#patricia t good

[lipglossanon]

Stay Right Through

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Dogman!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader (one shot)

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, hybrid au, dogman Leon, master/pet dynamics, dirty talk, oral (f receiving), mounting, breeding, knotting, unprotected sex, creampie

not proofread 👌

Title from Wandering by Good Charlotte 💜

Part 2: I Only Touched Her Hips But She Saw It

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Excitement makes your leg bounce as you wait for the lady to come back from setting up. 

You did get to the hybrid adoption center a little early, but you’re just really happy to be here! 

Hybrids were all the craze ages ago, but since the newness has died off (aka puppy syndrome has waned) there were more and more of these places opening up. Your parents never saw the point in getting a hybrid for the family, very old fashioned not to mention pretty anti pet in general. 

So now, you have your own place and a steady job that isn’t eating up all your time anymore making it the perfect time to get a feel for what kind of hybrid you want. You’re definitely open to any of them, but it seems like the dog hybrids have a higher turnover rate which is why you’re at this specific adoption center. 

The lady finally comes around to the front desk and smiles at you. 

“Sorry for the wait, now how may I help you?”

You glance at her name tag, “Hi Patricia, and I’m looking into adopting. I was hoping to kinda get the ball rolling today.”

She laughs, “Not a problem. If you could fill out this form, I can put this in the system while you take a look around and see if there’s anyone you like.”

“Thank you,” you smile, taking the forms and returning to your seat. 

It takes a lot longer than anticipated, but soon enough you have all your i’s dotted and t’s crossed. Turning in the clipboard, Patricia stands up and leads you over to a locked door. She runs her card across the electronic sensor and opens it for you. 

She gives you a little nudge inside, “There are caretakers throughout if you have questions or concerns. Cameras are all over the facility but you look like a nice enough person so I’m sure we won’t have any issues.”

She laughs a little and waves as she closes the door behind her, leaving you to sort of walk around and look. 

The place is a lot different than the mental picture you had; it’s set up like an open floor plan, but with individual mini rooms separated by cubicle partitions. It seems like in the center is just a large lounge type area with couches and an entertainment center. Past all of that you can make out granite counters suggesting a kitchen. 

With that, you can see all kinds of hybrids hanging around in the living area or just milling about talking with one another. 

“Hi! Need help?”

You look over at the perky blonde woman with the name tag Sherry.

“Uh kinda, I just don’t want to step on any toes, y’know?” you smile feeling a little shy. 

“Not a problem,” she laughs, gesturing for you to walk with her, “I’ll just give you a quick tour and let you meet some of the pups.”

“Not that I don’t appreciate it, but I was really hoping to look at older—“

“Oh gosh, that’s great,” she gushes, “sorry to cut you off, but we have more than we like to see with older dog men.”

“Oh,” you laugh at her bubbly attitude, “well that’s great,” you wince, “not that it’s great.”

She pats your arm in solidarity, “I totally understand. But I’ll take you right over to where they like to hangout. They tend to stay away from the center of the lounge, too many yapping pups.”

Her voice must mimic one of the older hybrids with that last comment and you laugh along with her. 

She guides you closer to the kitchen area but off to the side that sort of resembles a ‘man cave’ for lack of a better term. It’s more dimly lit with similar lounge furnishings. 

“Hi everyone!” Sherry lights up the space with her presence, some of the hybrids calling back to her as you two walk closer. 

“We have a new prospective friend here,” she introduces you to a trio of dog men standing up from the couch. 

“Nice to meet you all!” you wave, excitement probably making you smile like a maniac but you’re just so happy to finally have this chance. 

“Nice to meet you, I’m Chris,” a tall, dark haired dogman nods, his Rottweiler ears flopping a little as he tilts his head to look over at the other two. 

“H-hi, I’m Ethan,” the mild mannered blonde rubs the back of his neck nervously, his twitching ears reminding you of a Chow Chow making you smile wider. 

“Leon,” the last dogman gives you a lazy two finger salute, sandy blonde hair nearly hiding his soft Labrador ears.  

“Would you like to hang out here while I run off to grab some pamphlets?” Sherry asks you with a twinkle in her eye, giving you an option to hang out with these three alone.

“Sure,” you nod, watching as she spins on her heel and walks in the direction of the office. 

You turn back to the three dog men who quickly invite you to sit and hang out. Chris is quick to talk, adept at conversation making you laugh at some anecdote or other. Ethan’s a little more subdued, reminding you of yourself, chiming in every now and then. He seems to help reign Chris in when he gets a little too enthusiastic. 

Leon, although he talks less than Chris, constantly draws your attention. You don’t know if it’s cheesy puns or his overly cynical jabs (which Chris takes offense to and then Ethan’s breaking up their growling and snapping), but you have a good feeling about him. So by the time Sherry makes her way back with some actually helpful pamphlets, your mind is all made up. 

“It was so nice meeting you all,” you wave cheerfully, following Sherry back to the front.

“Well, any lucky candidates?” Sherry asks with poorly hidden enthusiasm. 

“Yep,” you smile at her, happy with your choice, “I’d love to take in Leon, if he’s fine with it of course.”

“I’m sure he will be!” she enthuses, clapping her hands, “he’s been here the longest so I’m so happy to see someone finally pick him!”

“Really?” you look back through the door right before it shuts, “I’m surprised.”

“Eh,” she waves you off, leading you over to a different section, “he’s just grumpy,” she pauses and looks around before whispering, “people come in, pick him out, then being him back after the trial week. Always the same, he’s too sarcastic, too grumpy, they just want a younger dog.” 

Your heart cracks after hearing that, determination blazing through the sadness, “Well that’s not happening this time.”

Sherry looks at you, eyes contemplative before grinning, “I think you two will be a good fit!”

She has you hang out in her office as she prints some documents to put in a Manila folder for you to take home. 

“You’re all set,” she leads you out the back to the parking lot, “your background check should clear in about three days and we’ll call to set up a time to have Leon do a trial stay at your place.” 

You hesitate but push through to ask, “Is it okay if I come by tomorrow? I’d like to make sure Leon is fine with it, too.”

Sherry looks a little teary eyed as she quickly nods, “Of course, please do. I think he’s gonna be perfectly happy with ya though.”

You bid your goodbyes and you get in your car to head home. It’s not that far of a drive, luckily, and since it’s on the other part of town there’s no crazy traffic. You’re home lounging on the couch in no time, texting your friend Heather all the details. Once you send her the link to Leon’s profile, she does not shut up about him.  

Rolling your eyes, you close your phone and start reading through the folder. It’s all pretty basic info on how to care for a hybrid; they’re pretty much like a person, just a little less adept at some things. They can hold a job if they wish but more seem to choose the pet lifestyle. 

Gazing down at Leon’s profile photo, you  just really wanna take care of him. Show him that not all owners are complete douchebags. 

The next day passes quickly and by the time works over, you’re tired but buzzing—excited to get to the adoption place and meet up with Leon again. 

Sherry greets you again, just as enthusiastic as before. She leads you over to one of the cubicle partitioned rooms and raps her knuckles on the side. 

“Leon, she’s here,” her voice sing songs. 

“Have fun,” she pats your arm and turns back the way you both came. 

Leon’s nice enough to you, but you can tell he’s acting very closed off—keeping all of the conversation pretty baseline and shallow. No matter how grumpy and gruff he’s acting, you’re literally showering him with enthusiasm. You show him pictures of your house (including the room that’s all his, if he wants it or you can work something else out). 

You ask him tons of questions, but he only answers a few. A few times you say something that makes him smother a smile or a laugh making your heart flutter in your chest. Right before it’s time to go, you’re shifting on your feet at the opening of his room. 

“I know I’ve asked a million times, but are you good with living with me? I promise I really won’t push it if not,” you smile shyly, “I’d be super bummed though.”

His blue eyes watch you, unreadable for a moment before he smirks, “Hey beats being here,” he raises his voice a little, “plus I won’t have to deal with deadbeat rotties.”

The partition wall next to you rattles and you see Chris looming over it to glare at Leon. 

“I’ll be glad to see you go, tomorrow can’t get here soon enough.”

“Tomorrow?” you ask quizzically. 

Leon looks a little sheepish but shrugs easily, “Pretty sure they pushed it through this afternoon.”

“Oh,” you beam, feeling giddy all over, “that’s great! I’ll be here as soon as works over! Oh! And then we have the whole weekend to get you settled in, this is going to be so much fun!”

Chris and Leon both look amused as you finish rambling, now feeling bashful for coming on too strong.  

You fidget before clearing your throat, “C-can I pet your ears?”

Chris’ eyebrows raise and he grins at Leon, “Can’t believe you, Kennedy; she hasn’t got to pet you yet?” he tilts his head toward you, while looking at Leon, “you can pet me, ma’am.”

Leon steps between you two and snarls at him making Chris laugh and drop back down behind his wall. He walks closer to you, lowering his head due to his height. 

You smile sweetly making him blush as you softly run your hands through his hair before coming up to rub his soft sandy colored ears. He shivers and headbuts your shoulder, silently asking for more. Stifling the giggle that wants to escape, you use both hands to pet and rub his soft ears. 

“You’re such a good boy,” you murmur not really thinking. 

He whines a little and nuzzles into your neck making the giggle you were suppressing come bubbling out. He noses against your skin, huffing warm breaths as you continue to pet him. 

“You’re so sweet, Leon, I’m happy you’re coming home with me,” you keep your voice low and soothing.

He only chuffs against your neck, rough tongue coming out to lap at your skin before he’s pulling away. You smile at him as Sherry turns the corner. 

“Sorry to cut this short, but we’re closing soon. Good news is you and Leon leave out from here together tomorrow,” she hands you yet another folder filled with information. 

You take the folder and wave to Leon who moved back over to his bed, “See you tomorrow, Leon.”

He just gives you a little wave as Sherry leads you back to the front. She sees you out the door with a smile and a promise to be the one to help you out. 

Once you get home, you pace your living room. You feel like you have so much to do but don’t know where to start. Texting Heather, she tells you to chill out and actually sit down. Laughing to yourself about how well she knows you, you collapse onto your couch just realizing how tired you actually feel.  

Your phone dings with a new text from Heather. Honestly, ever since you told her your idea, she’s been sending you cute puppy videos. They’ve been full of all types of pets getting along with their owners doing silly things together.  It honestly helped you cement your plan on picking an older dogman since you rarely saw any in those videos. 

This text, however, was sent with the cryptic ‘to fill in those lonely hours 😜’ and knowing her sense of humor you’re kinda worried about the link. 

Knick Knack Paddywhack sounds kinda cheesy but you definitely didn’t expect porn to be on the other side of that link. 

At first you don’t even realize that’s what it is; it starts off pretty tame in general and before you know it this female owner is being mandhandled face down onto the couch as this huge, buff mandog is mounting her from behind. 

“Yeah you’ve been fucking gagging for this doggy’s dick huh?” 

You really should exit from the video but some dark horny part of your brain is too entranced by what’s happening to even move. Distantly, you notice that his dick looks exactly like a human male’s just with the addition of a knot at the base. He fucks her roughly, stretching her out and forcing his cock deep in her wet pussy. 

The dirty talk is really what’s making you go a little cross eyed with arousal. 

“Oh fuck yeah, knot me, breed my little pussy.”

“You want that? Wanna be my pretty bitch always on her hands and knees?”

“Unh unh yeah, make me your bitch. Wanna have your pups.”

You watch in mounting curiosity and arousal and shame as the camera shows her cunt take his entire knot, sealing them together as he ruts through her climax. 

Quickly exiting before the video can go further, you drop your head in your hands. Your panties are soaked, making your thighs feel tacky. In a daze, you move off the couch and head into the bathroom to take a shower. Your thoughts are a whirlwind. 

You’ve honestly never given it any thought about inter species relationships; you’ve heard about them sure, but only in passing and never any details. Now, you literally can’t stop thinking about that mandog dominating his ‘owner’ and knotting her. Shivering, your nipples pebble under the warm water. 

Leon’s gruff voice and handsome face swim into your thoughts making your clit pulse with your heartbeat. Would he—

You shake your head vigorously. Nope, not going there. You’re gonna shower and then go to bed, maybe watch a cartoon or something to keep your thoughts G rated. 

All of that’s easier said than done, but you somehow manage and before you know it you’re waking up the next morning, excited to go pick up Leon and bring him home. 

It’s pretty anticlimactic once you leave work and pick Leon up; Sherry had everything at the front ready to go with Leon just standing next to her. She leads him out to the car with you carrying the essentials, stowing them in the trunk while she unclips his collar and leash. 

“Please keep us updated,” she ruffles Leon’s hair making him bat her hands away with an eye roll, “we love seeing our pups flourish.”

“Not a pup,” he grouses, climbing into the backseat and shutting the door. 

Sherry laughs, “I’ll miss him but I’m more happy he’s leaving.”

“Thank you so much for everything,” you shake her hand, “and I promise to stop by every now and again with updates.”

She walks back inside as you climb into your car. Looking at Leon in the rear view mirror as he stares out the window moodily, you crank the car and slowly leave the lot. 

“Do you need anything before we get home?” you ask, breaking the quiet. 

He shakes his head no making his ears flop. You hide your smile and turn your attention back to the road. Once home, Leon settles in seamlessly; he takes the bedroom you offer but after the second night has made a little bed for himself in your room, tucked into the corner. When you asked, concerned he wasn’t happy with his room, he just gave you the short reply of needing to make sure you’re safe. 

You didn’t push it but let him know he’s more than welcome to tell you if he’s unhappy with anything. 

Days passed into weeks which quickly became months. Leon made himself right at home and now you really couldn’t picture your life without the dogman. It was nice coming home after a long day and be greeted with someone so happy to see you. Although Leon is still pretty stunted with showing affection, you usually can convince him to snuggle you on the couch and let you pet him til his tail wags. 

He’s really particular about having his tail touched so you don’t pry or push, more than happy to just pet his head and ears. 

Today when you get home for work and enter the house, Leon’s beelining straight for you, burying his face in your neck. 

“TGIF huh,” you laugh, petting his ears making him whine. 

“Missed you so much,” he breaths in your smell, tongue lapping up your neck to your jaw, stubble tickling your skin. 

He licks across your mouth once making you jerk back but he quickly follows, raspy tongue licking over your lips and chin. 

“Leon—“

You try to tell him to stop as you push at his shoulders but that just gives him the leverage to lick into your mouth. You keep pushing at him while you take a step back to make him stop, but your legs get tangled and you both fall back on the entryway carpet. 

Leon still hasn’t let up, and since you were more worried about making sure neither of you hurt yourselves when tripping, he’s drooling and licking into your mouth making you whine and push harder at his shoulders. 

He shifts until he’s between your legs and rocks down against the apex of your thighs. Grunting, he shoves your skirt up and tears your panties in half. One of his broad hands, grabs your flailing arms by the wrists and pins them to your chest. 

Finally he pulls away from your swollen mouth, licking his way down to your neck again. 

“Leon, stop being such a bad boy,” you gasp out, “what’s gotten into you?”

“Heat,” he sniffs against your neck before lightly licking the skin again, “need you so bad.”

You’re in a daze as you feel his bulge grinding against your bare pussy, slick starting to slowly drip out of your hole. As much as you protest, you’re really getting off on this, on Leon losing control and wanting to fuck you. 

“T-there are heat toys the center gave me,” you try to cut this off before you both go too far, “you can use those.”

He growls and nips your neck making you whimper. 

“Don’t wanna knotting toy,” his growling is getting deeper as he grinds against you harder, “only wanna knot my pretty owner.”

“Oh fuck,” you moan as he rubs against your clit just right.

Your mind flashes back to that video you saw months ago, hips bucking up into Leon imagining him mounting you in the same way. 

“Leon, s’bad, we shouldn’t—ngh, fuck!”

He pulls completely away from you and buries his nose in your pussy, raspy tongue eagerly licking up the slick dripping out of you. 

He growls and looks up at you as he mouths across your swollen clit, letting his rough tongue lap at the bundle of nerves til you’re keening and spreading your legs for him. 

He smirks, “That’s a good little owner, let me taste your sweet little pussy. Fuck, been smelling you for ages and now I can finally eat you out as much as I want.”

“Leon, you’re being such a bad boy right now,” you hiccup a whine, thighs straining to stay open. 

“Nah,” he kisses hour clit and softy licks it over and over and over, “you’re just being a bad girl, need me to put you in your place.”

You whine as he goes back to tongue fucking into your fluttering walls. Reaching down, you softly grasp his hair and rock against his mouth. He grunts and somehow shoves his face even more into your soaked cunt, greedily lapping at you with his rough tongue. 

The arguments you should make die on your tongue as Leon uses his to make you shiver and shake, goosebumps trailing along your body. With a low keening moan, you relax against him, letting him use that rough tongue to lick your cunt until you’re bucking up into his mouth.

He keeps you there, pinned to the entryway carpet as he eats you out for hours, never letting you cum once. By the time your bleary eyes take in the street lamps through your window, Leon’s pulling away from your slick pussy making you whine. 

“Leon, we shouldn’t,” your pussy throbs, entire body strung tight from your denied orgasms. 

“Have to,” his eyes are so dilated they look black, “don’t you wanna help me? Just need it one time.” 

He looms over you, forearms caging in your head, his jaw and mouth covered in wetness as he grinds his dick against your mound. Glancing down you take in just how big Leon is; he’s so hard the head is peaking through his foreskin, dripping precum all over your thighs.  Then, right at his base, you can see the beginnings of a knot forming which makes your pussy ache with want.  

You’re nodding up at him, belatedly answering his question, “Yeah, I wanna help you,” your hands come up to pet his hair, “wanna help my good boy.”

He yanks your blouse off, seams popping and tearing until it’s in shreds around you then snaps your bra off and tosses it away. His mouth eagerly licks and nips at your pebbled nipples making you gasp. 

“Gonna make you feel so good, breed this hot pussy.”

With a growl, Leon flips you over onto your stomach, hands going to your hips to raise your ass up. You try to push up onto your arms, but his broad palm pushes on the middle of your back shoving your upper body down. 

You rock your hips back although there’s not much room from how he’s laying on top of you, back pinned to his broad hairy chest as his cock rubs against your drippy cunt. 

“You wanna breed me?” you tease making him growl and snap at the nape of your neck, “wanna knot my pussy?”

He buries the first few inches of his cock in your pussy making you squeal and arch away. His hands move to keep your hips still as pulls out to thrust back in, sinking his cock all the way inside of you making you squirm in place with a cry.  

“Think it’s funny?” his tone sounds mean as he ruts his fat cock deeper into your pussy making you wince and try to move away again. 

He clucks his tongue and tightly squeezes your hips, “No little owner, you wanted it and you’re gonna get it. Show you how I breed bitches that need a knot.”

“Oh god,” you whine as he bullies his cock even further into your cunt, “Leon s’too much, you won’t fit, I wasn’t made to—“

“This pussy was made for cock,” he scoffs down at you making your body hot all over from his words, “just gotta break you in first; I’ll have you begging for me to knot you.”

His mocking is only making you wetter, pussy walls clenching and pulsing around his cock. 

“S’too much,” you finally gasp out, not stopping yourself from rocking back against his slow thrusts, “shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Yeah?” he snorts, “think it’s dirty? Think it’s wrong to want me to fuck you? I bet this entire time you’ve been thinking, Oh please Leon need your big doggy dick to stuff my needy little pussy.”

You moan loudly at his crude words as he laughs. 

“Like I thought. You like it you dirty little slut. Like my thick doggy cock filling you up?”

“Leon no,” you whimper, eyes rolling back as he grinds against that spongy spot in your cunt that has you moaning nonstop, “s’dirty ‘n you don’t even have a dog di—“

“Shut up,” his canines nip at your skin making you keen, “gotta teach this little pussy who’s the real master here.”

You gasp and keen as Leon stretches your pussy out on his large cock, bottoming out constantly making your cunt clamp down on him from the pain of his tip knocking against your cervix.  

Like earlier, he keeps you pinned to the carpet and slowly fucks your pussy for what feels like hours all while talking filth to you. 

“Mmm knew your pussy would be so good, been humping my fist waiting for my heat so I can fill you up.”

“My sexy fucking owner, letting me knot her pussy, breed her full of my pups.”

“I know, I’m so big for this tiny little pussy  but doesn’t it feel so good? So nice and stretched out?” 

“Leon,” you keen hands scrabbling at the floor, mouth drooling everywhere, “my knees hurt.”

He pauses and gently eases himself out of your cunt. Not giving you time to breathe, he already has you hoisted over his shoulder and carries you into your room. Tossing you onto the bed, he’s back on top of you in a flash burying his dick inside your sopping wet pussy. 

You look down and whine to see the belly bulge his fat cock makes inside your body. 

“Nice and snug,” Leon licks your cheek, “gonna be so tight on my knot.”

“It’s not gonna fit,” you whine up at him, nails digging into to his forearms so hard they’re bleeding. 

You’re already so full, pussy feeling like it’s stretched to the limit, but his knot is pressing against your soaked hole making you rock down into it. 

“Sure it will, little owner,” he laughs, voice gravelly and deep making you shudder and relax around his dick, hole giving just a little around his knot, “that’s why I licked you open so good earlier.”

You moan as he licks across your cheek, “Tongued you deep until you were practically squirting in my mouth.”

“Leon, oh fuck,” you hiccup a moan, tears slipping down your face. 

“So good for me, prettiest cunt I’ve ever seen and it’s all mine,” he grunts, grinding against your fluttering pussy walls as his drippy tip knocks against your cervix, “my owner and her fat pussy are all mine.”

“Leon,” you gasp, “you can’t say that.”

“Sure I can,” he huffs warm air against your neck, his canine teeth nipping at your skin, “I’m gonna knot your tiny pussy and breed you. Give you my pups.”

“Nooo,” you whimper, pussy pulsing and clamping around his cock, knot continuing to press inside. 

“Gonna mount my pretty owner like this every day,” he kisses your neck before licking his way back up to your mouth, “mount my little bitch and give her wet needy cunt my knot.”

“‘M not your bitch,” you finally gasp out around his tongue as he drools and licks into your mouth, “this can’t happen again, Leon.”

“Okay,” he chuckles, “gonna make me use that toy? That fake little plastic pussy? Y’gonna let me knot it in front of you, knowing what I feel like now? I don’t think so little owner.”

He pulls out and flips you over on your stomach, yanking your hips up so your ass is raised, head still down on the mattress. 

“Should be able to fit it this way,” he slaps your ass and you whine, fingers twisting in the sheets. 

His cock plunges back into your sopping wet cunt over and over; his knot teasing you on every thrust until he slowly grinds deep into your fluttering walls. 

“I’m gonna put it in this time, knot you nice and deep,” he pants against your shoulder, mouth drooling all over your skin making you shiver, “gonna knock you up, breed you til it takes.”

You moan and press back against him, mind slow and hazy. He pulls back and then presses forward slowly but insistently and you wail as his knot breaches your clenching hole. His cock’s filling you up so much it feels like he’s in the bottom of your throat. 

“Oh fuck, I’m cumming,” you whimper, pussy gushing around his impossibly huge dick, walls milking his knot repeatedly as he just continues to grind into your cunt. 

“Feels good,” he slurs, licking over your neck and shoulders, “pussy squeezing me so tight.”

You moan weakly, pussy pulsing around his dick as he continues to grind his hips into your ass.

“Gonna spill deep inside my pretty little owner and she just has to take it,” he chuffs against your neck, groaning as he humps deeper into your cunt.

His grunts taper off into low growls as he rocks harder against you. 

“Gonna fuck my pups into you,” he’s snarling into your ear, saliva dripping down the shell onto your jaw making you mewl, “keep this pussy plugged up with my cum all the time—oh.” 

He bites down on your shoulder, sharp teeth breaking your skin making you whine as your body burns with pleasure at the pain. You can fill as hot cum floods your pussy, Leon grunting as he keeps humping against your ass while his knot locks you two together.

His fingers slip from your hip over to your swollen clit and he roughly rubs against the sensitive bud until you’re crying and whining, pussy cumming around his cock again. 

“There we go, such a good owner,” Leon chuckles in your ear, before dipping down to lick over the bite he left, “mmm milk me, want you so full it’s spilling out.”

⋆⋅🐾⋅⋆

You lay there underneath him, feeling exhausted but content. It’s been several hours at this point and you feel like you’re on another plane of existence. Leon has fucked you better than anyone before and you’re definitely addicted to his knot. 

Reaching back, your hand finds his hair and pushing up higher you pet behind his soft fuzzy ears. 

“S’good,” he mouths against your shoulder as he ruts inside your knot plugged pussy.  

Shuddering as his fingers tease against your clit drawing another weak orgasm from your spent body, you whimper and press even closer to Leon. 

“Gonna take such good care of you, little owner,” he kisses you shoulder, “by the time my heat’s over, you’re gonna be my needy little pup.”

Your pussy tightens around him at his words making him whine and nuzzle into your neck. As you lay together, you let your mind drift into a hazy fog. Once Leon’s able to, he gently pulls out of your sore cunt, cum oozing out of your hole. 

His rough tongue licks across your cheek as he rolls you onto your back. 

“So pretty,” he says to himself as he kisses and bites his way down to your chest. 

He laps a path to the swell of your breasts and then softly suckles a hard nipple into his mouth. With a groan, he tugs the hard bud with his teeth before sucking harshly and releasing it with a pop. His mouth drifts over to repeat the same process to the other hard nipple, then moves back; repeatedly teasing your breasts until you’re squirming and whining, grabbing onto his hair to have something to hold onto. 

He finally pulls away with a growl, eyes dark and heated as he noses at your breastbone, “Smell so good.”

He drags his mouth down your body, eagerly licking and biting at your skin until he finally reaches your puffy mound and clit. 

“Taste good too,” his stubbled jaw tickles where he scrapes it against your thigh, “love licking your pussy all over.”

He follows his word by licking a broad stripe across your cum coated pussy, groaning as he brings his hands up to spread your cunt open. His rough tongue laps at your clit in quick little strokes before dipping into your creamy slicked hole. He laps and lathes his tongue all over your pussy, sucking at your clit before dragging his mouth over to your thighs. 

“Gonna mark you up, little owner,” he chuffs against your skin, eyes staring up at you with his tail wagging excitedly behind him. 

“Leon,” you whimper. 

Your fingers twist in the sheets as you cry out. His teeth are buried in the meat of your inner thigh making your clit throb with need.  He sucks harshly at the skin, digging in harder when your thigh trembles under his mouth. 

With a grunt, he lets go but then sinks his teeth into your opposite thigh; this one closer to your pussy, making you buck up into his mouth with a gasp. He hums in satisfaction, lips and teeth working at your skin until it’s sore and bruised.

He pulls back with a grin, “You’re even more pretty now.”

“Feel pretty,” you murmur, eyes glassy with arousal. 

He pants excitedly, hands grasping your thighs to hold you open as he licks and drools all over your pussy. You arch, his mouth making you rock up into the feeling as he noisily eats you out. Letting go of the sheets, your hands reach for his head and accidentally grab onto his ears. He snarls and fucks his raspy tongue up into your fluttering cunt, pressing you down even further so he can lick into you more. 

He pulls himself away before you can cum making you whine. 

“Please, Leon, ‘m so close, be a goody boy and make me cum,” you pout at him, tears pricking at your eyes. 

He crawls up your body, pressing your hands down with his as he rubs his thick cock against your pussy. His head glides through your slick folds til he’s bumping against you clit making you spread your legs wide. 

“You can cum on my knot,” he kisses you, all drool and spit, “wanna mount you again.”

You shudder underneath him and easily let him roll you over. Raising your ass up, you spread your thighs for better leverage. 

“Like this?” you ask a little shy now. 

“Perfect,” he groans, dragging his rough palms down your back to slap you ass, “my pretty owner and her pretty pussy ‘n it’s all mine.”

He sinks his cock into your willing cunt inch by inch, licking and biting at your nape as he rocks himself deeper into you. 

“Gonna breed you so good,” he mutters into your skin, “pussy made for my fat cock, isn’t it? Made to take my knot.”

“Uh huh,” you slur, pussy pulsing and fluttering around his dick as he slowly thrusts into your spasming walls. 

He chuffs and bites your neck a little harder as he snaps his hips hard against your ass. His hand moves from your back to your pussy, softly rubbing and teasing across your swollen clit. 

“Sweet fucking pussy,” he snorts, nose burying itself in your hair, “squeezing me so tight, know it needs a knot.”

“Give it to me, Leon,” you moan loudly, “knot my pussy, please, want it so bad, feels so good.”

His teeth latch onto back of your neck and he pounds into your squelching cunt, knot catching on the rim of your pussy with every thrust. 

“Knot me, Leon, knot me, please, need it,” you’re chanting under your breath , eyes fluttering as your orgasm is fast approaching. 

He can’t say anything with his mouth biting into your neck, but his fingers circle your clit faster, pinching it just right between his fingers making you shake under him. 

“Fuck, right there, please Leon, fuck me,” you rock back against him, wanting his knot to be inside your pussy already, “fuck me, give it to me, give me your knot. Wanna be your little bitch.”

He lets go of your neck with a low howl as he shoves his knot past your twitching hole and ruts hard in your cunt, fat tip grinding against your cervix so hard it’s going to bruise. 

You squeal as he tweaks your clit making your pussy clamp down like a vice around his knot as you cum so hard you see fireworks. Your walls rhythmically milk his cock as he grinds and ruts into your hole. 

“G’nna cum,” he whimpers, sounding drunk. 

“Mmm,” you squirm against him, feeling as hot pulses of jizz fill your pussy. 

He grunts as he spills deep inside you, spurt after spurt of sticky cum shooting out against your cervix as his knot keeps your cunt nice and full. 

“Gonna give you my pups,” he licks at the bite wound on your neck and then the one he gave your shoulder when this all first started. 

“Fuck,” you mewl, thighs tightening as his fingers go back to teasing and circling your clit. 

“Cum for me, little owner,” he goads in your ear, “show me how much you want me to breed this needy pussy.. again and again. And again.”

His fingers circle your clit, the rough pads rubbing you just right making you climax around his cock for the second time that round. You shiver and moan as he keeps teasing your swollen bud. 

“Good girl, so good,” he nips your ear, “my own little pet.”

#dogman!leon s kennedy #doggo!leon s kennedy #hybrid!leon s kennedy #dogman!leon s kennedy x fem!reader #dogman!leon s kennedy x fem!reader smut #dogman!leon s kennedy smut #fem!reader #leon s kennedy x fem!reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon kennedy x reader smut #leon s kennedy smut #lipglossanon #lipglossmasterlist

[celtic-crossbow]

Blood Ties Chapter 10

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore, blood, injury, vomiting

A/N: This chapter is admittedly self indulgent. I love Daryl whump and I’ve been kind to him physically for most of the story so far. Not anymore! That being said, I feel like I should have split this into more than one chapter because—to me—the quality suffered because of the length. Anyway, on with the show!

Moodboard by @dannyo000

gif by @daryl-dixon-daydreams

The sun was shining through the open curtains when you awoke. You scowled at the rays but the gentle heat that your skin was absorbing seemed to sooth the irritation. You stretched stagnant muscles, not even venturing to suppress the moan invoked by the action. You let your head fall to the side, finding the opposite margin of the bed empty. Daryl had already left. You shouldn’t be surprised. He was a hunter. Your variety were early risers. Well, you were admittedly a bit of a slacker. 

Your stomach felt moderately uneasy but not unmanageable. Hershel must have given you that injection while you slept. Your IV was disconnected and a glass of water sat on the bedside table, this time closest to you. You picked it up after gliding your legs off the side of the bed, taking slow careful sips. You were just placing it back on the table when there was a soft knock on the door. 

“Come in?” You weren’t sure if it was Hershel or maybe someone else who lived in the home. It felt odd to invite them into a room that didn’t belong to you. 

Carol peeked inside and smiled before opening the door fully to enter, a young blonde girl right on her heels with a glass of something—colorful. “Hi, honey. How are you feeling?” You accepted the woman’s embrace. 

“Better.” You smiled reassuringly when she pulled back to get a look at you. “Who’s this? And what’s that?” Carol looked behind herself on one side and then the other before stepping aside. 

“I’m Beth. My daddy is the one that helped you.” The girl was just that: a girl. She was older than Carl and Sophia but still a kid. “We made you a fruit smoothie. Patricia says it’s good for you and shouldn’t make you sick.”

You offered her a tight smile and accepted the drink, fearful of not only the taste but the consistency of the thing. You’d never done well with solid things being made into liquids. With an uncertain frown, you took a small sip. Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Holy shit, that’s good.” When you took another drink, a smiling Carol put a hand on your arm. 

“Go slow.”

You nodded, tilting your head at the pile of clothes in Carol’s arms. “Are those for me?”

“Mhm. Thought you might like to clean up and change.”

“Oh my god, you read my mind.” You took another sip and made a grateful noise that had Beth giggling. “That is really good.”

It was early evening by the time you had showered and decided to venture outside. The nap in between was desperately needed. You were still a little weak from your ordeal. 

It was your first glimpse of the land. Beautiful fields with horses and cows out to pasture, while the blue, cloudless sky blanketed it all. 

Blue like Daryl’s eyes. 

You frowned, shaking your head at yourself. “Where the hell did that come from?” You brushed it off easily and approached the little camp your fellow group mates had set up. It felt odd being around them all without Daryl being somewhere nearby but it wasn’t bad per se.

Lori looked up from the bin of laundry and smiled at you. It was small and you could sense something behind it. Nevertheless, you returned it. It wouldn’t be a horrible thing to get to know everyone better. You made two steps in Lori’s direction before noticing Rick, Shane, T-Dog, and Dale huddled together out of the corner of your eye. 

Normally, you’d think nothing of it, except you happened to catch Dale risking a glance in your direction. His expression pinched, concerned. He was quick to look away but it was too late. 

“What’s going on?” You asked, stuffing your hands in the pockets of your jeans. The way they all looked between one another spoke volumes. There was something they didn’t want to tell you. 

Shane did that thing where he shoved his thumbs through the belt loops of his jeans and looked around at nothing before meeting your eyes. “Nothing for you to worry about, darlin’. We got it under control.”

You couldn’t help but sneer at him. “Don’t call me darlin’ and I can decide if I should worry or not. Rick?” The officers shared a look with Shane shaking his head but Rick seemed to disagree. 

“Daryl took a horse out today to look for Sophia.” 

You shook your head and raised a brow inquisitively. “Okay?” 

“The horse came back. Without him.”

Your stomach dropped before twisting with a feeling of dread. “You’re going out, right?” 

“Well, this is Daryl. We’re gonna give him until nightfall and set out first thing in the morning if he’s not back.” Rick explained. The incredulous expression you donned must have been enough encouragement for him to stammer out further explanation. “We can’t risk going out and not making it back before dark.”

“But it’s okay for Daryl—who could be hurt—to be out there alone all night, right? Are you fucking serious right now?” You were finding it increasingly difficult to keep your anger in check or your voice at a low volume. 

“Listen, missy, you don’t have a lot of right to say much of anything around here! Let me tell you something—” Shane began. You were having none of it. 

“Oh, shove it, Dudley Do-Right!” You hissed. You had spun away and started looking for Daryl’s tent, missing the undoubtedly furious—but comically memorable—expression on Shane’s face. “I’ll go find him myself.”

You heard Rick’s frantic footfalls before he stepped in front of you, palms out. “Wait, wait, wait. We can’t let you go out there.”

“Let me?”

Dale joined Rick, taking off his hat as he spoke. You weren’t sure why he did it other than maybe attempting to show you some form of respect. “Daryl would be less than thrilled if something happened to you.”

“I thought I didn’t have any rights around here?” You crossed your arms, eyes sliding to the side when you heard someone approaching from behind. When they didn’t move where you could see them, you felt your hackles rise. They must have not been informed that you were also a hunter. “If you touch me, you risk losing a body part.” You spat over your shoulder, venom dripping from every syllable. “And I promise you, it’ll be something you’ll definitely miss.” Shane gave you a wide berth as he circled within your sight, hands up as if he were being detained. 

“Look, Y/N, we know that’s Daryl’s baby.” Rick dropped his hands to his sides, bringing one back up immediately to rub at his forehead. 

“And how do you know that?” You knew it was a stupid question. The archer hadn’t left your side the entire time you were unconscious. After you awoke, he was at your beck and call: bringing you food, making sure you drank enough, watching over you as you rested. 

“You were unconscious. You didn’t see him when he brought you here.” Rick was trying so hard to be nice and you knew he meant it. He was a genuine person. 

“He was off the rails! Rantin’ and ravin’ like a lunatic!”

“Shane, you’re not helping.” Rick had tilted his head, directing his statement at his partner but keeping his eyes on the ground at your feet. When he spoke again, his gaze found yours, full of kindness and concern. “We just can’t take any risks.”

Regardless, you would not be deterred. “I’m not asking you to. In fact, I’m not asking at all.” They allowed you to sidestep around them, not following you but you could hear them muttering loudly amongst themselves. 

Finding Daryl’s tent was a piece of cake. You used what you knew of him to conclude that he would be the furthest from the rest. Once inside, you found your pack and knives sitting to one side, surprisingly in a neat pile. In fact, the entire space was orderly enough for you to scratch your head and second guess if you had indeed entered the right tent. 

His bedroll had not been used, the cot not set up. That made sense. He had spent the nights in the house with you while you recovered. You could still feel the warmth his body gave off even with several inches between you. Damn him for going off alone. 

He did have some goodies in his area that you were happy to borrow. Some dried jerky, a length of rope, some extra clothes (for him, just in case), a meager amount of medical supplies (also, just in case), and a flashlight. You’d give it all back. Maybe. 

Knives holstered and bag on your back, you bent down to exit the tent, standing to come face to face with Carol and Lori. Throwing back your head, you groaned. “Not you guys, too.”

“Daryl made it pretty clear that the baby is his.” Lori spoke first. “We’re gonna worry.”

“You’re new, but we’re all in this together. Daryl, too. He’s out there looking for my girl, after all.” Carol held out two canteens of water. “Maggie and Glenn aren’t back yet. That shot Hershel gave you isn’t gonna last much longer. You need to stay hydrated.”

Before you could react, Lori handed you two apples and a can of kidney beans. “You need to eat too. Fruit and protein are good for the baby and for nausea.”

“Thank you.” You turned to allow Carol to place the items in your bag, getting caught in a hug on your way back around. “I’ll be careful, I promise.”

Carol nodded while Lori took your hand and squeezed. “We’ll handle the men. Go on. Daryl left out that way.” You turned your attention to the direction she pointed and gave a nod, jogging off before anyone could intercept you. 

Situations like this were when being a hunter and tracker was beyond beneficial; it could be potentially life saving. Finding the horse’s trail was easy. The shape of the hooves indicated whether the mare was coming or going, as well as the depth, indicating whether or not Daryl was in the saddle. 

He had gone some distance, that was certain. Being on horseback allowed him to cover more ground but he gave up the advantage of being close to the paths. It had to be harder to see any trails from horseback. Then again, he was a marksman with his crossbow. He was eagle-eyed for sure. 

You had been tracking him for at least an hour, the sun getting lower and lower. Rick and Shane had been right about one thing: Daryl would raze that farm to the ground if he came back to learn you had gone out alone. Still, you had to think he’d find it at least a little funny that no one volunteered to go with you. Big strong manly men letting the petite sickly pregnant woman go in the woods all by her lonesome. You snorted at your own thoughts. 

You paused to check the sun’s position in the sky, estimating you had about an hour of daylight left. Even if you abandoned the search and went back at that moment, it would still be dark when you made it. You weren’t hungry, which you considered might be a bad thing, but you were thirsty. Pulling the bag from your shoulders, you crouched to dig through the contents for one of the canteens. It was easily found toward the top. 

“Small sips, small sips.” You reminded yourself. You didn’t yet feel nauseated but tempting fate was not an activity you regularly enjoyed. You did enough of that in the woods with Daryl and now had a baby in your belly for your efforts. You were screwing the lid back onto the canteen while simultaneously scanning the tracks you had been following, when you noticed a drastic change. “The horse startled.” You whispered urgently. You were quick to set aside your bag, moving low to the ground to inspect each print. “She reared. Fuck.” The next set of hoof prints were not as deep. “She threw him.”

You stood quickly, ignoring the very slight bout of light-headedness. “Daryl!” You whisper-yelled as loud as you dared. Efficient as you were, you could only handle so many walkers alone. Again, best not to tempt fate. “Daryl!” When you had made a 180, you saw a drop-off. You felt the nausea then, but it had nothing to do with your condition. You placed a palm against a tree, just in case you were to feel any sudden dizziness. You’d rather not topple over and go tumbling down the rocks into the bloody—water. “Oh fuck.”

The red was billowing out into green and yellow clouds in the water, showing it had been there long enough to dilute a substantial amount. “No, no, no. Daryl!” You moved hastily down the edge, following the water hopefully toward land. You had called louder only to be met with silence. Maybe he was out and gone. Back at camp and ready to have your head on a platter for going after him. Maybe he was nearby and would appear momentarily and call you an idiot for being so loud. 

Neither of those proved to be the case. 

When you spotted the gravelly riverside, you easily found the hunter. The sound you made was somewhere between a sob and a whimper. He was only halfway out of the water, his legs submerged up to his waist. The blood in the water was still a dark red, indicating active bleeding. There was something protruding from his left side that looked suspiciously like one of his bolts. Your first thought was that someone had taken his crossbow and shot him with his own weapon. However, it was lying just above his head, his hand loosely wrapped around it. 

You were past the point of thinking rationally. He could be a grade A asshole but he was your baby’s father. That was enough reason to try your best to get him out of the fucked up predicament he had somehow gotten himself into. 

It wouldn’t stop you from cursing his name the entire time though. 

“How the hell am I supposed to get down there?” You paced the ledge, pulling at your hair. The slope was steep and littered with rocks, limbs, and roots. You couldn’t risk falling. You wouldn’t. 

But there was so much blood. 

“Think, Y/N!” You crouched down, tapping your fingers against the dirt while willing Daryl to move. To yell. Anything. “When I get you out of this mess, Daryl, I’m going to string you up by—” Your eyes flew wide, a gasp leaving your parted lips. Scrambling back to your bag, you dug through it haphazardly until your fingers wrapped around the rope you’d swiped from his tent. “Yes!”

It probably wasn’t long enough to get you all the way to the bottom but it would do to get you low enough for a fall not to injure you. You’d have to be creative, regardless. You couldn’t rappel down; the length was definitely not enough for that. You also couldn’t tie it to a tree on the ledge either. It would take too much rope. You needed to move down the slope a bit and use one of the tree roots. 

Which meant taking a risk. 

“I swear if you die, I’m killing you.” You muttered, while shrugging your bag onto your back. Your ass met the dirt somewhat roughly in your haste to get moving. The body could only lose so much blood before—Anyway, you had to go. You moved down carefully, keeping your backside firmly on the ground whilst you prodded rocks and limbs to ensure they would hold your weight. There was a sturdy, sizable root just a few more feet. If it was embedded deep enough, you could use it to get you down safely as well as get you both back up. 

You were nearly there when your foot slipped from the edge of a rock. It was easy to right yourself, given how carefully you were moving but it didn’t stop your heart from leaping into your nose. Looking down, you realized you had grabbed your stomach instinctively. With a calming breath, you gave your tummy a pat. “We got this, little thumper.”

The root was easy to get the rope around, secured with a bowline knot. You then loosely secured the end around your waist, high enough not to snap taut around your belly if you were to fall. It’d probably break your back, honestly, but eh, you were optimistic. 

You let the slack fall and grabbed on a couple of feet below the knot. “Here goes nothin’.” You started down at a faster pace than before. You couldn’t slide on your ass the whole way, that would take forever. 

Daryl didn’t have forever. 

You called his name every few seconds, as quietly as you could while being loud enough for him to hopefully hear. You made about three-fourths of the way down when you heard a familiar sound that made your blood freeze. Your head snapped up to some foliage across the riverbank, panicked eyes zeroing in on the walker making a beeline for the same figure you were trying to make your way toward. 

“Hey!” You shouted. You waved an arm frantically but the stench of blood had the corpse’s entire focus. “Goddamnit!” With no alternative, you ripped off your flannel and put it between your hands and the rope. Bracing your weight mostly on the root above, you stood slightly and all but ran down the slope. Each time you misstepped, you threw your weight onto the rope. It would sling you sharply but with nowhere else to go, you could get right back to the descent. 

Unfortunately, the rope eventually ran out. 

Eyes on the walker getting entirely too close to Daryl, you scrambled to untie the line. “Fuck!” The corpse had dropped to its knees and was crawling the last few feet. You yanked your knife from the holster and cut yourself free in a single swipe, barreling toward the water. “Get away from him!”

It finally noticed you, looking your way while Daryl’s arm was in its rotten clutches. Your knife sank into its skull with ease. As much as the smell made you gag, you grabbed the thing as it toppled and pulled. You couldn’t let it fall into the water. Not with Daryl having an open wound. 

Panting through tears, you freed your knife and crawled toward the archer. If you had been one second later, he’d have been bitten. The way that thought devastated you down to your very soul frightened you. You checked his arm first, just to be sure. No bites. No scratches. There was no time to revel in that relief. You stopped to brush your fingertips over a cut above his right temple. From the fall, you surmised. 

The most concerning injury was that it was indeed his bolt impaling his side and it seemed to have gone all the way through. “Damnit, Daryl, what happened?” You felt lost, hands hovering while your chest began to tighten with the all too familiar heaviness of impending panic. “No, you can’t freak out. You cannot freak out.”

First thing was first. You had to get him out of the water. He would be lucky if bacteria hadn’t already seeped into his wound. You could only pray that Hershel had antibiotics in his possession. 

You shed your rucksack close to a nearby tree. The area would give you a view of the entirety of your surroundings. With Daryl injured, you would need to remain vigilant. You were responsible for the safety of three now. 

Moving him would be difficult. It would be pulling dead weight, and was most definitely over the weight limit a pregnant person should be messing with. But you didn’t have a choice. 

“Okay, little thumper. You just be strong in there while I get your dumbass father out of this mess.”

It was a struggle to get him angled on his right side. You couldn’t drag him flat and risk disturbing the bolt lodged in his skin. Hands tightly gripping his forearms, you began to pull, your boots sliding in the gravel. It was going to be quite the journey but you were moving him little by little. 

With a strained grunt, you paused and leaned forward to put your hands on your knees to catch your breath. Just as you leaned forward to grab hold of him again, a cold slimy hand grabbed onto your bicep, yanking you back. How had you not heard the walker approaching? Wasn’t pregnancy supposed to heighten your senses?

“Fuck!” You grappled with the corpse of a man, finding it tough to keep his clicking teeth away from your arm. He was pushing you back easily but you couldn’t let go to get to your knife. One wrong move would result in a chunk being ripped from your arm. Your muscles were tiring, being pushed to their limit. To make matters worse, you could see another walker shambling its way toward the scrap. There was no hope of fending off two of them. 

You cried out in frustration and lifted your foot to connect the toe of your boot roughly with the corpse’s knee, causing it to stumble. You had one shot. With your forearm pressing into its throat, you were able to grab your knife and sink the blade into the soft skull with a sickening squelch. There was no time to catch your breath as the second one slammed into your side and took off your feet. 

Your legs were pinned under its body, forcing you to battling at an awkward angle to stave off its attempts to rip into your thighs. Your knife was within reach, but grabbing it meant one side would be vulnerable. 

“Goddamnit! Get off me, you decaying bastard!” 

The walker shifted and gave you the opportunity to bend your right knee and place the sole of your boot against its abdomen. A solid kick forced it back. You were free to scramble backward and grab your knife, but when you lifted it to strike, you spotted another walker crawling toward you, its empty eyes giving you a glimpse of your fate. Ripped open, half eaten only to rise again; mindless and starving for a taste of flesh. 

This was it. You’d done all you could. You’d fight them to the death but they had you. It was only a matter of time before—

A bolt pierced the second walker, entering through its temple. It landed in the dirt with a dusty thud. You knew exactly what had happened and once the last walker was dead, you would survey the damage. You flung yourself forward and drove your knife through its right eye. It fell still, its weight heavy on your lap. 

“Goddamnit, Daryl!” You exclaimed. 

The hunter was on his knees at the water’s edge, swaying dangerously. The left side of his body was now void of the bolt, rivulets of blood dripping from his saturated shirt. His crossbow fell from his grip as he pitched forward to land on all fours. 

“Shit.” You wiggled free from beneath the walker, sheathing your knife before dropping to your knees beside Daryl. You laid a gentle hand on the middle of his back. “Hey, let’s get you over there so I can take a look at you.”

“Who—came with—you?” He asked breathlessly, his head remaining bowed as if he just didn’t have the strength to lift it. Hell, he probably didn’t. 

You knew he wouldn’t like the answer. You hated to upset him but you wouldn’t lie. “I came alone.” He visibly tensed, fingers digging into the dirt and rock below him. 

“Why—the fuck—would ya do that?”

“Because the horse came back without you. Because our baby needs their father.” You reached for his bicep and pulled him up onto his knees so that you were able to put his arm across your shoulders. “Because I was worried about you.” 

He gave you a look from the corner of his eye, his head still hanging. “S’a shit reason—to risk the—two’a ya.”

“Did you miss the other two reasons?” You shot back, getting your legs under you so you could lift him without pulling your back or stomach. “Selective hearing, I swear. On three: one. Two. Three!” You managed to get you both upright, but Daryl was quick to curl forward with a sound much too close to a whimper for your liking. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“S’fine. Just—” He trailed off with a languid wave of his hand. You took that to mean he was ready to move and began the short walk to the tree. It didn’t take long but he was somehow even more pale and sweating by the time you helped lower him to recline against the trunk. “Found—found her doll.”

“What?” You weren’t really listening. With his shirt pulled up, you could get a good look at the wound. It was still bleeding sluggishly, but still far too much for your liking. “Did you really pull out that bolt?” You asked while leaning around him to see the back as best you could. 

“Y’ain’t—ain’t listenin’.” The hunter gave you a weak shove, barely moving you at all. “Found—Sophia’s doll.”

“She was here.” Looking around, you saw nothing and you would not leave him to go track. “Where’s the doll?” Daryl jutted his chin toward a downed tree that was close to the shallow water. Even going that meager distance from him felt like you were leaving him unprotected. However, you knew he would hound you until you obliged his request. 

You jogged over, your muscles tired and stomach beginning to feel ill at ease. Sure enough, there laid the doll. You snatched it up and returned to him, taking a moment to place the toy in your bag and pull out supplies. 

“How did this happen?”

“Fell—fell on it.”

“Graceful.” You smirked, ignoring the weak middle finger lifted toward you. “Let’s get this bleeding under control and get back to the farm.” You raised his shirt again but this time he seemed to take notice and went rigid. 

“It’ll keep, just leave it.”

Your mouth gaped. “You can’t be serious.” You admonished him. “I’m not sure you noticed but there is a literal hole in your side. We can’t go back without some sort of treatment first.” His usually bright blue eyes were cloudy when he looked at you. “It’s nearly dark. Stop arguing with me and let’s get this done.”

“Ain’t enough—time to—get back tonight.”

“We can’t stay here, Daryl. We’re sitting ducks.” You started grabbing other things you needed even as he tried to talk you out of it: food, water. 

“I can. Go on—back. Come back—back tomorrow—with help.” He winced when he pressed a palm against the wound so he could shift to a more comfortable position. 

“I’m not leaving you.”

“Y/N, s’not—”

“I said no, Daryl.” You reached for his shirt again and he didn’t stop you but there was a panicked undertone in his eyes. “Just far enough for me to see the wound, okay?” A visible relief; his shoulders dropped and he let his head fall back against the tree. 

The bleeding had slowed, showing signs that it was beginning to clot. That was great news but it didn’t replace all he had already lost. The wound needed a proper cleaning and stitches, both of which you were not well equipped. You could handle it if you had the supplies. You’d sewn yourself up plenty of times. 

With a sigh, you got up to fetch your flannel from where you’d left it near the rope. You were already tearing it into strips before you returned to Daryl’s side. You tried to be as quick as possible; taping down gauze, folding pieces of your flannel to press over those. Lacking enough to make a compression bandage, you tied pieces of material together. 

“Almost done.” You had to lean into his space to pull the makeshift bandage around his back. His tired eyes flitted back and forth between yours while you found yourself glancing at his lips. You cleared your throat and sat back on your heels. “This is gonna hurt but just try to be as quiet as you can.”

Daryl watched you for a moment and then nodded. He visibly tensed and closed his eyes a mere moment before you pulled the material tight around the wound. To his credit, he merely grunted but the hard lines of pain on his face told a different story. 

“There. That’s the best I can do right now.” You were beyond concerned. The thought of spending the night there with the archer being so grievously wounded was intimidating. You knew there was no other choice. One of the canteens was on the ground beside you where you had placed it when grabbing out supplies. If he was going to stand any chance of surviving, Daryl had to cooperate. This should be fun. “I need you to drink some water. You’ve lost a lot of blood. We have to keep you hydrated until we can get out of here.”

“Nah.” Much to your chagrin, he turned his head. “Ya need—it more—than I do.” He was beginning to look dazed, fighting off the overwhelming urge to allow his body to rest. 

“Stop being a brat and drink the water.” You pressed the canteen to his lips, dropping your mask to wear your concern like a second skin. “Please. I promise I have enough for me too.”

You thought he might argue or once again refuse, but he finally parted his lips with a sigh. You tilted the canteen, flinching when his much too cold hand covered yours to help control how much he was getting. 

“I need to build a fire. Keep it small.” You weren’t really talking to him but he hummed in response anyway. He was cold and clammy. You’d bet money that would be worthless in that world that if you checked his pulse, it would be racing. “I think you’re going into shock. I need to get you warm.”

“M’fine.” His voice was quiet, too drained to offer up a convincing tone. 

You went about gathering what you could find that could hold the highest possibility of burning. “You know what, keep telling yourself that. Maybe your stubbornness will pay off.” Placing some rocks down so you could control the flames, you placed your tinder bundle in the center along with some sticks and wood chips for kindling. You had to do this the old fashioned way. Daryl was watching you with slow blinks as you went about your method. 

You thanked whatever deity that was listening for your experience in the wilderness. You were nurtured by the woods growing up. The trees were like family, offering shade, protection, and a means of warmth or preparing your meals. You had learned the ways to survive. Granted, back then, walking corpses that wanted to eat your intestines weren’t a thing. Scared as you were, you knew you could make it. You could make it. But now, you had to keep Daryl alive as well. 

“Finally.” You sat back with a smug grin, watching the fire burn. You just hoped it would be enough. “Come on, let’s get you settled closer to the fire. Then I’ll heat the beans I have. Daryl swatted at your hands. 

“M’fine here.”

You huffed through your nose. “No, you’re not. Your skin is freezing. I don’t have any blankets. We need to keep you warm.”

“Fine.” He began to lever his way to his feet, growling with annoyance once you swooped in to help him. “Can do it—can do it myself.”

“Shut up and let me help.” You didn’t let go and he didn’t try to force you. He was panting by the time you lowered him down to lie on this back. He couldn’t be comfortable. “Um, one second.” There wasn’t a lot left of your flannel but you could make it work. Folding it to the best of your ability, you gently lifted his head and placed the article  beneath it. As an afterthought, you pulled the clean shirt you had grabbed for him and draped it over his upper half. It would have to do for the time being. “Okay, just rest and I’ll wake you for some food and water in a bit.”

Hours passed agonizingly slowly. You had tried to get Daryl to eat but he had refused. At least he drank the water. You yourself had eaten a third of the can of beans. Everything seemed to be going alright until you found yourself regurgitating into the bushes. Your stomach was turning inside out, now rejecting even the water. 

Carol had warned you this would happen but you couldn’t wait. You didn’t regret it either. Daryl would have surely died had you not gone in search of him. 

Wiping your mouth on the back of your hand, you staggered back toward the fire. You were steps away when you realized that Daryl was—talking. And not just talking, but conversing. There’s no one there. 

It felt wrong in some ways to move closer; to be able to hear him. It was as if a person was sitting right next to him. Daryl’s eyes were open; mere slits but open. 

“Screw you.”

“A girl. They—lost a little—girl.”

“Shut up.”

“Tried like hell—to find ya, bro.”

Bro? Daryl had a brother. It was unknown if he was alive or dead. You only knew from Carol. Daryl never let you that close. He was hallucinating which was bad. Very bad. You took a step forward, ignoring your stomach’s protests for the time being. Should you wake him? 

“We went—back for ya. Rick an’ I, we—did right by ya.”

“I ain’t nobody’s bitch.”

“Don’t talk—’bout her like that. Y/N—she’s—diff’rent.”

Wide eyes blinked. He was talking about you. Granted, it was during a moment of psychological weakness but still. It felt even more wrong to allow it to continue. 

“I ain’t gonna be—like our daddy. My kid—ain’t gonna be like us. Like you or me.”

Your heart ached for him. You knew nothing about Daryl’s childhood but now you knew it wasn’t pleasant. Shaking your head, you kneeled next to his arm and placed a hand against his cheek. No fever. This had to be coming from the head injury. “Daryl.” He seemed to be looking right through you. Still, he lifted a hand and let the back of his knuckles brush along your jaw. 

“See, Merle? Told ya—she was diff’rent.” His hand fell away, blue eyes disappearing behind heavy lids. 

“Daryl?” You said urgently, fingers searching along his neck for a pulse. It was there, albeit a little fast but there. You felt weak and allowed yourself to fall back onto your ass, scooting until your back was against the tree. 

From what Carol had told you, Daryl’s brother was vile. He was toxic and the younger Dixon had changed slightly without his influence. She had said Daryl was brash and intimidating, preferred to be alone. Hated to be touched. Yet he had sought out your company twice a week like clockwork. He had talked to you, brief and unimportant statements and questions, but he had talked. He had let you touch him. Intimately. 

“She’s—diff’rent.”

It was dangerous to let your mind wander down the paths it had created from his simple words to a brother who wasn’t there. But let it wander, you did. Maybe Daryl didn’t just care about the baby. Maybe he was impertinent toward you because you had gotten too close. Maybe you had managed to penetrate the walls he had built to protect himself. 

Maybe—just maybe—you had allowed him to pass through your own defenses. 

And that was more terrifying to you than any walking corpse in a dystopian world. 

#murda writes #blood ties #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #the walking dead #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x you #daryl x y/n #daryl x female reader #daryl x you #daryl x reader #daryl dixon the walking dead #the walking dead daryl dixon #daryl dixon smut #the walking dead daryl #daryl #daryl dixon twd #daryl fanfiction #daryl twd #twd daryl #twd daryl dixon #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl imagines #daryl dixon x reader smut

[pictureinme]

cheri cheri lady – kitten braden (2)

❧ you go to a peepshow. you meet kitten. your life is flipped upside down.

patricia 'kitten' braden x f!reader tags: voyeurism, oral sex, p in v, etc. (see ao3 for full list) parts: (1) 2 (3) (4) (5) (6)

You were beyond close, just from watching her strut her stuff, horny bastard. Collecting your items, you head around the alley out back to have a smoke before you catch the next bus.

One smoke turns to two and three, until your pack is nearly gone. The moonlight reflects in the wet concrete, and you sigh.

“Smoking a pack won’t make whatever problem you got go away, love.”

You jump at the sudden and familiar voice from next to you. It was Kitten, dressed more… appropriately. Your lack of response except a squeak caused her to laugh.

“Cat got your tongue?”

Stubbing out your cigarette, you smirk, “Something like that.”

Kitten’s gloved hand goes to cover her mouth, “Oh, goodness. If I didn’t guess, I would say you waited for me. How perverted is that, Miss (Y/N)?”

Your eyes widen, “Oh, Kitten, I swear I wasn’t trying to stalk you. I just needed a few cigarettes before I headed home.”

She glances at the stubs surrounding you, “A few… Did I do that?”

“Maybe so. You’re quite a looker, but you know that,” you move to light your last cigarette.

“I can say the same about you, love,” she leans closer to you, Chanel No. 5 clouding your senses, “I was dying to know what you looked like.”

Kitten takes the cigarette from your mouth, and leans against the brick wall. You stare at her in awe, what are you getting yourself into?

“I’m not mad at you, you know. I think it’s cute you waited.”

“I didn’t wait! I wouldn’t want to intrude like that…”

She looks at you with a coyness you can’t place, “Intrude? Love, you went to a peepshow. We’re past the point of perversion.”

You look down defeated. She brings the cigarette to your lips, and you catch her gaze as you inhale. Her breath hitches, but she quickly composes herself.

“Miss (Y/N), would it be forward of me to ask if you may accompany me to the diner?”

Hiding your bubbling excitement, you offer your hand, “Of course not, my dear. It’s on me.”

The two of you, hand in hand, walk the block it takes to get to the little diner.

Sitting in a booth together, you decide to order milkshakes.

Kitten’s lips wrapped around the straw, and you couldn’t ignore the discomfort in your slacks.

Luckily, she broke the silence, “So, what do you do for a living, love?”

You sip your own shake, deciding on what to say, “I’m… in between things at the moment.”

She squints, “Then why, on God’s green Earth, are you paying for a peep?”

You choke on the shake, “Please, say that louder, Kitten. I told you my reasoning!”

Smirking, she moves her hand to yours on the table, “I understand completely. Did you get it out of your system now?”

You clear your throat, “Depends. What would you want my answer to be?”

Her eyebrow raises, “The bold and brash (Y/N) is back, it seems.”

Your fingers trace circles over her soft hand, and your eyes linger on her delicately painted nails. Such a lovely being in such a dump of a town.

Kitten holds your hand, causing your thoughts to stall, “I think I’d like to spend more time with you, (Y/N).”

“My thoughts exactly, Kitten.”

Leaving cash on the table, the two of you walk aimlessly around the various clubs and lewd shops. She talks to you about how she ended up in such a place, but explains it all with an air of mystery. You weren’t sure if anything she said was true, but you can’t resist how much it has you hooked.

“You’re quite a good storyteller, dear,” you stop walking once you arrive at the bus stop.

“Stories are my favorite, (Y/N). Makes everything a bit more magical, hm?”

The bus arrives, and you look down at your feet, “I’ll be seeing you then, dear Kitten.”

She wraps her stylish fur coat tighter around herself, smiling, “I wouldn’t let a lady like you get home all alone at a time like this. It just isn’t safe!”

You grab her hand, and ride the bus all the way to your measly apartment.

“I know it isn’t the lap of luxury, but it’s what I have,” you explain as you unlock your door.

Kitten places a comforting hand on your lower back, “It’s already much better than mine, love.”

You smile to yourself, still turned away from her. You’re head over heels for this dame.

“Make yourself comfortable, Kitten, I’ll make us some tea?”

She nods, and finds a spot on your sofa. She looks around at your abode, spotting old vinyl records and a whole stereo system.

Spotting her favorite album, Honey, her eyes widened. Immediately, she rushes to put it on the turntable.

You reenter the living room with two mugs of tea, to the loving music of Bobby Goldsboro.

Kitten grabs the mugs, just to set them down on the coffee table, and exclaims, “I can’t believe you know Bobby, especially this album. It’s my favorite, you know.”

“I love his music, dear. This whole era of his music is like heaven to my ears.”

“Let’s dance, (Y/N).”

She grabs you by the waist, and her eyelids shut. Humming along, you wrap your arms around her neck.

“You know, Kitten… I wouldn’t have let the angels take you away like he did.”

“Oh, don’t make me swoon like that, (Y/N)!” She grins widely, and sways with you.

Her head rests upon your arm as the two of you dance, and the titular song of the album ends as quickly as it began.

Neither of you separate, and just continue to feel each other’s presence to the music.

“You’re like a living fairytale, Kitten.”

“And you’re the beautiful knight who swept me off my feet, aren’t you?”

She leans close to your face, glancing at your lips. You waste no time connecting them.

#patricia braden x reader #kitten braden x reader #breakfast on pluto #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader

[frozenprocedural]

Panic Attack

Set in the Costs an Arm and a Leg (CAAAAL) AU. Alarik and Beata belong to @patricia-von-arundel.

Brought out the Whump Stick for this one. Spot the Ted Lasso reference...

Happy Birthday, Alarik!

Panic Attack

Rating: T

Elsa struggled to swallow with a dry throat, raising a shaking hand to the door in front of her. 

Knock, just knock. You know how to.

Why was she so nervous? She and Alarik had been seeing one another for a few months now, and she'd always found herself completely at ease with his company- surprisingly so when she most often felt more comfortable around horses than people. It was, however, her first time visiting his apartment. The first time she'd been to any other home in a relationship, really. 

Elsa shook her head, took several grounding breaths- in for three, out for six- and forced herself to knock.

“Coming!”

Alarik's voice was muffled, though the clanging and crashing sounds were less so, and Elsa winced. She stepped back a second before the door swung open, revealing Alarik, his curls already springing out in all directions. 

“Hi! Come on in! It's not that big, I'm afraid, but I did clean up and tried to make some space…”

“Alarik.” She placed a hand on his arm, and he blushed. “I'm sure it's perfect. Thank you for having me over.” Somehow, seeing and hearing his nervousness made her own ease. As she stepped in, she noticed a delicious smell wafting through the air. 

“Something smells really good.”

Alarik grinned as he took her coat. “Lemon salmon pasta with asparagus and bread. Though I cheated a bit- the salmon and asparagus did come pre-seasoned. But I promise the pasta and bread are homemade.”

Her jaw dropped. “You made the bread and pasta from scratch? I can't believe- sorry! I didn't mean…” 

Alarik chuckled as he opened the oven door, grabbing a pan with a mitt-covered hand. “No worries, I understand. I really only make it for special occasions. You, of course, count as a very special occasion.” 

Elsa laughed at that. “We'll, then, I'll take your high praise. Perhaps some time you could teach me how to make those.”

“Perhaps.” Something flickered across Alarik's face, and he quickly turned back to the oven. Before Elsa could ask if anything was wrong, he turned back with a grin and a freshly-baked loaf of bread. “Well, dinner is served!”

………

After dinner and a movie, Alarik insisted that she take his bed and he would sleep on the couch. Despite her protests- his long frame barely fit- he refused to budge on the subject. Elsa finally relented, and was surprised to find how comfortable she was in his bed, surrounded by his faint scent. Sleep found her quickly.

She woke a few hours later, disoriented and panicky until she took a deep breath and remembered where she was. Elsa checked her phone- 3 am- and rolled over in an attempt to return to sleep when she heard a cry. 

“Alarik?”

Silence at first, then another cry, this one louder and longer than the previous. 

Elsa fumbled for the light, flicked it on, and grabbed her crutches. Within seconds she was in the main room, the moonlight revealing what she'd heard. 

Alarik thrashed and screamed, his face contorted in pain, eyes still closed. Elsa worried he might fall off given how violent his movements were. She maneuvered to the head of the couch, wary of his flailing arms, and freed a hand to touch his shoulder.

“Alarik!”

He jerked upright, eyes snapping open and flying back and forth across the room, looking for the unseen threat. His chest heaved, and she could see his entire body shake. 

“Alarik.”

He seemed unaware of her presence, still scanning the room, his breaths turning to shallow gasps. His hand clutched his chest, and Elsa knew right away what was happening. She turned on the lamp beside the couch, and then sat on the coffee table in front of him.

“Alarik. It's okay.”

He blinked, finally focusing on her, though his gasping and trembling continued. Elsa reached out and took his hand in both of hers, interlacing their fingers and squeezing tight.

“It's okay. Try to breathe.”

Alarik shook his head, still gasping for breath, his fingers tightening around hers. “I can- I can't. I can't… I don't know what's going on, I'm so sorry…”

“You're having a panic attack, Alarik. Just… breathe.”

Elsa pressed his hand to her chest, exaggerating her breathing so he could feel it. Alarik looked up, his eyes wide and wet. 

“I'm going crazy.”

Elsa rested her forehead on his. “No Alarik. No more than anyone else. It just feels that way. Here, try this with me. Breathe in for a count of three, hold it for three, out for six. Ready?”

She coached him, tapping her fingers on his until his shaking eased and his breathing settled. 

“There we go.” Elsa freed one hand to wipe the tears from his cheeks, keeping the other laced in his. “There we go. You're alright. You're safe.”

She kept murmuring reassurances until Alarik sank back into the couch, letting out a shaky breath. Elsa kept a hold on his hand, running her thumb along his knuckles. 

“Was this the first time this happened?”

“...no. I just… I didn't know what it was. I never knew what was going on when they happened.” 

Elsa kept her face neutral, even though she wanted to break down. Her panic attacks were bad enough, but at least she'd known what they were. “I'm sorry, Alarik.”

He shook his head. “Not your fault.”

Elsa sat with him in silence for several seconds, unsure how to broach what she'd witnessed. It was Alarik who spoke first. 

“I get nightmares. Reliving the accident. Not every night, but… they happen often enough. I don't know how much you know about what happened.”

Elsa lifted her shoulders in a small shrug. “I know you had an accident that ended up requiring amputation. But you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. I'm fine sitting here with you, or giving you space. Whatever you need.”

Alarik closed his eyes, exhaling a shaky breath. “I… I wanted to tell you eventually. It's just… hard for me to talk about it. But if you're okay hearing it, I do want to tell you.”

“Of course. I'm here, and I'm listening.”

Alarik remained quiet for so long, Elsa wondered if he decided he wasn't ready to tell her. Then he spoke in a soft, halting voice. 

“I was a senior in college, using a portable bunsen burner for a field experiment. When I went to light it…”

Alarik closed his eyes, his jaw going tense. “The investigators later said there must have been some damage to the butane tank it was attached to. Whatever it was, the entire thing exploded. I'd been reaching over to grab some other supplies, and there was a flash and a massive bang.”

A shudder racked Alarik's entire body, his grip like a vice. Elsa stroked his knuckles again, but said nothing, giving him the time he needed. After a shaky breath, he continued. 

“I was knocked back, and at first I was just disoriented and confused. I remember looking down and just not processing what happened for several seconds. I was… confused. Then I realized the thing I was looking at was what was left of my hand.”

Another shudder, and she could see tears tracking down his cheeks. Elsa took the corner of the blanket and wiped them away, murmuring “breathe” as she did. 

“The pain hit then, and I don't remember much else. It just… took over. I knew I was screaming, but I could only really hear the ringing in my ears from the explosion. Everything else really is just a blur- I was either passed out or in too much pain to take anything in. And I was eventually sedated. I had to be flown to the hospital by helicopter, but the only thing I remember is waking up in the hospital room, with my hand completely gone.”

“They had to amputate it.”

Elsa hadn't phrased it as a question, but Alarik nodded.

“There really wasn't anything left. And the risk of infection- between the shrapnel and the burns- was too high. And then there were subsequent surgeries for the burns on my arm. I spent two months in the hospital, and over a year in physical and occupational therapy. During that time, that's when the nightmares started. They've gotten better over the years, but… you saw what happens.”

Alarik sagged against the couch, clearly exhausted. Elsa squeezed his hand, and he looked down for a moment, before shifting his other arm out from under the blanket. He hesitated, then placed it between them. 

It was the first time she would see his limb without his prosthetic or a sleeve. Elsa immediately looked at his face, searching for any signs of doubt. 

“It's… okay. If you want to see it.”

“Only if you're certain.”

“I am. You've trusted me to see yours. I've just… it's hard for me.”

Elsa cupped his cheek. “And that's okay. You've had a traumatic experience. I'm happy to have your trust in this.”

Elsa finally allowed herself to look. Rope-like scars twisted the skin of Alarik's arm, up to his elbow, while a faint furrow bisected the stump of his wrist. Elsa reached out, but stopped short of his arm. 

“May I?”

Alarik's eyes widened as if he was surprised, but he nodded and moved his arm towards her. Elsa traced a finger over the ridges and divots, his skin warm against hers. She could feel Alarik begin to relax, and changed her tracing to a light massage. As she did, a thought came to her.

“Was this why you seemed… hesitant when I suggested you teach me how to make the bread and pasta?”

Alarik tensed up, and Elsa sucked in a breath, afraid she'd crossed a line and broken the trust he'd given her. But then he sighed and nodded.

“Yes. I can't really use my prosthetic while baking, and I'm still self-conscious about the scars, even after all these years. I'm sorry.”

“Alarik, there is nothing to apologize for. You have every right to choose if or when I saw something, especially something so personal and life-changing. The fact you trust me in this is important to me, and I'm grateful for it.”

Alarik made some small whimpering noise, and tears began to flow freely. Elsa transferred over to the couch and held her arms open. He sank into them with a sob, and she held him close, rubbing his back and ignoring the growing wet spot on her shirt. 

Eventually, Alarik pulled away, wiping at his face. Elsa raised a hand, forestalling another apology when he eyed the stain on her shirt. 

“Don't worry about it. But I think it's time to get you to bed.”

When Alarik started to lie down, Elsa shook her head. “Bed, Alarik. Not the couch. You barely fit on that tiny thing, and that won't help you get back to sleep.” When she saw the stubborn set of his jaw, she sighed. 

“Would you be happier if I slept next to you?”

Alarik's eyes went wide. “I… yes… but, are you sure?”

Elsa smiled, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek. “I'm positive. Now, come on, to bed.”

………..

Being tucked up against Alarik was even more comforting than sleeping surrounded by his scent. Elsa rested her head against his chest, stroking his stump while he stroked her hair. She could already hear his breathing deepening, could feel his hand slow in its movements, and she knew he wasn't far from sleep. She snuggled a bit closer, letting her own heavy eyelids close.

They slept, peaceful and happy. 

……….

Two Weeks Later

This time, Elsa didn't knock when she reached Alarik's apartment. She simply turned the knob, entering with a cheerful “Hi Alarik!” as she nudged the door shut with her foot. 

“In the kitchen!” he called back. 

She stepped in to find the counter full of ingredients- flour, sugar, salt, among others. Alarik wore an apron, his sleeves rolled up past his elbows- a sight that sent a strange spark traveling through her. 

“Oh, are you making bread? Or pasta?”

Alarik grinned, and beckoned her over.  “Actually, I was hoping to teach you how to make bread today.

Elsa came to stand beside him. His stump remained in full view, and she smiled up at him, happy to see his comfort.

“I would love to.” 

#elsarik #caaal au #HAPPY BIRTHDAY ALARIK #NOW GET WHUMPED

[rfxiii]

kind of random, but Franklin or Trevor with a hyper masc female reader would be so so cute!! ❤

(im so sorry about the long wait! I wasn’t sure if you wanted just a hypermasc fem reader or ‘hyperactive’ masc fem reader so I I kinda guessed and went with my gut. but if this isn’t what you wanted then feel free to send another request and I’d be happy to write it!)

TW: short sentence about T’s horniness

Franklin And Trevor With A Hyper Masc Female S/O:

Franklin Clinton:

He doesn’t care one way or another if you're more masc or fem. He loves you for you, and nobody can tell him anything or change his mind.

If you’re more “sporty” masc, he’s down bad. Likes to talk to you about football, basketball, even about going golfing with Michael and Trevor. He wants to take you to sports bars with him, he’s shelling out big bucks to get y’all floor seats to your favorite basketball team, he’s buying you signed jerseys. He’s living for you being into the same things he is.

He’s a big car guy, and if you’re also into cars then it’s a huge bonus for him. He likes taking you to go see races, he wants to take you to Los Santos Customs to help him pick out different mods for his car, he’ll even offer to pay for you to get your car custom rims or a new racing spoiler.

He loves that, since you’re a little tougher and more masc, you can hang with his friends. Lamar is a cool, good guy, but he’s got a foul mouth, no verbal filter, and he makes stupid decisions that often get him and Frank into trouble. And if you’re down to hang out and keep up with his best friend then that’s all the better. He loves you for it.

He’s in the kitchen struggling to open a jar and you come in, like, “I got you, babe.” and easily open it for him. He’s honestly a little embarrassed but also…turned on?? It takes him a second to sort through those feelings.

Seeing you outside in the summer, in your swimwear, cleaning his pool for him or taking care of things in the backyard is honestly so hot to him. Like, he felt a little bad when you asked to do it the first time. But after he realized you enjoyed it, he honestly enjoys just sitting back and watching you do your thing. It’s sexy watching how you handle yourself and know what you’re doing.

He knows you can do a bunch of things on your own- moving furniture, fixing things around the house, taking out heavy trash, or maintaining the yard. But he’ll never take advantage of you. Everything the two of you do is just as equal as if you were super fem.

Loves playing video games with you. He may even buy a whole other tv and console for his living room so you two can play at the same time and play online with Lamar. He gets really competitive and he loves it when you do too. Especially if you help him gang up on poor Lamar when he’s on another team.

Trevor Philips:

His ideal woman is a classy, cultured, older woman anywhere from 50 or older (Patricia). But a cool, masc, tomboy-ish girl would be a fairly close contender for second!

He’s gross, his place is nasty, he’s foul mouthed, and he probably hasn’t showered all week. Someone who’s softer, or more hyper-fem may be more easily put off by him and his lifestyle. But if you’re more masc and tougher you’ve got a better fighting chance of not being utterly grossed out by him.

He likes that you can keep up with him without worrying about getting dirty, or messing up your clothes, or getting blood (or other fluids) on you.

He does sometimes forget that you are still a woman and may appreciate softer treatment occasionally. You’re tough, he respects you as an equal, and sometimes it slips his mind that you’re not actually one of the guys.

Michael, while he is Trevor’s best friend, tends to be far more old fashioned than he is. And if Michael ever commented about how you “shouldn’t come along because you’re a woman” or how having you do something is a “man’s job”, Trevor will vehemently defend you. He trusts you and your skills without question and it doesn’t matter that you’re a woman. You’re tough, you're competent, and he knows you know what’s up.

Gets off to seeing you handle guns and other weapons. Whether you’re cleaning one of his guns, sharpening a knife, practicing shooting at the range, or blowing away cops and methed out bikers, he’s fully hard and ready to go just watching you. Seeing you handle any dangerous weapons makes him imagine you handling his….weapon 👀

He likes wrestling/rough housing with you. He may get a little too rough so you may have to remind him to chill a bit, occasionally. But he loves tackling you, snatching you up from behind, he likes when you try to overpower him or fight back when he playfully grasps your wrists and pushes at you. He just likes any excuse to be physical with you, honestly.

#gta v #gta 5 #grand theft auto v #grand theft auto 5 #trevor philips #franklin clinton #gta x reader #x reader #/reader #trevor philips/reader #trevor philips x reader #Franklin Clinton/reader #franklin clinton x reader

[havin-fun-imagining-twd]

He hasn't been himself

What -- we're still in S02E05 Chupacabra, and Daryl gets some stitches (courtesy of you), T-Dog teases you about calling that mangy hick so many pet-names, and you come face to face with your big brother Shane's descent into something that you're afraid of you don't recognize.

Relationships/ is there fluff? -- yes! found-family fluff and slowww-burn Daryl x Reader fluff

Perspective - 2nd you, 3rd Daryl at the end

When - right after Spell your last name, please. when Daryl is getting some medical attention after his very rough, hell of a day

Pronouns - neutral, y'all

TWs - some language, and light discussion of giving sutures (stitches), and Daryl's significant scarring (the result of child abuse) is mentioned

I always do my assigned reading, what chapters will help with context? XD -- all of them muahahahaha Start with souls stripped bare, then the Invisible, tugging strings Part 1 and Part 2, then of course Spell your last name, please.

is there a crappy screenshot of the mangy hick? -- yes, you'll be embarrassed on my behalf.

Masterlist -- Official One here, purely chronological one here :)

Have fun and happy reading!

You

Because Maggie and everyone else but Hershel and Rick are leaving the room, you use your uninjured side to take over maintaining pressure on Daryl's head wound.

That he wanted specifically you to stay made that strange, invisible string on your chest tug more. And that you had to curl your arm gently around him so you could press the rag down properly didn’t escape your notice. Neither was the way his hand just brushed against yours to take over for you.

While you’re waiting for the tugging string to give it a rest, Patricia mumbles to you that she’ll come back in to help clean Daryl’s head once Hershel gives the okay.

“Daryl, is this about what you found?” Rick asks.

“Hell yeah it is.”

More quietly, he wants to know “Would it be alright if Shane and Carol came in, too, or is it better if it’s just Shane?”

You think he means if what Daryl had to tell him was good or bad news regarding Sophia.

“You and Shane seem to be a package deal,” Daryl grunts in response.

“Like a BOGO sale,” is your unhelpful, dumb comment to yourself followed by a more helpful, “Oh snap, doc, his second bag is empty already,” when you see his IV fluids are drained again.

A blunt, “Remove it and bandage him,” answers that. “The wax for the needle point is in my kit.” Mr. Greene’s patience gauge is pointing to the E, that much is plain.

While you’re busy taking out the IV catheter (guess what!—this time you did the venipuncture and IV setup! You can do that now!) and pressing a gauze pad to the site, Rick lets your brother in.

Shane seems kinda terse when he hands over the search map and squats on the little ottoman.

Rick places the map on the bed in front of Daryl, then kneels down to face him.

Before anything is said, Mr. Greene points to the bloodied rag that Daryl is not pressing down like you’d directed. “Are you able to maintain firm, constant pressure, or will Rick have to assist you?”

“I can hold a rag,” he responds back in that…unpleasant way he’s got.

You make a face at him. Rudeness is bad enough, but 1.) rudeness to the host, 2.) to the host who’s offering medical care, and 3.) whose horse he’d stolen borrowed without asking and now lost, and 4.) who is about to teach you stitching, and 5.) was using/had used a ton of his own stock of medical supplies? Who 6.) also just lost a man he considered family because of helping your group, like dude?

Daryl. Use a tablespoon of that gentleness you got in there.

Hershel looks at you, and you hope he sees the apology in your eyes.

“Y/N, if you’re going to observe,” he begins, pulling the towel off Daryl’s back and putting it aside. “Wash your hands again with me in the chlorhexidine solution and position yourself on this edge of the bed, there.”

It sucks that you’re all out of gloves. You’ll have to add that to the supply list, along with IV fluid if possible. Fortunately, there was enough chlorhexidine as well as iodine to sanitize, plus the leftover doxycycline but don’t get you started on how that’s unsafe antibiotic use, there’s only so much you can do.

Under his breath, Hershel explains, “We used the clamp and forceps during the boy’s emergency, but they aren’t sterilized. Stitches are best done with a clamp, but as you can see, it will be just our fingers today.”

Thankfully, you have clamps in the med-bag, you’ll donate one.

“Shane, in the med bag, there's a small bag with blue stripes, in it are two clamps,” you call over. “Grab one for me?”

“Swirl it in the solution first,” Mr. Greene requests. “Y/N, did you observe the two times you were stitched, and when Theodore had his?”

“Not the first time.” You shake your head. “But I did watch when Teddy got his, when you did Carl’s, and when Miss Patricia redid mine earlier.”

“She what?” your brother cuts in.

You idiot, Y/N.

“Y/N, what happened that you got stitched up again?”

You’d not told him on purpose. It’s not like you did anything wrong in not telling him, but you immediately feel overheated and guilty as if you had.

You reach out to accept the clamp from him. “Yeah, she checked them earlier,” you do your best to reply in a way that would imply it as being a routine course of action. That didn't count as a lie, right?

Mr. Greene to the rescue: “Y/N, watch what I do, then copy it on your own when I say. I’ll guide you along.” He holds up a small packet. “This is called a swaged needle. There's no eye, the thread is part of the needle. An ordinary straight needle can be used, likewise regular thread, in an emergency, but ideally a curved and swaged is best for obvious reasons. Cleanliness would be a concern, for one.” He opens the packet, points to Daryl’s side.

You sit where he asks and look at Daryl’s wound.

Hershel continues: “We’ll do a simple continuous stitch, the pattern is straightforward. If Daryl pops them, then I suppose you’ll learn how to do interrupted suturing. It’s time-consuming, but more secure.”

That your eyes travel down Daryl’s back again isn’t intentional, but there they get stuck, the same way your eyes had gotten stuck staring at it earlier when you’d helped remove his shirt.

The poor man.

What you thought you saw earlier, back at the house, was correct. Scars. Very big ones.

It looks like the tattoos he’s got on his upper back are partially to cover/distract from some of them on the more visible places up near his shoulders and neck.

A lot more money for a lot more ink would’ve been needed to try concealing the rest of what that person did, those scars were very thick and wide. And no, an accident would not have made such specific scarring, unfortunately, how those got there had to have been deliberate. Scattered all around were cigarette burns, too, some in patterns.

Statistically, it was probably a parent or parental figure.

Mr. Greene’s hand passes over your line of vision as he calls your name. You blink out of it, see his finger wag as if to say ‘don’t look at them anymore.’

After wiping your eyes with your forearm so as to not contaminate your hands, he points to the spot and nods once. “Daryl, I’m going to begin. It will pinch, then burn. Stay still.”

You cringe as the needle goes in. The invisible string tugs when you see Daryl’s breathing pattern hitch and his muscles clench in discomfort. Your stomach tells your eyes to look away when the skin tugs as the needle exits and the thread is lightly pulled.

“Then use the tool to gently bring it across like so,” Mr. Greene murmurs, “going slowly with the thread.” He does two more, then pauses. “Alright, now take over.”

Already?

“Rest in peace, bud,” you joke, whether to ease Daryl or yourself. It’s an insane blessing you have the doxycycline, is all you’re saying.

Slowly you thread the needle, as smoothly as you can. You use a low angle to pull it all through and gently hold the skin down to reduce how much it pulls…oh my gosh, you’re giving sutures right now. “You have my leave to cuss me out if it’s hurtin’ too bad.”

“Ain’t nothing.”

“There’s that phrase, dude,” you quietly tease, focused on closing the wound and Mr. Greene’s silent guidance.

Daryl must be doing okay (or is toughing it out like a champ), because he starts to talk to Rick. “Right around here is where I saw the doll, see where the creek bends there?”

“Was it on top of the ridge, or down by the creekbed?”

“Creekbed, right near a waterfall. Spotted it from up top.”

“Was there a little camp or any tracks?”

“None that I saw. My guess is she was thirsty, but got her feet stuck in the mud and needed both hands to get out. Or somethin’ made her run again.” He stops pressing the rags to his head to look at the bleeding for a quick second.

Shane speaks up. “You run into any walkers by that spot there?”

“Yeah.”

“How many.” Not really a question.

You lose your focus for a moment, hearing his tone and being disappointed and a little frightened by it, so you pause the suturing. Breathe slowly and bite your tongue.

“Why? They friends of yours?” Daryl tosses at him, completely unphased even if dickish. You’re on his side with this one. “They wouldn’t have been a problem if I wasn’t stuck on my back with a bolt stickin’ out of me.”

Shane raises his eyebrows as if to say “See? Told you,” then licks his teeth but doesn’t say anything other than: “Yeah, so I just wanna be realistic about this. Think we all do.”

“Daryl, I’m all ears,” jumps in Rick, ever the decent human being diplomat. “Can you tell us more?”

Mr. Greene taps you and directs you to get back to it.

Daryl tells Rick, “I’m thinkin’ the doll flowed downstream a ways after the rains yesterday, see the area closer to the road, there? I’d check around there.”

“I’ll take some people there tomorrow.”

“Not now?”

“Sun’s going down.”

Without looking up as you resume your work, you know Daryl will understand. His own words were 'Out in the dark’s no good.'

Rick then points to the map. “This spot here?”

Daryl hums in agreement and nods at wherever he’d showed him. “She must have dropped it crossin’ there somewhere.”

Rick looks back at your older brother and tells him “Cuts the grid almost in half,” as if it were a plea.

And just as you and Mr. Greene finish stitching him back up, Daryl grates in the most unattractive way possible, “Yeah, you’re welcome.”

Rick whips out his skill at de-escalation again. As poor Hershel has to quickly remind you to snip the suture from remaining thread in the packet (you legit forgot, so he does it for you), Rick turns the focus on the patient. “How’s he looking?”

“I had no idea we’d be going through the antibiotics so quickly.”

Fair enough.

Hershel then washes his hands again, so you do the same. “Any idea what happened to my horse?” he then states more than questions, in the way you might confront a teenager who left their dirty clothes on the kitchen floor after sports practice.

And God save him, that mangy hick has no shame. Caught red-handed, he still yips like a grumpy little coonhound, “Yeah, the one who almost killed me? If it’s smart, it left the country.”

You either just huffed, tutted, scoffed, groaned, or made all four at once. RIP invisible, tugging string.

Mr. Greene’s response implies his generosity, which makes you feel shame on Daryl’s behalf all the more. “We call that one Nelly. As in Nervous Nelly. I could have told you she’d throw you if you’d bothered to ask.”

Your friend says nothing back. He stays quiet, and simply twists onto his back and starts spacing out at the ceiling, pressing the rag to his head and looking as if he feels very small and very tired.

His eyes close—and you remember that he’s just been through hell and back. He almost died how many times today?

As annoyed and on-guard as he is, Mr. Greene was offering him due kindness and patience when he didn’t get overly short with him.

Still, the way the older gentleman next chides in the most graciously Southern way possible, “It’s a wonder you people have survived this long,” strikes you as having such dry comedic timing that now you’re the only one cracking up in a room full of uncomfortable people.

It doesn’t stay full of uncomfortable people for long; Shane and Rick see themselves out.

When the door opens, you spot Lori in her worried-position (on the floor with her knees curled toward her chest). As she leaps up from the floor to see Rick, you give her a little wave before the door is once more shut.

Quiet and stillness passes over the room. You breathe out. Breathe in.

Okay, it's probably just about time to clean up and bandage Daryl’s head.

You turn to see him still laying there on his back, eyes still closed. By the looks of it, he wanted to cover up; he’s pulled the side of the quilt over his stomach. You take the towel you’d used to give him some modesty earlier and gently drape it over his exposed abdomen.

But your big brother’s voice sounds through the door before you can do anything else.

The beginning of whatever he said, you don’t catch, but it doesn’t matter. You hear enough. “…Hershel on this one. Can’t keep goin’ out there, not after this.”

Rick is saying something back, but his voice is softer and you can’t make out as much of it. “Daryl” “risked,” and “first, hard evidence” gives you the gist, as does Shane’s response to him:

“That’s one way to look at it. Way I see it, Daryl almost died today for a doll.”

“Yeah, I know the way you see it.” Rick’s footsteps then fade down the hall.

On the other side of the door, your pulse thumps in your ears. Your breathing is faster than it should be.

Shaney still has that little girl written off?

“Y/N,” Mr Greene calls from the bedside.

Before you calm yourself down enough to turn to help Hershel, your brother starts talking again.

He’s whispering, but it’s still recognizable enough that you hear every word. “I’m not out to be a hard case, just bein’ realistic. He’s just gotta start making the tough calls.”

Shane's speaking to Lori, then?

His footsteps are moving down the hall, and you quietly open the door in time to hear him mutter, “You know I’m right.”

Door now open, your fist grips the knob and doesn’t let go.

“I may not agree with all his choices, but I respect him,” Lori states.

With all she's got going on, she shouldn’t have to deal with how much Shane has changed for the worse. In fact, in your gut you don't want your brother even near her, now that you know they’d been intimate. And that she’s pregnant…

You miss her first few words, but do hear “Your way isn’t harder, it’s…it’s the easiest thing in the world to cut our losses and to not help. You keep telling yourself you’re making the tough calls, you’re really just trying to justif—”

He cuts her off by mumbling, “—The only thing I care about now in this world is Y/N, you and Carl. So I, apologize if I appear to be insensitive to the needs of others, but see, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep the three of you safe.”

His words aren't a put-on, that's what alarms you. You know what smooth or schmoozy Shane sounds like; but that there was genuine.

Lori calmly shakes her head and walks toward him, placing her hand on his shoulder. “Even abandoning a lost child?” she prompts. “Really?”

She sounds like she expects Shane to snap out of it and think better on it. To remember his goodness.

But.

To the woman that his best friend since childhood married, and in the context of not caring about a missing, abused child, your brother instead tilts his head and offers Lori a small grin.

He’s…he just flirted with her.

Lori takes a step back.

Her back tightens, her head bows slightly. “My son and I are not your problem anymore. Or your excuse." She turns away. "As for Y/N, they’d be horrified to hear y—” she cuts off as you loose your grip on the doorknob, making noise, causing her to finally notice you standing there.

“You’re right, Lore, they would be,” you drawl, voice soft. “Sh-Shane, get out.”

Whatever he starts responding with, you don’t give a fuck, your softness vanishes as you growl back, “Get. Out.”

You link your good arm into Lori’s and take her down the hall to Carl’s room. She stops you from plowing through the door by holding you by the waist. You take a moment, turn toward her.

She looks you in the eyes and shakes her head, silently mouthing “Please.”

“I won’t,” you mouth back. Still, under your breath, you do stress “B-but he, he needs a leash. Rick can leash him.”

She looks into your eyes but says nothing back.

As soon as the door is open, your words charge out, “Ricky, Shane needs—

“—Mom! Y/N! Mr. Dixon found Sophia’s doll! The one Eliza gave her!” interrupts Carl, (crying and) grinning so wide that your cheeks are getting sore just looking at it.

You take in the room.

Carol and T-Dog are there along with Rick. Lori goes to her son, takes his hands and kisses them, Beth scoots in behind you holding three glasses of water.

Seeing your nephew helps you remember yourself, and you begin to smile back. Your lip wobbles. “He found her doll, little dude.”

Some tears decide to fall when you take a moment and lean against the wall.

Shane is scaring you.

You are frightened of your own brother.

And no, it's not just how he's been after Otis got killed, he hasn’t been himself. He’s scaring Lori, you saw it just now—and this is before he even knows about the new baby, oh my God how are you going to fix this? God, Shane doesn’t even care—doesn’t understand—that a clear sign of Sophia was found today.

And, and he doesn’t care about anyone else here, either, not even about Rick? “The only thing I care about in this world is Y/N, you and Carl.”

If that was really just him trying to flirt or whatever, you aren’t sure whether you’re more disgusted that he claimed to not care about jack-shit else to do it, or that he was saying something that awful not only to flirt but to flirt with a married woman. His best friend’s wife.

That you’re at Rick’s side and murmuring low, “Shane’s a problem,” doesn’t register in your head until he’s replying with what’s pretty much a platitude: “He’ll see reason.”

Even coming from Rick, it doesn’t comfort you.

“But how to we fix it?” you whisper. “Ricky, it’s like I can’t see him anymore. I’m gettin' scared of h—” you stop what you’re saying, a little alarmed that you just started to confess it out loud.

Rick is quiet.

“He hasn’t been himself,” he admits.

Lori’s whispering cuts in, “Honey, w-what are you two talking about?”

You figure she’s scared that you’re telling Rick more than is your business, so you subtly shake your head, then ask “Lore, have you noticed Shane ain’t been himself?”

The expression on her face is controlled. “He hasn’t been.” And she turns to sit back down beside her son and takes one of his hands into hers.

Rick rubs your arm a few times, and nothing else is spoken.

Whatever, you need to get back.

You’re supposed to be helping patch Daryl up, not hiding moping in here like some idiot bitch.

Cursing yourself that not only did you admit to being scared of your brother, but that you’re scared at the possibility he’s still in the hallway, you hold your injured side to lessen the pain when you bend down to peck a kiss on Carl’s forehead. “I’m headin’ off, baby, to help with Mr. Dixon,” you mumble in goodbye.

“Wait, Y/N.”

You turn back around to see Carl giving you his—sneaky grin? Why, what’s he about to rag you about? “Mr. Douglas told me you called Daryl ‘baby’ like a hundred times after he fainted.”

“That ain’t true,” T-Dog cuts in. “Y/N, I’m sorry, he’s mistaken.” He turns to Carl.

Wait up, T-Dog’s doing his pout thing he does before teasing somebo—

“First off, Y/N was at it before he even passed out.”

*sigh*

“And it wasn’t just ‘baby’, it was also ‘honey’, ‘sweetheart’ and ‘sugar.’ Oh yeah, and ‘mangy hick,’ gotta admit that one threw me.” He makes a particularly wide smile in your direction. “Can’t remember if they also called him ‘darlin’ or not, though.”

“However many times Y/N called him a sweet name, Mr. Dixon deserved every one and more,” Carol softly tells the room.

As for you, you must feel lighter, because now you’re smiling, too.

What's better, you’ve thought of a way you’ll feel safe comfortable if Shane’s still in the hallway (that won’t include taking Rick, because you’re pretty sure Lori needs him to feel safe comfortable right now).

“Theodore, will you walk me back to darlin’ baby sugar sweetheart Daryl’s room, please?”

“Walk you a whole six yards down the hall?”

“Please," you ask him more urgently than you'd intended.

He might could've noticed, because he quickly stands and goes to the door with you. "I'ma charge you for this, though."

"Naturally, how many of my jewels will it take?" you joke.

"You gotta call him 'mangy' again for me."

You snort so hard it makes your new stitches hurt. That's the easiest possible exchange he could've made. "Deal."

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

Him

When he heard from outside the door their soft, “Thank you, Teddy,” his muscles relax again.

He’d been worried. Last thing he knew, Shane must’ve been saying some bullshit, ’cause Y/N had dead-ass growled at him to “Get. Out.”

After two knocks, a pause, and a “Daryl, it’s me,” he realizes he’s gotta call back, “You’re good,” so they’d come in the room. Usually people knock and just bust in, it was real nice to have someone wait until he said it was cool.

He’s damn relieved they’re back and doing okay. Other than worried about whatever crap their brother was slinging around them, he’d felt…small, and, and naked without them in there. Now that they’re back, he feels safe, like he’s got clothes on again.

It’s the total opposite of earlier that morning, when he’d felt like Y/N had seen too much of him, and him too much of them. Didn’t feel like that no more.

“Well, you’re still lookin’ nice and mangy, so I guess I haven’t missed much,” his friend jokes, then shuts the door behind them.

Why did they just make a face to whoever was out in the hallway?

“Where’d Mr. Greene go?”

Daryl grunts, unsure.

Y/N sinks into the little footrest by the window. “We’ll get you some dinner in about an hour, okay, sugar?”

Another pet name, another weird feeling in his stomach and chest.

His friend stares out the window and massages their shoulder and neck. “Oh, are you thirsty?”

That he can answer. “The opposite.”

“Ah, let me help you get up—wait, maybe let’s wait for Patricia or the doc to get back, just in case. Can you hold it?”

He just grumbles back. Ain’t like he’s two years old, of course he can hold it. "What's the deal with your brother? Heard him mouthing off."

"Yeah. He, um, he ain't been himself." Y/N grimaces as if there was a bad taste in their mouth, then covers their face, sighs, and changes the subject. “Should we might call today ‘rough,’ or pick a different adjective?”

No idea. Today was…“Today was somethin’ else.”

“Whoa, we’re going hardcore.”

He starts to crack up, which is how he learns that now, laughing makes his head and side ache.

“Crackin' up hurt, didn’t it?” they guess correctly.

A grunt passes as his “yes.”

His friend breathes in slowly, out just as slow. “When you’re up and at ’em again, I’m taking you with me to go light all the candles at that little church to help thank the heavens you got home alive.”

…he feels all warm and can hear his pulse again, what gives? Like, it’s just that he’d imagined Y/N talking about his coming “home” safe, it’s just weird it’s coming up again in real life. Not a bad weird, but still.

“Well,” they scrunch their nose and stare into space, “‘home’ might be different than the usual definition, but you know what I mean. You got back alive to us after all that, it’s—I dunno, God’s got plans for you yet, dude.”

Hadn’t had a friend say stuff like that to him before, so he just lays there like a beanbag.

Y/N is still still staring into space. “And like, all afternoon I had this tense…dread, that you were hurt. Kept explainin' it away, with a quick prayer just in case.” A chuckle. “We’ll bring Carol and Sophia with us when we go light those candles, deal?” Then they give him a look he can’t translate. “Right-o, bud, let me see that side of yours, I wanna admire my handiwork.”

Standing up with a wince, they walk to him. When he begins to slowly twist back onto his side, they stop him and tell him to stay comfortable. His stomach gets all funny again when he partly pulls aside the towel covering his abdomen and his friend gets close.

Y/N starts to put their hip on the bed, then pauses. “Does it hurt you when the bed jostles, baby?”

His stomach goes all funny again. He’s, um, he’s hungry… “You’re good.”

And not a moment after sitting on the bed and exhaling does Y/N groan and start to jabber, “Oh, Moses, I just did it again, look how red you got. Tell me, did you feel redder when you knew how many of us were crowded around you like seagulls on french fry, or when I kept callin’ you pet names? T-Dog’s been poking fun at me for it.”

He…grunts again. It’s, um, he isn’t really sure what else to do, this isn’t a conversation he knows how to tackle. Hadn’t had a friend who called him a ton of pet-names while taking care of him after he’d pin-balled down a ridge twice and got a bolt lodged in his side and fought off two zombie bastards after dreaming up a conversation with Y/N and Merle.

Now Y/N is looking at him in the way they usually look at Glenn before they goof off together. “Wanna compare yours and mine right quick before they get back?”

Well, he hums this time instead of grunts, so that counts as conversation.

“Carl and I joked that we have temporary, sewn-in friendship bracelets. You’re in the club now, too, welcome!” They lift their shirt slowly, blocking the rest of their belly with their arm. Their stitches are up by their ribs aaaaaannd why are Daryl's goddamn cheeks feeling hot again?

“We both have white nylon thread. Carl got blue, though, real fancy,” Y/N says, cute smile on their face.

“He showed me his when I talked to him last night, actually.”

With a giggle, they nod. “Of course he did.”

The front door to the house opens, and the muffled voices of Dr. Farmer and Patricia sound outside the closed bedroom door.

Y/N looks back and forth from their stitches to his, then mumble to themself, “Miss Patricia definitely gave me a different stitch, check out the variations.”

Daryl couldn’t tell from the angle he was in, to be honest, but…“Yeah, mine are way better.”

Y/N deserves a compliment. And, dunno, he’s not an expert, but his side is probably sewed together nice. It’s not like it's still bleeding, right?

Y/N almost misses it. “Hey, the stitches Patricia gave me are grea—ohh.” Their face lights up, and they bop him on the arm. “Aww!”

Daryl feels the corners of his mouth raise. His shoulders relax.

Dr. Farmer Mr. Greene calls from the hall, “I’m opening the door,” and finally walks back in with Patricia.

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

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[denimbex1986]

'On a recent winter day in New York when the sun was shining, Andrew Scott rushed into a coffee shop between recording sessions for an upcoming series.

“I’m scheduled tighter than a teenage pop star,” he said, beaming.

The interview had been postponed once, and the location was switched at the last minute to save Scott some time in traffic. But he sat down fully engaged and eager to start talking. Immediately, though, a passerby tapped on the storefront glass and asked for a photo. Scott, without a grumble, sprinted out to oblige, even though the gesture seemed more like a command (“You’re under arrest,” joked Scott) than a polite request.

Scott, the 47-year-old Irish actor, is in demand like never before. That’s partly due to accrued good will. A regular presence on stage in the West End, Scott is known to many as the “Hot Priest” of “Fleabag” or the cunning Moriarty of “Sherlock.” Soon, he’ll play Tom Ripley in the Netflix series “Ripley,” adapted from the Patricia Highsmith novel.

But the real reason Scott’s time is short right now is Andrew Haigh’s new film, “All of Us Strangers.” In it, Scott plays a screenwriter working on a script about his childhood. The film is gently poised in a metaphysical realm; when Adam (Scott) returns to his childhood home, he finds his parents (Claire Foy, Jamie Bell) as they were before they died many years earlier.

At the same time, the movie, loosely adapted from Taichi Yamada’s 1987 book “Strangers,” balances a budding romance with a neighbor ( Paul Mescal ), a relationship that unfolds with profound reverberations of family, intimacy and queer life. In a dreamy, longing ghost story, Scott is its aching, shimmering soul.

“The challenge of it was to try to go to that place but not gild the lily too much,” Scott says. “As an actor, I have to be in touch with that playful side of myself and that part of you that’s childish. I was actually quite struck by how vulnerable I looked in the film.”

Scott’s acutely tender performance has made him a contender for the Academy Awards. He was named best actor by the National Society of Film Critics. At the Golden Globes on Sunday (Scott wore a white tux and t-shirt), he was nominated for best actor in a drama.

Scott has long admired actors like Anthony Hopkins, Judi Dench and Meryl Streep — performers with a sense of humor who, he says, “are able to understand what you feel and what you present.” Scott, too, is often funny on screen (see Lena Dunham’s medieval romp “Catherine Called Birdy” ). And even in quiet moments, he seems to be buzzing inside at some discreet frequency. Something is always going on under the surface.

He’s been acting since he was young; drama classes were initially a way to get over shyness. Scott’s first film role came at age 17. He has often spoken about seeking to maintain a childlike perspective in acting. In that way, “All of Us Strangers” is particularly fitting. On Adam’s trips home, he sort of morphs back into the child he was. In one scene, he wears his old pajamas and crawls into bed with his parents.

“So many of the things that are required of you as an actor are a sense of humor and some ability to be able to put yourself in a situation. Because it’s all down to imagination,” says Scott. “For me, that’s the thing you need to keep. That’s the thing — because I started out when I was young — I don’t want to move too far away from. Like when kids go, ‘OK, you be this and I’ll be this.’ That ability doesn’t leave us. What does leave us is a lack of self-consciousness. Our job is to hold on to that.”

Haigh, the British filmmaker of “45 Years” and “Weekend,” began thinking of Scott for the role early on. They met and talked through the script for a few hours.

“He’s a similar generation to me. He’s a tiny bit younger than me, but he’s from the same generation,” says Haigh. “He understands that experience.”

Scott came out publicly in 2013, but his natural inclination is to be private. “I feel like I’ve given so much of myself in the film, you think you don’t want to give it all away,” he says. He describes “All of Us Strangers” — which Haigh shot partly in his childhood home — as personal, but not autobiographical in its depiction of the alienation that can linger after coming out.

“Mercifully, I feel very comfortable for the most part. But it stays with you that pain, and it actually makes you more compassionate, I think. Because we shot in Andrew’s childhood home, that sort of threw down the gauntlet in relation to how much of his own personality he was giving,” says Scott. “I wanted it to be sort of unadorned, unarmored and raw. That’s why I think there’s such tenderness in the film.”

Scott has sometimes recoiled from how sexuality is talked about the media and in Hollywood. He recently said the phrase “openly gay” should be done away with. As of late December, Scott hadn’t yet watched “All of Us Strangers” with his parents, though he planned to.

“The best way to express it is to say I’ll be very sensitive to how they watch it and how they feel about it, and how it makes me feel them watching it,” Scott says.

The tenderness in the film is also owed in part to Scott’s chemistry with Mescal. On-screen chemistry is an amorphous quality that the film industry has long tried to turn into a science with camera tests and marketing that flirts with real-life romance.

But for Scott, it’s something different. He and Phoebe Waller-Bridge had chemistry, overwhelmingly, in “Fleabag,” but that didn’t have anything to do with sexual attraction. Pinpointing that quality is something Scott pondered during Simon Stephens and Sam Yates’ recent staging of Chekhov’s “Uncle Vanya” at the National Theater. Scott played all eight roles, meaning he essentially had to have chemistry with himself.

“Chemistry isn’t just about sexual chemistry. It’s something to do with listening, and I think it’s something to do with playfulness,” Scott says. “Your ability to listen to someone and take note of what someone is doing is chemistry. You have to wait and see what the other actor is doing.”

A few moments later, Scott will have to rush out just as quickly as he arrived. But before that, he leaned back, naturally lit by the winter sun, and pondered whether “All of Us Strangers,” in the nakedness of his performance, had taken him somewhere he hadn’t before been as an actor.

“Yeah, I think so,” said Scott. “Or else to return to something that perhaps I’ve been before.”'

#Andrew Scott #Paul Mescal #Andrew Haigh #All of Us Strangers #Phoebe Waller-Bridge #Fleabag #Ripley #Netflix #Moriarty #Sherlock #Taichi Yamada #Strangers #Patricia Highsmith #Jamie Bell #Claire Foy #Lena Dunham #Catherine Called Birdy #45 Years #Weekend #Simon Stephens #Sam Yates #Vanya #National Theatre

[biggerbetterbat]

WITH YOU [43] HOUSE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FOREST

Daryl Dixon x OC!Charlie Reed

Summary: Charlie starts to accept that now she has a new group. Carol finds a house in the middle of the forest, and the group decides to stay they for some time. Charlie, Tyreese, and Carol are worried about Lizzie.

Warnings: angst, death, killing Walkers

Song: Bruises Lewis Capaldi

Words: 4,816

Mom, dad, Finn, Luke, Will, Pete, Amy, Jim, Jacquie, Sophia, Shane, Patricia, Jimmy, Lori, T-Dog, Oscar, Axel, Merle, Andrea, Zach, Patrick, Hershel, Rick, Carl, Michonne, Glenn, Maggie, Bob, Sasha, Daryl, Beth.

"Do you think there'll be kids there?" Charlie heard Lizzie's voice in the silence of the night. "At Terminus?"

"If their parents kept them safe like Tyreese and Charlie kept all of you safe.”

"I saved Tyreese. And then Charlie," she said. "I shoot people that tried to hurt them," Lizzie explained."I didn't mean to shoot in the head."

"You had to," Carol said. "You saved Tyreese and Charlie."

"Maybe there still will be kids," said the girl. "Did you have kids?"

A chilling shiver crawled down Charlie’s spine as the haunting memory resurfaced. The weight of sorrow pressed heavily on her chest, and a sense of helplessness gripped her soul. The vivid memory of Sophia leaving the barn as a beast played over and over, leaving a profound ache and a lingering fear that echoed in the depths of her consciousness. Charlie started whispering her countdown again to muffle Carol's voice. "Mom, dad, Finn, Luke, Will, Pete, Amy, Jim, Jacquie, Sophia..."

She tried to convince herself that everything that had happened so far was nothing more than a bad dream. She repeated reassuring words, attempting to dismiss the vivid images as figments of imagination. And with that thought she closed her eyes tightly and fell asleep.

The weather was hot from the early hours. Even though, they were lucky to walk in the shadows of the trees, it was impossible to walk without a break, so now the group was resting. It wasn't the safest place to sit around as something could easily go down on them from the high hill, but Tyreese was not only suffering from heat but also from the pain that he felt in his arm.

"Would you like to hold her?" Carol asked her. "I have to help Tyreese with his arm."

Charlie looked down at the baby and grimaced. A surge of discomfort coursed through Charlie at the thought that she would hold Judith. Confusion and guilt mingled with an aversion, creating a mixed feeling within. The internal conflict added a layer of pain, casting a shadow over what should have been a moment of tenderness. Charlie looked up at Carol. "No."

"Why you never want to hold her?" asked Mika, sitting on front of Charlie with a baby in her arms, as she took it from Carol.

"I'm not good with kids," she answered.

"You're good with Carl," the girl said but immediately regretted it. After recalling the memory of Carl, Charlie's emotions swirled in a mix of sorrow, nostalgia, and perhaps even guilt or regret. Waves of grief washed over her as she realized the absence of a boy who became her friend. The memory served as a poignant reminder of the big impact Carl had on her life, leaving Charlie with an even bigger hole in her heart."Sorry. Shouldn't have said that."

"Yeah, you shouldn't."

"I miss my dad," the girl confessed. "Do you miss someone?"

"I do," Charlie nodded. In fact, she was missing more than just one person. She lost so many people on the way that fingers of one hand was not enough to count them all.

"But we should be happy," Mika said and gave Charlie a small smile. "We still have Carol. And Tyreese. And we have each other, right?"

She nodded her head, feeling the light of sympathy light in her for the girl. Besides she was right, they still had some friends left after the loss of those who have passed away, and Charlie experienced a mixture of gratitude, relief, and a renewed sense of connection. She might feel grief; however, she should appreciate the relationships she still had, recognizing the importance of cherishing and nurturing these connections. Despite the pain of loss, the realization that she still had friends by her side brought a glimmer of hope and warmth to her heart.

"How's your arm?" Charlie asked the man, while they were sitting on the tracks, waiting for Carol and Mika.

"Better," he nodded. "And how are you?"

"Better."

"I spy trees and weeds," suddenly said Lizzie to Tyreese as they were playing some odd game.

Suddenly, not so far away they heard snarling. It was filled with hunger and determination, shoulders squared and gaze fixed ahead, to get to the meal. The rhythmic sound of its footsteps echoed against the cold metal rails, a solitary rhythm in the silence of the empty landscape. He was alone, but his voice could easily lure others.

"Stay here," Charlie said as she got up and grabbed her bow.

It got stuck in the hole in the trucks, so Charlie could get as close as possible. She methodically drew back the string with a fluid motion, her movements practiced and precise. With focused concentration, she anchored her grip, ensuring stability and control. Her gaze fixates on the target, unwavering despite any distractions around. With each breath, she tried to steady the aim, aligning the arrow, so it would go straight through the Walker's head. Time seemed to slow as she reached the pinnacle of tension, her muscles coiled just like Daryl taught her.

Daryl.

A painful thought. It caused Charlie's fingers to tremble against the taut bowstring, her mind swirled with the unbearable weight of the thought that Daryl might be dead. The Walker blurred through her tears as she struggled to steady her aim, her chest constricting with every heartbeat. Charlie's hand went slack, the bow slipping from her grasp as the realization crashed over her like a wave. Daryl, her closest companion, was gone. A hollow ache settled in Charlie's chest, suffocating her with its weight. Daryl was gone, leaving Charlie to grapple with the harsh reality of a future without him.

She reached over to her belt, where her axe was replacing the knife that was left in the boiler room near Lori. Charlie sighed and was ready to finally kill the Walker.

"Charlie!" Lizzie's scream cut through the air. "Sometimes we have to kill them. I know that, but sometimes we don't."

Charlie's brow furrowed. In her eyes, Lizzie’s plea seemed like a dangerous liability, a weakness that could jeopardize their survival in the unforgiving world they now inhabited. Charlie really tried to understand, making excuses that back in the day she also had troubles to kill one of them. However, Lizzie saw what the Walkers can do, so Charlie couldn't understand how she could be so naive, so blind to the harsh realities they faced every day. To Charlie, killing the walker became a necessary act of self-preservation, a means of protecting themselves and ensuring their continued existence in a world overrun by the undead.

As she looked at Lizzie, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of resentment towards her perceived weakness. In her mind, her reluctance to take action was a sign of her inability to adapt to their new reality, a flaw that could ultimately put them all in danger.

"There's no sometimes," Charlie answered but didn't pursue the want to kill the Walker. He was trapped anyway.

The house that Carol and Mika stumbled upon in the woods appeared like a perfect opportunity to rest after days of voyage. Its weathered exterior bore the scars of time, with peeling paint and warped wood hinting at months or even years of neglect. Vines and ivy snaked their way up the walls, reclaiming the structure as their own in nature's relentless march. Despite its wild appearance, the house exuded an eerie sense of tranquility, nestled among the trees like a hidden sanctuary. It seemed peaceful in a world that became chaotic. The front porch sagged under the weight of years, yet still beckoned with the promise of shelter and respite. It was surrounded by the trees, and beside the house being neglected, in front of the porch grew yellow flowers.

"Girls, you sit tight," Carol said. "Charlie make sure that no one is coming in until we come out no matter what you hear."

"They're gonna be okay," Mika said to Charlie and she nodded. Then the little girl looked at her sister and sat down next to her and Judith.

As Charlie stood guard outside the house, her boredom became weighing heavily on her shoulders like a cloak. The minutes dragged on, each one stretching into an eternity as she watched over Lizzie and Mika with growing impatience. The forest seemed to close in around them, suffocating them with its oppressive stillness. She longed for some distraction, anything to break the monotony of her task.

Charlie shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her gaze wandering aimlessly over the surrounding. Every rustle of leaves or distant caw of a crow seemed to warn her, reminding her to focus as they were surrounded by the unknown. However, she wasn't scared. She was ready to use her weapon in case of any emergency.

"It's not that," Lizzie answered to whatever Mika said, but her eyes were stuck on the grave. Charlie's attention was back on them. "They're gonna find one in there and they're going..."

"Stop it! They aren't people!"

"But you're wrong," Lizzie shrugged her arms looking at her sister finally. Then her eyes rested on Charlie. "All of you."

The way she regarded walkers as people filled Charlie with a deep sense of unease, a primal instinct warning her of the danger lurking beneath Lizzie's innocent facade. Charlie knew all too well the true nature of these creatures, the insatiable hunger that lurked behind their lifeless eyes. She couldn't shake the feeling that her behavior would lead to something bad.

With furrowed brow and clenched jaw, Charlie struggled to contain her emotions, her eyes darting nervously between Lizzie and the surrounding woods - not being sure what was more dangerous. As the shadows lengthened around them, Charlie couldn't shake the feeling that the house was either a sanctuary or a tomb.

Her thoughts immersed her so much that she woke up from them the moment the Walker that came out of nowhere, was crawling in the direction of Lizzie and Judith. Mika tried to shoot it immediately, but she missed the head as it was moving so much, and she was too scared.

Charlie lunged forward, her grip tightening around the handle of the axe as she swung with all her might. The blade bit deep into the walker's flesh, cleaving through skin and bone with a sickening thud. Time seemed to slow as the walker stumbled backward, its lifeless eyes fixed on its prey even as its body crumpled to the ground. Charlie stood panting amidst the chaos, her chest heaving with exertion as she surveyed the scene before her. Adrenaline surged through her veins as she fought to protect Lizzie, Mika, and little Judith, her every instinct focused on driving back the relentless tide of danger.

But amidst the fear, there was a flicker of relief in Charlie's eyes, a sense of triumph born from the knowledge that she had saved them from harm. As she turned to face Lizzie, Mika, and Judith, their wide-eyed stares met her own, filled with a mixture of fear and gratitude. In that moment, Charlie knew that she had done what was necessary to protect her new friends.

Charlie knelt next the older girl. "There's no sometimes," she repeated what she said couple of hours before, signaling that Walkers should be killed always. Lizzie pushed her hand away with a furry in her eyes.

"Are you okay?" asked Carol while Tyreese was picking up Judith. They both stormed out of the house, alarmed by the noise. "Why are you upset? Are you scared?"

"No."

"Just look at the flowers like you're supposed to," Mika tried to calm her sister down.

Charlie was watching it all with furrowed eyebrows.

"Look," Charlie said and stretched out an arm to the girl. Her eyes lit up at the sight. "You like her?"

"She's perfect!" Mika took the doll. "I'm gonna name her Griselda Gunderson!"

Charlie snorted. "That's an exceptional name."

"You don't like it?"

"I do," she smiled lightly. "But we should tame her hair."

"We should," Mika chuckled. "I like your braid. Could you braid my hair like that?"

Charlie smiled at the girl and nodded her head. Then she moved her eyes to Tyreese who sat down in an armchair with an uneasy stare. Charlie furrowed her brows. "What's wrong?"

"I'm not used to this," he said. "We're living in a room in a house."

"Yeah, so relax," Charlie smiled.

"We should stay here," Mika interrupted.

"What about the Terminus?" Carol asked from her place. "You don't want to go there?"

"Maybe we can stay here for some time."

Lizzie smiled and nodded her head, so Charlie exchanged stares with the other adults. Feeling of family warmth overcame her body, and small smile stayed on her lips. As the feeling grew, she started to hum a lullaby she knew. In a moment she felt Mika's body, curling up to her, becoming heavy as the sleep took over it.

"Mom, dad, Finn, Luke, Will, Pete, Amy, Jim, Jacquie, Sophia, Shane, Patricia, Jimmy, Lori, T-Dog, Oscar, Axel, Merle, Andrea, Zach, Patrick, Hershel, Rick, Carl, Michonne, Glenn, Maggie, Bob, Sasha, Daryl, Beth..." Charlie was muttering under her nose as she thought everyone was sleeping. They all decided that it would be better to spend first couple nights together.

"Charlie?" she heard a whisper. "What are you doing? You aren't sleeping?"

"Did I wake you?" she whispered.

"It's okay," she shook her head in the dark and sat up slowly not to wake Lizzie or Mika up. Judith was peacefully sleeping on Tyreese chest, unbothered by the whispering. "What were you doing?"

"It's my thing," Charlie answered. "I'm trying to tire my brain so I could sleep."

"I don't think it's healthy," Carol said.

"It's working."

For a moment it became silence all over again, before Carol opened her mouth again. "Do you think they're all dead?"

"You saw what happened."

"Do you think Daryl didn't make it?" she asked.

Charlie gulped big and thick lump that formed in her throat. "He was trying to save everyone. Probably stayed to the end when there was no bus, car, and the place became overrun."

"But he's...Daryl," Carol tried to fill Charlie with hope. She didn't know that the whole conversation was just breaking her heart. "Do you miss him?"

"Yes," she whispered and felt the tears. "I don't know what I should do with myself when he's not around. It's as if I forgot everything he had been teaching me. I no longer know what is wrong or right."

"It will get better."

"When?"

"Sooner or later," Carol said with nostalgic tone.

"Hmm."

"Let's sleep, Sweet Thing."

As the group settled into the house they had discovered, Carol slipped into the role of both mother and lady of the house. With a quiet strength and unwavering determination, she took on the responsibility of caring for the needs of those around her, ensuring that they felt safe and supported in their new surroundings. Her warm smile and gentle words became a source of solace for the group, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there was still room for compassion and kindness.

Carol's nurturing presence extended to every corner of the house, from tending to the wounds of Tyreese to providing a listening ear for Charlie burdened by the weight of her grief. She became a pillar of strength for the group, her unwavering resolve serving as a source of hope for the girls in a world consumed by despair.

But perhaps most importantly, Carol took on the role of surrogate mother to the children, offering them love, guidance, and protection in the absence of their own parents. With a tender touch and a watchful eye, she helped to shield Judith from the horrors of the outside world, creating a sense of normalcy amidst the chaos. She also took as the point of honor to take care of Charlie and was making sure she's okay.

In Carol, the group found not only a leader and a provider but also a source of love and comfort in a world filled with darkness. And as they gathered around the hearth of their newfound home, they knew that as long as Carol was by their side, they would weather whatever challenges the future might bring.

"What are you doing?" Charlie asked as she entered the kitchen.

"Cookies," Carol smiled. "Girls said they would like to eat ones, and I found chocolate in the cupboard,"Charlie nodded with a smile and leaned on the counter. "Is something wrong?"

Carol developed a skill of reading her just by looking at her face. She couldn't precisely say if it was good or bad for now, but nothing could hide from Carol. So, Charlie decided to voice her concerns related to Lizzie.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on with the girl?"

"What do you mean?" Carol tried to brush her off with a smile.

"I mean, what's wrong with Lizzie?"

The woman placed everything down with a sigh and looked at Charlie. Carol was well aware of complexity of the problem with Lizzie. It was making her heart sink every time she was thinking about it, that's why she wasn't doing this much. "She's just lost," she said. "She can't understand how the world has changed."

"We can't leave it like that."

"Then what should we do?" Carol asked, but the silence answered her. "Exactly."

"She is dangerous to everyone. Even herself," Charlie voiced her worries.

"She's a good child," Carol said and looked over the window, watching as Lizzie was running around laughing. Charlie knew that the girls were replacing the emptiness Sophia left in Carol's heart, so it was probably harder to let the negative thoughts to her.

Which only made things harder.

Suddenly, Carol dropped everything and left the room that she was talking with Charlie. The second, furrowed her eyebrows and stepped closer to the window, and her heart sank.

As Charlie watched from a distance, a knot tightened in his stomach as she witnessed the horrifying scene unfolding before her. Lizzie, seemingly oblivious to the danger, gleefully played with the walker, her innocent laughter ringing through the air. Carol sprang into action with a speed and determination. With a primal instinct, she lunged forward, pulling Lizzie away from the walker's grasp just in the nick of time. The air seemed to crackle with tension as Carol wrestled with the undead creature, her every movement fueled by a mother's fierce protectiveness.

In the very moment, she felt another presence behind her. The man switched off the fire, so the whistle of the boiling water went quiet. Before he asked what was going on he looked out of the window. As it was quiet around, they both could hear a loud scream coming from Lizzie's mouth."She didn't want to hurt anybody! She was my friend and you killed her! You killed her!"

Tyreese's realization dawned slowly, like a dark cloud creeping across the sky. At first, he dismissed Lizzie's unsettling behavior as the product of trauma and fear, a child struggling to cope with the horrors of the world around her. But as he observed her reaction now, a gnawing sense of unease began to take root in his mind. He looked at Charlie and their eyes met.

The pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place, each one a chilling revelation of the truth that lurked beneath the surface. The way Lizzie spoke about the walkers with an unsettling sense of familiarity, the disturbing drawings she created depicting violence and death – it all pointed to a deeply disturbed mind, a darkness that threatened to consume them all. However, nothing could be done.

The group needed to hunt down the deer they saw near the house. Charlie volunteered for that, and she decided to take Mika with her as she knew the importance of teaching her the skills necessary for survival, but he also felt the weight of responsibility resting heavily on her shoulders.

With a steady hand and a reassuring smile, Charlie guided Mika through the dense undergrowth, her senses on high alert for any sign of danger. She imparted her knowledge of tracking and hunting with patience and care, teaching her to move silently and stealthily through the forest like a ghost in the night. Remembering how Daryl used to teach her.

"The fire's still burning," the girl said, looking at the smoke that was raising in the distance for couple days now.

"It could have gone out," Charlie shrugged.

"Nope. The smoke is black," Mika argued. "If it was white, the fire wouldn't have be burning anymore," she said and smiled after seeing dumbfounded face of Charlie. "I miss science class. Except for when we had to do stuff like cut up planaria worms."

"There are worse things you've got to do."

"No, I don't."

"Yes you do," Charlie said with a firm voice and stopped walking. "Lizzie's bigger than you and in some ways she's stronger. But you're smarter and you understand these...things," she explained. Suddenly from behind the bushes appeared a big and shiny deer. He stopped a couple feet away, and proudly straightened his back. Charlie nudged the girl. "Do it. I showed you."

Charlie furrowed her brows as the girl turned to her. "I can't. We have peaches."

Charlie sighed in a defense, but smiled and nodded her head.

Carol and Tyreese were talking near the well as they were getting water for whatever reason. Their conversation seemed rather serious judging by Carol's face. But it break into a huge, bright smile as she saw Charlie approaching. "You're back already? Where's Mika?"

"She wanted to find Lizzie, so she could tell her about the hunt."

"And the deer?"

Charlie sighed. "Mika couldn't bring herself to shoot that deer and it was gone before I had a chance to shoot."

"Yeah, she's always been sensitive," Carol nodded.

"I'm not sure if she'll ever be able to pull the trigger."

"And you're so calm?" Tyreese narrowed his eyes in surprise.

Charlie looked up from the water source as she was washing her hands. "What am I supposed to do? Yell at her?" she asked annoyed. "She's a little girl, and I'm not a monster."

Carol exchanged glances with each other. "You weren't so soft with Carl."

"Sorry?"

"You didn't have any resistance to yell at him or put him at the edge of tears," she remembered.

Charlie's frustration simmered at Carol. She felt a pang of hurt at the accusation, her emotions torn between defending herself and understanding Carol's perspective. Deep down, Charlie knew she wasn't heartless, but the accusation still stung, leaving her feeling misunderstood and defensive. Maybe at first she wasn't the nicest to the boy, but he grew on her and became a close person to her heart. She never said anything to purposely hurt him...or did she? Carol's disapproving gaze only fueled Charlie's irritation, leaving her to wonder if maybe she was being too hard on the boy.

"Carl was a boy," Charlie straightened her back. Her annoyance increased at the mention of his name. "He needed to toughen up. Also, he was older than her..." she said, but as she voiced that she wasn't so sure. Carl didn't have any problems with guns; however, he was a sensitive child. Maybe she just had problem with identifying that and later it was too late to treat him gently. "Carl was different. I'll keep teaching her, but it's hard."

"She's got a good heart, Charlie," Carol said. "We'll find a way to keep her safe, even if it means stepping in ourselves."

"That's only the next reason why we should stay here," Tyreese changed the subject.

"What?"

"You liked the idea the other night."

"Yeah, I wanted to stay for couple of days not forever," Charlie said. "What if someone is alive and is in the Terminus?"

"We don't know that, sweet thing," Carol shook her head. "We don't know what waits us there."

"We can't stay here forever. We will run out of supplies eventually," she argued.

"Charlie, we can't risk heading to Terminus right now," Tyreese said. "It's too uncertain."

She didn't answer.

"We found this house for a reason — to stay hidden and regroup," Carol said.

"Regroup?" she scoffed. "Who do you want to regroup?"

"What would Daryl do?" the other woman asked. "You think he would want to risk Judith's life?"

"I think he would like to go to the Terminus if that meant reconnecting with the rest."

"Listen, we need a plan," the man said as the voice of reason. "Terminus might be a trap, and we can't gamble with our safety. Let's fortify here, gather resources, and figure out our next move together."

"Charlie! Carol! Help!

Carol, Charlie, and Tyreese sprinted through the trees, their hearts pounding as they heard the distant screams of the girls. Fear clenched at their chests, driving them forward with urgency. With each step, branches whipped past them, and the forest blurred into a chaotic mosaic of greens and browns. Adrenaline surged through their veins as they pushed themselves to move faster, desperate to reach the girls before it was too late.

As they burst into the clearing, they found Mika trapped, terror etched on her face as she struggled against the relentless advance of the walker. Without a thought, Carol shoot the Walker in the head which gave the girl a time to run from the five or six more.

Charlie didn't have a gun, so she was just watching what was happening in front of her, how the dead were dropping to the ground like flies. Her eyes widened in surprise as she watched Lizzie take aim and fire at the approaching walkers. She never expected the young girl to have the courage, let alone the skill, to defend herself in such a manner - especially in the light of past events. Her expression determined as she continued to take down the undead with steady shots.

Charlie couldn't help but feel a mix of shock and admiration for the girl's resilience in the face of danger. Maybe today's situation showed her the true nature of Walkers and their problem solved itself.

As the evening settled in after the harrowing ordeal of having to kill walkers, a somber atmosphere hung heavy over the group. They gathered around a flickering fire, the crackling flames casting long shadows that danced against the walls of their makeshift shelter. Charlie was sitting down on the floor, brushing the leaves out of Mika's hair as the girl was playing with a doll. Charlie once again began humming a lullaby and in a second Judith fell asleep in Tyreese's arms - along with Tyreese.

Despite the heaviness in the air, there was a sense of solidarity among them, a silent understanding that they were in this together, bound by a shared determination to survive. And as the night wore on, they found solace in each other's presence, drawing strength from the bonds that held them tight in the face of the uncertain future.

"I had to help stop them," said Lizzie in a low ton. She was still tense from what she had to do, and the emotions still fresh in her.

"Do you understand what they're now?" Carol asked.

"I know..." Lizzie nodded. "I know what I have to do now."

Carol's eyes met Charlie's and she nodded, so the other woman could continue her conversation with Lizzie. It was the right moment to convince her what was good and what was bad.

"It's ugly and it's scary," Carol said. "That's how we got to be here. That's growing up now."

"I don't want to hurt anyone," said Mikka suddenly, showing that she wasn't mindlessly playing with a toy.

"You have to be sometimes," Lizzie answered and then looked up at Charlie. "But just sometimes."

She smiled at her lightly and nodded her head, caressing Mika's hair. "Sometimes."

Sitting around the fire, Charlie couldn't help but smile as she listened to the girls' laughter as they were making cookies with Carol, their youthful energy a welcome respite from the harsh realities of their world.

And as they sat together surrounded by the warmth of the fire that was lighting up the room, Charlie couldn't help but feel grateful for the makeshift family she had found in the midst of the chaos, knowing that as long as they had each other, they could face whatever challenges lay ahead with strength and resilience.

Or so they thought...

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#daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon series #daryl dixon twd #daryl dixon x reader #daryl fanfiction #daryl the walking dead #daryl twd #daryl x reader

[the-labyrinth-of-me]

GTAV headcanons pt. 2

- Michael and Trevor argue over the TV program often.

- Trevor prefers watching cartoons, he thinks action movies are repetitive, boring and predictable. Michael takes that very personally

- don't suggest watching a heist movie with T. He won't stop complaining about how illogical and dumb it is

- Trevor would tell you how unspeakably unhealthy fast food is and what a burger consists of, but orders a whole menu anyway

- Based on how T comments other people's weight and that he tells Jimmy during a hangout that he smokes meth when he doesn't wanna eat, he's low-key fatphobic, afraid to gain weight and maybe was a little overweight as a kid and got bullied for it

- Lamar was told to become a basketball player often due to his height but he's shit at it

- y'all say Trevor used to play the guitar - I say he was a drummer. I mean come on, he loves hitting and smashing things

- Franklin is uncomfortable when a thunderstorm happens and was afraid of them as a kid

- Trevor was homeless at some point in his life, probably after his discharge

- Trevor was s*xually absused

- Amanda wears contact lenses

- Michael's eyesight isn't perfect either, but he's too proud to visit an oculist, although he really should

- Jimmy stole drugs from his uncle, unbeknownst to him

- Franklin used to do graffitis during his teen years and was pretty good at it. He has good drawing skills in general

- He also tried to start a career as a rapper, sent his own tapes to record companies but they all turned him down. Thinks Eminem is a fraud.

- Trevor claims he once did crack with Keith Richards

- His father used to love country music. Whenever he hears a country song, it gives him confusing feelings

- Also claims he once starred in a snuff movie and in several pornos (the latter is actually true)

- Trevor is more skilled in changing diapers than Michael

- Trevor and Michael born suffer from infrequent erectile dysfunction due their respective drug/alcohol abuse, so a pack of Mollis pills is their "little friends' " best friend

- Tracey once tried to put a strand of Trevor's hair into a bun/plait and that was the start of the mullet growth

- After Patricia returned home to her husband, Trevor tried to take care of her plants in his yard, but they all died soon after

#Gtav headcanons #gta v #trevor philips #michael de santa #franklin clinton #lamar davis #amanda de santa #tracey de santa #jimmy de santa

[toomuchracket]

also thinking abt d word and him and girlie sharing wardrobes 😊

stop it omg. he steals your dressing gown at every opportunity, literally takes it on tour with him, because "it's cosy and it smells like you, sweetheart, it makes me feel safe". you steal his t-shirts a lot - the beige (aka toomuchracket pfp hehehe meta!!) one and the green ramones one are basically yours at this point - and, as much as it pains him cos he likes wearing it, he leaves you the blue nike hoodie for comfort whenever he has to go away (and he gets all gooey when you ft him and you're wearing it).

actually, i also think there was one instance where you ended up sharing clothes before you were a thing at all. naturally, you were in nyc for atvb, and the strap of your top broke right before the afterparty so you didn't have time to run and buy something else; god bless patricia villirillo, though, who was like "it's chill we'll sort something out", and literally went into the case with all of matty's stage outfits to steal a white shirt. and she was like "this will look SO GOOD with that miniskirt you have on. and he won't care that we're stealing it lol" - she was right about the first bit, it did look fucking great unbuttoned to just below your bra line and tucked into the skirt, but she was DEAD wrong about the second bit. as soon as you got into the party, matty was like "holy shit you look amazing. the shirt is so cool" and you (blushing) were like "thanks lol um it's actually yours. my top broke and patti said i should wear it. don't worry, though, i'll get it cleaned before i give it back lmao it's got my perfume on it now"; matty's literally having to cling to the bar to stop his knees giving way and his brain going delulu at the fact you're wearing his clothes, but he manages to smile and say "well, you look better in it than i do, darlin'. i'd tell you to keep it, but i actually do need it back for shows lol. you don't have to get it cleaned, though, patti'll sort it. besides, i like your perfume a lot - wouldn't mind doing a show covered in it, to be honest". and then someone (prob george) drags him off before you can reply - matty winks and says "i'll find you later for a drink, darlin'" as he goes - leaving you blushing at the bar in slight shock lol <3

#mads answers asks #matty asks #fluff asks #d word matty

[violsva]

February Reading

I liked doing the reading post in January and thinking about books is better than thinking about family things! so here's another one.

Recent: Not all that recent now, but I finished Imre at the beginning of the month and I did actually enjoy it very much. It's very Edwardian, both in style and attitude, but along with the Weird Ideas about ethnicity there's also a sincere attempt to refute misogyny in gay male culture. And idk, the romance is just sweet.

Also read Wired Love by Ella Cheever Thayer, which I first heard of somewhere on tumblr most of a decade ago, and loved that too! And this one actually has surprisingly little in the way of Period Typical Attitudes. People respect each other's boundaries (or, at least, the good ones do) and there's a very nice portrait of life in urban boarding houses in the late 19th century.

Read Paladin's Faith by T. Kingfisher, which I loved all the way through, but I finished it at a point when I had kind of a lot of pain and PMS, which means I have ended up with no ability to comment on it. I liked the ground wights. Oh, also halfway through I decided Wren should ditch her party and marry me. Possibly I have a Type.

Reread an early Cat Sebastian, which, well, it's nice to see how much she's improved.

Still reading and listening to a lot of RWRB fic. I don't think there's anything I want to specifically call out as good, but it's nice and non-demanding. At least as long as I stick to AUs or shove it into the wish-fulfillment area of my brain rather than the class-conscious part. Oh, and I relistened to the first chapter of Life of Crime the other evening, that was great.

Current: In the middle of the climax of Gwen and Art Are Not in Love - thank god for skip-the-line copies, I have been reading this very slowly over the last six weeks. Recommended if it sounds at all like your kind of thing. Hopefully I will finish it on my commute tomorrow.

Have started The AI Who Loved Me by Alyssa Cole, because sometimes reading about living in a dystopia is, what's the word, sympathetic.

Last year I read The Astonishing Adventure of Jane Smith by Patricia Wentworth and wondered why she doesn't have the same reputation as, at least, Ngaio Marsh or Josephine Tey. Now I'm reading The Coldstone and finding it somewhat less impressive. Possibly because of SAD and possibly because it doesn't have any characters I straight up like as much as I liked Jane Smith. But the bit I read today had some very fun sneaking around at night pretending to be a ghost. Also a bicycle. I should read more books with bicycles.

Also I got Poetic Designs by Stephen Adams (one of my university professors) from my brother (we should have two copies between us, but mine has disappeared in a box somewhere) and am rereading that for nice practical unemotional nonfiction and nostalgia.

Future: I am going to pick up a gay sci-fi regency romance that I found in the local library and hope it is as awesome as it could be. And either Sixpenny Octavo by Annick Trent or One Night in Hartswood by Emma Denny, depending on whether I feel more like even more regency or even more medieval by then. And I have If You'll Have Me by @eunnieboo on hold at the library.

At some point I'm going to go through my reading file and run the stats to see if I'm actually reading more queer fiction this year than usual. Probably not, honestly.

#books #reading #reading log

[whosyourcreepyunclenow]

alright, for some reason this exists. not quite aware about your boundaries, so I'm obligated to warn: this content may not be suitable for some readers

warnings: smut, ust, non-conish dub-con(?), toxic crap, sad silly nonsense, probably weird english

was written to a nice song though

(it's pov Michael but I can only write in second person, so imagine yourself a depressed middle-aged man and go ahead)

It’s supposed to be a fucking jinx, doesn’t it? Just how you missed the old times few crazy weeks ago, so much you hate ‘em now. And of course, hate yourself for missing ‘em, like it somehow brought back that wild crap right into your present day. What a joke.

Memories should remain memories. To indulge yourself in a good old shitty nostalgia, to dive headlong into that abyss again and get off scot-free. Your personal paradise of fun where the heart trembles, the night's still young, and the bullet in your shoulder doesn’t bother like a real one. No bruises from recoil, no shortness of breath. You’re the sharpest shooter, Mikey, the clearest mind, you always make the right decisions.

Such a calming little lie to fool yourself you could be better than this. Not just a drunk old loser, feeling sorry for himself, but a drunk old loser with history, which you wisely choose to left behind and move forward. You were a terrible person, you still are. However even a terrible person needs something to be proud of.

And there must be no way for that special something to become more than just a back door to escape reality. No fucking way.

The old days taste like nauseating warm beer and smell like piss. Stained with blood, sweat and cum, sound like annoyingly loud swearing and crunch of broken glass. It was a lot easier to forget their true colors, so you gladly forgot, leaving the only ones suitable for a proper melancholic reminiscence. You know, ain’t nothing wrong with romanticizing the past. The trouble begins when you're starting regret things. Oh man, you should never trust your memories, they’re such fabulists…

Another bottle became a pile of trash for Patricia to clean up. Not sure how obvious but you kinda hate her for no reason, just along for the ride. She could tidy up this rubbish dump for days, it’ll never get clean. She could call him good, kind, mature or whatever, he’ll never stop being himself. And neither will you.

Trying to steady the swaying room, you stabilize its dirty walls with your hands, occasionally grabbing a poster girl’s ass, she doesn’t get offended. The next one even deserved a slight slap, as if you weren’t already horny enough – to even feel the seductive warmth of skin through the faded paper and sincerely enjoy that little illusion of touch. Same 'bout an illusion of privacy behind the flimsy folding door you keep closed anyway.

At least he doesn’t mind. Being asleep and completely wasted, the only thing his doped body’s still capable of is snoring. Lying on his back, with his arms and legs spread out, in that smelly stretched briefs, he’s utterly disgusting and sexy at the same time.

Well, in the old days you wouldn’t think twice. But it ain’t the old days.

So you just carelessly shoved him aside and fell down with your face in the pillow, warm and wet from his oily hair. Took a deep breath. Fucking awful as always. He murmured something unintelligible, then turned on his stomach too, but faced to the other side. You don’t look at him either.

“Forget any idea ‘bout molesting me, pork chop. Or I’ll get sober and shove a grenade into your butt, you hear me?”

Feels like you’d blow up his butt right now, without any other tools except your own. Why the hell.

“You really flatter yourself, T. Like… greatly.”

Still somehow managed to keep your voice smooth, though the stupid nervous smirk makes it a bit softer. You swallowed hard, throwing the fuck out of your mind that nostalgic bullshit ‘bout using your saliva in a more efficient way. There was times when your fingers woulda been doing their job already, now they simply clenched into a fist, crumpling a checkered blanket. Those times have passed long ago.

“We both know you ain’t too picky.”

Is he taunting or just mocking you? Any mistake could be unreasonably costly in a lot of senses.

“Yeah, maybe.”

The catch is you ain’t even confident about yourself anymore, face it. Desire is enormous, the foretaste drives you crazy – hey, when was the last time you felt so aroused by someone? Or just aroused without any fucking reason, like in your twenties, but still aroused as fuck? Though it doesn’t mean that need can be satisfied, since any little bullshit’s enough to ruin the feeling and turn you off like a broken switch. So you hate yourself again and hate your body, hate your deceptive mind, hate your everything.

Guess getting old is a great excuse for losing interest, yeah? At least it works for Amanda and your other whores who demand from you much more than you're capable of. But the truth is you haven’t ever lost interest, you’ve just become more… picky? Or egoistic. Or less randomly horny for pretty things or simply tired from imitating it – that’s what they usually call sexual problems.

Resumed snoring let you know that T’s asleep again. So alright, you can continue feeling pity for yourself until the morning. The only thing you can do as long as you want.

Or there’s another option. Weirdly compromise, still crazy. Hence exciting.

You cautiously turned on your back and glanced at him to check, as if the obvious sound was not enough. Part of you treacherously want him to wake up at the worst moment possible, but clearly not yet. Man, what the fuck are you doing…

Quietly unbuckled your belt and unzipped your pants, suddenly worrying. Years ago it was his thing to masturbate on you sleeping, what always felt confusing when you caught him doing that. As if you were jealous of him to himself and somehow got offended, what a dumbass. Didn’t realize that every opportunity to touch someone you wanna touch is a treasure.

And now you’re casually squeezing your cock, remembering his. You jerked him half-ass mechanically, roughly, without giving a single fuck about his pleasure, the only one that really mattered was your own. Of course you tried to make it less obvious, but it was obvious – you were awful. And he loved you awful. More than anyone.

“Fuck, Trevor…”

Can’t help but whispering, not expecting to be heard. Your handjob is a lot better when you’re staring at his sweaty back, fighting the urge to remove these shitty briefs. Ain’t no even need to screw, you may climax just from looking at his naked ass.

It's almost perfect time for him to wake up and punch you. Almost.

Luckily, he doesn’t. Even when you’ve finally lost your damn mind and pull off his underwear, then predicably realized you need more than looking. And holy fuck… this was your last meaningful conclusion.

Quite unable to mess around, you got to the point, eagerly lubing up your cock with saliva and pushing apart his buttocks, barely maintaining a sense of reality… With all these toys he regularly shoves in himself, you thought it would be easier, but his hole just doesn’t let you in. So you spat on your fingers once more and smeared on his tight entrance, then tried again. He’s already disturbed enough to start moaning and lazily fidget, but not fully awake yet.

“Hey, T… You wanted the old me? You’ll get him.”

Finally, he howled when you pushed yourself inside, probably too fast. Ain’t exactly how things should be done, you was merely trying to avoid that awkward pause between “I wanna fuck you” and “I’m actually fucking you” stages. Just can’t deal with that clarifying relationships shit, not fucking now…

“FUCK!”

Alright, he woke up. And he’s trying to shove you out, if only you hadn’t held his bottom like a fucking lifeline.

“Am I shitting? Feels like a big turd’s stuck in my butt… Not so big, actually.”

“Hi to you too, Trevor.”

It’s so tense here like he’s trying to bit off your manhood with his anus and chew it. And maybe a little dry, yet not enough for him to lament.

“Remember what I said ‘bout molesting me, sugar?”

You spread out his cheeks slightly, conciliatory massaging them to appease, but he keeps struggling. It’s easier to lay down and put your weight upon him, bury yourself even deeper, softly mutter into his neck.

“C'mon, T, let me love you…”

He smells attractively horrible, alluring your lips to fondle his skin with short kisses. He tastes salty.

“It’s not fucking LOVE, you dick! It’s taking advantage!”

“Call it whatever you like.”

You thrust in him slowly, knead his hips with all tender affection you can muster, what the fuck else does he want? Alright, it ain’t really convenient now but lift him a bit to play with his boy too, and this time do it right… Oh please, just make sure to do it right.

God, he’s hard. He’s hard and hot like hell, goddammit…

“No! Just, NO I said! And pull your junk outta me!”

So this moron just slapped your hand, shoved it away and wriggled out from under your body, making you both highly unpleasant. Fucking great!

He got up, swaying and shaking, put up his briefs back on and somehow fixed his boner. Still doesn’t look at your face, though he’s not the only who hesitates. After all, you have no damn idea what went wrong or what he wanted you to do. From your perspective it felt as good as it could be, unspeakably good.

“Oh seriously, what’s the problem?”

Crap, he clearly didn’t like the question.

“What’s the problem?! WHAT’S THE FUCKING PROBLEM you asking?!”

“Yes, what’s the fucking problem!”

Fuck it. He finally turned and faced you, with so much desperate hate in his eyes that you went numb. Like everything what happened was so terribly wrong he could never forgive. Like you hurt him in ways you can’t even imagine.

“Listen… Right now, I’m making incredible efforts to not kill you, Michael,” his voice got menacingly quiet, yet notes of deeply rising anger strive to break through. “If that ain’t A PROBLEM to you, guess what I’d be doing with your corpse!”

Shit, he’s so fucking fine when he’s mad. Scary to realize, you’d probably rape him, if only he wasn’t a lot stronger, even with a such hangover. Or perhaps what you’ve already done can be as well considered as a sexual violence – of course, how else. So you’re a rapist now. Congratulations, pal.

“A-right, I got it,” but you’re still a human, who has his goddamn feelings too. “Go fuck yourself then.”

That treacherous, suicidal part of you expected him to react – in any way. He could punch you, slam you against the wall, chock you, shove a fucking grenade into your ass, rape you in revenge. You want him to do fucking anything, you just want him. Desperately.

Hastily zipping up your pants, slide open the door and leave. Patricia’s asleep on the coach or pretending being asleep. Who cares.

When harrowing horniness finally let you go, thirst hit. So bad you’d dry up the Alamo Sea despite its saltiness and ask for more. You bursted into a bathroom, opened the tap at full and drunk greedily from your palms until you felt sick, but couldn’t bring yourself to vomit. The water was muddy, rusty and smelled like sewer, lovely taste of a childhood. Lastly, you washed your face and turned to the broken mirror.

Of course, you’re miserable. Fat old fool with shadows under his eyes, saggy skin and smoky teeth. So what goddamn hopes you had for yourself? He might like that perfect old you, young and handsome, everyone’s blue-eyed boy. Oh, you were hot back in the day, admit it.

You were something to jerk on. Now you ain’t even someone to drunkenly fuck.

So go outside, get in the car. Find yourself the ugliest, the dopest hooker and blow your load into her stretched ass to chill out. Kill some strangers, if doesn’t help, trash someone’s car, rob a store. No other entertainment in this fucking nowhere.

#trikey #non-conish dub-con #Micheal De Santa x Trevor Philips #fanfiction #smut #dubcon #michael x trevor #michael de santa #trevor philips #angst #songfic in some way #SoundCloud #gta 5 #gta v #sandy shores #Michael is the prettiest man alive btw #Trevor is the sexiest #those idiots #why there's so much misunderstanding between them #can explain why it isn't a rape in a literal sense if someone doesn't get it so you're free to ask #didn't give more warnings/tags (which are maybe should be given) cuz I don't wanna spoil too much so decide for yourself #maybe I'll continue and Trevor will fuck the life out of Michael by consent #sori me no talks englis veri mach

[theaceofdragons]

(a Royai fairytale/fantasy AU inspired by Patricia C Wrede's Dealing With Dragons on AO3)

Rated T

No major warnings

Dragon!Roy/Princess!Riza

Riza is done being a proper princess. She's run away from home to avoid an arranged marriage to a prince whose only discernible interests are jousting and looking good in armor. Roy is a dragon determined to climb his way to the top of the social ladder. Having a princess around gives him a status boost, and this one seems unlkely to get turned into a toad by a stay spell. Living together will take some adjustment for both of them—and that's before they discover each other's secrets.

Winter came to the Mountains of Morning all at once that year, and early. One day the autumn leaves were rimmed with frost in the morning and the wind from the north was chilly, but Riza could still venture out to gather mushrooms near Sig and Izumi's cave as long as she wore a sturdy woolen cloak. The next, it was snowing, and the snow stuck. Three days later, a blizzard descended on the valley Roy's cave overlooked. And, finely appointed and spacious though it might be, it was a cave. If she hadn't already been convinced Roy had never had a princess before, his shock when she greeted him that morning would have been proof.

"It's too cold, isn't it?" he said, with a sounds she would have called sigh if it hadn't come from a forty-foot-long creature taller at the shoulder than she was on her toes... (continue on AO3)

cover illusration via Project Gutenberg

#royai #riza hawkeye #roy mustang #dragons #fma fic #alternate universe

[frozenprocedural]

Lavender Haze

Or "Alarik finds out just how much Elsa likes his lavender smell".

Set in my Beekeeper AU. Alarik belongs to @patricia-von-arundel.

INCREDIBLY 'E' UNDER THE CUT.

Lavender Haze

Rating: E

Alarik pulls to a stop in front of the little cabin, admiring the way the sunset colors play across its windows. Beside him, Elsa stirs, letting out a sleepy “hmm?”

“We're here, darling. What do you think?” 

“Oh! How beautiful!”

Alarik grins, enjoying the wide-eyed look of wonder on his wife's face. They'd seen pictures online, of course, but it was nothing compared to the sight in front of them. The cabin- just large enough for the two of them- nestles among neat rows of blooming lavender plants, its wooden walls nearly glowing in the setting sun. The scent of lavender wafts on the breeze- a perfect spot for a weekend away. 

“Let's get our things inside. We should have enough time to walk through the lavender. Good thing we got dinner before getting here!”

It's as they're finishing unpacking when Alarik first notices Elsa's restlessness. She seems distracted, her movements a bit jerky. He chalks it up to the long drive, and hopes the evening walk will help her calm down. 

He offers his arm as they step onto the porch, and after a hesitation so brief he nearly misses it, Elsa takes it. They stroll up the first row or lavender, with him doing most of the talking- whatever comes to mind. Elsa keeps a hold of his arm, but her body is stiff, and eventually he can ignore it no longer. He stops mid-row, and she starts.

“Elsa, is something wrong? You seem… off.”

She avoids his gaze, and just when he thinks she'll try to brush off his question, she answers, her voice strained. 

“The… lavender.”

“The lavender?”

She looks at him then, and he's shocked to see how dilated her pupils are, and how flushed her face is. When she speaks again, a desperate note trembles in her voice. 

“The lavender. It smells like… like you.”

“Oh? Oh.”

He stumbles when she throws herself against him, caught off guard. He grabs her hips as she winds her arms around his neck, pulling him down so she can catch his lips in a searing kiss. She sucks on his bottom lip, her moan vibrating against his mouth, and he shudders. 

She pulls away, just enough so she can speak, her lips tickling his. “I need you.”

Some feral noise escapes his throat, and before he's even aware he's done so, Elsa is in his arms as he takes long strides back to the cabin. She doesn't protest, instead, she clings tighter to him, pressing her face into the crook of his neck. He can feel her rapid breathing, matching his own. 

He fumbles at the door, unwilling to put her down, and manages to get it open, using his foot to nudge it shut once they're through. Only then does he ease Elsa to the floor, anticipating her needy lunge this time. Their lips meet, and he runs his tongue across hers until she parts them, then plunges into her mouth, running it along her own tongue. Elsa finds the hem of his t-shirt, tugging it up until he breaks away to deal with it. 

By the time he's tossed his shirt to one side, she's already shrugged out of her dress and is working on his shorts, her fingers struggling briefly with the button. He takes advantage of her momentary distraction to find the clasp of her bra, pulling it away and groaning at the sight of her bare breasts. 

Elsa shakes her arms free of the bra, momentarily obscuring his view before she returns to attacking the button, letting out a sharp grunt when it opens. She wastes no time in pulling them down, taking his boxers with them. When he reaches for her underwear, she takes his cock in hand, stroking along the length, making him groan again. 

“Slow down, darling. I haven't had a chance to touch you yet.” 

Her hand slips off when he pulls her underwear the rest of the way down, but as soon as he's upright, it returns. 

That won't do. 

He takes her wrists, collecting them into one hand, and before he's even aware that he's done so, Alarik pins them against the wall, above her head. Elsa gasps, staring at him with wide eyes, but just as he's starting to loosen his grip, she tips her head back to look at her trapped wrists and moans. 

He leans closer. “Wait, you liked that?”

Elsa nods and whimpers, her eyes fluttering shut. 

“Don't let go. Please.”

Alarik uses his free hand to brush over her nipple, watching her arch into his touch. A pinch has her gasping. 

“All this because of the lavender?”

Another nod. “I think of you every time I smell it.” She opens her eyes, and despite the flush that creeps across her face, he can see the desire in them. “Especially our wedding night. And… other nights.” 

A strangled curse escapes him, and he leans forward to kiss her, hard, catching her lower lip in his teeth and tugging on it. She moans and presses against him as his free hand finds her other breast, tweaking the nipple. He's rougher than he normally is, but Elsa leans into it, her moaning growing in volume. The sunset illuminates her body in a soft glow, and he hums at the sight. 

“God, you're gorgeous.” 

She shudders, and he gives her nipple one last pinch before lazily sliding his hand down her torso. “So beautiful. Just look at you.”

He reaches her patch of curls, and she lifts one leg, granting him access. He debates teasing her for a bit longer, but even he has his limits, and the desire to feel her warmth wins over. He cups her center and hisses- she's dripping.

Elsa bucks her hips, grinding against the heel of his hand, and he has to bury his head in her neck, inhaling her scent to control himself as her arousal coats his palm. He slips two fingers into her, shuddering at the way her walls grip at them. 

“That's it. Let me take care of you.” His voice takes on a low, husky tone. “You feel so good, so wet.” 

He begins a slow, easy pace, using his thumb to circle her clit, his other fingers searching for the rough patch inside her. When he finds it, he increases his pace, making sure he rubs the spot with each thrust of his fingers. 

Elsa's hips buck against his fingers, while her trapped wrists twist against his hands. Her eyes squeeze shut as she voices a series of soft, breathy “oh!”s. The wet sound his fingers make driving in and out of her makes the whole scene that much more erotic, and Alarik has to force several deep breaths. He's almost painfully hard, the tip of his cock leaking. But he keeps himself in check, focusing on murmuring praise into her ear and nuzzling her neck. 

Her pleasure always comes first. 

His efforts are paying off- he can feel the beginning flutters of her walls against his fingers, hears her voice grow higher and louder in pitch. He's less trapping her wrists as he is holding her now. He pulls back from where he'd been teasing the spot behind her ear, his eyes on her face. 

“Let me see you.”

Her head falls back, body taught, as she screams his name. His fingers are clenched in a pulsing heat, his hand soaked in her release. He draws it out, coaxing a smaller orgasm on the heels of the first, before easing her arms down around his neck and slowly withdrawing his fingers. Even that is enough to make her shudder against him.

“Are you alright? I didn't hurt you, did I?” He pulls back, taking her hands off his neck and examining them closely. The skin of her wrists appears redder than the rest of her arms, but not terribly so. 

“You didn't, I promise. I wanted it, Alarik.” She lifts his hand- the one still coated in her arousal- a heated look on her face, one eyebrow raised. “Couldn't you tell?”

He lifts his own eyebrow in return, bringing his fingers to his mouth and sucking them clean, one at a time, maintaining eye contact as he does so. If Elsa wants to tease, he can give as good as he gets.

“Would you like me to clean you up as well?” He runs his tongue along his lips to catch the last lingering taste of her. 

Elsa's jaw tightens, and she surges forward, pressing against him, hands tangling in his hair as she pulls him into a bruising kiss. 

“No. I want you to take me. Hard.”

Alarik backs her into the wall, her words igniting an inferno within him. It's his turn to kiss hard, pulling on her lower lip, a rumble low in his chest. Her fingers dig into his back, as she grinds against his erection, coating it in her arousal. His body screams for him to drive into her, but he forces himself pause, taking her chin in his hand. 

“Elsa… I need to know… are you certain?”

Elsa breathing remains harsh, but her eyes soften, and she nods. “Yes. If it's too much, I'll tell you. Or…” She takes another panting breath, her hands squeezing his shoulder. “I'll tap your shoulder three times.”

Another shuddering breath, and her pupils dilate again, her expression returning to the needy one of earlier. “But I don't want you to stop. I want you to fuck me.”

Alarik's remaining resistance shattered.

With a growl, his hands drop to her ass, lifting her, and she wraps her legs around him. The adrenaline coursing through his system makes it feel as if she weighs nothing. He lines his cock up to her entrance and drives himself to the hilt, pausing momentarily when he feels her back hit the wall, worried again that he's hurting her. 

“Don't stop!” 

Her words come out as a desperate wail, and then her teeth sink into the junction of his neck and shoulder. 

Alarik yells- there is a sting, but the pleasure it brings is far greater. He's surprised to find out just how much he wants it. He sets a rapid pace, submitting to Elsa's command. 

Elsa digs her fingers and heels into his back, trying to draw him even closer while begging him to “keep going, just like that”. Alarik allows himself to give into his urges, pinning her to the wall so she remains flush against him, unable to move in counter to his thrusts. 

But he can move. 

He shifts his grip, angling himself so he presses deeper. Elsa screams her delight as he rams into her, his abdomen rubbing against her clit each time. Her nails rake along his back, and he digs deep for the last of his resolve, refusing to come before she does. 

“So close, Alarik, I'm so close!”

He grunts, beyond words himself, and somehow manages to go a bit faster, a bit deeper, and it's enough to push her over the edge. Elsa's head falls back as she wails his name. Her walls contract around his cock, and his voice joins hers as he spills deep inside her. 

Alarik eases Elsa's legs back onto the ground, then wraps his arms around her, nuzzling the top of her head as they work to settle their breathing. His hands run along her back, as much a soothing gesture as it is to feel for any injuries. His anxiety returns- what if he hurt her? He'd been so selfish with his own needs, so rough…

Elsa pulls away and takes his face in her hands, stroking his cheeks. “Alarik. I'm perfectly fine. I wanted it that hard. And I know you would have stopped if I needed you to. I know I can trust you.”

She pulls his face down, pressing her forehead to his. “I loved it. Every second. You made me feel so good. Thank you.”  Her eyes shift to look at the bruise forming where she'd bitten him, and her face flushes. “I am so sorry about that.”

“Don't be, please. I actually really liked it.”

Elsa plays her fingers over the mark, and he can't keep from shivering a bit. “I'll have to keep that in mind.” 

They stay in their embrace for a bit longer, until Elsa suggests they clean up and go to bed. 

“Tomorrow morning, you'll just have to take care of me again.” She whispers as he helps her to the room.

Alarik smiles, already anticipating it. 

#elsarik #elsa #alarik #beekeeper AU #smutty smut smut

[boygiwrites]

Harley D. Dixon 26

Harley D. Dixon's Pinterest Board! Harley D. Dixon's Playlist!

📖Chapter List.

Author's Note.

We. Are. Back!!

It's been almost six months!! 😶 Motivation comes and goes, but I'm very happy to be posting again. Like I said in a comment on Ao3, this book is too special to me to ever abandon. Thank you for your patience!! 💙

When Rick kicks the stool out from under Jim's feet, there's a simple crunch sound, and then he's dead.

I watch from afar as his body dangles from the rafters like a doll filled with sand, wondering why I thought it would be louder. It feels like I can breathe again. As if I've had a noose of my own wrapped around my throat until this very moment. Jim's dead. He ain't a threat. Just dead and dangling. Silence pours out across the farm. It feels strangely comforting; a hug from somebody you thought you didn't like.

I know Dale would disagree. I don't gotta ask to know he didn't want this.

If he weren't under six feet of dirt and bugs right now, I think I'd tell him I'm sorry.

Not just for Jim having to die, but also for being angry. He knew it never did nobody any good to be angry. If I hadn't told Carl to leave that muddy walker alone, wanting it to suffer and pay for some crime weren't even its fault, then maybe Dale would still be here.

I kinda realize in this moment that I don't care if dead people don't gotta see bad things. Because Dale ain't get to see the good things anymore, either. Like books and soup. Hugs, jokes. The baby, once it's born. Neither does Momma or Sophia or Shane.

It's like Jim said. I should be dead by now. On account of all laws of nature and chance, I should be long dead.

But obviously, I ain't.

And I'd be a stupid, silly, brainless little girl to not think that makes me at least a little bit lucky.

As I fiddle with the metal buckle of my overalls, Dad and Rick carry Jim outta the shed, their hands hooked around the dead man's armpits and ankles. Carol's probably thinking something like, He's with his loved ones now. But I ain't Carol, and I don't believe in heaven, so all I'm thinking is, I hope it didn't hurt. I've never had my neck snapped before, so I wouldn't know. They shuffle over to the pile of wood and walker bodies, tossing him on top, dusting their hands off on their pants. They's gonna burn him. No graves for them that ain't family.

Good. We have enough of those, anyway.

Dad and Rick turn away from the pile, their faces largely blank.

Before they can see me, I stand from my spot near the fence and scurry away, because I know I'm not meant to be watching.

That morning, everybody gets busy doing something. Whether it's bringing supplies into the house or cleaning a grimy rifle, nobody's twiddling they thumbs. There's something about putting work into a thing that needs it that clears the mind, I guess. Stops us from thinking about Jim, anyhow. Me, I help out by going around with a basket of fresh fruit, handing them out to anybody who wants some.

The first people I swing by are Rick and T. They've begun reinforcing the fences together, using old metal sheets and planks of wood to barricade any weak points they find. They gratefully take a juicy pear each, leaning against their handiwork to bite into the sweet flesh, groaning at the taste. Something nice happens in my chest when I see them smile. It's like looking at a puppy. You just can't be sad.

"Wow, this is good," T-Dog nods, turning the fruit over in his hand. "Thanks, Harley."

Rick doesn't say nothin', but I'm just glad to see him enjoying himself. Even for just a moment.

I head over to Patricia and Carol next, who are scrubbing at some laundry over by the trees. I earn myself two more smiles when they take a couple peaches, leaving them to their own devices and making my way through everyone else. Herschel, keeping Maggie company as she hangs up some wet clothes over a line in the sun. Jacqui and Lori, tidying up camp a bit, preparing lunch. Jimmy, polishing guns.

When I give a pear to Dad, who's fixing some of his crossbow bolts, he kisses my cheek as thanks.

And Beth. I don't forget her. She sits in the bay window of her bedroom, nibbling away at a green apple.

I know eating a good piece of fruit ain't never stopped nobody from wanting to kill themselves, but everything counts.

I've only got a peach, apple, and a pear left tumbling around in my basket when I approach Glenn and Andrea. They're stood around the hood of Dale's RV, frowning into the rubber tubes and gears like there's a jigsaw puzzle in there, muttering to each other.

"You gotta tap it three times," I think he's saying, pointing at something, "And—"

"— And give her a twist," Andrea sighs, throwing her hands up. "I know, I know."

Glenn notices me out the corner of his eye. He doesn't light up exactly, but the tension leaves his shoulders. "Oh. Hey, Harley."

"Hey." I give a little smile, holding out the basket. "Y'all want some fruit?"

"Ugh. Yes, please."

They each pick one out, leaving me with the apple. I toss the basket onto the nearby folding chair and bite into its waxy skin, the sugary juices leaking down my chin. It's sweet as candy. Well, from what I remember candy tastin' like, anyway. It's delicious.

Andrea seems to agree. "God. Remind me to always become stranded on a farm with an orchard."

Glenn bites a chunk out of his peach as he takes the screwdriver from the blonde, scooting around her to stand in front of the exposed engine. "Here. Let me have a go... Dale told me that in these old vehicles, the points get corroded."

I wipe my sticky chin, watching as he pokes around with the small tool.

Dale knew everything there was to know about this RV. Whenever it broke down, he didn't even need to check beneath the hood before he knew exactly what was wrong with it. Hell, even I've picked up on its quirks by now, and I know jack about vehicles. There's all sorts of screws and bolts and duck tape crammed into the poor thing's inner workings, but it just refuses to die. Like a stubborn old mule. 

A bit like Dale. No matter how many times ya put that old man down, he'd come back ten times stronger.

"I let him down," Glenn suddenly sighs, and it's easy to know who he's talking about.

I glance over his shoulder, through the front windshield. Dale's ridiculous amount of souvenir air fresheners still hang from the mirror. Oklahoma. Illinois. Missouri. Kansas. That ain't even half of 'em. We used to tease him about them, but he always just laughed us off and recited some philosophical quote from a dead guy about how memories feed the soul, or whatever.

Nobody ever understood it when he said stuff like that, but I still know we all miss it.

"He was proud of you," Andrea tells him; then me, "Both of you."

I sheepishly look away, picking at the stem of my apple. No, he weren't. But that's nice of her to say.

"That's easy for you to say." Glenn shakes his head. "You had his back."

She doesn't know what to say for a moment.

"Well... All I know is that there's no way he didn't know how much we all cared for him, even in the end. He was too smart for that."

I got no doubts about that. He knew everything. Knew everything about the RV, about poetry, about us. He was just one of them types of people. I only wish I hadn't argued with him that day, but I argue with Dad all the time, and he still loves me. So, can't all be bad.

Glenn pulls back from the engine with a resolute, "Welp... That should do it."

When Andrea climbs inside and twists the key into the ignition, I'm proven right. This old RV just refuses to die.

"Well done, Glenn," I smile over the noise of the engine. "You did it."

He turns to me with a smile of his own, looking proud of himself.

After that, he and Dad leave the farm to search for a hearing aid. 

Maggie hands them a list of houses they can try their luck in, and then we exchange the usual goodbye hugs and kisses before waving them off. There ain't no use in sitting around, wondering if they're going to get bitten and die because of me, so I leave to find something I can distract myself with instead. Luckily, Rick and T-Dog are more than happy to let me help them out with the fences.

If we're gonna get serious about staying here at the farm, we're gonna have to make some upgrades.

I obidiently tail them as they work, lugging around a bucket filled with rusty nails to pass to them.

"You know, Harley," Rick grunts as he hammers a scrap of metal to the wooden posts, "Carl still ain't stopped chewin' my ear off about all those things you taught him the other day. If I have to hear the word 'mushroom' one more time... I'll go crazy."

I pluck a nail from the pile and hand it to T-Dog.

Just to be annoying, I say, "Mushroom, mushroom, mushroom."

"Hey. Watch it." He scolds me, but not very well. He's smiling. "Anyway. You two ain't on good terms right now, are you?"

I raise a brow. "How'd ya know?"

"Well, I figured you'd be playin' with him right now if you were. And to be honest, he's been in a bit of a mood lately."

I huff a little, silently cursing Rick's parents for making him like this. "We squabbled. That's all."

He hums thoughtfully.

"Whenever I argued with my sisters," T-Dog tells us, "They'd start messin' with me. They'd hide my Xbox controller. Eat my snacks."

Rick chuckles. "They sound nice."

"Yeah, you could say that," He chuckles along with him. "A real pair of peaches."

"Well, Carl ain't done any of that," I suppose, adjusting the bucket in my grasp, "But he did call me a stupid baby."

Rick turns to look at me. "What?"

"He snitched on me about the shed and called me a stupid baby. Then I told him I hated his guts."

As I stand there, he fixes at me with a funny, What am I going to do with you?, sort of look, until he returns his attention to the work at hand. "Well, he was right to 'snitch' on you, but I'll have a talk with him when I can. It's not okay to name-call."

"I think it's 'cause he's gonna be a brother soon." I think aloud. "He said he's gotta protect me."

T-Dog argues, "You got all of us here to protect you. Boy's got nothing to stress about."

"I know. He just likes bein' somebody's keeper."

Hammering the last nail into the metal, Rick gives the thing a bit of a shake to test its strength, pleased to see it won't budge.

"Okay, I think this one's good." He decides. "Let's move onto the next one."

As we gradually make our way down the fence line, we continue chatting away about other useless things. The weather, future plans for the farm. Something we don't talk about, though, is the baby inside Lori's belly. I don't think Rick wants to think about it, let alone talk about it. He must be mulling over all the hundreds of things that could go wrong. As the leader, that's his special talent.

By the time we reach the area around the barn, I'm not listening to the conversation anymore. It's difficult to concentrate on making out their voices for such a long time, so I just tune myself out, absentmindedly gazing past the two of them, into the field.

That's when I notice something off about the burning pile.

It's still sitting there, a boring bunch of wood and junk, but the problem is I can't seem to spot Jim's body on it.

I know they didn't move it to some other place, and it's definitely not been lit on fire yet, so it can't be that.

When Rick holds out his hand for me to pass him another nail, I leave him hanging. He frowns down at me in concern; confusion. I think he says my name, but then he follows my gaze, followed suit by T-Dog. I can tell the exact moment they catch on.

"Okay," T-Dog levels with nobody in particular, holding up his hands, "That's creepy as shit."

"Stay here," Rick wearily tells us, before jogging away to investigate.

I don't need to be told twice. Clutching the bucket to my stomach like it's a teddy bear, I huddle closer to T, letting him step in front of me as if a chupacabra is gonna pop out from under the debris and gobble us all up. We watch Rick approach the burn pile, creeping up on it, concerned he might wake it up. He peeps this way and that, the hammer held tight in his grasp, ready to strike.

Was Jim bit, I find myself wondering, Was he bit, and we just didn't notice?

No. No, that can't be right. If he was bit, he would've turned long before we had the chance to hang him.

Rick flinches backward. He gawks at his own two feet. I think he might've crossed paths with a snake, or even that chupacabra, but then a hand shoots out from behind the burn pile and we learn the thing tryna bite him ain't an animal. It's got black hair and a grubby red shirt, a pair of milky eyeballs. It's Jim. He crawls after Rick like he's tryna avenge his own death, his neck still swollen and wrong.

Once he's absorbed his own shock, Rick brings the hammer down on Jim's skull, but he's fresh, so it's not mushy like it is usually. He has to bludgeon him two, three, four more times before the bone cracks open like an egg, wet brains dribbling down his face.

We all catch our breaths. I don't think any of us were prepared to watch Jim die twice today.

"Where was the bite?" T-Dog calls out, sounding like he's about to barf all over himself.

Rick kneels to check under Jim's shirt, flip him over, roll up his pant legs, because of course he does. There has to be a bite.

But when he stands, he calls back, "I can't see one."

There's a gaping pause between us all.

"Well, it ain't on his ass cheek, is it?"

Rick raises a brow as he steps over the body. "You wanna go check, be my guest."

"Nah, thank you, man." He answers drily, eyeing the blood dripping from the head of the hammer. "Well, what the Hell happened?"

Instead of telling us he doesn't know, or offering up a theory, Rick just sighs. He tosses the hammer into the little wagon we've been pulling along with us, rubbing at the faint wrinkles on his forehead. I remain hiding behind T-Dog. I know there's no snake or chupacabra to be heard of, and now, not even a Jim. But I don't like the danger in the air. The danger of something being wrong and not knowing what it is.

Rick lowers his hand, gaze landing on me. He keeps it there for a moment.

To be a walker, you gotta get bit. I can't see one. Everyone knows that.

"Come on," He eventually mutters, reaching to take the heavy bucket from me. "Let's get back to the house."

"Rick, what's wrong?" I whine as he grabs my hand. "We ain't workin' on the fence no more? Why?"

T-Dog snatches up the handle of the wagon and hurries after us.

"Don't worry about it, honey," He soothes, giving my fingers a squeeze. "The grownups will handle it, okay?"

Rick says this, just like he always has, but all he does when we get back to camp is eat lunch and talk to Maggie about our progress on the fence. I decide it's not a big deal. I trust him. Maybe he's just waiting until me and Carl aren't around to talk with the other adults about it. Maybe Jim did somehow get bit while he was in the shed. Maybe it really was on his ass cheek. I won't pretend to know.

In any case, I dig into my scrambled eggs and buttered bread without giving it much more thought.

After lunch, the three of us go back to working on the fence, anyway.

"Hope you enjoyed the apple."

With her forehead resting against the window, Beth gazes down at the farm, like some lonely angel peering down at another world. The afternoon sun gently contours the subtle curves of her girlish face, which isn't looking nearly as dreadfully pale as it did before.

"I did," She answers sweetly, smiling as I come to sit next to her on the thin cushions. "Thanks, by the way."

I give a shrug. "Yer sister says peach and pear season's just about up, so all we's got for a while is apples, anyway."

She surprises me by giggling at me, a pretty tinkling sound that suits her. "That shouldn't be a problem for you, right?"

My cheeks go warm. "Huh?"

"I saw you," She explains, a fondness in her eyes. "Chowin' down on that apple just before."

"When I was wit' Glenn and Andrea?"

She nods. "You were smiling. It was nice."

I contemplate calling her a stalker, but all that comes outta my mouth is an amused scoff, rolling my eyes and turning to look out the window. I understand why she likes it up here. I can see the whole farm. People milling about camp, chickens pecking at the ground. And off in the distance, the herd of black cows dotting the paddocks like little beetles, munching on bales of hay. And quiet. Precious quiet.

I glance at the distant treeline, thinking about the recent whispers of the horde. I brush it off quick as I can.

I steal a glance at Beth, instead.

That little smile is still pulling at her lips, a lively glint in the soft green of her eyes.

For some reason - mainly my talent for speaking without thinking - I ask her suddenly, "Do you still wanna die?"

She stiffens ever so slightly, and I only have a few short moments to feel awful about it before she meets my eyes.

"I just mean," I continue, wishing I ever knew the right thing to say. I think back to when Carl was in my exact position, asking nicely for me to not do what Beth did. He also threatened to smack me in the face, but I don't imagine that would go over too well with Beth. Neither would shouting at her like Dad. So, I just do something stupid, another one of my talents, and I improvise. "I been worried about you. Not, like, pity or nothin', but... I know how you feel. And after Dale... I realized that just 'cause people die, it don't mean I gotta die, too. It ain't a reason to wanna die. It's a reason to wanna live. 'Cause I'm just glad I ever knew Dale and Sophia and everyone else that died at all."

I feel encouraged by her glassy expression to keep talking. Not that I could stop myself if I tried.

"So that makes us lucky, y'know. Yer Momma's dead. My Momma's dead. But we loved 'em, and you can keep lovin' other people, but not if you're in a grave somewhere. Besides, it would just pass it on to them that would miss us. Not worth it, if ya ask me."

When I finish my word puke, she pins me with a tense, watery look that makes my insides cramp up.

"Maggie told me," She says, "That if I decided to keep living, that I'd find moments where I'd know I made the right decision."

She takes a deep breath, chuckling afterward.

"I think this is one of those moments," She decides.

"It is?"

I feel a weird sense of pride. I know me and my stupid apple and bad advice didn't singlehandedly solve anythin', but I was able to make her realize she don't got nothin' to regret by surviving her own mind, and that's more than enough for me.

I nod, trying not to smile, because this is supposed to be a serious moment. "Good. That's... good."

Her chuckles turn into laughter. "Why you so awkward all the darn time, Harley?"

Then I'm being wrapped up in a hug. I hate hugs. But this one ain't too terrible.

When we part, I ask her, "Are we friends?"

She seems to find that funny. "'Course."

"Well, my Dad and Glenn are gonna be gone for a few more hours," I tell her, "So, we should play something 'til then."

Beth warns me that she's seventeen years old, so she might not be able to play the same way me and Carl play, but that's okay. We don't have to play pretend or anything. We can do something she likes. Apparently, that's painting our nails. I have to try not to pull a face, but I guess I end up pulling one anyway, because she bursts into giggles and pulls me to my feet. I'm not the biggest fan of girly things. It's just not what I grew up with. I'm used to scuffing my nails while climbing trees and playing in the dirt, not painting them. But I'll give it a go.

"What's your favorite color?" She asks me, setting me down on her bed and rummaging through her desk.

"Yellow," I chirp.

"Actually," She lilts, pulling out a little bottle of yellow polish, squinting at the label. "It's Electric Spring Citrus."

I scoot over to make room for her on the bed, presenting my nails to her.

The afternoon slips away easily after that.

Nighttime paints over the orange sky.

Me and Beth have migrated downstairs by the time the sun has disappeared beneath the farm, lured in by the domestic commotion of dinner being prepared. It's soup again. I recognise the smell by now. While we wait to be served by Maggie and Patricia, the rest of us gather around the coffee table, ribbing each other as we break the rules of a card game Jacqui suggests. Carl keeps cheating by lying about what cards he has, but he's too dumb to realize he'll have to show them to us at some point. I laugh hysterically when he loses.

"You weren't listenin' to the rules, was ya?" I enjoy taunting him as he goes red. "Typical!"

He complains, "Shut up, Harley!"

"Okay, okay," Lori placates, doing a very bad job of hiding her smile behind her fan of cards. "Settle down."

I almost don't think about Dad and Glenn or Dale or Sophia or Shane or Momma for the whole game. By my standards, that makes for a good time. Carl continues losing miserably, whining even more miserably-er, while Jacqui beats us over and over again.

I'm reminded of the night we had our first dinner together - The one where Patricia made everyone feel super uncomfortable, and then I almost died. It's hard to believe this is the same house and the same people. Probably because it's filled with laughter.

We continue playing even through dinner.

When I lose for the fifth time, I take my bowl of soup and retire to one of the sofas, settling in next to Rick and quietly sipping at the warm broth. He sends me a bit of a look as if to ask me if I'm okay, probably reading my face in that weird way he got, noticing I'm thinking about Dad and Glenn. I reply with a simple nod. He doesn't seem satisfied with that response, but he can't do nothin' about it.

It's too noisy in here for him to talk to me, and neither of us know a single lick of sign language.

So, he just gives me a thumbs up and hopes it gets the point across. They'll be okay.

Eventually, even Herschel gets roped into playing.

"Hey, I actually happen to know a thing or two about this," He tells us, before proceeding to eviscerate Jacqui at her own game.

We all go awww, as she throws down her cards.

"Darn..." She sighs. "You weren't lyin', old man."

"As Jesus as my witness," He holds up a hand, "I never lie."

Lori asks, "Where'd you learn to get this good?"

"I used to spend a lot of my time in bars, young lady." He explains. "I got more than enough practice finessing card games."

"Well, I'd say it paid off."

He raises his fluffy white brows. "They used to call me Great-Hand Greene back in the day, you know."

Everybody in the room can't help but laugh.

"Now, Daddy," Maggie exclaims, "That's a lie!"

Great-Hand Greene calmly enlightens her, "It surely isn't."

This is the moment headlights turn into the driveway. Everyone turns to look. My heart squeezes. Dad and Glenn. The two lights come to a sudden stop, watching us like two eyeballs through the dark. The sound of doors slamming. I place my bowl on the coffee table and hurry out of the lounge room, followed by some other footsteps. But when I reach the foyer, the door bursts open without my doing.

Dad first, then Glenn. Both of my lungs deflating in relief, and then both of them knotting right back up again.

"That horde's headed this way," Dad wastes no time in announcing, "And it ain't stopping for nothin'."

Everybody freezes. A horde? The horde? Headed our way? Right now?

Rick pushes past everyone. "You saw it?"

"Trust me, man." He jokes dryly, shaking his head. "You can't miss this thing anymore."

"There were hundreds of them," Glenn agrees, frantic. His hair is suckered to his forehead with sweat, even though the season's turned. "We were over by Mallory Road when we caught wind of them; got us stuck for a couple hours until we could slip past."

"Not that it matters now," Dad snides.

Maggie asks, "Were you able to get the hearin' aid?"

He gives a nod, but nobody's paying attention. "Bits and pieces."

"Patricia," Herschel orders, our card game long forgotten, "Kill the lights."

We follow Rick out onto the porch. The night welcomes us with a cold gust of wind. At first, I can't see much of anythin', but then the lights blink out one by one and my stomach drops into the floorboards. On the other side of the field, leaking out from between the trees, are bodies, bodies, and bodies, so many it's not worth trying to count. They make the group on the highway look like a couple of stragglers.

As the masses of feet stumble up the driveway, I'm hit with the feeling that our fences aren't going to save us.

"I'll get the guns." Andrea mutters, and I think that feeling has hit everyone else, too.

Rick runs off in the direction of the cars. It's where we've kept our bags of emergency supplies for a time like this. Does that mean we're gonna leave? Or are we gonna fight? Is it even possible? I didn't even get to finish my soup. That feels important, somehow.

"Maybe they're just passing." Somebody stupidly guesses. "Like that herd on the highway."

"Should we go back inside?"

"Not unless there's a tunnel downstairs I don't know about." Dad drawls, gazing out. "Horde this size will rip the house down."

I worry up at him, "Daddy, I don't want it to rip the house down."

He shushes me, putting a strong hand on the nape of my neck, squeezing reassuringly. I let it calm me. I feel a fool for panicking, but if there were ever a time to panic, it would be now. I cling to him as Andrea dumps the bag of guns on the floor. She passes them out to everyone that got two thumbs and a brain. Maggie, Glenn, Dad, Rick. Jimmy. Even Herschel. Nobody is being left out of this fight.

Not even me and Carl. A gun is pushed each of our hands. You know how to use it, I remind myself.

"This the plan, then?" Dad confirms with everyone, because it's crazy. "We take 'em all on?"

Andrea passes me a loaded mag. I don't have to count the bullets inside to know it's not enough.

"We have guns. We have cars."

"We kill as many as we can." She's on board. "We'll use the cars to lead the rest of them off the farm."

"The burn pile," Glenn adds, "There's a bunch of kerosine and matches down there. We could lure them into the barn, set it on fire."

Rick climbs back onto the porch. "Bags are all packed. If things start to get hairy, we can leave."

"We're not leaving." Herschel argues.

"Herschel—"

"This is my farm." His voice booms as he pumps a pair of fat bullets into his shotgun's chamber, fire in his eyes. "I'll die here."

"Alright." Dad lilts over the droning rumble of death incoming, looking around for objections. "It's as good a night as any."

I get herded into Maggie's car. Dad gives my face a kiss and slams the door shut. I bump the mag up into the chamber. I know how to use it. I do. Two more slams. Glenn at the wheel, Maggie in the passenger seat. I've shot two walkers before, when I was out in the woods with Shane. I just have to do it again. And after that, again and again until they're all gone. Glenn stomps on the gas. The car screeches forward, ripping through the grass, barrelling into the night. I don't even bother buckling myself in. That's not how I would die tonight.

"You got enough ammo back there, honey?" Maggie fusses, digging through the glovebox and throwing me a spare.

"Thanks." I catch the cardboard box, trying not to shiver as Glenn rolls down all the windows. Groans and wind flood the car.

He shouts, "Start shooting!"

Just like that, gunshots erupt from all possible angles.

I grip my pistol tight, aim it out the window. You're gonna hold it like this, Shane's voice tells me, Firm. Confident. You're the one in control, here. I'm in control. My home's bein' invaded by the dead, and a horde this size might rip the house down, but I'm in control. The car spins. I lurch. It's hard to aim like this, but I gotta try. I line my eye up with the wobbling sight. I breathe in and out.

I squeeze. BANG. 

I can't even tell what I hit, or if I hit anything at all, but it don't matter. I squeeze again. BANG.

Glenn weaves us in and out, around, through the horde, never getting too close, never veering too far.

In the other car, T-Dog, Andrea, and Carl. They swerve around us, shooting down every dead bastard they can hit.

I squeeze. BANG.

BANG, and again, BANG, and again, BANG.

The jaw of a nearby walker explodes off its meaty hinges. It swings around. It trips. It slumps. I've killed it.

"How we doing back there, Harley?" Glenn calls out. "You okay?"

"I— I'm fine!" I shout back, pulling my body back into my seat to reload.

I peel open the box of ammo. A curse falls from my tongue when the little bullets go tumbling onto my feet, rolling under the seats. I quickly snatch them up, shoving them into the mag. On the other side of the car door, fireworks of gunpowder and bullets, squealing tires and breaking bones, a blazing Hellfire lighting up the sky. Orange and roaring. I notice it, then. Dad. Rick. That must be them. They've set the barn on fire. It's cracking and falling to pieces, a burning church. The walkers fight to get inside like it's the last Sunday on Earth.

An important beam succumbs to the flames, snapping in half like a broken twig, bringing the rest down with it.

I hear wood breaking, and then there are chickens running lose across the field, screaming, flapping.

I squeeze and I squeeze and I squeeze. BANG.

A rotten old man crumples to the ground. BANG.

A lady's shoulder bursts open, a pop of bone and muscle. BANG.

A girl with one of the poor birds in her mouth, choking on feathers, dead. BANG.

For every one we kill, five more are there within a heartbeat to replace it. Glenn's foot falters on the pedal, and we come to a crawl, and then a stop, unable to do much but watch as the farm is consumed. This is a losing battle. There's no other type.

Herschel said we weren't leaving tonight, but that can't be true. I guess he is a liar, after all.

"We gotta go," Maggie's shaking her head, the tears in her eyes collecting like little pearls. "We're not gonna win this. We gotta go."

As if only to prove her point, the barn collapses once and for all. I almost feel like crying.

"I'm sorry, Maggie." Glenn says weakly.

Yeah. Me, too. I gaze out at the oak tree, still standing bravely; the little wooden crosses clueless beneath it.

As Glenn drives us back into the chaos, my pistol stays in my lap. I don't got any bullets left, anyway. I just sit there, watching everything pan by. Mine and Dad's camping spot, tucked away in the distant trees, just how we liked it. The crumbled fireplace where I talked to Dale for the last time. The shed. The swing outside it me and Carl used to play on. The orchard. The patch of dirt where Sophia died.

I wish I had the power to know when things were gonna end. That way, I could've savoured my last day.

It's not as cool as the superpower's them people in Carl's comics got, but it's the one I'd want.

It was silly. Working on the fences today with Rick and T-Dog made me think we were gonna be okay.

When I look up, we're approaching the house. Jacqui's sitting on the porch steps all by herself, staring out at us.

Glenn pulls us in close, getting out and hovering around the hood of the car, waving her over. "Come on! We gotta go!"

I crawl across the seats and shove open the door. "Jacqui? Come on!"

She's not coming. Why is she not coming? The door is open. We can all leave together. When I call out her name again, she convulses ever so slightly, as if she's got a bad cough but doesn't wanna let it out. I feel my face fall all at once. Her arm gives out, slumping from her neck, into her lap. I notice the blood first, all ten gallons of it, and then the bite. Her muscles spasm again. Oh. No, no, no.

"Jacqui?" I call out uselessly, but Glenn's already back in the driver's seat and Jacqui's already dying.

"C-Close your door, Harley," He orders, slamming his own.

She's dying. We can't stay here. I know both these things, but it still takes everything in me to pull the door shut.

After that, the deaths just keep coming. We drive past Patricia as the horde pull her into their mouths, Jimmy as he stumbles from the RV, clutching at his open throat. There's nothing we can do for any of them, but we manage to reach Carol just in time. She climbs into the seat next to me, and we ask her if she's seen anybody else, but she hasn't; she hasn't seen anybody.

Turning my face to the open window, I let the wind dry my tears, seein' as my Daddy ain't here to do it for me.

The faces of the horde pass by, a sea of rats on a burning ship.

I want to go collect my things. I want to pet the cows one last time. I want to do everything we won't get to.

My body lurches all on its own, then.

A face in the crowd. It's different from the rest. I'm not good with faces or names, something my teachers used to grumble over, but I'm good with this one. That one walker, tucked in with the rest of them, wearing the Police cap. It's Shane Walsh, dead and walking.

How? How is that possible? Why are the tears back tenfold, now?

Lit by the moon and the flames, I see his broken cheekbones for the first time since that day, the way they're bulbous like apples, mishappen like clay. Everything about him is wrong. His nose is broke. Clothes all mussed up. Ribs pouring. His eyes are glossed over. He don't seem to mind his broken body, or the fire, or the smoke. He just wants what all other walkers want. To bite into something. It's him, but not.

I almost want him to look at me. I clutch my locket, wanting our eyes to meet just to make him prove it.

This just can't be true. He didn't get bit. He got shot and beaten, but he didn't get bit.

As if I've willed him to do it, he looks my way.

"Carol," I croak, watching as he noses at the air like the animal Dad always said he was, "You got any bullets left?"

I feel something being placed in my hand. It feels just like the locket, but colder. I shakily load it into the chamber; lift the gun. I believe in you, His voice is back. Now line your eye up with the sight. I stare down the barrel, carefully placing his face on top of the sights. I only have this one bullet. I can't miss. Not only because I need to put him down, but because I think I want to make him proud.

Breathe, I take a deep breath, In and out. 

Damn it. These fuckin' tears, they're messing up my aim. I smack them away and line up my shot again.

And squeeze.

BANG.

All the air rushes outta my lungs as his body hits the ground, disappearing amongst the horde.

I lower the gun.

Carol's already looking at me before I glance her way.

When we peel onto the highway, I can still see the flames burning over the tops of the trees, like some old religious painting.

Maggie breaks the silence. "What if nobody else made it?"

Nobody answers. I preferred it when the only noise in the car was the gentle humming of the engine, but I can't blame her for asking. We got no idea who else made it out alive. The four of us are all alone out here. Ain't no phone number we can just dial to ask if they're alright.

"They made it," Glenn eventually just decides, staring out at his high beams on the dark road. "They had to."

"Well, how are we going to find them?" Carol asks innocently, petting my hair as I lay my head in her lap. "They could be anywhere."

Maggie sighs. "We could circle back to that place I found y'all on the highway?"

"No," Mumbles Glenn. I can see his finger tapping against the wheel. "No, the horde came from that direction."

That's where our ideas run dry.

"Glenn?" I whine, clutching at my temple. He glances at me in the mirror, concern in his eyes. "My head. The ringing. Hurts."

He makes a troubled sound. "It must've been all those gunshots... I'm sorry."

Carol suggests, "Maybe we should just stop somewhere for the night."

There's a pause between them, but it's a short one, because it doesn't take much for Glenn to agree. He's musing to himself about how we can't drive all night. It would be a better use of gas to drive in the daylight. But really, we all know it's because he's a big softie.

He pulls us into a little nook on the side of the highway, killing the engine and turning on the ceiling light.

"I'm sorry," He says again, as if he put the ringing inside my head himself. "Maybe there's something in the supplies?"

Maggie unzippers the bag at her feet, pushing around the stuff inside it, shaking her head. "Just some water. Thirsty?"

I shake my head.

"I think we should all get some sleep." Says Carol, her voice a whisper.

Yeah. A good sleep sounds really good right about now. I think we've earnt it. Georgia will still be here when we wake up.

"Okay." He reaches up to press the ceiling button that turns on the moon, its dim white light spilling across the console in the dark. We all loosen slightly, completely exhausted. "We can just pick up again tomorrow. I'm sure the others are doing the same thing."

"Goodnight," Maggie tries to smile, reaching around her seat to stroke my shoulder.

"Goodnight," I mumble, echoed by Glenn and Carol, and then it's silent.

I close my eyes.

No eggs and buttered bread for breakfast today. Just a stale granola bar I gotta split with Carol, and a sip of water I gotta split with all three of them. After we take turns peein' in the bushes outside, we're back on the road again, and we're on it all day.

I don't know where we're going. I don't think Glenn knows, either.

I'm starting to think we might be driving all night, too, by the time we run into the others. That's right, the others. Herschel's shitty old pick-up truck is parked in a swath of brown leaves on the side of the road, right next to Dad's truck and bike, and another grey car.

When Glenn pulls on the brake, I think we're all crying happy tears, but I'm too busy crying happy tears to notice.

I climb out, grinning, running into my Dad's arms.

"Harley," He sighs in relief as he picks me up, squeezes me tight. "I knew they'd take good care of ya."

"I knew you'd take good care of you," I giggle, hooking my chin over his shoulder.

"How did you guys find each other?" Glenn marvels.

"Well, when I saw their little Toyota goin' the speed limit," He nods behind him, "Figured there just had to be a cop at the wheel."

As chuckles break out between the group, he places me back on the ground.

Maggie asks, "Where's the rest of us?"

"We're the only ones that made it so far," Rick answers, and it's now I notice just how much smaller we are now; barely ten. We're just as alone as we were when it was just me, Glenn, Maggie, and Carol. No shelter, no food, no direction. Feathers in the wind.

"Where's Andrea?"

Lori shakes her head. "She was with us at the farm, but we got separated."

"Did you see Jacqui?"

Jacqui. Poor Jacqui. Maggie, Glenn, and I share a look without even meaning to.

"It was awful, Dad," I mutter, the memory caught in my throat, "We found 'er by the house, but we had to leave her behind."

Glenn explains, "She was bit."

"They got Patricia, too." Beth says. "Took her right in front of me. I was holdin' onto her, Daddy, but they just..."

"We saw Jimmy, too." Maggie sighs as Herschel wraps her little sister in a hug. "He was in the RV. It got overrun."

"But, you guys definitely saw Andrea?"

"There— There were walkers everywhere," Lori seems sorry to say, "But, yeah. We saw her."

"Well, we have to go back for her."

Rick argues, "We don't even know if she's still there."

"She ain't." Dad butts in. "She's either somewhere else or she's dead."

"So, we're not even gonna look for her?"

"No. We gotta keep moving." Rick agrees. "There's walkers all over the place."

Maggie scoffs, "That's an understatement if I ever heard one."

"I say we head East." Dad suggests, pointing vaguely in the direction of the sinking sun, cresting through the fog. "Head East, and stay off any main roads like this one. Bigger the road, the more walkers we gon' run into. The more assholes like this one."

He lifts his hands from where he's been resting them on my back, swinging the crossbow off his shoulder.

"I got him." He grumbles, sending a bolt through the stray walker's nose.

"Well, I hate to tell you guys," T-Dog scratches at his head, "But we been riding red for the past hour."

"We can't all fit into two cars."

Rick decides, "We'll have to make a run for some gas in the morning."

"Spend the night here?" Beth hisses, shivering lightly. "I'm freezin'."

"We'll build a fire." He gestures at my Dad. "You can go out lookin' for firewood, but stay close."

He raises a greasy brow. "I only got so many arrows, man. We can't just sit here with our asses hangin' out."

"Watch your mouth," He snips.

Glenn raises his hands at the group. "Everyone just stop panicking, and listen to Rick."

"Look, Glenn and I can go make a run right now," Maggie placates, "Try and scrounge up some gas so we can get back on the road."

"No." He shuts her down. "We stay together. God forbid something happens and people get stranded without a car."

That other side of Rick is back - Someone I might as well start callin' Second Rick; Scary Rick - and everyone can tell. It's the same one that was outside the shed, telling us with no room for argument that he was going to execute Jim. He's tense. He's a rubber band pulled tight, his eyes darting from face to face, just waiting for a flash of disagreement from somebody for him to pounce on.

I make sure he don't find one on my face. I'm not keen on upsettin' him.

Glenn's a little braver than me, though, because he says incredulously, "Rick, we're stranded now."

He shakes his head. Not listening. Not accepting it. Just, No, no, no. 

"I know it looks bad," He reasons, even though we don't need to be told. "We've all been through Hell and worse. But we found each other. I wasn't sure. I really wasn't, but..." He scans our faces again, a little less coldly this time, taking us all in. "But we did it. We're together, and that's all that matters. We'll find shelter someplace. It's gotta be out there somewhere. It's gotta be."

But we had shelter already, I feel like shouting at him, I don't want another one.

"Rick, look around, okay?" Glenn's voice raises. "There's walkers everywhere. They're— They're migrating or something."

"There's gotta be a place not just where we hole up," Rick doubles down without care for what he's saying, smacking his knuckles into his palm. "But that we can fortify. Hunker down. Pull something together for ourselves. Build a life for each other."

That's what we tried to do at the farm. He should know that. He was the one fixing the fences with me.

"I know it's out there," He says angrily, as if that place he's talkin' about is hiding just to spite him. "We just have to find it."

I muster up the courage to voice my thoughts.

"But, Rick," I say, "How many those places we already been?"

He shakes his head again. "We fooled ourselves into thinking they were safe. We won't make that mistake again."

At the quarry, our mistake was being too close to the city. That was way back in the beginning when nobody had died yet, and we thought we just had to wait it out until the army came. But they didn't. And after that, our second mistake was trusting Jenner. We wanted answers, but we almost lost everything trying to get 'em. Then, the farm. I guess that was a mistake, too, now. You never know 'til after.

I don't say anything to that. It's cold, and I'm hungry, and I don't want to argue any more.

He's pleased with my silence. "Okay... We make camp tonight here; get back on the road at the break of day."

Carol murmurs something.

Whatever it was, Beth agrees with her. "What if walkers come through, or another group like Jim's?"

"Speaking of Jim," T-Dog fixes Rick with a look. "We ever gonna talk about him?"

Lori's confused. "What do you mean? What could possibly be left to talk about?"

"We saw him turn," He's happy to reveal to everyone. "Thing is, though, he wasn't bit."

"How is that possible?"

"Shane, too." I blurt. "I— I saw him when the farm went down."

Lori turns her gawking expression onto her husband. "What the Hell is going on?"

He's not looking at any of us. He's glaring at some ordinary pebble on the ground, brooding, hesitating.

Then, "We're all infected."

What?

It's so vague and profound that nobody knows what to make of it.

My Dad does us all a favor and squints at him. "How you mean?"

"At the CDC," He confesses, his voice a hoarse whisper that I can only just make out, "Jenner told me. Whatever it is, we all carry it."

We all carry—? The germs that make the dead ones come back? We all carry them?

He's been lyin' to us this whole time. The CDC, that was months ago.

Sometimes, lying ain't just sayin' something. It's not sayin' something. Daddy taught me that the night I told him I'd had a good day at school, and then come dinnertime, I let it slip that Ethan, the boy that sat behind me in class, had actually punched me in the belly that day at lunch. He got so mad. He ripped off my shirt. There was a purple blotch on my pale skin. Then he taught me how to punch boys back.

That's what Rick's done. He's hidden a purple blotch from us, and now we should be angry.

Carol steps forward, her silver brows pinched. "And you never said anything?"

I consider my body. I don't feel sick. Not like I did when we thought I was bitten.

Rick lamely asks, "Would it have made a difference?"

Yes, I think, but he already knows that.

Glenn accuses him, "You knew. You knew this whole time."

So, that's why Jim and Shane woke back up. You don't gotta get bit. You just gotta die and come back with enough to be able to bite.

That means even if you jumped off a bridge and all your bones were broken and you died, you would still come back.

My—

My Momma would'a still come back.

"How could I have known for sure, huh? Until we found Jim, I had no proof Jenner was even tellin' the truth. You saw how crazy that mother f—"

Glenn cuts him off. "That is not your call. Okay?"

"When Daryl found out about the walkers in the barn," Lori adds, "He told everyone as soon as he had the chance."

Rick don't care. "Well... I thought it best if people didn't know."

Glenn and Dad look right at me. Like they've both thought the same thing I have. They're the only ones here that know what happened to my Momma. I remember telling Glenn about it at the CDC. Momma. We were outta the city when it happened. It was the night the world ended twice. First when we got the call, and again when our neighbours tried to eat us. It's a lot of people's worst ever night. It's mine.

I won't ever know for sure, but I'd be kidding myself if I thought the rules didn't apply to my Momma.

At least we know that if any of us were to die, the others would make sure we didn't turn. Survivor's honor, or whatever it's called.

The silence goes on for so long that he just gives us one last look over, turns, and walks away. Nobody cares where.

Dad crouches; looks up at me. "You okay, baby?"

"Yeah," My voice wobbles, but I'm telling the truth. "I just... Don't wanna think about it."

Glenn clears his throat. "Well, it looks like we don't have much of a choice about this. We need to set up camp."

As everyone slowly breaks off to do their part, Dad takes my hand and leads me over to his motorcycle. "Got somethin' for ya."

Oh, right. The hearing aid; bits and pieces.

I'd almost forgotten.

"I hope it ain't complicated," I tell him, fiddling with my craggled ear. "Maggie said Herschel don't know about this stuff."

"We'll figure it out." He promises, before squeezing my hand and letting it go. "I ain't even sure if they work."

He opens the saddlebag, taking out a wrinkled plastic bag. He reaches in and pulls out what looks like an unusually shaped piece of skin-colored plastic with a rubber bulb on the end. And two other hearing aids, one brown and one purple, the type I'd recognise.

He stuffs the bag away and tucks some hair behind my good ear, making room to stick the first one in.

"I think it goes like that." He leans in closer, messing around with something on the back of it. "How do I—...?"

Something clicks.

All of a sudden, there are birds in the trees.

My eyes go wide, jaw dropping, gawking out at the forest like I've never seen one before.

A grin sneaks its way onto my face.

"The birds," I muse quietly, taking in the sounds of their distant chirps. "I can hear 'em, Dad."

It's not perfect. It's not as crisp as it was before. I think the batteries are low. But I don't care. It's still one of my favorite sounds.

He's smiling faintly up at me. "Good."

"Dad, your voice!"

"My voice?"

"I forgot what it's s'posed to sound like," I giggle. "It's so loud. And annoying."

He snorts, giving my butt a smack for being silly. "Well now when ya tire of my naggin', you can just pull that thing out."

As quickly as it had come to life, it makes a crackling noise, a sudden beep, and then there are no more birds.

I pluck the aid out my ear, giving it a bittersweet look. It didn't last forever, but it was nice while it did.

He mumbles something; then, louder, "We'll find some more batteries soon. Sorry, baby."

"Don't be sorry." I say. "It was perfect."

After packing them back into the saddlebag, we leave to collect firewood together. I imagine the sounds of the birds around us.

Night comes. We can't stop it.

I pretend we're camping.

We're not stranded. No, we just decided to go on a camping trip together because we thought it would be fun. That's why we're all huddled around a campfire in the dark, instead of sleeping in our beds at the farm. I'm curled up against Dad's stomach, which is better than a bed, I think. Beth's cuddled into her Dad's side, too, staring into the flames while Maggie and Glenn whisper to each other beside them.

I wish we had a deck of cards. I wish any of us would wanna play.

We got nothing but a wall of stone to protect us from the forest on the other side, but I pretend that away, too.

I just focus on the sound of an owl hooting somewhere off in the trees. I bet it ain't scared. Owls; they know the night.

Tomorrow, we're gonna have cheap steak and ketchup for breakfast, and then Merle's gonna let me sit on his shoulders just like always.

"We're not safe with him," Carol suddenly mutters, and that's not something I can pretend away. I'm back here, now, and we're stranded. No steak. No ketchup. No Merle. "Keeping something like that from us. Why do we need him? He's just gonna pull us all down."

Maybe I don't wanna be camping, anyway. It's good enough right here, surrounded by the people I care about.

"Nah." Dad's voice is a rumble in my lower back. "Rick's done alright by me and mine."

I cuddle further into him, shuddering lightly as he rubs my cold arms. His leather vest don't make a great blanket.

"You're his henchman." She reminds him. "And I'm a burden."

He scoffs. "And Harley?"

"You both deserve better," She says softly, her face pensive in the orange light.

It don't matter what we deserve, I told Shane when he said the same thing.

Unamused, Dad pries, "What do you want?"

"A man of honor."

"Rick has honor."

They leave it at that. I think they wish we had a deck of cards, too.

The owl hoots again.

Then, a branch breaks.

CRACK.

I straighten.

"What was that?" Beth murmurs worriedly. "Was it a walker?"

We all stare off into the dark, ready to fight whatever might come out of it.

"Could be anythin'," Dad mumbles as he stands, readying his bow. "Could be a racoon. Could be a possum. Could be the Easter bunny."

Carol hugs herself. "We need to leave. I mean, what are we waiting for?"

"Which way?" Glenn asks.

Maggie points at the thin trees behind T-Dog. "It came from over there."

"That's back from where we came."

"Yeah."

"The last thing we need is for everyone to be running off in the dark." Rick scolds us, reminding us he's here. The light from the fire washes him in flame, the dried blood on his forehead glistening with sweat. "We don't have the vehicles. No one's travelling on foot."

"Don't panic," Herschel soothes us all calmly, still clutching his shotgun.

Maggie argues, "I'm— I'm not sittin' here, waitin' for another herd to blow through. We need to move. Now."

"No one is goin' anywhere," Rick snarls.

"Do something!"

"I am doin' somethin'!" He retorts. If he really was that rubber band, this is the part where he would snap in two. "I am keepin' this group together. Alive! I've been doing that all along, no matter what. I didn't ask for this. I shot my best friend for you people, for Christ's sakes! For you Daryl, and you, Harley. I was the one that took care of Jim. Me! Everything! Everything has been on me!"

I know I said we were supposed to be angry with him. But, actually, I think we're just scared.

Lori's holding Carl's head to her chest. Dad stands in front of me, as if he doesn't want me to see. T-Dog, Glenn, Maggie; all with their mouths sealed shut, not sure where to look, or what to say. Is this really the same Rick that comforted me at dinner?

"Maybe you people are better off without me." He shrugs, taunting us. "Sure. Go ahead."

I've never had to be a leader before. I did have to kill Shane, but Rick's done so much more for us. I'm not better off without him.

"I say there's a place for us out there, but maybe—" He's just rambling, now. "Maybe it's just another pipe dream. Maybe I'm— Maybe I'm fooling myself again. I'm just as much a sucker as Shane was. But, hey, why don't you go find out yourself?"

He sweeps his hand behind him, presenting us with the forest.

"Huh? Send me a postcard."

I can't hear the owl anymore. I think it flew away.

"Go on. There's the door. You think you can do better? Let's see how far you get."

I pull the leather of Dad's vest up to my face, shyly peeping over the top of it; breathing shakily. I don't want to see how far I can get. I want to stay right here with my people, whether we're starving or not; freezing or not. I think everyone else does, too.

Or at the very least, they want to stay here where there's a warm fire and guns.

"No takers?" He lilts. "Fine. But get one thing straight. If you're staying—"

He pins every single one of us with a look.

"— This isn't a democracy, anymore."

That word Dale used. The one that means things is fair.

Then he sits right back down where he was before, like he didn't just threaten to abandon us all.

Slowly, everyone else sits back down too, because there's nothing else to do. We all heard him. We can't leave. When Dad settles in behind me again, I squirrel into his chest, his arms wrapping around me. There's no sound except for the branches crackling in the fire and the heartbeat beneath his shirt. I don't know where we go from here. But I do know Dad will keep me safe, and Rick will keep the group safe. He's worked himself raw and bloody to make sure we survive. The fish fry, the CDC, the highway, Shane, the fall of the farm. All of it.

We didn't survive all that bullshit just to fall apart now. There's still something out there for us.

We just have to find it.

Author's Notes.

I sincerely hope you enjoyed 😊

I'm sad to see the farm go, but we had a nice time while we were there.

Please leave a comment! I'm anxious to hear from you all after so long :)

#the walking dead #twd fanfiction #fanfic #daryl dixon #daryl dixon daughter #twd #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon twd #angst #rick grimes #reader #original character #daryl dixon x reader #twd daryl #daryl fanfiction #daryl twd

[havin-fun-imagining-twd]

A measure of reverence, Pt. 1

Please accept my genuine apologies for the month long delay again, slowpokes. I do have the next two stories after this typed out, which amazes even me :D

When - the morning of the season 2 Chupacabra episode whooo. For the Slowpoke Series, the morning after A mighty good team.

What - the group is gearing up for another day of searching. There’s caffeine, chattering about an iconic early 2000s TV show, Daryl cracking funnies (”What are you brayin’ at, jackass?”), and Shane’s gradual descent. And you finally primp your eyebrows

Relationships - slow burn Daryl x You at the friendship level growing stronger every day, platonic Glenn, and more.

Perspective - You 2nd, Him (Daryl POV) 3rd

Pronouns? - she/her for convenience

TWs? - some language

Is it super long? - nope, about 3,500 words

Is it boring? - at times, y’all, you know how it is. This one was kept lighter because the next two are a bit darker

Are there plot references to other stories? -  aw yeah, here’s a link to the Masterlist, slowpoke

Are there lame screenshots from the episode? - naturally, and word-for-word dialogue!

(never wanted to do a bleach wash for a fictional character’s costume so badly)

................................

Early-morning

................................

your morning

“Your mama said yes?” you check with Jimmy again.

“Yeah.”

“I think it’s smart, he knows the area.” Glenn sounds unsure of himself when he next volunteers, “And hey, after we get back, I can help you with…stuff. What, um, what stuff around the farm needs doing? I grew up helping my parents in the garden?”

While those two talk about that, you see that Lori is up and dressed and already hanging laundry to dry. She didn’t really sleep in as much as she probably needed to, but you call “Good mornin’!” just the same and go over to help her.

Dude, you’ve been buzzing around since 6am. The migraine that hit you last night you were able to pretty much do away with after taking the prescription Glenn found—but you woke up early to desperately use the toilet (not even in the RV, you’d used a quickly dug hole by the treeline behind some brush and trees. Blame the magnesium and charcoal).

Anyhoo, you made the coffee today while still half-asleep, and dude, one cup of coffee usually doesn’t perk you up so much!

You’d set up a jar of sun tea for Carol, did laundry, spent some time with Carl, chatted with Maggie and Patricia, survived the lengthy discussion between Rick and Hershel about Carl’s transfusion this afternoon during which Rick still didn’t confront you about how Carl getting shot was your fault and you really wish someone would just out and say it and get it over with, then you opened up + fed + watered the chickens before collecting the eggs for the Greenes, sacrificed a t-shirt to be made into fabric strips for the search party today, primped your eyebrows (finally), made your hair look passable, and wiped down with baby wipes in your tent by way of showering, AND learned some shoulder/neck PT exercises from Jimmy, it was great! You’ve barely even fallen into an inner spiral about the Shane/Lori/Rick/baby situation and about poor Sophia all morning!

Trotting over to Lori, you place your mug (it’s Jacqui’s old mug, actually) on the ground and start to help hang the damp, cleaned clothes. “How’d you sleep?”

Something about the way she says it seems hint that she feels guilty for not waking up early. “Slept like a log, if you can believe it. I didn’t even feel Rick get up.”

“Good.” You shake out and flatten Dale’s cargo pants to get some of the wrinkles out before hanging them.

“Was that your doing, then?”

“Might could’ve told him to sleep in with you last night.”

She takes a slow breath, then pastes on a smile and is most likely trying to sound normal when she asks, “Next time, wake me, especially on laundry day. How are you, is your dizziness gone, honey?”

“All gone.” But ouch, you lift your injured shoulder a little too high while hanging the pants.

She notices and lightly tuts. “Let me hang them, you can hand me the clothespins.” While fixing the line, she makes sure, “Last night, Patricia mentioned checking your stitches. Did you see her?”

“Saw her this morning when I was talking with Maggie. My stitches are doing great, gonna have ’em for another week or so. Why did you have on that frowny face as I walked over here, Lore?” You glance down at her belly then back to her eyes.

With a subtle shake of her head, she hangs up another shirt. “It’s nothing, it was…” she peeks over at you. “Carol just called me our ‘unofficial first lady.’ At first I thought it was funny, but...” That pasted-on cheerful expression falls away to reveal a sort of nervous look. “I-I don’t know why—was that just her saying that, you think?” Her tone of voice suggests that she hopes it’s only Carol who thought so.

However, you shrug very unhelpfully. “Rick is kinda the group’s head, I guess. How’d it come up?”

“She wants to cook dinner for the Greene’s.” She pauses, frowns, and becomes visibly uncomfortable. “But she thought the offer would sound better coming from me. I should’ve told her that was just Ed’s voice in her head, but I was too…I-I didn’t know what to respond so I just kept hanging laundry.”

At least her brows smooth out when she adds, “Dale’s boxers, of all things.”

That got you giggling. “On that topic, I don’t know how y’all got all the bloodstains out of all these. You’d never know.”

The clothes T-Dog had been wearing when his arm got sliced open + the clothing you, Rick, and Carl had been wearing when Carl was shot = clean as if nothing at all happened. Even the clothes the Greene’s lent you that you wore for two and a half days straight (and got egg and blood stains on) look fresh.

You crouch down to grab your coffee and cannot help but remember the phrase Daryl used last night regarding your ‘mother-henning’ as you check, “Did you eat enough breakfast, Lore? That way your vitamins will absor—shoot, we have to get vitamins.”

“I had some water when I woke up.”

“Oh, that’ll keep you going.”

She bumps you with her hips, entertained enough to smile a little.

“Wanna use Jacqui’s mug after I’m finished?” you offer, holding it up. The handle had broken during the rush to leave the CDC, but Lori glued it after. “Have a sip, it’s nice and strong. A little bit is okay, right?”

Nodding, she takes it and her eyes turned glassy. “I miss her.”

Which is why you aren’t expecting the sudden grin after she drinks some. “Honey, this is espresso.”

...........................

his morning

He’d woken up early and taken out the original map to bring to his tent so he could fix all the grids. When his stomach started yelling at him for breakfast, he brought the map back to the campsite and downed a can of beans while working. He even put timeframes down, it was a productive-ass early morning. And that’s with his slight headache after getting slightly drunk last night.

It was Y/N who actually, um…she noticed he wasn’t feeling too hot and went and brought him some painkillers. After poking fun about his breakfast choice, obviously.

Speak of, she’s on her way over with a mug of coffee.

“Good morning, troublemaker,” Dale calls to her. He’s holding this real teeny mug (teacup? fancy shot glass?). “It’s nice to be using Irma’s demitasse this morning.”

Not knowing what that means, Daryl watches as Y/N twists her mouth playfully while chirping back, “G’morning, Dale.”

“You’re definitely feelin’ better,” Daryl muses when she reaches him.

“Miles better from last night. Good stuff is gonna happen today.” She holds out her mug for some reas—oh, the coffee is for him?  

Again, he has to quickly pause and digest what it feels like for somebody to give a damn, then has to shove back the assumption that there’s some hidden angle behind it.

Except, when he goes to grab it, it’s barely full (?).

Carol’s voice pops in from his right, and he hasn’t ever heard her sound so teasing before. Never heard her make much noise at all. “Was the espresso accidental, pookie?”

Ha, ‘pookie.’

“Might could’ve been?” Y/N admits with a groan. “Yo, feel my pulse, it’s goin’ haywire.”

That explained why there wasn’t much coffee in the cup, he guesses. Intending to check over the map again, he’s next aware of Y/N snickering to Carol, “Ohh-ho, can that be his nickname?” with her thumb pointed at him.

What does she mean about a nickname? Best ignore that.

...wait, did she mean ‘pookie?’

His ears perk up again upon hearing Y/N happily announcing, “Nah, I slept off the migraine like almost completely!”

 That makes him stop nit-picking the grid boundaries and look up at her. “Last night?” Is she even okay to go out today?

 Y/N gives a little bow and takes a sip from her water bottle. “Like two hours after falling asleep I woke up ’cause I was getting one, so I took one of the pills Glenn found at the drug store and,” she pauses and turns around. “Glenn, air high-five!” she calls over, and he and she do a little clapping motion from a few yards away. And yeah, she winces because she used her bad shoulder.

Turning back with a shrug, she finishes, “But yeah, I simply went back to sleep, woke up feelin’ pretty good. I th-think having all those other painkillers already in my system helped,” she adds as Carol walks back to, uh, he didn’t know, someplace, wherever she came from. “How’s your hangover, any better? Stomach ain’t queasy?”

“I didn’t drink enough to get hungover, m’fine,” he grumbles. “You, uh, doing okay with what you got goin’ on?”

“Same as yesterday.” She starts concentrating on the new grid lines and appears to be silently mouthing directions while pointing out the path they’d taken yesterday. It’s like she’s studying for a test.

Then a dumb thing happens: when he goes to wipe his nose on his shirt, he smells tuna fish.

Cigarettes he knows he smells like, and BO, obviously, everyone’s sweaty as hell these days, but tuna? He’s gotta draw a damn line somewhere.

When he asks Y/N about it, she’s too absorbed in the grid to give a helpful answer. “I never really mind how you smell, to be honest. Ain’t there a thing to do with gene compatibility and that or some such?”

She doesn’t really mind how I…and what was that about jeans?

Lifting up his shirt again to sniff it then fast as he can, yanking it down where it rode up in the back so his scars won’t be on display, he asks more plainly, “I don’t smell like fish?”

“Oh, that, yeah.” She nods, taking another sip of water. “You had tuna with your breakfast again, right?”

He shakes his head and stands there dumbfounded, trying to figure out how it was possible that he smells like fish (and why he cares).

Rick comes over to study the grid, positioning himself next to Y/N with a “Good morning, weirdo. Daryl, how’s things?”

Then, Daryl remembers how he’d tossed that can of tuna he’d had for breakfast yesterday into his tent. When he took off his overshirt last night, he must’ve flung it right onto the can.

Maybe he should clean up in there…

…Either way, he’s jogging over to change.

.................................

You

“Colored strips to mark the boundaries and searched areas, that’s clever,” Rick mumbles. “Hey Dar—wait, where’d he g—” He looks up and all around. “Y/N, where’s Daryl? I was about to ask him a question.”

“Grabbin’ a fresh shirt.”

He nods and points to a spot on the map. “Do you know what this here is?”

“A high ridge. He wants to get to the top ’cause it’ll show a lot of the search area.”

“Then it looks like you and he are set to head this way after searching this stretch right here?”

“Mr. Greene said most of the houses there were cleared of any sick ones—um, walkers,” you share, massaging the side of your neck the migraine hit last night. “Our hope is Sophia found a safe place to hole up there, it’s right off the trail.”

On her way back to finish helping T-Dog cut the fabric strips for the search grids, Andrea briefly comes over and stands beside you to get a look at the new plans.

Rick’s doing The Squint at you. “Are you okay to join us today? How’s your head? I know Shane doesn’t…” he gestures at you leaves it at that.

Yeah, you know what Shane doesn’t want and what he thinks about the whole thing.

You assure Rick, “My head’s pretty good, all told,” and leave it at that.

“And the rest of you?” he presses, maintaining the squint.

Andrea raises her brows and has your back when she says, “She's able to decide for herself,” as she turns back to rejoin T-Dog, who, as you now see, is inclining his ear to listen in.

“Are your energy levels even any good after givin’ almost three pints two days ago?” you more remind Rick than ask.

He glances behind at the T-Dog and Andrea. Why’s he about to smile? “Well, after about a coffee mug’s worth of espresso,” he chuckles, “I’d say so.”

Ah, another accidental victim. You’re grateful no one in the group has heart issues (and that some of them recognized the mistake by the taste. You and Rick did not have that skill).

“Sorry, Ricky,” you say through an awkward smile.

But it’s cool, he’s still grinning about something. He looks at Andrea and T-Dog again. “When I mentioned how Shane doesn’t feel comfortable with her searching today, she licked the ridge of her teeth just like he does when he’s mad.”

“You’d think they was raised in the same house,” T-Dog dryly comments.

A dumb thing happens: the comment doesn’t hit you like you expect it to. You should have giggled and forgotten about it.

And you like being compared to your siblings, you love them. You loved it when your foster siblings started adopting mannerisms like you guys.

But hearing that silly, little, meaningless observation comparing you and Shane, it hit different…

Stop being an idiot about it. Stupid girl. Shane is a good man, you know that. Give him a damn break.

Rick looks more serious when he murmurs, “Speak of, let me go get him. Just need to go over a few things. Be ready in a few.”

.................................

Him

He had to take a dump first, so he’s only just now grabbing a different shirt. He figured he’d just yank his clean one from the clothesline.

“I can give you one of Shane’s ribbed tanks if you want,” he then hears Y/N offer.

He looks over to where she’s walking with two bundles of strips, one white, one yellow.

Then he looks down at his tank top. Is it that bad?

Whatever, he’s gonna put something on over it, anyway. “It’ll get just as mucked up as this one.” Speaking of, he grabs his shirt off the clothesline and starts to unbutton it.

This look passes over her face as she peeks at his tank top for a stretch longer than he would think was normal. “That was Merle’s,” she figures out.

How, he has no idea.

“You’ve always worn the ones with the thick straps that go up higher, your brother tended to wear the more wife-beater type—sorry! The kind with thinner straps. Ma hated the nickname for those types of tanks.” She follows this up with an apologetic mention of, “They called them ‘wife-beaters’ in The OC, so it’s on my mind,” as if whatever that was made sense to him.

“...That a movie?”

“A TV show. Oh, Glenn!” she suddenly calls over to him.

One of their little exchanges starts. Daryl forgets to put on his shirt because truth be told, it’s kinda easy to get kinda sucked in when those two start, even though those two can jabber on about literally damn nothing.

She stretches her arm carefully. “Your middle sister made you watch The OC with her, right?” she asks Glenn.

“She and I did, yeah. Appa, too, but it was more of a hate-watch thing. Kinda weird they only ever had one Asian on the show, dude, like, Orange County’s got a huge Asian population. We’re like 1 in 6.”

Y/N looks at Daryl in expectation of him being surprised, too, then back at Glenn. “For real?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s crazy.” She flops the bundle of fabric strips from one hand to another. Glenn starts to sword fight it or whatever with the other bundle of strips.

“Oh right, sorry—anyways,” Y/N starts up again, “Maggie and I got to talkin’ about the show over breakfast. We both decided it stopped existing five minutes before the third season ended but we both love that Kirsten and Sandy had another baby in the season four.”

“Oh, and the thing with Kirsten’s alcoholism? And the way Ryan—”

However Glenn was gonna end that sentence gets cut off by Rick as he and Shane stride over to the map laid out on the hood of Carol’s old Jeep station wagon.

“Good mornin’, guys. Let get going. We got a lot of ground to cover.”

Daryl jogs over with his shirt. It’s hot as hell outside, he’s already sweating like a pig in a bacon factory.

He ends up next to T-Dog, Rick in the middle, Andrea beside him, Y/N, then Shane.

“All right, everyone’s getting new search grids today,” Rick starts. “If she made it as far as the farmhouse Daryl found, she might’ve gone further East than we’ve been so far.”

As Daryl finally puts on his shirt, the teenage boy appears from out of nowhere. “I’d like to help,” he pipes in. “I know the area pretty well and stuff…”

“Hershel’s okay with this?” Rick asks.

“Yeah. Yeah, um—he said I should ask you.”

Unless he was just nervous, what that Jimmy kid just said was either a lie or a white lie. But, Rick doesn’t argue.

For a cop, that guy’s a little too trusting. “All right, then. Thanks.”

Daryl catches Y/N’s frown as she looks at him, then at Jimmy, then at Rick with her brows all low, unconvinced. It looks like she’s about to wave Jimmy closer when her brother interrupts.

“Nothing about what Daryl found screams Sophia to me.”

Not even looking at her directly, Daryl sees his friend’s muscles tense up, he can tell even from his spot across from her.

“Give this a measure of reverence, Shane,” she hushes. She’s trying not to react too strong.

“I’m bein’ upfront about the situation, Y/N,” Shane insists. Then to everyone there, he goes on to declare, “Daryl brought her back there just yesterday, she wasn’t convinced. Anybody could’ve been holed up in that farmhouse.”

The way his friend hunched when her brother mouthed off made a big part of him want to mouth off right back. But Andrea, classy as hell, steps in without missing a damn beat. “Anybody includes Sophia, right?”

She was so casual about it that it pretty much made it seem like she was brushing off a bug from her shirt. That chick is good, shit.

..................................

You

Andrea must’ve been such a good attorney, good Moses. You’ve never seen her feathers ruffled, like, ever, she lets it all just roll off. How is she so calm? Because while you were fixing to pounce, probably very obviously, she slid a hand around your waist and smoothly (so smoothly!) pointed out to Shane, “Anybody includes Sophia, right?”

It’s either the jitters from the caffeine or your damned hot head, because you’re just—you’re ready to start clawing at the man who’s overtaking your brother, because why would he have said that out loud? To all them? You’re fucking mortified.

That wasn’t Shane, it wasn’t Shane! Why is he being like this? And why can’t he button his stupid shirt all the way, huh?

Dale is coming out of the RV and gives you a look as if asking ‘what happened?’ so, you imagine taking the stupid tea kettle off the stupid burner to calm down.

No one else seems to be as agitated as you, not even Daryl, which is a huge relief.

Echoing Andrea, he’s as nonchalant as they come when he scratches his nose and reminds everyone, “Whoever slept in that cupboard was no bigger than yea-high.”

To which Andrea is quick to reinforce, “Good lead,” along with Rick when he agrees, “Maybe we’ll pick up her trail again.”

“No ‘maybe’ about it,” he grunts. “We’re gonna borrow a horse, head up to this ridge right here, take a bird’s eye view of the whole grid.” Except, Daryl hadn’t mentioned anything about a horse before, neither yesterday nor today.

First of all, he can ride a horse? Hot. Second…who did he ask for permission about borrowing one? He briefly catches your confused stare as he points to the spot on the map. “If she’s up there, we’ll spot her.”

T-Dog’s been nodding away at all of this, impressed. “Good idea,” he tells Daryl. But then his brows lift and his lips pout a little in the way that happens before he cracks a joke. Lo and behold: “Maybe you’ll see your chupacabra up there, too.”

The tension in your body from a few moments ago goes *poof* as you grin.

“Chupacabra?” Rick repeats, again sporting The Squint.

“You never heard this?” Dale, now next to Daryl and across from you, hoists the gun bag on the hood and begins handing them out while staring into space and narrating. “Our first night in camp, Daryl tells us that the whole things reminds him of a time he went squirrel hunting and he saw a chupacabra.”

Sweet little Jimmy finally relaxes and lets out a quiet giggle while Rick’s squint turns into a mild smirk.

Unfortunately for sweet little Jimmy, Daryl grates at him, “What are you brayin’ at, jackass?”

Okay, you’re sorry, but even though it wasn’t appropriate of him to react that way to an innocent giggle, that comeback was really quick and you’re snorting. Still, poor kid. You switch places with Andrea to be next to Jimmy and make a point to openly laugh at the conversation.

Rick is stuck in squint-mode, isn’t he? “You believe in a blood-sucking dog?”

And Daryl is quick on the draw. “You believe in dead people walkin’ around?”

Yet again, you’re somehow the only one who finds this funny (Glenn, dude. Where are you?).

Next thing you see is Jimmy casually reaching for a long gun.

Rick and you both stop his arm, and T-Dog cautions, “Hold on there, kid.”

“Hey, hey. You ever fire one before?” Rick challenges.

“If I’m going out, I want one.”

Daryl shoulders his crossbow and tosses out, “Yeah, and people in hell want slurpees.”

You’re the only one laughing, again. Rough crowd today.

“Jimmy, yesterday I got ‘quit cluckin’ like a mother hen’ from him, don’t even worry about it,” you share. “You mentioned you did skeet shooting with your dad before, right? So you’ve fired a shotgun, then?”

“Once or—I mean, yeah.”

That means he has no idea, never mind.

Shane speaks up and sounds much more like himself when he does. “Why don’t you come train tomorrow? If you’re serious, I’m a certified instructor.”

“Not to brag, but he’s a really good one, too,” you definitely brag.

Jimmy, overwhelmed at all the attention from grown-up strangers, nods slightly.

Andrea (so smoothyl!) tactfully and kindly solves the problem. “For now, he can come with us.”

“He’s yours to babysit then,” is Shane’s brusque surrender, and he waves Jimmy over with his hunting tomahawk.

Andrea, of course, doesn’t pay this any mind and goes to arm herself with her pistol. You try to follow suit by not staring daggers at your brother.

Instead, you finally let everyone know, “Glenn is going with him, y’all. I don’t know where he ran off to, but these are theirs.” You hold up the yellow fabric strips, then look at Jimmy. “Glenn’s smart and fast, you’ll be in great hands with him,” you say out loud, then whisper in his ear, “I know you asked your mama, but you gotta ask Mr. Greene, too, okay?” Back to a normal volume, you wish him and those around the station wagon, "Don’t die, don’t get bit.”

You’ve just started to jog off to join Daryl and start today’s search when Shane stops you and pulls you in for a hug. He kisses your head. “Don’t die, don’t get bit.”

.................................

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