Roads are the lifeblood of civilization. Rome rose and fell with its roads. Without this bridge, there’d be no trade. Bullets from Alexandria, grain from Hilltop, fish from Oceanside. This boring structure connects us all. Be proud.
WARNING: Set during the TWD season 6 finale, so there may be spoilers, but there’s not a lot in here that was in the scene, so.
A/N: Did I write this in, like, 20 minutes? Yes. Am I proud? You have no idea. Dudes, this is a completely new style of writing for me but I tried it and I am very proud of this short piece of work. All in all, it’s basically a set-up for a future fic, but you can 10000% read it as a standalone. I wasn’t even going to post it but I liked it, so, here! I hope you enjoy <3
Title: Is It You?
Summary: You couldn’t smile. You just couldn’t. But neither could he. This wasn’t the reunion you’d been expecting.
You could still remember it. Lined up, in between Daryl and
Michonne, shaking, not because of what was happening, but because you hadn’t seen him
in so long.
“I’m gonna beat the holy hell outta one of you.”
“No, you’re not.”
He lifted his face. Lucille
– it upset you to call this object that
hung limply by his side, swinging
gently, threateningly. “What’d you say?” The words dripped from his mouth. He
spoke low, lower than you’d ever heard him before.
But the last time you’d heard him was almost five years ago.
People could change in that time. Apparently.
“I-“ You stumbled on your words, and you weren’t afraid to
admit it. Your head was still dipped, hair falling about your face and
effectively hiding it from view. Daryl moved beside you, whispering harshly at
you to shut up. “I said no,” you managed to say, “you won’t. You- you can’t
Negan smiled, though you couldn’t see him. He would be lying
if he said he wasn’t confused, but he was also intrigued. Who was this girl,
probably the youngest in the group lined in front of him, to think she could speak out?
Speak out against him? “That so?” He
moved closer. Slowly. The bat was still held loosely in his hand, its barbed
wire glinting in the torch lights around them. “Why won’t I kill anyone? Why can’t I kill anyone?”
“Because you know me.” It was the last thing you wanted to
say, but the only thing you could say. The only thing that could have a chance
of saving your friends. Your family. Daryl stopped whispering, sitting back on
his knees. He knew you?
Yes, he did.
Negan looked no less perplexed. He drew his head back slightly
and paused in his steps. Everything was silent for a moment, the only sound
being Maggie’s slight whimpers and the men – had they called themselves Saviours? – shuffling apprehensively
around the group. His eyebrows furrowed. You could see it, through the wisps of hair hiding your face. For a brief moment, Negan
“I do?” He still didn’t move, standing a little way off in
front of you. His brown eyes were locked on your ducked form, as if trying to
make out who it was through your mound of hair and blood and dirt and the
darkness that enveloped you all like a blanket. A nebulous, enigmatic blanket. You wished it would suffocate you.
Or, maybe you didn’t. Maybe you wanted to see how this would end. How they would end.
If you’d looked up, you would’ve seen those furrowed
eyebrows move back to their normal place. Slightly. Only slightly. His brown
eyes blinked. Once. Twice. Memories clouded him. Familiarity clouded him. Was he seeing things?
If you’d looked up, you would’ve seen him move one foot
forward. Slightly. Only slightly. Couldn’t get too close. What if it wasn’t her?
If you’d looked up, you would’ve seen his composure
drop, as if he was relaxing for the first time in years. But… slightly. Only slightly. He did it unconsciously;
he wouldn’t have wanted anyone to see it. And he didn’t want to get his hopes
up. Was this a trick?
You didn’t answer him at first. You couldn’t. At first,
waiting for him to come out of the truck, you hadn’t wanted to believe it was
him. But, as soon as he spoke, all hope turned into dust. All
hope that this inevitable war would not be between two people you loved. All
hope that this wasn’t the man you’d
been wanting to see for the past five years…
“Little girl.” He didn’t say it venomously, or forcefully.
It was quiet, soft, and you thought you caught an underlying tenor that
And, so, you looked up. Eyes shining with un-shed tears, while
more rolled down your cheeks, streaking mud and blood and whatever else was
painted on your skin. Your hair was in knots, tangles running through it,
twigs, leaves, more mud, more blood. His own eyes locked onto yours, and you
saw his resolve almost crumble. Almost. His lip quivered a little, you saw it,
and his lips parted in what could only be taken as surprise. He dropped Lucille.
The impact she made on the floor caused him to jump.
He shook himself. Really, physically shook himself. His way of slapping himself out of dysphoria, you believed.
You saw him take in a large breath and gently motion for
someone behind him to pick the bat up.
A man stepped forward, leaned down, gingerly grabbed the
handle, and gave it to him like he was giving a king his sword.
Negan took it, and you watched him clench his gloved hand around it. He looked
angry. Why did he look angry?
But then, he’d always been one to show sadness through
anger. What was the saying he used to use? “It’s easier to be angry than sad.”
You could believe that. Not back then, but now? Yes.
“Dammit.” Was that what he said? You couldn’t hear him
properly, he’d spoken so quiet. “Dammit.” It seemed like something he would
say, but then, you hadn’t seen him in five years.
He stared down at Lucille, hanging by his
side, glove probably hiding the whiteness of his knuckles. His mouth was
clenched in a straight, firm line. Restraint. He was restraining himself.
Now was not a good time for him to show his sadness through
Funny, how you’d put it down to sadness.
Was that really what it was?
You thought so. You believed so. And then you knew so, as he
spun suddenly to face you yet again, and you saw his eyes shining with a
wetness that hadn’t been there before. He turned fully, and you saw him breathe in. Sharply.
There. He said your name.
And you cried. He said
Five years without hearing him say your name. You’d missed
him. You said that every day. But then, when you’d heard his name mentioned for
the first time in a long time – only a few weeks ago, it was – apparently
because he’d been doing all these horrible things, you’d willed it not to be him. Because you couldn’t remember him being like that.
“I’m Negan.” No,
you’re not, you’d thought with such amusement that you wanted to punch yourself
now for having let Rick and the others think they’d actually killed him; the
He’d walked out of that trailer, and you’d listened to his
steps, because you hadn’t wanted to look at him. Please, don’t be him. That was the mantra you were repeating in your
head. Willing, pleading, begging.
Then he’d spoke.
He’d spoke, just like he spoke your name. Did his voice
crack? His voice cracked.
Tears were gushing freely from your eyes, and you felt
like an eleven-year old again, five years ago, when you’d been together, before
all this. Before you’d lost him. You didn’t want to look beside you, at the
people you called your family, because you knew they’d look so confused. Or,
maybe they’d look betrayed. Which was worse?
You cried, and you didn’t completely know why. I missed him, you dumb shit, you thought
to yourself, angrily, why am I not
allowed to cry?I missed him!
And you had.
You couldn’t smile.
You just couldn’t.
But neither could he.
This wasn’t the reunion you’d been expecting.
You opened your mouth to speak, and he blinked, a tear
rushing down his cheek like it was trying to hide from view before it had even
Summary : (Set in the beginning of season 1) Anna Brooks lost everything after the world ended — the last remaining part of herself being her older brother, who she lost contact with after communications dropped. While en route towards Atlanta to find him, Anna’s truck breaks down, leaving her at the mercy of the cruel new world. Now, Anna must face her fears head on as she struggles to deal with devastating loss, constant danger, and finding her way in a land that now belongs to the dead. But sometimes, a glimmer of hope can be found disguised as a short-tempered, hard-headed redneck who may just save her life in more ways than one.
Pairings : Daryl x Original Female Character
Warnings : Slow-Burn, Language/Violence/typical Walking Dead themes
Author’s Note : I just wanted to say a quick thank you to everyone who comments on these chapters! I love interacting with you babes and it makes me so incredibly happy to hear your thoughts and feelings about each chapter! It makes this whole thing totally worth it. If you’ve been hesitant to reach out, don’t be shy! We’re all family here! (Obviously, thank you to EVERYONE who reads, even if you’re just one of my ghost readers - I appreciate ALL OF YOU.)
Anna’s stomach dropped as she spun around, simultaneously raising her gun, coming face to face with…a crossbow. Chest heaving, her eyes landed on the person holding the weapon and her stomach dropped.
It was the man from the road — the man who saved her life.
Except for this time, he wasn’t looking at her with guarded eyes, curiously inquiring about her life, offering her shelter and safety.
This time, his expression was cold and calculating, unflinching as his finger twitched towards the trigger.
Time seemed to stand still as Anna stood toe to toe with the archer, each training their weapons on the other, both refusing to back down.
“Daryl, enough!” she heard Rick call from behind her, but the archer simply narrowed his eyes.
Anna couldn’t comprehend the character shift she was witnessing from the man in front of her. Just two days ago, he was willing to go up against his own brother for her sake. He’d saved her life, fixed her truck andon top of all that, offered her a place in his group. What the hell could’ve happened since then to manifest this hostility?
She’d clearly been wrong about the archer — she’d believed he was a decent man, most likely one of the only ones left on Earth. But she was wrong. He was just like everyone else — dangerous, cruel and out for themselves.
Whatever was going on with him, Anna wasn’t going to play into it. She huffed a breath when Daryl still refused to stand down, slowly lowering her weapon, standing with her arms out at her sides. “Go ahead,” she challenged. “Finish what your brother couldn’t,” she leveled coldly, watching a flash of something flicker through Daryl’s eyes.
“His very last scene, he’s laying there, and he’s supposed to giggle. The camera’s [up] here and I’m under the camera tickling
his feet so he can giggle. So, it was a good way to end it. At the very
end, he got up, and we gave him a standing ovation. He gave a little
speech and people pulled out their phones. He goes, ‘Everybody put down
your phones. This isn’t for them, it’s for us.’ In such true Andy
spirit, it was a very inspirational, honest goodbye. It was very
- Norman Reedus
No one feels the consequences of the long ago battle more immediately
than Negan, the baseball-bat wielding kingpin played by Jeffrey Dean
Morgan, currently rotting away in an Alexandrian prison cell. Indeed,
speaking with The Hollywood Reporter about Negan’s arc in season nine, Morgan borrows a page from his character’s colorful playbook: “It’s been a shit year.”
“It’s been a tough year,” Morgan reiterates. “It’s been hard the last
couple of years with Negan kind of putting a damper on some of the fun
for our other characters — and this year, it’s a completely different
Luckily for Negan, he won’t have to worry about Rick and Maggie for too much longer, as both Andrew Lincoln and Lauren Cohan
are set to leave the series at some point in the weeks ahead.
Naturally, the man tasked with bringing Negan to life is considerably
less enthused about the pending exits of two of the most stalwart Walking Dead actors.
It’s a blow, Morgan acknowledges, though not as fatal a blow as the
ones Negan used to deliver when he had his hands on a certain
barbed-wired baseball bat.
“These are things that are not necessarily great, you would think,” he tells THR about
Lincoln and Cohan leaving the series, “but what it’s done is given us a
real creative opportunity. It’s allowed the story to go places that it
never would have been able to go before, and I think the audience is
really going to respond to it.”
For Morgan, that means expanding Negan’s horizons, even as he spends
most of his screen time trapped behind bars: “It’s been an emotional
journey this year, both for me, as well as for Negan. It’s not easy just
being in the cell. But the great part is that I’m getting to interact
with some actors on the show that I haven’t gotten to work with.”
“It’s nice working with some of the regulars and building these
relationships out on screen,” says Morgan. “It’s a whole new thing.
We’ve seen Negan do the same thing for three years. To be in a new spot
emotionally, showing a different side to him? As an actor, I couldn’t
ask for anything more, for sure.”
Summary: When Daryl Dixon stumbles across a group of survivors, he’s taken aback to find that amongst their numbers is none other than the girl who got under his skin a long time ago. But she knows too much, secrets from his past that could drive his brother away, and so he hides her existence from his own camp, entering into a dangerous charade that could ultimately cost him everything.
‘Y’ain’t gonna die,’ Daryl bit out, though he sounded a hell of a lot more sure than he felt. He knew he needed to do something, anything, but the only solution he had was only going to cause Merle more pain. Still, as his brother’s desperate eyes found his, he knew he had no choice. If he didn’t try and Merle turned, he knew he’d never forgive himself. ‘Over here.’
He led Merle a short distance to the foot of a large tree, the trunk broad, the roots snaking up from the ground in large gnarled knots. Settling him down against the rough bark, he reached into his back pocket for the dirty rag that was stuffed there and passed it over, watching as Merle’s brow creased in confusion. ‘Wha’s this for?’
‘Bite down on,’ Daryl confirmed, nodding at him to shove the wadded fabric into his mouth. ‘Can’ have ya yellin’ ‘n’ screamin’. Gonna bring that whole herd back down on our asses.’
‘What are ya gon’ do?’ The archer didn’t think he’d ever seen fear like that in his brother’s eyes before and it stuck in his throat, making it hard to swallow.
‘What’s gotta be done,’ was all he said, reaching for the knife at his hip before another thought struck him. ‘Ya got booze?’
With the rag tucked between his teeth Merle couldn’t answer, but he tipped his head towards his pack and Daryl rolled his eyes, never failing to be amazed by the older man’s ability to maintain a steady supply of drugs and liquor, even as the world fell apart. Rifling through the bag, he came across a half-filled hip flask, unscrewing the lid and taking a sniff.
‘Vodka, man? Since when d’ya drink this shit?’
Merle shrugged as if to say beggars couldn’t be choosers and Daryl resealed the container, setting it down on the ground and going for his knife once more. Nausea rose in his throat at the thought of what he was about to do, but he choked it down, steadying himself as he met Merle’s gaze once again.