever been able to say ‘no’ to her?

Daryl could’ve sworn those nights up in the watchtower were the best nights of his life.

Then the prison fell.

And destroyed everything good along with it.

“Do you miss her?”

Daryl’s eyes snapped open, just then noticing the quiet that’d settled over the funeral home. He glanced over at Beth, who remained seated in front of the piano, her kind gaze watching him curiously.

Settling further inside the casket he laid in, the archer turned to stare up at the ceiling, folding one arm behind his head, the other laid out across his stomach. He ignored Beth’s question — not because it wasn’t true, but because he knew if he spoke, if he started talking about her, the hollowness inside his chest would swallow him whole.

“I think she’s still out there,” Beth assured him quietly, steadfast in hanging onto whatever hope she could muster. “I think they all are.”

Daryl grunted softly in response, not trusting his voice.

He wanted to believe that — he wanted nothing more than to believe that Y/N and the others were out there somewhere, somewhere safe. But he wasn’t a foolish man — and he just couldn’t bring himself to feign the kind of certainty that came so effortlessly to Beth.

“‘And whatever you ask in prayer, you will receive, if you have faith’,” she suddenly murmured, her eyes glowing against the candlelight, a bittersweet smile tugging at her lips. “Daddy used ta’ quote scripture — that was one of his favorites,” she explained, her voice growing thick at the mention of her father. She pulled herself together before continuing. “I have faith,” her words were resolute, as though not only trying to convince him but herself as well.

The archer huffed a breath, crossing his arms over his chest. “Got enough for the both a’ us?” he muttered dryly, quirking a brow.

Beth laughed, breaking the heaviness that’d spread. “Sure do,” she beamed before shooting him a meaningful look. “You can thank me later.”

With that, she swiveled around on the bench and faced the piano once more, her fingers dancing along the keys, filling the room with a gentle melody.

Daryl wasn’t a religious man — never had been, never would be.

He didn’t buy into all that bullshit. If there was a God out there…what the fuck was he doing? Where was he? Why didn’t he stop the world from ending? Why did he let the bad destroy the good, time and time again?

He just couldn’t put his faith into something so cruel, so merciless.

Daryl wasn’t a religious man.

But for the first time in his entire life, he closed his eyes and prayed.

The archer felt his throat constrict.

He tilted his head back, looking up at the darkened sky. The sun had melted into the Earth, in its place thousands upon thousands of littered stars, surrounding a glowing crescent-shaped moon.

Maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe there was a God out there — some higher power or greater being — who’d been listening that night in the funeral home.

Because somehow, someway, despite all the odds stacked against him…he’d found her.

Daryl felt his lip split beneath another vicious punch, his head snapping to the side.

He was losing strength, his bruised body slowly giving out on him as two of the Claimers continued to relentlessly beat him. It seemed like no matter how hard he fought back, he just couldn’t get the upper hand.

He was outnumbered and unarmed, but as long as their attention remained on him, he wouldn’t back down — because once they were done with him, they’d move on to the others.

They’d move on to her.

Daryl caught Y/N’s horrified gaze from the other side of the road — she was knelt in front of Tony, who had a fistful of her hair in his grip, simultaneously holding Michonne at gunpoint. Y/N was struggling against his hold, attempting to break free, her features twisted in pain.

A low growl rumbled from deep inside the archer, a red-hot rage coursing through his veins as he fought even harder against the two men.

He managed to dodge another punch, but in the process, connected with a swift jab to the ribcage. He exhaled sharply, losing his breath as the two closed in on him once more — though as the archer braced himself for the next strike, he noticed that the men had suddenly frozen in place.

Daryl followed their stares, finally understanding what had caused the abrupt standstill.

Rick was staggering away from the leader of the Claimers, red staining the bottom half of his face — the archer didn’t even realize it was blood until he saw Joe. The man swayed unsteadily on his feet, eyes wide, mouth agape, as his hands reached for where his throat should’ve been.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Michonne grabbed Tony’s gun and turned it on himself, shooting him once. Daryl followed suit, landing a solid hook against the side of Billy’s face. He heard another gunshot ring out but was too focused on the man at his feet to notice. Without any hesitation, the archer stomped the heel of his boot into the man’s skull, killing him instantly.

He backed away from Billy’s crushed form, stumbling over Harvey’s body, a bullet hole now between his lifeless eyes. He spun around, steadying himself against the hood of the car in front of him as he worked to control his heaving breaths. He’d turned just in time to see Rick mercilessly stabbing Dan, over and over again until the man’s center was nothing but a mess of blood and guts.

And then he saw her.

She was still on her knees, though now hunched over beside Tony, staring silently at his unmoving figure.

Daryl pushed away from the truck and rounded the hood, his heart leaping into his throat as he made a beeline towards her. His footsteps faltered the closer he neared, the sight before him suddenly registering — Tony had been shot through the neck by Michonne, but the front of his skull had also been caved in.

His gaze flickered towards Y/N, just then noticing the blood-soaked boulder clasped tightly in her hand.

It took every ounce of strength to not rush forward, to not pull her into his arms and hold her close because damn it, she was alive, she was okay, she was here.

The archer stepped over Tony’s body, slowly crouching down in front of Y/N — when his approach didn’t stir her, a jolt of unease shot through him. Her vacant eyes were trained on the dead man, her features expressionless and ashen. There was a cut just above her eyebrow, a small trail of blood trickling down the side of her face, but other than that, she appeared relatively unharmed.

Daryl gently took her hand in his and carefully unclasped her fingers from around the rock. He tossed the boulder aside before settling down, kneeling opposite her, his deep blue eyes maintaining a watchful look.

The archer brushed his thumb over the back of her limp hand, squeezing softly a moment later.

And then, almost hesitantly, she squeezed back.

Daryl held his breath as her eyes found his, welling with unshed tears, the helplessness in her haunted gaze twisting his insides. “I never killed someone before,” she whispered suddenly, choking on her words as though speaking shards of glass.

He wasn’t used to seeing her this way — she’d always been so steady, a light others were drawn towards, that he’d been drawn towards. And now…well, now he wished the Claimers would come alive so he could rip them apart all over again.

Unable to stand the sight of her broken expression any longer, Daryl reached for her. “C’mere,” he rasped, slipping his hand behind the back of her head and pulling her forward.

Y/N’s features crumpled as she fell against his chest, a hitched sob catching in her throat. She buried her face into the crook of his neck, gripping onto the front of his vest as though he was the only thing keeping her afloat.

He wrapped his other arm securely around her back, keeping her cradled against his body. “S’ alright,” the archer rumbled as she held on tighter to him, her frame trembling as she cried. “I got ya, Y/N, I got ya.”

Daryl wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, woven around one another, his pounding heart echoing hers.

But he didn’t mind — because he’d found her.

And nothing else seemed to matter much with her engulfed in his arms.

The weeks that’d followed nearly destroyed them all.

With unrelenting heat, dwindling supplies, and the hollowness of loss inside each of them, morale had been at an all-time low. The little amount of food they’d managed to scrounge up had been divvied into morsels — though not enough to soothe their aches of hunger. The water supply eventually depleted, leaving their throats raw and mouths like cotton as they walked — day after day, down winding road after winding road, searching for salvation that was nowhere to find.

The line that’d separated them from the dead had become alarmingly thin.

And it’d only been a matter of time before that line disappeared altogether.

Daryl roused from his sleep, somehow feeling even more exhausted than when he first closed his eyes.

He scrubbed at his face, wiping away the thin sheen of sweat that’d formed before huffing a breath. The sign of first morning light seeped through the canopy of trees above him, visible through the motionless overgrowth of leaves and greenery. The heat was already suffocating — his clothes stuck uncomfortably to his skin, his throat desperate for water he couldn’t afford to drink.

But focusing on that, focusing on the discomfort, was much easier than acknowledging the looming darkness that lingered.

The archer pushed up onto his elbows, the forest floor digging into his skin. He scanned the makeshift camp his group had set up, positioned just off the main road. Almost everyone was still asleep, curled up on the harsh wooded ground within the permitter they’d barricaded.

Except for Y/N who was nowhere to be seen.

Daryl felt his stomach lurch as he pulled himself off the ground and staggered to his feet, ignoring the wave of dizziness he felt — it’d been days since he’d eaten, since any of them had eaten. He grabbed his crossbow and slung it over his shoulder, tiptoeing around the others as to not wake them — they deserved a few more minutes in a reality that wasn’t as fucked as this one.

The only other person awake was Glenn, who’d volunteered to be on watch. He sat with his back against a large tree trunk, Maggie at his side, her head resting against his shoulder.

Daryl headed towards them, drawing Glenn’s attention. But before he could say anything, Glenn nodded his head towards something on the main road, careful not to jostle Maggie awake.

The archer followed his gaze, spotting Y/N through the trees. He nodded once in silent ‘thanks’, feeling the pit in his stomach loosen as he marched out of the woods and crossed over the asphalt.

Y/N was sitting on the hood of a long-since abandoned car, her feet perched atop the dented front bumper. Her eyes flashed towards him as he approached, prominent dark circles beneath a weary gaze, so unlike the warmth he was used to seeing.

Daryl felt his throat constrict — he could handle his own demons, the heaviness that’d latched onto his bones after the last few weeks.

But hers?

She needed to be okay — he needed her to be okay.

He slid onto the hood, the car dipping below his weight as he settled beside her. A comfortable silence stretched on as they stared down the long and desolate road ahead, each lost in their own thoughts.

“I miss ‘our spot’,” Y/N suddenly murmured, her tone wistful.

Daryl grunted softly in response, the nights they’d spent up in the watchtower flashing through his mind.

He missed it too — he hadn’t known peace like that before.

“God, we had it so good back then,” she exhaled a breath, lowering her head.

The archer peeked over at her, hearing the hint of emotion growing in her words, the sadness she tried to conceal. But she couldn’t hide it — not from him.

He could tell how she was feeling by the steadiness of her breath.

“We still had Hershel…” she whispered, clasping her hands together, her knuckles turning white. “Bob…Tyreese…” her voice cracked slightly before she glanced up. “Beth.”

It was Daryl’s turn to look away.

He couldn’t think about her — not without smelling moonshine and ash, not without feeling the weight of her lifeless body in his arms.

He never got to thank her.

When the prison fell, Daryl had been certain he’d never see Y/N again — that somehow, someway, she’d burned along with it. But Beth…she’d known — she’d known he’d find her again one day.

And he never got to thank her.

“I know you’re in pain,” Y/N’s voice broke through his guilt-ridden thoughts, drawing him back to her. “And I know how easy it is to just shove it down and push it away and pretend like it doesn’t exist,” she looked over at him then, her gaze steady and knowing — and despite the scrutiny, he couldn’t find it in himself to look away. “And I’m not asking you to talk about it. But please, just — just don’t pretend like it’s not there.”

Daryl gnawed on the inside of his cheek, his teeth breaking skin and filling his senses with the metallic taste of blood.

When Y/N reached towards him, he stiffened.

She slowly brushed away the hair that fell in front of his eyes, smoothing the strands back out of his face. “You’re not carved out of stone, Daryl,” she murmured gently before resting her palm against his flushed cheek.

The air suddenly thickened, the archer becoming painfully aware of how little space remained between them. There was a pull — almost magnetic — that urged him to lean closer, to draw nearer, to take her in his arms and shut out the rest of the world.

But before he could give into instinct, he pulled away and hopped off the hood of the car, landing on his feet with a huff.

Daryl looked anywhere but at her, ignoring the slight tremble in his fingertips. “M’ gonna —” he quickly cleared the thickness in his throat. “M’ gonna take a look ‘round — see what I can see.”

Y/N was quiet, though the archer didn’t dare look at her. “Okay,” she finally sounded — and even though Daryl couldn’t see her expression, he could hear the tangible defeat in her tone.

He clenched his jaw, kicking himself for being the source of her disappointment as he beelined towards the woods on the other side of the road, opposite the campsite.

But he’d only taken a couple of steps when he faltered, realizing then that he couldn’t just walk away — he’d never been able to just walk away.

Not from her.

“I hear ya,” he rasped, glancing back at her, the words tumbling from his mouth before he could stop them. “Ya know, what ya were sayin’ before an’ — an’ all that. I jus’ — I hear ya,” he mustered, the jumbled explanation all he could offer.

A tired smile tugged at Y/N’s lips. “I know,” she assured him softly.

Daryl held her gaze before nodding once, turning without another word, and disappearing into the trees.

A newfound determination coursed through the archer as he ventured further into the woods — there had to be something else out there, somewhere his people could call ‘home’. They couldn’t keep going on like this, fighting day-to-day just to survive — it couldn’t be them and the dead anymore.

There had to be something else, something more.

The world couldn’t be all bad.

Not the same world that’d given him her.

Daryl pulled his gaze away from the darkened sky.

His eyes trailed over the towering gates that surrounded Alexandria — sturdy iron sheets and impenetrable steel, the only thing keeping away the dead that roamed just outside them. He brushed his fingers over the ground, tugging at the overgrown blades of grass beneath where he sat as he fell back in thought.

Despite his initial doubt that Alexandria was all it promised to be, in time, the community had proven him wrong. Sure, there were fractures in its foundation, but it was better than nothing.

It was better than before.

And for the first time since the end of everything, there was hope for a future.

Smoke spilled past the archer’s lips, wafting in front of him before disappearing into the night air.

The streets of Alexandria were still — a welcomed change in comparison to life outside the walls. Daryl shifted on the porch steps, taking another drag from his cigarette as he rested his back against the railing. He tilted his head backward, blowing out a lungful of smoke, feeling his nerves calm in the process.

“Hey, stranger,” a voice suddenly called, breaking the quiet that’d stretched on.

Daryl knew that voice — knew it better than the back of his own damn hand.

He quickly shook away the hair that’d fallen in front of his eyes, watching as Y/N approached.

She looked different — her hair was washed, her clothes no longer blood-stained and tattered. The lines of worry that’d marred her features were smoothed away, replaced by a warm smile that only grew the closer she neared. It was strange — almost like getting a glimpse of her before the dead started walking.

Her footsteps slowed as she stopped in front of him, her head cocking slightly to the side. “What’s that look for?”

Daryl ducked his head down, his face feeling fuzzy — like a kid getting caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Nothin’,” he shook his head, inhaling another drag from his cigarette before stubbing the flame out against the porch steps.

Y/N plopped down beside him, propping her back up against the railing opposite his. “So,” she started, turning her attention towards him. “Deanna was asking where you were tonight.”

The archer scoffed as he flicked the cigarette butt away. “Aaron’s,” he rasped, pulling one knee to his chest, resting his elbow on top of it.

Y/N appeared surprised at his response but didn’t push further. Instead, she exhaled heavily. “This place is like the fucking Twilight Zone.”

He huffed a breath, nodding in agreement. “Ya headin’ back over there?” he rumbled after a moment, jerking his head in the direction of the welcome party.

“Oh, no,” she quickly shook her head. “I’m sick of people,” she admitted before glancing over at him. “You don’t count.”

Daryl snorted a laugh, rolling his eyes despite the strange sort of pride her words brought him.

A beat of silence passed before Y/N spoke again. “Aaron seems like a good guy.”

The archer grunted softly in response, their conversation from earlier coming to mind. “He wants me ta’ start scoutin’ with him — findin’ other survivors, bringin’ ‘em back.”

Y/N’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

“Mhm,” Daryl sounded, nestling the side of his thumb between his teeth.

“Is that something you’d wanna do?” she asked, leaning forward a fraction.

He paused, taking a minute to consider her words. If he was being honest, he felt more comfortable outside Alexandria’s walls than inside — and having a good enough reason to be back on the road didn’t seem like such a bad thing. But if he was being really honest…

Daryl’s gaze met Y/N’s once more — he hadn’t been away from her since the prison fell.

That wasn’t exactly a time in his life he’d like to revisit.

“I do alright out there, I guess,” he shrugged a shoulder up, dropping his hand back into his lap.

A look of amusement flashed over her features in response. “That’s quite the understatement.”

The corner of his mouth quirked, but he couldn’t seem to ease the sudden worry gnawing at him. “Ya gonna be alright in here?” he rasped, steadying her with a serious look.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?” she countered smoothly — but Daryl could hear the hint of something in her tone, something he couldn’t quite place. When he remained silent, Y/N’s expression turned reflective. “I think it’ll be a good thing — you could help a lot of people out there who need it.”

The archer picked up on her deflection. “That ain’t what m’ askin’,” he retorted, calling her bluff.

Y/N looked as though she wanted to argue — but then her lips pressed together, forming a thin line. “I don’t know,” she finally said, avoiding his gaze. “I just — I don’t like being away from you, that’s all,” she admitted quietly, wringing her clasped hands together.

He stilled, never having been more grateful for nightfall — otherwise, she surely would’ve seen the sudden redness creeping over his cheeks.

“But, like I said,” she continued, exhaling a slightly awkward laugh. “It’ll be a good thing.”

He nodded once. “Mhm,” he sounded, not trusting his voice.

Her eyes softened before she began pulling herself up off the porch steps. “Well, I’m gonna get some sleep — see you in the morning?”

The archer cleared his throat. “I’ll see ya,” he rumbled.

A small smile tugged at Y/N’s lips as she headed up the steps, gently squeezing his shoulder as she passed.

He didn’t move a muscle, listening intently for the sound of the front door shutting before closing his eyes, ignoring the tingling sensation beneath where she’d touched him.

Daryl huffed a defeated breath. “Shit.”

Had he given into instinct that night, he would’ve told her the truth.

He would’ve told her that he felt the same way, that being away from her felt like losing half of himself, that nothing in his life had ever made sense until he met her. The words had toyed at the tip of his tongue, desperate to be heard after being swallowed time and time again — but he just hadn’t been able to do it.

He could almost hear Merle’s snide voice in the back of his head — taunting him, calling him ‘whipped’ and a ‘pussy’ and a ‘good-for-nothin’ redneck’, mocking him for even considering that someone like her could feel anything for someone like him.

So instead, he’d reverted back to what he knew best — shutting down and pushing away.

It wasn’t intentional, merely second nature after years and years of repetition.

But the wall he’d worked so hard to build stood no chance.

Not against her.

Daryl knew something was wrong the moment he crossed back through Alexandria’s gates.

And then the screaming started.

He took off into a sprint, his heart mimicking the echo of his footsteps pounding against the asphalt. He could hear Aaron and Morgan just behind, right on his heels, their heavy breathing mirroring his own as the sounds of anguish grew louder.

The archer felt his stomach drop the closer he neared, his mind repeating one, single phrase over and over again —

Just let her be okay.

When he and Aaron had gotten trapped in that car earlier, surrounded by walkers, he’d thought that was it for him. He was going to lead the dead away and give Aaron enough time to make it out, to make it back to Alexandria where he could continue doing what he did best — bringing salvation to those who needed it.

He’d made peace with his decision.

And as he’d grabbed the door handle, moments away from pushing into the raging swarm, he’d only been thinking one thing —

Just let her be okay.

For some reason, he’d been given a second chance and all he wanted was to see her again. It was nearly overwhelming, setting his nerves ablaze, sending his heart racing — it consumed him entirely, the thought of her.

He’d realized then what he should’ve known all along.

He’d never felt for anyone the way he felt for her.

Daryl finally found the others, all gathered in the center of town — but he barely had time to register what was happening when a single gunshot rang out.

Aaron and Morgan stood frozen beside him as they took in the scene — Rick had a gun in hand, the barrel pointed towards the ground, directly above Pete’s now-shattered skull. The crowd looked on in horror, huddled together near a dimly lit fire, eyes wide, mouths agape. Then he saw Reg — his throat sliced open, his body splayed out across Deanna’s lap, Michonne’s bloody katana lying beside him.

“Rick?” Morgan suddenly spoke, breaking the deafening silence that’d followed.

The sound drew Rick’s attention, his vacant eyes finding Morgan’s — but Daryl’s gaze drifted, meeting hers instead.

His stomach dropped when he saw her — she had one hand pressed against her cheek, blood trickling out from between her fingers, her face frozen in disbelief.

Daryl moved towards her, the rest of the world fading away.

Just let her be okay.

Y/N’s expression shifted as he neared, the apprehension that’d marred her features melting, turning into relief despite her ashen complexion and the chaos surrounding them. She absently shook her head back and forth, opening her mouth as if to say something, but no sound came out.

The archer came to a stop in front of her, his own voice lost somewhere deep inside his chest. So instead, he reached for her, very carefully, as though she’d been spun from glass. He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and gently pulled her hand away from her face, revealing a gash that stretched across the entirety of her cheek.

The swell of rage that coursed through him felt red-hot, flushing his skin as he stared at the wound, his eyes glinting dangerously by the light of the fire.

“She caught the nasty end of Petey-boy’s backswing,” came Abraham’s gruff voice.

Daryl hadn’t even realized the man approached — he was too busy thinking up new ways to bring Pete back to life, all so he could shoot the dead prick dead all over again.

Abraham crouched down a few inches beside him, taking a closer look at Y/N’s injury before whistling softly. “Ya must be ridin’ the gravy train with biscuit wheels, lil’ lady. That sack a’ shit damn near took your eye out,” he drawled before glancing over at Daryl. “Don’t think she needs stitches — unless someone wants ta’ reincarnate Dr. Dickwad for a second opinion.”

Y/N attempted to huff a laugh, but the motion had her wincing, her features twisting in pain.

And Daryl had seen enough.

He grunted a gruff ‘I got it’, giving Abraham a nod of appreciation before taking Y/N by the elbow and maneuvering her away from the others, back onto the street.

She allowed him to guide her elsewhere, neither saying a single word.

The two houses Deanna had provided to the group had been split amongst the lot of them. Daryl chose to reside in the finished basement — it was small and dingy, but he didn’t mind. The room had a couch and a bathroom and was much nicer than any other place he’d ever stayed at — even before the end of times.

And right now, it was serving as a makeshift infirmary.

Y/N sat perched on the edge of the couch, her knee bouncing anxiously as she watched Daryl barrel around the space like a rampant tornado. He grabbed whatever he could think of — the first aid kit stored beneath the bathroom sink, a bottle of water, a clean t-shirt to swap out for her blood-spattered one — before making his way back to her. He set the items down on the coffee table in front of the couch and took a seat on the edge of it, opposite her.

Still, neither spoke.

Daryl kept his eyes focused on the slash mark — that was much easier than acknowledging the absence of space between them. He unscrewed the cap to the water bottle, emptying a small amount onto a dry piece of gauze before leaning forward. Ever so slowly, he dabbed at the blood that’d dripped down her face and onto her neck, ignoring the near-palpable tension.

Y/N sat still as a statue, tilting her head back slightly as he wiped away the redness. But when he moved further up, nearing the wound, she flinched, hissing reflexively. Daryl snatched his hand back as if slapped, his eyes meeting hers, quietly apologetic.

She nodded for him to continue, taking a deep breath and balling her hands into fists atop her thighs.

The archer worked his jaw, lightening his touch.

He wasn’t sure how long they sat like that — all he knew was that when he was with her, nothing else really seemed to matter.

Luckily, the wound wasn’t as severe as it’d initially appeared — it was fairly shallow, faint towards the edges, and in time would heal completely. He wanted to tell her so, but the words wouldn’t formulate — the silence that’d stretched on felt untouchable.

So instead, Daryl focused on her hands, wiping away the blood that’d stained the grooves of her skin — and although she tried to conceal it, he could feel the slight tremble in her fingertips.

After he was done cleaning her hands, he sat back, his knee brushing against hers. He glanced up, flicking his hair away and studying the cut on her face — it’d stopped bleeding, though the edges were an angry-red, spiking his own temper once more. The collar of her shirt was soaked crimson, the color more muted in areas that’d already dried.

He hadn’t noticed the way their hands remained intertwined until Y/N squeezed softly, snapping him back to reality.

Daryl pulled his hand from hers and stood, grabbing the extra t-shirt off the table and dropping it into her lap. He scooped up the first aid kit before spinning around and stalking back towards the bathroom, giving her privacy as she began to change.

The archer avoided his reflection entirely, certain he’d see nothing but flushed skin and remorseful eyes. He squatted down, yanking open the drawer beneath the sink and tossing the kit inside. He gnashed his teeth together and grabbed onto the counter, his grip white-knuckled around the edge.

He needed to get a fucking hold of himself, that was for damn sure.

After regaining his composure, Daryl slammed the drawer shut with more force than necessary and pulled himself up in one swift motion.

But his entire body froze, his blood running ice-cold, when he noticed Y/N in the reflection of the bathroom mirror, standing in the doorway behind him.

Their eyes met through the glass before the archer twisted around, facing her head-on.

Her brow was furrowed as she stared at him, her head tilting to the side, the wheels in her mind visibly turning though her expression remained unreadable. She looked like she wanted to say something but didn’t quite know how to say it. She inhaled a breath, opening her mouth, but quickly snapped it shut — and then something different flickered across her features, an expression he hadn’t seen before.

Daryl waited for her to speak, to finally break the prolonged quietness that’d carried on.

But then she was suddenly crossing towards him.

He didn’t realize what was happening until Y/N’s lips crashed against his.

It was as though a dam had broken open — every fleeting feeling, every moment of suppressed longing coming to a head after dancing around one another for so long. At first, Daryl’s entire body went numb, his brain scrambling to figure out just what in the hell was actually happening. His breath caught in his throat as he stiffened instinctually, years of touch deprivation and self-consciousness clawing their way to the surface, leaving him paralyzed against her.

But when Y/N pulled back, breaking away from the kiss, he found himself craving her in the spaces she’d filled.

Her eyes were wide, boring into his, her gaze a mixture of shock and awe that he was certain mirrored his own — like even she couldn’t believe what she’d just done. She clung onto the collar of his shirt, the material balled in her fists.

Daryl’s chest heaved beneath her touch, his breathing syncing up with hers as they stared at one another, their noses only a few inches apart, each soaking the other in for what felt like the first time.

Something inside the archer fractured, right then and there. The wall he’d created inside his mind, the one designed to keep everyone at arm’s length, began to crumble. His guard fell to pieces, brick by brick, shattering at the very foundation he’d built it on.

And in its place…her.

Without any hesitation, Daryl slipped a hand behind Y/N’s neck and surged forward, closing the gap between them and bringing his lips to hers once more.

A soft gasp escaped her at first — one of surprise — the feel of it against his mouth sending a tingle down his spine before she returned the kiss with equal fervor. Her hands slid down his chest, snaking around his middle as she pressed herself against him with similar desperation.

He slid his hand up the back of her head, holding her in place as their lips parted, exploring each other with a deeper intensity. His fingers tangled throughout her hair, desperate to feel her in all of the ways he’d denied himself of, his other hand rising to gently cup the side of her face.

But when Y/N inhaled sharply, suddenly jerking back a fraction, Daryl’s eyes snapped open.

“Ow, fuck,” she hissed, her expression pinched.

“Shit,” the archer rasped, realizing then that his hand had brushed up against the cut on her cheek. “Ya alright?” he rumbled, pulling back further to get a better look.

Y/N let out a breathy laugh, her face lighting up in a way he’d never seen before. “Yeah,” she whispered hoarsely, her cheeks tinged pink, her lips red and slightly swollen.

Once again, Daryl found himself fighting to catch his breath.

He swallowed the thickness in his throat, carefully reaching forward and picking at a strand of hair that’d been swept out of place, tucking it behind her ear instead.

Y/N leaned into his palm, laying her hands against his chest, staring at him like she thought he’d hung the moon and painted the stars.

The look shifted into something deeper as she stepped back, ghosting her fingertips down each of his arms, his skin catching fire beneath her touch. She intertwined her hands around his calloused ones and began inching backward, slowly leading him out of the bathroom without another word.

The archer felt something stir deep inside him, a warmth settling in the pit of his stomach as she guided him towards the couch. He was entranced — like a man who’d been lost at sea for far too long, finally catching a glimpse of salvation from a lighthouse, beckoning him home.

And for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t afraid.

Daryl flushed at the memory.

She still had that same damn effect on him. It didn’t matter how much time passed, how many years went by, he’d never tire of her. She was, without a doubt, the best thing that ever happened to him.

He’d always felt out of place — even before the end. It was like everybody who’d ever lived was somehow born knowing the same song and dance — and yet there he’d been, stumbling along, fighting to catch up and fall in step with the rest of the world. It’d isolated him, made him feel weak and undeserving — like no matter how hard he tried, he’d never truly belong.

And now?

The only comfortable place his mind seemed to know was her.

Daryl fought back a wince, his entire body tensing up.

“Almost done,” Denise murmured as she continued stitching up the laceration on his back.

“Ya said that an hour ago,” the archer grumbled in response, grinding his teeth together.

“It definitely wasn’t an hour and you’re the one who refused the numbing cream, remember?” she countered evenly, her tone unwavering.

The archer merely huffed in response, fighting back a scowl as he gripped tightly onto the edge of the metal table he sat on top of. He ignored the feeling of Denise’s needle digging into his skin, closing up the knife wound he’d received back on the road, surveying the quieted house-turned-infirmary instead.

Rick was in the next room over, not having moved from Carl’s bedside since the survivors had taken Alexandria back from the dead. Glenn and Maggie were huddled together on the cot across the room while Michonne rocked Judith back and forth, exiting the infirmary with her a moment later. The others were gathered outside, recuperating after the long and harrowing fight that’d taken place mere hours ago.

And then there was Y/N — she sat on the floor beside his dangling legs, her head resting against the side of his knee, his vest laid out across her curled form. He could tell by her steady breathing and the way her head lolled every so often that she’d fallen asleep against him.

The entire community was running on little to no sleep, having fought through the night, taking on the herd that’d invaded their home — now, hundreds of bodies littered the streets, the wall that’d collapsed needed to be rebuilt, and those they’d lost during the attack needed to be buried.

Daryl glanced down when he heard a soft sigh, feeling his chest constrict as Y/N nestled closer.

She hadn’t strayed far since he’d returned and honestly, he wasn’t quite ready to be away from her either — especially after what happened on the road. Over the two days he was gone, he’d nearly lost his life on more than one occasion — and from what he'd heard, she’d nearly lost hers when the Wolves attacked.

But they were okay — she was okay — and that was what mattered.

Michonne reentered the infirmary a moment later, the exhaustion on her face mirroring his own. Judith, on the other hand, had fallen asleep in her arms, curled up against her chest, dark blonde wisps of hair sticking to her forehead.

“How’re you holding up?” Michonne asked softly as she approached the table, not wanting to wake Judith — or Y/N, for that matter.

“Jus’ a scratch, is all,” Daryl rumbled in response, peeking over his shoulder at Denise who remained focused on the wound.

Michonne nodded, rubbing small circles against Judith’s back. “I sent everyone home — Rosita and Heath are keeping watch where the wall came down. We’ll clear the dead once everyone gets some rest.”

“Alright,” Daryl rasped, a bone-deep tiredness beginning to seep in.

Before leaving, Michonne paused, looking down at Y/N’s sleeping form. When she glanced back up, her expression had shifted into something softer, something less tense. “She’s good for you,” she suddenly murmured, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You deserve that,” she whispered, reaching out and squeezing his hand, still latched around the edge of the table.

Daryl’s hand flexed beneath hers as he glanced down at the top of Y/N’s head — did he really deserve someone like her?

He’d spend the rest of his life wondering that.

Michonne patted the top of his hand before pulling away, disappearing into Carl’s room without another word, Judith still fast asleep against her.

“Alrighty,” Denise exhaled, drawing him back to the present. “You, my friend, are free to go.”

The archer grunted a gruff ‘thanks’ as she began cleaning up the supplies she’d used to stitch him up. He bit back a grimace as he pulled his shirt over his head, feeling the stitches stretch as he moved.

He reached forward then, gently ruffling the top of Y/N’s head, stirring her awake. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes before craning her neck and looking up, her bleary gaze meeting his. “All done?” she murmured, her voice slightly croaky.

“Mhm,” he sounded, sliding off the table and offering his hand to her.

The corner of her mouth quirked up as she grabbed it, allowing him to pull her to her feet. She swayed, fighting back a yawn, Daryl’s hand finding the small of her back and steadying her. Wordlessly, she held out his vest, which he slowly slipped back on, grinding his teeth together as a sharp jolt of pain shot across his shoulder.

Y/N’s brow furrowed as she watched him, her eyes narrowing — but before she could comment, Denise approached once more.

“Change the gauze in a couple of hours and take two of these for the pain,” she informed, holding out a small bundle of supplies, including fresh bandages and pills. “Doctor’s orders."

But Daryl waved her off. “Save ‘em,” he grumbled, carefully adjusting his vest.

He saw Y/N throw him a glance from the corner of his eye, though she didn’t protest — instead, she stepped forward and held her hand out.

Denise passed the supplies to her before lifting her glasses and rubbing one eye with the back of her hand, her fingertips stained red with blood. “Make sure he doesn’t do anything strenuous for a few days or he’ll tear the stitches,” she continued, speaking solely to Y/N as she set her glasses back in place.

Daryl huffed a breath. “M’ standin’ right here, ya know.”

Y/N nudged him in the ribcage, giving him a look that clearly translated to ‘be nice’.

Denise directed her attention back to the archer. “Don’t tear my stitches,” she reiterated emphatically before her expression eased. “Rest, relax, sleep — both of you.” She shot Y/N a pointed look before shooing them towards the front door, heading over to check in with Glenn and Maggie.

Y/N glanced over at Daryl once they were alone, her eyebrow quirking playfully. “I like this new side of Denise.”

The arched scoffed in response, flicking the hair from his face. “I liked it better when she was scared a’ me,” he grumbled as they fell in step, making their way out of the infirmary and back outside.

A laugh slipped past Y/N’s lips as they crossed over the porch. “Sounds about right,” she grinned, thoroughly amused.

“S’ true,” he shrugged his uninjured shoulder up as they made their way down the stairs and back onto the street.

“You know, you really aren’t that sc—”

Y/N stopped mid-sentence, her footsteps halting abruptly. Daryl faltered as well, glancing back at her, his brow knitting together. Before he could ask what was wrong, he realized what she was looking at.

In the light of day, the aftermath of the attack was startling. There were more bodies than he could count, rotted and decaying, bones torn through skin, blood spilling out onto the street, stark against the asphalt. The carnage was overwhelming, the reality of what they’d accomplished, as well as what they’d almost lost, suddenly settling in.

“We’ll fix this place up — make sure nothin’ like this ever happens again,” Daryl rasped, not entirely certain if he was trying to reassure her or himself.

Y/N’s expression turned solemn. “It’s not the dead I worry about,” she fixed him with a stare, her gaze flickering towards the wound on his back before she continued surveying the damage done to their community.

There wasn’t anything he could say that would make her feel better — not in a world as dark and void and meaningless as the one they lived in.

The only thing he could do was just be there.

Daryl reached for her, slipping his hand around hers and squeezing softly, drawing her back to him.

Although Y/N kept her eyes forward, he felt the tension leave her.

And then she squeezed back.

The archer huffed a breath, nestling the side of his thumb between his teeth.

Well, maybe the world wasn’t entirely meaningless.

Daryl stood still beneath the shower head, warm water washing over his body.

But he couldn’t focus on that — all he could focus on was Y/N, standing behind him, her arms wrapped around his middle, her bare chest pressed against his back. He closed his eyes, committing the feeling to memory — her heart steadily pounding against him, her cheek resting against his shoulder as water continued to cascade down their bodies.

She pulled back slightly, gently pressing her lips against one of the scars on his back.

Daryl felt a chill run down his spine despite the steam around him, fighting back the instinctual urge to stiffen — and as she moved to the next scar and the next, softly kissing each one, he couldn’t help but melt beneath her touch.

He turned then, feeling the tips of his ear redden at the sight of her before he quickly averted his gaze.

Y/N laughed, soft and sweet, reaching towards him and brushing the hair from his face.

Daryl caught her hand with his own, pressing her palm flat against the curve of his jaw. The cut on her cheek had healed, leaving only a faint, thin line below her eye. His own knife wound was still fresh, but in time, would heal as well.

He brought his hand up and gently brushed his thumb across the length of the mark before tilting her head back, bringing his lips to hers.

He wasn’t sure where the sudden boldness came from — still, Y/N returned the kiss, her arms snaking around his neck, his around her waist.

It wasn’t until the water began to run cold that Daryl, begrudgingly, turned the shower off.

They moved about in comfortable silence — drying off, changing into clean clothes, completing eerily normal and mundane tasks that had the archer wondering if he’d somehow transported into an alternate reality without realizing it.

But the blood and muck that’d washed off their bodies and collected at the bottom of the tub reminded him otherwise.

It’d taken three whole days to clear Alexandria of all the walkers that’d infiltrated their walls. Now, they could start rebuilding, reinforcing, doing whatever they needed to do to make sure an attack like that never happened again.

Daryl climbed into the bed he shared with Y/N, having moved up from the basement and into her room after that first night they’d spent together. He winced as he rotated his shoulder — despite Denise’s instructions to limit arduous activity, he’d worked the past three days from sun up to sun down in removing all the bodies from within the gates.

Y/N had tried to get him to take it easy, but he hadn’t — that just wasn’t in his nature.

She crawled into bed after him, sighing softly as she settled by his side, sitting with her legs crossed beneath her. She held her hand out towards him and in her palm, two pills — he recognized them as the ones Denise had given her.

Daryl huffed a breath.

“Don’t make me say ‘please’,” she warned, raising her brow expectantly.

The archer fought back the urge to roll his eyes but took the pills anyway, popping them into his mouth and washing them down with the bottle of water he’d left by the bedside. Y/N shot him a cheeky grin as she laid down, curling onto her side, facing away from him.

He reached over, wrapping an arm around her middle and dragging her towards him, eliciting a surprised laugh from her. She nestled closer, her back pressed against his chest, one hand clasped around his forearm, drawing absent circles against his skin with her thumb.

Daryl felt himself fading, slipping into unconsciousness after a long, tiring day of survival.

But just before the world darkened entirely, a whisper broke through the quiet.

“I love you.”

The archer’s eyes snapped open. Part of him wondered if Y/N was sleep-talking. An even bigger part of him figured he’d imagined it because there was no way — no way in hell — she could’ve consciously and deliberately said that to him.

But then she was shifting, rolling onto her back and looking up at him.

He searched her gaze for something, anything — a punchline, an explanation, a ‘hah, fooled ya!’ — that would explain what in the fuck he’d just heard.

Except that didn’t happen.

Instead, Y/N slowly nodded, like she was finally coming to terms with her own blatantly impromptu confession. “Yeah, I-I do — I —” she fumbled slightly in her admittance before steadying. “I love you,” she murmured, blinking up at him.

Daryl swallowed the lump in his throat, his mind screaming at him to say something instead of just staring at her like he’d seen a ghost. He could feel the words toying at the tip of his tongue — he wanted to say it, he did, because…well, of course. Of course, he wanted to. But it was like his body was physically rejecting a response.

Y/N patiently watched him struggle, giving him a second to get his shit together, a small, knowing smile playing at her lips.

The archer pushed up onto his elbow, clearing his throat, his cheeks burning red. “I, uh,” he grumbled, shaking his head slightly. “Y-Yeah, I —” he faltered, clearly struggling. But when his baffled gaze met her kind one, almost instantly, his wall of insecurity diminished. “Yeah,” the single word came out resolute and sure, everything he needed her to hear.

Y/N’s smile grew, stretching across her face, bright enough to light the sky on fire. “Yeah?” she asked softly, reading between the lines.

Daryl nodded once. “Yeah,” he rasped thickly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world — because it was.

He’d felt that way since the day he met her, even if he hadn’t known it.

She reached up, twisting her fingers in his hair and bringing his face down to meet hers, pressing a gentle kiss against his lips.

Then she was curling onto her other side so they laid chest to chest, her head tucked beneath his chin as she snuggled closer, his arms wrapping around her instinctually.

Daryl wasn’t sure how long they laid like that, limbs weaved around one another like coiled rope. But when her breathing evened out, he pulled back and snuck a glance, tracing every inch of her face as though the first time and the last. He brought his hand to her face, carefully brushing back the hair that’d swept over her features before leaning in and pressing a kiss against her forehead.

Then sleep came for him as well.

Daryl dropped his hand back into his lap, drawing his legs to his chest.

Being with Y/N was effortless — as easy as breathing. It came, somewhat alarmingly, natural to him. He’d never pictured himself with anyone ever. Before the end, before her, he’d been content to sit on the sidelines and watch all the relationships around him undoubtedly burn — it was all he’d ever known, it was all he’d ever seen.

But then she came along and flipped his entire world upside down.

A love that came without warning.

“Let’s get this shit loaded up — looks like it’s gonna rain soon,” Daryl rumbled, peering up at the darkening sky, noticing a cluster of bulbous clouds rolling in.

Y/N tilted her head back, following his gaze before humming a breath. “I don’t know — the wind’s blowing East. It might just miss us,” she remarked, catching the archer’s eye, a mischievous look flashing across her features. “Wanna make a bet?”

Daryl scoffed a breath in response, shutting the car trunk filled with scavenged supplies and adjusting the strap of the rifle slung across his chest — he was still getting used to the weapon. It felt unfamiliar in comparison to the weight of his crossbow. The reminder of his stolen weapon sent a flush of anger through his veins. He’d find those assholes someday and get it back, that was for damn sure.

“Come on,” Y/N grinned, drawing him back as she hefted another box over to him, dropping it onto the ground with a huff. “How about this? If it rains…I’ll take your watch shift tonight with Elizabeth.”

The archer quirked a brow, suddenly intrigued. Elizabeth was one of the original members of Alexandria — and she was…chatty. “Fine,” he nodded, opening the car door and lobbing the box she’d brought over onto the backseat. “She’s always yappin’ ‘bout books an’ shit I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout. Damn irritatin’ sometimes,” he grumbled.

Y/N laughed at his aggravation, turning to pick up another box. “I like her,” she shrugged, making her way towards him.

Daryl huffed a breath, waving her off. “Alright an’ if it doesn’t rain? What’d ya want?” he questioned, taking the box from her hands and sliding it into the car.

Before she had the chance to respond, Rick suddenly appeared, pushing through the front doors of the high school they’d been scavenging — it’d been turned into a FEMA evacuation center right at the beginning of the end. It’d somehow, miraculously, been left untouched — the doors and windows had been barred and chained, but luckily they’d had the tools needed to break in.

It’d been a little over a month since Alexandria had been overrun with the dead — the wall had been rebuilt and fortified, but the survivors had been hesitant to venture outside the gates after what happened the last time. Regardless, supplies were dwindling and a run had to be made.

“How’s it comin’ along out here?” Rick called as he jogged down the front steps and into the parking lot.

“Filled up the trunk pretty good — gonna need another car or two jus’ ta’ fit the rest a’ this shit,” Daryl remarked as the sheriff approached, motioning to the rest of the unpacked boxes lying around.

Rick came to a stop in front of them, one hand resting on top of the handle of his pistol strapped around his waist. “This is good — this is real good,” a rare smile spread across his face, so unlike the usual tension in his features.

“Tara’s finishing up around back — she’s grabbing the rest of the stuff from the greenhouse,” Y/N relayed to Rick, sharing a hopeful look with the archer. “We’ve got enough stuff to last us, I don’t know, at least another couple of months — that’ll be enough time to get some crops growing, maybe even a garden or two.”

Rick huffed a laugh in disbelief, shaking his head. “Who would’a thought,” he mused to himself before taking a breath. “Alright, I’m gonna grab a few last things inside an’ then we’ll lock up — come back tomorrow with a couple a’ cars an’ clean this place out.”

The sheriff left without another word, leaving Daryl and Y/N alone once again.

He began rearranging the boxes in the backseat, making sure there was enough room for two people to sit there on the way back home.

“A date,” Y/N suddenly spoke, catching him off guard.

Daryl straightened, turning back around to look at her, his brow knitting together. “Huh?”

The corner of Y/N’s mouth quirked up as she took a step towards him. “If I win, if it doesn’t rain today…I want you to take me on a date.”

The archer tilted his head to the side, trying to distinguish if she was joking or not. “Ya serious?”

“Yeah,” Y/N nodded, a sort of awkward laugh slipping past her lips. “I know it’s stupid — and given the way you’re looking at me right now, I know you’re thinking the same thing,” she laughed again as he quickly erased the skepticism from his expression. “But that’s —” she shrugged a shoulder up, “— that’s what I want.”

Daryl scratched the side of his head, flicking the hair from his face as he studied her, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back against the car. “That really what ya want?”

“Mhm,” she sounded. “And it doesn’t have to be anything special — just us and, I don’t know…maybe Aaron can whip up some of his famous spaghetti,” a soft smile grew on her face as she looked at him. “I, uh — I just — I want to do this right, you know?” her expression turned earnest. “I want those moments with you, Daryl.”

The archer felt a swell of warmth spread throughout him as he looked at her, feeling his resolve give way. “Alright,” he managed to rasp, his throat tight with emotion.

“Alright,” Y/N reiterated with a nod, sticking her hand out, a playful look in her eye.

Daryl snorted a laugh as he reached out and grasped her hand with his own, shaking once to seal the deal.

Y/N shot him a cheeky grin as she pulled from his grip. “We should —”

“Guys?” Tara’s voice suddenly sounded, drawing their attention.

Daryl knew as he pushed off the car, as he turned around that something was very wrong — he could hear it in her tone.

It took a moment for him to fully register the scene before him — a wide-eyed Tara just a few feet away, standing straight as an arrow, holding her hands up near her head.

Then he spotted a man.

The stranger stood just behind Tara, one arm wrapped around her neck, the other holding a gun, the barrel pressed against her temple. He was young, maybe early twenties, though it was hard to tell with all of the blood coating his skin. He peered over Tara’s shoulder, his frantic gaze bouncing wildly back and forth between the archer and Y/N.

Daryl’s protective instinct kicked in as he took a step forward, drawing the man’s attention, keeping Y/N out of his line of fire. His hand automatically reached for the rifle strapped around him but his movements stilled when the man’s eyes widened, his arm tightening around Tara’s neck.

“Hey, take it easy,” Daryl held out his hands in front of him.

“Move,” the man growled, jerking his head to the side. “Away from the car.”

Daryl felt Y/N grab a fistful of material from his shirt, slowly pulling him back as the man moved towards them, keeping Tara in front of him to conceal his body.

A tense standoff of sorts stretched on as they maneuvered around, the man never taking his eyes off of Daryl. When the stranger made it to the driver’s side of the car, he unwound his arm from around Tara’s neck, using it to open the door instead — though his finger remained twitching above the trigger. Once the door was opened, he faltered, realizing he’d lose the coverage of Tara’s body if he tried to get inside.

“Take it,” Y/N suddenly spoke, stepping out from behind Daryl with her hands near her head, drawing the man’s attention.

The archer shot her a sharp glance. “Y/N —”

“Take the car, take the supplies, take whatever you need,” she continued calmly, ignoring Daryl’s growled protest. “Just let her go, okay? No one’s here to hurt you.”

The stranger’s expression shifted, the animalistic look on his face shifting into something that resembled more of a quiet desperation than anything else. “I —“ he shook his head quickly, shifting back and forth. “I just need — I just need to go — I need to go.”

Y/N took another step forward, the side of her arm brushing against Daryl’s. “Okay,” she nodded, exhaling a breath. “That’s okay — just let our friend go and —”

Her sentence was interrupted by the front door of the school swinging open.

Daryl whipped his head around, feeling his stomach drop when he spotted Rick walking out with a stack of boxes — but when the sheriff noticed the standoff happening just down the steps, the boxes came crashing down, falling out of his hands, and instead…he grabbed his pistol.

It was as though everything happened in slow motion.

The stranger’s expression twisted as his sights set in on Rick — he swung the barrel of his gun away from Tara, who instantly dropped to the ground as the man pointed the weapon up the steps, and then…

A barrage of gunfire sounded as Rick and the man began shooting at one another in rapid succession. The sheriff used the front door as a shield, attempting to fire from around the frame, the awkward angle throwing off his aim. The stranger, on the other hand, fired away in no particular direction — his aim was erratic and panicked as he tried using the car door as coverage.

When a bullet flew past the side of Daryl’s head, he dove towards Y/N. He knocked her off her feet and onto the pavement, attempting to take cover from the shootout. The archer flipped onto his back, fumbling for his rifle before finally getting a grip and pointing it at the man.

But before he could take a shot, the stranger threw himself into the car, slamming the door shut, bullets from Rick’s pistol embedding into the metal. He peeled recklessly out of the parking lot, still firing from out of the opened window as he made his getaway.

Despite one of the back tires exploding after getting hit with a stray bullet, the stranger kept driving, disappearing onto the main road and out of sight, leaving a wake of destruction in his path.

“What the fuck?” Tara called from where she’d taken cover.

“Is everybody alright?” Rick yelled back, coming out from behind the door and running down the steps.

Daryl twisted onto his side, looking over at Y/N. “Hey, ya alright?”

“Y-Yeah,” she murmured shakily, pushing up onto her hands and knees. “I’m okay.”

The archer let out a sigh of relief, climbing to his feet and surveying the damage done around them as Rick appeared at his side.

“What an asshole,” Tara swore, coming to a stand as her eyes bounced between Rick, Daryl, and Y/N. “Seriously, what kind of —”

Daryl looked over at her, waiting to hear the rest — but that was when he noticed her staring at something just behind him, the horrified expression on her face filling him with a vast and all-consuming sense of dread.

The archer spun around.

And that was when he saw her.

Y/N stood a few feet away, swaying unsteadily, her hand pressed tightly against the center of her stomach. Her head was lowered, bowed to her chest as she slowly pulled her trembling hand away, revealing a stark redness pooling from her midsection, staining the front of her shirt. She looked up then, her eyes meeting his, the shock in her gaze surely mirroring his own.

“No,” Daryl whispered, the word sounding strangled in his throat as Y/N’s knees suddenly began to give out. “No!” he roared, rushing forward and grabbing onto her before she could collapse.

His arms slipped around her middle before he carefully lowered her onto the ground, her head drooping down against his shoulder. His heart pounded so violently against his ribcage, part of him wondered if it was giving out on him entirely — maybe it was. Maybe this was what dying felt like. Maybe this was what it felt like to have your soul ripped straight out of your body.

Daryl cradled the back of Y/N’s head with one hand as he laid her down flat against the pavement, her eyes wide and unseeing, staring straight up at the sky. “Hey, hey, look a’ me, jus’ look a’ me,” he urged, brushing the hair back from her face, ignoring the blood now staining his hands — her blood.

“I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay,” she mumbled, repeating it over and over again as though she could will it to be true — though her skin grew more ashen with each minute that slipped by.

Rick suddenly kneeled on the opposite side of Y/N, taking a piece of cloth and holding it against the wound. “Keep pressure on it,” he instructed Daryl and although he tried to conceal it, the archer could hear the way his voice wavered. “You jus’ hold on, Y/N, understand? We’re gonna get you outta here,” he promised, reaching down and squeezing one of her hands before disappearing.

Daryl watched him leave, dragging a teary-eyed, slack-jawed Tara along with him as they began frantically searching the abandoned parking lot for any working vehicles — it was their only chance at getting her back to Alexandria.

And if they didn’t…

No.

No, he couldn’t go there.

Instead, he pressed the cloth against the gunshot wound, attempting to stall the blood flow, the pressure eliciting a pained whimper from Y/N that almost made the contents of his stomach reappear. “I got ya, Y/N, I got ya,” he rasped, grabbing her limp hand with his own and intertwining their fingers, holding his other hand firmly against her stomach.

His words seemed to bring her back to him, her hollow gaze shifting into one of panic — like she only just realized what was happening. Her features crumpled, a flash of fear skirting across her face as the shock began to wear off. “Am — am I dying?” she managed to choke out, her eyes filling with unshed tears as she looked up at him.

“No,” he shook his head resolutely, feeling moisture build in the corners of his own eyes. “No, ya ain’t goin’ nowhere, ya hear me?” his grip tightened around her hand — like his touch alone could keep her there with him. “We’re gonna get ya back ta’ Alexandria an’ — an’ get ya patched up, good as new, alright? Ya jus’ gotta hang on for me, girl.”

Y/N’s bottom lip quivered as a tear snaked down the side of her face. “I-I don’t want to leave you,” she whispered, a sob hitching in her throat.

“Hey, it’s gonna — ya gonna — jus’ — Rick!” Daryl suddenly bellowed, sitting back on his haunches and desperately scanning the area for any sign of him or Tara. He spotted them at the opposite end of the parking lot, running from car to car, searching for keys or at least a way to jumpstart one of the abandoned vehicles.

But luck was not seeming to be on their side.

Daryl let out a vicious string of curses before focusing back on Y/N. He’d never felt so helpless in his entire life — and God, if he could, he’d take her place in a second.

She was fading — fading so rapidly it made him dizzy. Her skin was cold to the touch, her lips tinged a disturbing shade of blue, her eyes lacking the warmth he was so used to seeing. He felt a swell of emotion rise in his throat, threatening to consume him, but he shoved it down.

“Hey, y-you were right,” she murmured weakly, the corner of her mouth twitching up as she tilted her head to look up at the sky once more. “I think it’s gonna rain.”

Daryl felt a tear spill down his cheek as he followed her eye line, the previously blue sky now blanketed with thick, dark clouds. He huffed a humorless laugh, their conversation from a few minutes earlier ringing through his mind, somehow seeming like an entire lifetime ago. “Guess that means ya — ya gotta take watch tonight, right?” he rasped despondently, keeping his gaze towards the sky.

He stilled when he was met with nothing but a deafening silence.

He felt his stomach roll as he squeezed his eyes shut, afraid of what he'd see if he looked down. “Y/N?” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

When she didn’t respond, Daryl knew.

She was gone.

His girl was gone.

And his entire world came crashing down around him.

Daryl forced his eyes open.

His body went numb at the sight of her, his mind refusing to accept the image before him — empty eyes, grey flesh, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth. Her hand slipped from his grasp then, dropping onto the pavement beside her unmoving form as she continued staring vacantly up at the sky.

His brain couldn’t process what was happening — where he was, what he was doing, why he was there. It felt like a nightmare — a reality that wasn’t quite reality, warped and desolate and consuming him whole. The only tangible thing he felt was a sharp, physical pain in the center of his chest, his breaths short and hitched, causing black spots to dance in his vision.

Over the blood rushing to his ears, he could just barely make out the sound of a car engine, the noise muted and dull as it approached…

But it was too late.

They were too late.

Daryl reached for her hesitantly, hands trembling as he wound his arms beneath her back and carefully scooped her up off the ground, falling back slightly as he pulled her body across his lap. When her head lolled listlessly to the side, he brought his hand up, brushing his bloodstained fingers through her hair before cradling the back of her head, pressing his cheek against hers.

“Ya said —” he squeezed his eyes shut, rocking back and forth as his grip around her lifeless body tightened. “Ya said ya were okay,” he choked out brokenly, his own shock slowly wearing off as something deep inside his soul fractured.

Then he broke.

And the sky opened up and wept alongside him.

The sound of barking drew Daryl back to reality.

He glanced over his shoulder, quickly blinking away the tears that’d formed, spotting Dog trotting towards him. The German Shepard’s tongue hung lazily out of his mouth, his easy pace picking up the closer he neared, letting out another short bark.

Daryl rumbled a laugh as Dog came to a halt at his side, plopping down next to him. “Hey, boy,” he rasped softly, scratching behind his dog’s ear and earning a sloppy lick in return He wiped away the moisture from his cheek as the canine laid down beside him with a huff. “Good, Dog.”

The archer ran his fingers through his sleek fur, feeling his throat tighten. When he’d found the German Shepard a few years back, he’d remembered the conversation with Y/N from back at the prison — and it’d only felt right to name him ‘Dog’.

It’s what she would’ve wanted — and somehow, it made him feel just a little bit closer to her.

“Man, she would’a loved ya,” he whispered thickly, sighing a long and heavy breath.

Daryl looked forward once more, studying the small gravestone in front of him — her gravestone.

For a long time, he stayed away. He hadn't been able to go near where she'd been laid to rest, he just couldn’t — it was too fucking painful, like part of himself had been buried right along with her. But over time, the grief became easier to manage — it never went away, it'd never go away — but he found a way to exist alongside it.

Now, he found a strange sort of peace here.

It’d been years since he’d lost her — she’d been gone for longer than he’d known her. It was hard to keep track of time these days, they seemed to come and go without rhyme or reason. So much had happened since that day — the war against the Saviors, the looming threat of the Whisperers, losing friends, family, Rick…

Time seemed to move differently after losing the people loved most.

After that day at the high school, Daryl had tried to find the man responsible for what happened to Y/N — he’d gone back to the high school, wild and unhinged in his grief, hellbent on retracing their steps and tracking down the stranger. He’d needed revenge, bloodshed, he’d needed the man to know what he’d done, who he’d taken from the world.

Despite the improbability, the archer had no trouble finding him.

The back tire that had been blown out during the exchange of gunfire had sent the car careening down an embankment and into a large tree less than a mile from the school. One of the branches had broken through the windshield and punctured the man’s chest, most likely killing him on impact.

He’d reanimated still strapped in the driver’s seat.

Daryl left him that way.

It wasn’t the ending he’d hoped for, but maybe it was the ending he deserved.

He reached down, absently stroking the top of Dog’s head, and inhaled a deep breath.

Not a single day went by without the thought of her.

She came and went — like a flash of light or the beat of a heart. Daryl had barely had any time to hold onto her before she was gone — and he would’ve held her so much tighter had he known it’d be the last chance he’d have.

Some people were just too bright to stay, too good for what the world had become — at least that’s what he told himself on the really dark days.

The archer closed his eyes, imagining her at his side — sometimes if he sat like that for long enough, he could almost hear her voice, her laugh, he could almost feel her warmth, her touch — and it was like she was still there, sitting right beside him.

It wasn’t the same, but it was enough — at least until he could be with her once more.

Daryl opened his eyes, peering up at the vast night sky, and released the breath he’d been holding.

Someday, he’d find his way home again.

Fin.

A/N: ...hi...how y'all doin'? lol

So yeah, this is a lot to unpack. If you've made it to the very end, THANK YOU! I know this was a super-dee-duper-long oneshot but hopefully (heartbreak and all) it was worth it.

Most of this story was purely self-indulgent - I mean, come on, who doesn't want this kind of love? But aside from that, I also wanted to write a relationship for Daryl that felt authentic and true to his character (*cough cough* definitely not throwing shade at 10.18...nope...not at all...lol)

What also made this story super fun was the fact that I was able to incorporate other characters from over the course of the series! (Even though he's only in it for .2 seconds, Abraham is probably my personal favorite lol I'd never written for him before, and damn, is it fun!)

I also like the little 'twist' at the end when we realize that in the present parts of the story, he's been hanging out at the reader's grave the entire time, reminiscing. Ow, that hurts my heart.

After writing this for months, I was the last person who wanted to see the story end like this. I honestly grew super attached to this relationship and part of me contemplated ending it on more of a 'happy' note...or as 'happy' as you can get with a show like this one. But this was the ending I'd envisioned from the beginning. We got to experience a Daryl x Reader relationship from the very start to the very end. No open-ended questions, no 'what ifs'.

And I think that's sorta beautiful.

P.S. Feedback is incredibly important. I write for my own happiness, but I also write for YOU. So don’t be afraid to shoot me an ask or leave a comment with your thoughts! It truly motivates me and helps move along the writing process. Also, please consider donating to my Tip Jar. Every little bit helps!

P.S.S. I can no longer tag people on this account, so my tag list has been transferred to my side blog @crossbowking2. If you'd like to be added/removed, please let me know!

[iluffyouxo]

𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

the walking dead — Daryl Dixon X black, female OC

—

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘵𝘭𝘺, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘯𝘰𝘸.

The farm was a peaceful place (excluding the distant moaning of a walker or two). The forest edge and the field's beginning was about fifty yards long and over one hundred yards wide, leaving plenty of land to be explored and settled on. I had been fortunate enough to be offered their last available bedroom to be given easier access to Carl. I was given the job caretaker of the little runt when his parents were busy. (I suppose it was because I was his favorite amongst the group). I had just gotten dressed in a cropped black t-shirt, camouflage cargo pants, thick sole combat boots and an oversized green, jean jacket when a knock sounded at my door. "Oh, Lori! What's up?" I blinked as I opened the door fully. The ravenette wasn't a frequent visitor of mine so, I'm usually surprised when I do see her come around on my side of the terf.

"Rick told me to come get you. Said he had a job for you and Daryl." I look at her for a moment too long as an eyebrow rose in question. "A job? For Daryl and I?" I purse my lips but nod. "Okay, I'll be out in just a sec." I grab my machete before walking out of my room and through the front door. I was met with Rick and Shane there. Eyes fixated on each other. Like alpha to alpha. Their glares fueled by intensified rivalry. I shivered at the thought of having to interrupt them, however, I came here on Rick's behalf. "Umm...Rick, I don't mean to bother whatever's goin' on here...but...you asked for me?"

The two turned to me--Shane's gaze ice cold, Rick's held a sweetness to him that I could never say no to. "Uh...yeah, sorry 'bout that Bishop." He offers me a hand and I take it. We walk down the porch steps, taking a stroll throughout the camp as Rick speaks. "I need you and Daryl to do a clean of sorts in the woods area. Kill any walkers you might see." I wave to Andrea who was cleaning her gun at one of the picnic tables before sending a questioning gaze towards Rick. "Why Daryl and I? Isn't everybody in this group skilled enough to do such a simple task?" His sky blue eyes focus down on the machete placed on my hip. "Y'all have quiet killing tactics, along with the fact that you've been perfectin' your huntin' skills is handy, too."

I nod but it seemed as if he had something else bothering him. Placing a hand on his shoulder I squeeze it in reassurance. "You know that you can talk to me, Rick." He looks at me for a beat before sighing, "I just want you to help him. He hasn't been himself since we found Sofia." I cast my gaze downwards at the memory. "Yeah...I know.... He was the most hopeful, and ended up being the most heartbroken." Rick and I stand there staring at each other, just as he and Shane had but with a mutual understanding instead of a falling out friendship. I smile. "I'll do my best but, no promises; you know how Daryl can be." Rick chuckles, "I think I know that better than anyone here--besides you, of course." With that Rick walked back towards the house to finish whatever conversation he was having with Shane, and I headed over to the outskirts of camp where Daryl had himself cooped up.

He sat there, cleaning his arrows, grumbling something about damned walkers always causing trouble to himself. He had a cozy set up here. His tent just a few feet away from the makeshift bonfire. I stood watching him for a bit. I wonder what it would be like to see him smile? I shake my head. Where in the hell did those thoughts come from? "The hell you just standing there for?" It didn't surprise me that he knew I had been standing behind him but I was a bit shocked at the slight blush dusting his cheeks as he turned around and looked up at me. "No reason," I shrug, "Rick wants us to do a quick sweep of the woods." Daryl grunted but picked up his things, nonetheless, a few moments later after he realized that I wasn't going anywhere.

I hummed a small tune from a corner of my memory, something along the lines of an old Nightcore cover, as I slit the throat of an unsuspecting walker. I hadn't listened to any music since the beginning of this pandemic. It was nice to reminisce. I begin humming the song again. "I'm an angel with a shotgun. Fightin' 'til the war's won. I don't care if Heaven won't take me back. I'll throw away my faith, babe, just to keep you safe. Don't you know you're everything that I have? And I, I, I, I want to live, not just survive...tonight." I smile at the recollection of the lyrics. I had forgotten what joy music brought me before this shit show. Daryl glanced at me from over his shoulder. "Ya singin' to me, princess?" I raise an eyebrow at the nickname but I don't mention it. I only smirk in response. "Maybe." He stops in his tracks, head tilted downwards. "Well, keep doin' it...'s nice," he mumbles. It was a faint request; however, I heard it loud and clear. I started singing another song from my old, forgotten life. One that was repeated daily on my phone's playlist. That's when I felt the first few droplets of rainfall.

The rain outside was heavy. Too harsh for anyone to camp outside. The group had all squished inside the farmhouse. Lori and Rick slept in the room Carl resided in. Andrea and Dale took shelter in the camper van. While Shane, Carol and T-bone decided to sleep in the rather large living room. Maggie offered Glenn her room, despite Hershel's protests, and I could only imagine what my baby brother was gonna get into tonight. And Daryl? Well, Daryl hadn't said much, just sat around in the kitchen possibly waiting for someone to acknowledge him. So, I found him leaning against the countertop snacking on a piece of stale bread. "Do you know where you're gonna sleep?" He looks at me then, looks away. I'll take that as a no. I was about to say something else when a loud booming sounded from the rain. A thunderstorm?

Daryl shuffles closer to the corner he stuck himself in, shrinking in on himself. I stared at him for a while in bewilderment. There was no way in hell Daryl Dixon was scared of lightening. Yet as he slightly trembled, quivering eyes darting back and forth, I knew my hunch was right. As I step towards him, he visibly flinches. It was then that I knew whatever was going on with him had to deal with his abusive past. I run my fingers through his hair and brush it to the side. And for the first time since I joined this group Daryl looked me in the eye. And his fear was evident. "You want to sleep in my room?" The nod of his head was quick and harsh. Had he been waiting for me to ask?

Comforting Daryl Dixon was the last thing I ever thought I'd do during the apocalypse. But, as he lay on my stomach, fingers petting his hair, soothing him to sleep, I realized that the end of the world was just full of surprises.

[sourwolf-sterek32]

Welcome to the End

Summary: Y/N Winchester was a hunter like her brothers, following in their fathers footsteps. Saving people, hunting things, the family business.

During a case in Georgia, you meet the Dixon brothers and after saving Daryl’s life against a Chupacabra, the two of you become close. But, when the zombie apocalypse starts, life as you know it changes forever.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Winchester!Reader

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Language, descriptions of blood

Chapter 10-

"Stop right there!" A mans voice shouted.

A split second later you all had your guns aimed up at the men on what you assumed was Hilltop's watch platform, but the men only had spears pointed towards the group of you. What the hell were they going to do with spears from this distance?

"Ya gonna make us?" Daryl spat, his shotgun trained on one of the men with spears, your handgun aimed at him too.

"Jesus, what the hell is this?" You questioned.

"Open the gates, Kal. Freddie's hurt." Jesus responded, staring up at the men before he turned back to the rest of you. "Look, sorry about these guys. They get antsy standing there all day doing nothing." He explained turning back to his friends with an annoyed look causing you to chuckle softly, lowering your handgun.

These people weren't a threat, especially with just spears.

"They give up the weapons. Then we'll open the gates." One of the men responded and you just rolled your eyes because you knew Daryl and Rick weren't going to lay down their weapons any time soon.

"We vouch for these people, alright? They saved us out there." Dr Carson was spoke up from behind you somewhere.

"Look, I'm not taking any chances. Tell your guy Gregory to come out here." Rick said, speaking up for the first time as he took a step forward until he was beside Jesus who quickly shook his head.

"No. Don't you see what just happened? I'm letting you keep your guns. Look, we ran out of ammo months ago. I like you people. I trust you. Trust us. Open the gates, Kal." Jesus ordered, turning away from Rick and looking back up at the two men and to your shock the gates suddenly opened.

You stood back for a moment, letting Jesus take the lead as you, Daryl and Rick followed him inside, the others trailing behind you as you took in the large community.

The first thing you noticed was the large mansion looking building in the middle of it which just seemed completely out of place compared to the old wooden barns and small crops that were scattered around the rest of the community.

You took note of the portable trailers lined up along the right side of the community as you eyed the civilians inside cautiously. Jesus had said not many of them were fighters and you figured he was right because most of them didn't even have a knife on them.

You heard Dr Carson say something to Maggie and Glenn about seeing him in the medical trailer when they had time and you smiled softly at the couple who both nodded before Dr Carson walked off with his friends, helping the injured man to what you assumed was the medical trailer.

"There was a materials yard for a power company nearby. That's how we put up the walls. A lot of people came from a FEMA camp. Trailers came with them and that's called Barrington House. Those windows up there let us see for miles in every direction. It's perfect for security. Come on, I'll show you inside." Jesus explained, pointing towards the large mansion, but you were too busy scanning the rest of the community, trying to remember all the buildings and people.

The group of you followed Jesus up the stairs of Barrington House and into the main lobby. It was clear that this building used to a be a museum of some kind with the ancient furniture and paintings on the walls.

Jesus said that they had turned most the rooms into living quarters, but confirmed that it used to a museum.

Suddenly, the door to your left opened and you turned to find an older guy with a grey beard walking out.

"Jesus. You're back... With guests." The man said, looking at the group of you with an unreadable expression.

"Everyone, this is Gregory. He keeps the trains running on time around here." Jesus introduced.

"I'm the boss." The man- Gregory -stated causing you to rest your hands on your hips as you eyed him cautiously. You didn't like him. Something about him... you just didn't like this man.

"Well, I'm Rick. We have a community-" Rick started to say before Gregory cut him off.

"Why don't y'all go get cleaned up, hmm?" He suggested, taking a step towards Rick as you took a step towards him too, not trusting this man in the slightest and he must have noticed your movement because he glanced over at you with an amused expression before he turned his attention back to Rick.

"Jesus will show you where you can get washed up. Then come back down here when you're ready. It's hard to keep this place clean." Gregory explained and Rick just stared at him for a moment before he nodded.

"Yeah. Sure." Rick responded before Jesus lead the group of you up the stairs.

Rick asked Maggie to clean up first and talk to Gregory because 'he shouldn't' in his words and you had to agree with him. Gregory seemed like an asshole and Maggie was probably the better person to try and talk some sense into the older man.

Jesus showed you to three different bathrooms so it would be quicker and you wouldn't have to wait as long. You weren't entirely sure why Gregory wanted you all to wash up, did he want you all to have a shower or just clean your face? You had no idea.

Maggie and Glenn took the first bathroom, Abraham took the other and you and Daryl took the last one, the others saying they were happy to wait.

You walked into the large bathroom, Daryl following behind you, but you weren't sure why he even came in because like hell you would be able to get him to have a shower here and you didn't want to either. You weren't going to get naked and in a shower in a community you didn't know. What if something happened while you were inside? You weren't going to be caught naked in a dangerous situation.

"What do ya think of this place?" Daryl asked quietly as he closed the door behind himself and you turned around to face him and shrugged your shoulders.

"It's a good community. But, I don't like Gregory, he seems like douche as Dean would've put it." You answered causing Daryl to snort as he walked over to you and brushed the hair out of your face with his thumb. "What do you think?"

"Dunno. But, Gregory is a douche." He muttered causing you to chuckle softly as he cupped the side of your face with his hand and leant forward, placing a gentle kiss to your lips before you kissed him back.

"We should be getting cleaned up." You whispered against his lips as you lifted your hand a brushed your thumb against his cheek, but Daryl didn't say anything as he stared at you, your faces inches apart before you grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the bathroom sink.

"C'mon." You said grabbing a wash cloth.

You held it under the water before looking up at Daryl through the large mirror in front of you to find him already looking at you as he wrapped his arms around your stomach and rested his chin on top of your head.

You just raised your eyebrows at Daryl through the mirror causing him to smile slightly, knowing that you couldn't try and clean him when he was cuddling you from behind.

You glanced down at the wash cloth in your hands before you twisted it, draining most the water out before you lifted it up and started wiping the cloth along Daryl's arm, getting rid of the dirt and grime covering his bare arms causing him to glare at you. 

"You're annoyin'." Daryl muttered, but didn't show any intention in trying to stop you, his arms still wrapped around you while you cleaned his arms.

"Mmm, but you love me." You responded, your tone teasing as you lifted your head, meeting Daryl's eyes in the mirror and he just chuckled before kissing the top of your head.

The two of you took a little too long in the bathroom than you probably should have. But, Daryl was no longer dirty and you had cleaned up a bit too before the two of you walked out, letting Michonne and Rick take their turn.

You and Daryl made your way downstairs to find Abraham already down there who told you Maggie had gone into Gregory's office to talk to him.

You took a seat on the couch in the middle of the room while Daryl walked over to one of the windows and looked out, clearly still unsure about this community.,

"How long do you think Rick and Michonne been ugging bumplies?" Abraham suddenly asked from where he was standing across the room causing you to snort softly at his choice of wording,

"I don't know." Daryl muttered, shrugging his shoulders.

"You two ever think about it? Settling down?" The bigger man questioned, catching you off guard for a moment as you looked over at Daryl actually curious to hear his answer.

"Ya think shit's settled?" Daryl asked, staring at Abraham before he quickly glanced over at you and you just shrugged your shoulders.

Shit was definitely not settled, but for some reasons Daryl's words still stung a bit. It wasn't like the two of you were going to settle down and have a family any time soon. Hell, you haven't even talked about it before, but that didn't mean you two couldn't settle down just the two of you.

Abraham glanced over at you, clearly wanting to see what you would say, but you didn't get a chance to say anything before the door to Gregory's office opened and Maggie walked out with an annoyed expression.

"Well, I'm guessing that went great." You commented sarcastically and Maggie just nodded.

"Yep. Rick out yet?" She asked and you shook your head. "Let's go upstairs, I'll explain everything when the whole group is ready." She added and with that the three of you followed her upstairs,

It didn't take long for the others to finish and once they did Maggie explained how Gregory didn't want anything to do with Alexandria and wasn't interested in trading or helping each other causing Rick to shake his head in annoyance.

Jesus tried to get Rick to give him a few days to try and talk to Gregory and get him to change his mind, but before Rick could say anything the door to Barrington House slammed open and a man you recognised from the watch platform rushed inside.

"What's wrong?" Jesus asked and you suddenly had a bad feeling about whatever this man had to say.

"They're back." He answered just as Gregory walked out his office with a tense expression. Yep, whatever this was, it wasn't going to be good.

You followed Jesus and Gregory outside with the others to find three new people walking towards the group of you, but by the look on their faces something was horribly wrong. 

"Nathan, what happened to everybody else? Where's Tim and Marsha?" Gregory asked, resting his hands on his hips as he stared at one of the men.

"They're dead." The Nathan guy answered.

"Negan?" Gregory asked and Tim nodded. "We had a deal though."

"He said it wasn't enough. They still have Craig. They said they'd keep him alive, return him to us, if I deliver a message to you." Tim explained as he took a few steps towards Gregory until he was standing right in front of him.

"So, tell me." The leader responded and you frowned slightly when Tim placed his hand on Gregory's shoulder and you saw the blade before anyone even knew what was happening.

"I'm sorry." Tim whispered, but you were already rushing forward.

Daryl shouted your name in the background somewhere, but you weren't listening as you grabbed Tim's arm just as he stabbed Gregory with the knife.

Gregory cried out in pain as you yanked Tim's arm back, stopping him from digging the blade any deeper before you threw the man backwards, trying your best not to show your supernatural strength. 

Maggie and Jesus were by Gregory's side in an instant before the other man suddenly charged, tackling you to the ground. Your back slammed into the dirt, knocking the wind out of you.

You laid there gasping for air for a moment when suddenly Daryl grabbed the mans shoulders, throwing him off you and you saw Abraham tackle him to the ground off to the side and you were satisfied that he was taken care of.

"Ya good?" Daryl quickly questioned, holding his hand out towards you.

You nodded about to reach for Daryl's hand to let him help you up before you saw movement out the corner of your eye.

You quickly turned your head, spotting Tim now back up and running towards Rick with the knife still in his hand and without thinking twice you held your hand out, using your powers which sent the man flying backwards again away from Rick.

"Rick!" You shouted painfully, trying to ignore the searing agony soaring through your head from using your powers.

Rick spun around at the urgency and strain in your tone and you pointed at Tim who was already staggering back to his feet with a confused expression, but the knife was still clenched in his fist.

You watched as Rick charged at Tim, punching him in the face causing the man to fall to the ground and Rick continued to punch him before Daryl's hands were suddenly on your shoulders, snapping your attention back to him.

"Shit, angel." Daryl muttered, taking in the blood you could feel dripping from your nose.

Your head was thumping something shocking, but you knew it would be over in 10 or so minutes, you just had to wait it out.

"I'm good." You winced, placing a hand on your forehead trying anything to stop the pain, but it wouldn't go away.

Shakily you took a deep breath about to try and reassure Daryl that you were okay before before you heard Abraham shout from somewhere behind you. Damnit, what now?

You looked in his direction despite the pain you were in to find the other stranger now on top of Abraham, his hands squeezing the red heads throat tightly. Shit.

"Help him." You gasped, pointing in their direction causing Daryl's head to snap in their direction too and the second he saw the man choking Abraham, Daryl quickly looked back down at you, clearly not wanting to leave you. "Go!" You shouted and to your relief Daryl rushed over to Abraham.

You watched as Daryl grabbed the strangers arm and bent it back on an angle that definitely wasn't natural before the sound of bones cracking filled the air.

The man screamed in pain, instantly letting go of Abraham as he dropped to the ground a few metres away, clutching his now broken arm to his chest.

Daryl held his hand out, helping Abraham to his feet before you turned your attention back to Rick and you silently swore under your breath when you realised that Tim now had Rick pinned to the ground with a knife to his throat.

You turned away for five seconds, what the fuck.

"Hey!" Glenn shouted, his gun aimed at Tim along with the others, but nobody dared to pull the trigger with that knife pressed against Ricks neck.

"Stay back! Anybody who tries to stop me-" Tim started to yell, looking around at the rest of you which was his first mistake.

He should have never taken his eyes away from Rick and you grinned knowing exactly what was about to happen and not a second later, Rick had his own knife stuck into the side of Tim's neck.

Blood poured from the wound, falling down onto Rick's neck and beard, but Tim was more than dead as Rick pushed the man off him and staggered to his feet.

You spared a quick glance around at the others to make sure everyone was okay. Daryl and Abraham had their guns trained on the man with the broken arm, although you doubted he would be doing anything. Maggie and Jesus were both still by Gregory's side, holding their hands to the wound on his stomach while the rest of your group eyed the dead men on the ground cautiously and that's when you noticed you had drawn quite a crowd.

It was almost like most of Hilltops residents were in the area, all standing from a distance watching the whole scene unfold with terrified faces.

"What?" Rick questioned, bringing your attention back to him to find him now standing up as he stared at everyone, his beard and jacket stained red.

"Ethan! You killed him." The man with the broken arm shouted and you turned your head in his direction which turned out to be a bad idea when the pain spiked again causing you to wince as you grabbed your head with your hands.

This was why you didn't use your powers. It fucks you up and damnit you hated headaches before this, but this was a thousand times worse and you weren't entirely sure if you stood up that might pass out.

"Shit, you okay?" Glenn's voice suddenly questioned and before you knew it he was crouching down beside you.

"Yeah, must have copped a hit to the head or something." You lied.

"You're nose is bleeding too." He commented before the sound of Rick talking again.

"He tried to kill Gregory, then me."

You watched when out of nowhere the woman who was with the group marched towards Rick and punched him in the face and not a moment later Michonne slammed her elbow into her chest, sending the woman crashing to the ground.

"Don't." Michonne warned sternly, staring down at the woman. Michonne was a fucking badass.

"Drop it now!" A new voice yelled.

"I don't think I will." Rick responded and you looked in their direction to find two of the Hilltop fighters with spears pointed at Rick, but Rick had his Colt aimed at them. Really? Did they really think they stood a chance against a damn revolver?

"Everyone, this is over!" Jesus shouted, sprinting towards the group of them as he stood between Rick and the others with spears as he held his hands out to try and calm the situation down. "It's over. Ethan was our friend, but lets not pretend he was anything more than a coward who attacked us. He did this. And these people stopped him."

"What can I do?" Rick asked, turning his attention to Jesus.

"Put the gun away. You've done enough." The long haired man answered and with that, Rick holstered the gun and the others put the spears down. "You need to know that things aren't as simple as they might seem. Just give me some time." Jesus added before he rushed back to Gregory's side where Dr Carson now was with Maggie.

You watched as the three of them started taking the leader towards the infirmary trailer before Daryl reappeared by your side, hearing Glenn tell him that you hit your head or something, but you knew Daryl knew that was a load of bullshit, but he didn't dare say that.

"Ya okay?" Daryl asked, kneeling down beside you while Glenn went to help with Gregory and you nodded, wincing slightly at the pain it caused.

"So, that's what you mean by your powers aren't working properly?" Rick asked, walking over to the two of you as he stared down at you from where you were still sitting on the ground holding your head and you nodded ever so slightly.

"Thank you. You saved my life by using them and I'm sorry about what I said back on the road about you being like the rest of us without your powers. You aren't and you showed that today." He apologised and that apology actually meant a lot as you gave him a small grateful smile.

"C'mon, can ya stand?" Daryl asked hesitantly and you shrugged your shoulders as Daryl grabbed one of your arms, slinging it over his shoulder as he helped you to your feet before the rest of your group all started to walk into Barrington House, waiting for Jesus.

You sat down on one of the chairs with Daryl hovering beside you anxiously, despite you telling him that you were fine. Rick, Abraham, Michonne and Glenn were all standing around the room while Maggie helped with Gregory and by help you knew it meant try to talk to him again and get him to make a deal.

"Dr. Caron was able to patch Gregory up. He's in pain, but he'll live. The doctor could have a look at your head too, if you want?" Jesus offered, looking over at you as he walked into the room.

"I'll be fine." You quickly responded, before glancing around the room. "So, what happens now?"

"Things like that don't usually happen here, but, uh, it's settled." Jesus answered, but that didn't exactly answer your question.

"We heard the name Negan. A while back, Daryl and Abraham had a run-in with his man. Who is he?" Rick asked and you had completely forgotten about that.

Daryl had told you about that day. How he blew those men on motorcycles up with a freaking rocket launcher. Man, Dean would have loved to done that, you thought to yourself before you shook your head, not wanting to go down that path. Thinking of your brothers only ended one way and that was usually crying and you were not going to cry in front of everyone.

"Negan's the head of a group of people he calls the Saviours. As soon as the walls were built, the Saviours showed up. They met with Gregory on behalf of their boss. They made a lot of demands, even more threats... And he killed one us- Rory. He was 16 years old." Jesus started to explain before he stopped, clearly thinking back to that day before he took a deep breath and continued.

"They beat him to death, right in front of us. Said we needed to understand, right off the bat. Gregory's not exactly good at confrontation. He's not the leader I would've chosen, but he helped make this place what it is, and the people like him. He made the deal. Half of everything. Our supplies, our crops, our livestock, it goes to the Saviours." He explained, but he refused to look at any of you as he spoke as he stared at the ground.

"And what do you get in return?" Glenn asked.

"They don't attack this place. They don't kill us." 

"Why not just kill them?" Daryl asked from beside you, his hand still on your shoulder as you looked over at Jesus curious to find out the answer.

"Most of the people here don't even know how to fight, even if we had ammo."

"Well, how many people does Negan have?" Rick asked.

"We don't know. We've seen groups as big as 20-" Jesus started to say before Daryl cut him off.

"Now, hold up. So, they show up, they kill a kid, 'n ya give 'em half of everythin'? These dicks just got a good story. The bogeyman, he ain't shit." Daryl responded, letting go of your shoulder as he took a step forward, glancing around at the group.

"Well, how do you know?" Jesus asked, staring at Daryl.

"A month ago we took his guys out PDQ. Left them in pieces and puddles." Abraham responded, and well that was not the way you would have explained it, but it was the truth.

"Ya know, we'll do it. If we go get your man back, kill Negan, take out his boys, will ya hook us up?" Daryl questioned and you smiled softly listening to him. It was weird, he had changed so much since the first time you met him all those years ago, but at the same time he hadn't changed at all and you loved him about that.

"We want food, medicine 'n one of 'em cows." Daryl added causing you to chuckle softly at the mention of a cow.

"Confrontation's never been something we've had trouble with." Rick said, backing Daryl up as he glanced over at the archer with a small nod.

"I'll take it to Gregory." Jesus responded with a hint of smile forming on his lips and you knew he liked this deal. But, it was Gregory who needed to like it, not Jesus.

-

MASTERLIST

Next Chapter

-Gifs used are not mine. Credit to rightful owners.

[livixbobbiex]

My Take on Annabeth Casting (I love it!)

Okay so like I don't think my take matters that much, but I'm going to put it out here (with the preface of me being a white, blonde, curly haired girl who loved these books as a kid).

So the reason lack of blonde Annabeth bothers me in the movies isn't because Annabeth HAS to be blonde. It's because, along with the rest of the movie, it came off to me as lazy and a lack of attention to detail. It wouldn't have been difficult to dye her hair or even wear a wig - case in point the second film. It doesn't feel like a decision here, more a lack of one.

Leah's casting is an actual choice. Rick literally just... saw her energy. I mean, I haven't seen her act, but from the photo alone she genuinely radiates Annabeth's vibe to me. That's more important to me than anything else.

The thing is, Annabeth's race isn't that important to her character - considering you can do a very similar stereotype storyline here. To be honest, the dumb blonde stereotype, at least to me, is far less relevant nowadays anyway. Compared to basically any other major character that appears later (esp HOO) where their backgrounds are quite intensely woven into their narratives, Annabeth being white just isn't that big a deal?

Considering that book Annabeth also exists, along with the representation that provides.

Maybe it's because Percy Jackson has basically been my only ADHD representation ever, so that's honestly FAR more important to me. But like, I'm excited. She (and Grover) genuinely look great, and I was honestly more on team 'book accurate' before this.

As an aside, I saw a really weird complaint about how all Athena kids 'have to be Black'? And like no??? Y'all read the books? Frank and Clarisse are siblings. Beckendorf (rip) and Leo are siblings. Drew and Piper? HAZEL AND NICO??? Like, racial consistency has never been a thing in the books? Hellenistic deities don't really work this way - especially with Athena who's legit just imagining kids out here. I hope to see a camp full of hella diverse kids, anyhow.

I get why some people are upset about the casting, but you still have the books. Plus let's not hate on kids. And for the people who this means a lot more to, I'm super happy for you!