alexandria miles

Forbidden Ecstasy - Chapter One

Pairing: NeganxReader

Chapter Warnings: Swearing (It’s Negan so obviously lol), mentions of rape (very little), no smut yet but it’s a comin

Chapter Summary: Negan meets the reader for the first time and instantly takes a liking to her

Series Summary: The reader (who isn’t Negan’s wife) catches his eye and he might maybe end up loving her?? (ooo) After working in the laundry room together Negan decides he wants a taste.  Meanwhile the wives find out and aren’t very happy (but who gaf)

Requested: Yes!! By the lovely @prettyepiic, (the part she requested doesn’t come til later when the smut comes in ;) ) thank you so much for the request darling!! Love me some Negan. Go follow her peeps!

A/N: My first Negan fic whaaat??? This didn’t start out as a series but… shit happens *shrugs*
A/N2: Send me some requests y’all! And shoot me some feedback, good or bad, I appreciate every word :)

TWD Masterlist


(Gif not mine my dudes. But damn is he fine. *drools*)

Originally posted by rikkisixx


“Still not pissin’ our pants yet? Shocker. Y’know, I’m really surprised I haven’t been able to make at least one of you’ns shit yourself by now.” Negan said boisterously as he waltzed in the gates of Alexandria. “Rick, my man. How’s the family? Good, I hope, I really do. So tell me… where the fuck is everybody? I come here expecting everybody to be dressed in their Sunday best and standing in the streets upon my arrival!”

Keep reading

It’s You and Me Part 3 - Carl Grimes x Reader

@voidlunaa @mylovedylanobrien

Masterlist

It’s You and Me Part 1 // It’s You and Me Part 2

Reader has to go back with Negan to the Sanctuary. She has to come up with a plan to escape him so that she can return to Alexandria.

Warnings: Swearing, Mention of Suicide?

Originally posted by lets-letmeimagine-posts

It was the worst feeling in the world having to let go of Carl when he held you.

“Please, Y/n.” He whispered as he held you tight.

“It’s the only way, Carl. He has to think I’m dead or he won’t let me go.”

“But I want you to stay here, with me.”

“I will, I’ll come back. I promise.”

You let go of his hands and stepped back, you could see Negan walking back towards the trucks, ready to go. Carl stared at you, his eyes full of longing. You kissed him on the cheek and whispered in his ear, 

“I’ll come back for you Carl Grimes. If it’s the last thing I do on this earth. You mean everything to me and even though I tried to hate you for what you did. I never could. So stick around. I won’t be long.” 

And with that you stepped up into the truck, as Carl jogged away back into Alexandria, you slammed the door shut. Negan came round the side of the truck.

“That kid wasn’t giving you any trouble was he, Y/n? Because you know I don’t like troublemakers.”

You smiled at him, “Nope, everything’s fine. He was just talking about how unfair the trade is.” You lied, rolling your eyes. “I don’t understand how though? It seems perfectly clear to me.”

Negan chuckled and nodded his head as he revved the engine. “Let’s go boys!” He yelled out the window to the rest of them. He pulled away and you watched Alexandria get smaller and smaller in the mirror. It didn’t matter though, you were going to be back.

When you got back to the Sanctuary, you went straight to your room and slumped on your bed. The drive had been long and it had been a pretty big day. You got changed and climbed into bed, you wished Carl’s arms could hold you right now but you weren’t sad because you knew they would soon. Once you lied down, you realised how tired you were and within a few minutes you fell asleep.

The next morning you woke up, got dressed and went to eat breakfast. Negan was there, he flashed a smile which you returned awkwardly. After eating, you went back to your room. You had to decide how you were going to get out of here. It didn’t make sense, you actually felt bad for Negan. He was treating your friends like shit but he had taken you in and you felt like you were betraying him by doing this. 

“It’s easier this way.” You said to yourself as you finished loading more clothes into your backpack. You had decided on a plan and you were praying it would work because you didn’t have a plan B.

You walked out your room and down the hall. You knocked on the familiar wooden door. A few seconds later, Negan opened the door to his room.

“Y/n? What a nice surprise. Come on in.”

You obeyed, you walked in and sat down in the chair he was gesturing to.

“What can I help you with?” He asked, sitting in the chair opposite.

“Er…” You couldn’t help but notice Lucille propped up next to the chair, “I wanted to know if I could go out on a run by myself?” You asked, “I need to clear my head and just be away from people for a little bit. Yesterday was quite overwhelming.” You added, looking up at him.

“Hm.” He nodded, “I understand what you mean but I needed to take you along. You needed to see how much better we are than them, bigger, stronger, safer.” He said looking you right in the eye.

“I’m glad you took me,” That one wasn’t a lie, “It was sort of closure, I’ve been wanting to get rid of them from my head and by seeing what a dump their life is now, I have.” You lied, smiling at him. You hoped you were a good actress.

“Uhuh. So when do you want to go?”

You blinked, you didn’t think it would be this easy.

“Possibly later today?” You asked.

He raised his eyebrows, “Are you sure? I mean you only just got back, surely today is a bit soon.” He stated. “God, someone would think you’re trying to get away from me!” He smiled but his eyes were dead serious.

You laughed awkwardly. “No. I just really needs to be alone for a while. There’s a lot of things I need to do.”

“Okay. Well, I’ll see you soon then.”

“Err, there’s one other thing actually. Would I be able to have a car?”

He raised his eyebrows once again, “How far are you planning on going?” He chuckled.

You smiled back at him, “Not far, I just want it so I feel safer. Incase I end up in the dark or something…” You trailed off.

He stood up, “Sure thing. Just don’t stay out too late.” He winked at you as you stepped out of his room. “See ya soon.” He finished, shutting the door. 

You breathed deeply as you walked back to your room. 

You had the note ready but you didn’t know what to do with it, 

I’m not right for this world. I feel like I am a burden to you. Don’t come looking for me. I don’t know if you’ll ever see this note but by the time you have, I’ll be dead. It’s better off this way, I can’t live with the pain anymore

.Thank you for everything,

Y/n

You didn’t even know if the note was believable but you sat it down on your bed as you grabbed your backpack and headed out the door. You looked back at your room one more time before walking down the corridor, never to return. 

When you got outside there was a car ready, the kitchen people had put a sandwich and a bottle of water on the passenger seat. You threw your back pack in and set off. Whilst driving back, the day before, you had tried to remember the route, there were a few junctions but most of it was just straight road. You hadn’t learnt how to drive before the outbreak but Rick and the others had taught you when they first found you. You smiled, remembering the memories of you stalling 24/7 and Rick just laughing at you. 

You had been driving for about an hour when you saw it. It was a trip wire, you stopped the car and got out. You went up to the wire and followed it into the trees. It was linked to sirens; when the wire was moved, the sirens would blare, letting every walker in the nearest 70 miles it was dinner time. 

You walked back to the road, wary of the wire. You couldn’t take the car any further, you’d have to go on foot. You got all your stuff from the car and walked up to the wire. Extremely carefully and extremely slowly you stepped over the wire, it was only about 60 cm off the floor, high enough to catch the front of a car. You got one foot down on the other side and the other followed swiftly after. 

You reckoned you were about 5 miles from Alexandria and you were determined to get there. The sun was hot above your head as you trudged along the road. You weren’t bothered by many walkers but the ones you were, you dealt with swiftly using your knife. 

After walking for what seemed like an eternity, finally you could see the last corner up ahead. A smile spread across your face and your eyes lit up with joy. You quickened your pace wanting to round that corner more than anything in the world. 

As you rounded the corner, you saw them. Your emotions had been flipped since the last time you stood in front of the gates. As you walked closer, you looked up at the person on the wall. It was Carl, once he saw it was you he turned around and disappeared from sight. 

A few seconds later the loud clanging of the gate echoed around as Carl pulled it open to let you in. Before you even had the chance to say hello, Carl had run to you and crashed his lips onto yours. You stood there for a few minutes, holding each other, until Rick emerged at the gate,

“Y/n?” he said, “We didn’t think you were gonna be back so soon!” He smiled lovingly as Carl stepped to the side and Rick embraced you in a huge bear hug. You had tears in your eyes. You were so relieved to be back where you belonged.

Rick walked back inside and Carl grabbed your hand and pulled you in. Everyone was happy about your return, they all smiled and waved as Carl led you along the street. You thought you were going to go into Carl’s house or your house but you walked past them both.

“Where are we going?”

He didn’t respond, he just looked at you and winked, or blinked, it was hard to tell. 

You were confused. He stopped and came closer to you,“Shut your eyes…” He whispered, you did. You put your hand over your eyes as he led you further along the street.

“Watch your step,” he said. 

“I can’t, Carl. My eyes are closed.” 

He chuckled, “Okay then.” 

Suddenly his hands grabbed your sides and he lifted you up, carrying you like a baby. You laughed and clung onto his neck as he carried you to wherever you were going. You heard the creak of a front door and Carl took one step before kissing your forehead and putting you down on your feet. He turned you around and replaced your hand with his, over your eyes.

“Okay, open in 3…2…1.” he took his hand away.

You were stood in one of the houses in Alexandria, one you had never been in before. It was beautiful. Blue curtains hung beside large windows that looked out to the street giving the room a sense of calm. There were white sofas with large cushions propped on them and a soft blue blanket lay neatly on the side. 

Carl grabbed your hand and pulled you in further. The kitchen was all white with a large sink and another window above it. Carl led you upstairs to in front of a shut door. He looked at you and smiled before placing his hand on the door knob and pushing it open. 

You gasped, there was a huge king size bed in the centre of the room. A large wardrobe stood in the corner, when you walked over to it, you saw that it had been filled with all of yours and Carl’s clothes. You looked back at him, he was blushing furiously and smiling like a Cheshire cat.

“Carl? What is this?” You asked smiling at him.

He walked over to you and pulled you into a tight hug, “This, Y/n, is our new home.”

“What?” You looked up at him.

“I didn’t want you to live in your house anymore, all the bad memories are there. And even though there were good memories as well, it doesn’t matter because we are gonna make even more. Right here, right now.” He finished as he placed his hand on your jaw and pulled you into a soft kiss. You could feel the tears returning and your breathing hitched. Carl pulled away and looked at you worriedly.

“Y/n? What is it? I thought this was perfect for us…” He trailed off, a look of sadness overcoming him. He took his hand away from your face. 

You laughed through the tears, bringing his hand back to where it was, “It is Carl, and it is the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

His happiness returned as he pulled you into another bear hug. He wiped away your tears as he sat you down on the bed. You lay down and Carl lay next to you, holding you tight.

“I’m never gonna let go, Y/n.” He whispered into your ear. 

You snuggled in closer to him, everything was as it should be.

You didn’t want him to let you go, as he held you tight, you whispered softly, “It’s you and me, Carl. Forever.”

When Oceans Rise

Requested by Anonymous: Can you just write something sad? Like, I love crying; make me hate you.

You wanted sad. Here’s sad:

When Oceans Rise

You were nervous; pacing the floor of your living room and chewing on your thumbnail. You stared once again at the white and grey plastic in your hands and smiled before shoving it back in your pocket. “This will be good.” You say for the fifth time, then go back to your pacing.

After another 20 minutes or so, Daryl finally came home. “Hi, love.” You say, smiling and going to wrap your arms around his midsection.

“Hi.” He says back, clearly exhausted from his watch shift. “What are you still doing up? It’s 2AM.”

“I’ve been waiting to talk to you about something.” You say, pulling him over to the couch to sit down.

“Why didn’t we talk before I left for my shift?”

“I didn’t need to then. We need to now, though.”

“What’s wrong?” He looked concerned.

“Nothing’s wrong.” You reached into your back pocket and pulled the piece of plastic back out. “Here.” You grinned, pressing it into his hand.

Daryl stared at it for a moment before saying, “What is it?”

You laughed. “It’s a pregnancy test, Daryl. I’m pregnant!” You continued to laugh and smile, excited to start the next chapter of your life with your boyfriend.

“You’re pregnant?” He says, looking more upset than anything else.

“Uh, yeah, I am. Probably two or three months now, actually.” Your smile was wavering. “Is everything OK?”

Daryl didn’t answer, just kind of shrugged, then stood back up and moved for the front door. “Where are you going?” You ask, getting up and reaching out for his arm.

“I’m going out.” He says, picking his gun back up and opening the front door. “I need to think.”

“What’s wrong?” You say, suddenly terrified. “Aren’t you happy?”

Daryl isn’t looking at you; he’s staring out across the front porch and towards the moonlit street. “I… don’t know.” He says quietly.

“I love you.” You say. It was the first time either of you had said it.

Daryl nods slowly before leaving and shutting the door behind him.

—–

You stayed up all night waiting for Daryl to return, but he didn’t come home that night. By the time 10AM rolled around, you were resigned that he wasn’t coming home that morning, either. Tired, scared, and a little nauseous, you put your clothes on and ventured outside for the day.

“Hey Mags,” You say as you approach the front guard tower where Maggie and Sasha were trading places for watch. “Has Daryl come back yet? Did you let him in this morning?”

Maggie frowns. “No, he didn’t. When did he leave?”

“Around 2AM.” You say.

Seeing the dark circles under your eyes and the look on your face, Maggie puts a hand on your shoulder and says, “Are you OK? Did something happen?”

It was then that you started crying. “I’m so stressed out, Maggie.” You say and she pulls you into a hug. “I’m pregnant.” You admit.

“That’s great!” She says. “Isn’t it?”

“I thought so, yeah. But when I told Daryl last night, he just left. I asked him if he was happy, and he told me he didn’t know. And then he just left.” Maggie held you as you cried.

“It’ll be OK.” She said. “He’ll come back. He just needs to think.” She suggested.

“I’m just so afraid that—“

You were interrupted by Sasha calling down from the guard tower, “Maggie, go get Rick! We’ve got company!”

You gave Maggie a worried look before she ran off in the direction of the Grimes’s house and you began to scale the ladder to the guard tower. When you reached Sasha’s side, you gasped.

Beyond the wall was a group of about 50 people marching towards Alexandria, and when you turned to run home and get your gun, you were practically knocked off the tower by the front gate exploding.

—–

Daryl was sitting in a tree about twenty miles from Alexandria, sharpening a stick with his knife. He’d hiked out this far in the middle of the night, arriving at a large tree with expansive branches around sunrise. Then, he scaled up to his current perch about halfway up the tree and began to think.

Y/N was pregnant, and for some reason, he wasn’t ecstatic. He’d always wanted to be a dad, but now that it was happening, he just felt sick.

“You’re a pussy.” Daryl looked over and saw Merle sitting on the branch next to him. This wasn’t uncommon since his brother had passed away; Daryl was often visited by apparitions of Merle when he was trying to make a decision.

“Go away.” Daryl said, “I don’t want to talk to you.”

“What are you scared of, Darlena?” Merle says, rolling his eyes. “A few dirty diapers? Your old lady?”

“I said go away.” Daryl mutters, continuing to sharpen his stick.

“What are you afraid of?” Daryl looks to his left and sees Beth sitting on the tiny branch, her legs dangling from the tree and swinging carelessly. “You can tell me, Daryl, I’m your friend.” She points out.

“I ain’t scared of nothin.” Daryl says, unappreciative of his mind ganging up on him like this.

“We both know that’s a lie.” Merle huffs.

“Be kind, Merle.” Beth scolds, then says, “But it’s true. You’re scared of something. Otherwise you’d be at home right now, enjoying your day off with your girlfriend.”

Daryl huffs and tries to ignore the two of them, focusing on turning the stick into a bear figurine. Finally, when it looked like the apparitions weren’t going away anytime soon, he says, “I’m scared of a lot of stuff, OK? What if Y/N ends up like Lori? Or what if they both die? Or what if…” His face flushed and he dropped his voice. “What if I end up like my dad?”

Merle was quiet for once, just watching Daryl. Beth reached out, though, and placed her hand on his cheek. “Oh Daryl…” She said, sadly. “You won’t.”

“You don’t know that.” Daryl’s whittling was more aggressive now, and he accidentally sliced the head off of the bear. “Dammit.” He mumbles.

“Dad was a dick.” Merle says, staring off into the forest. Daryl huffs in agreement. “But you’re not.” Daryl looked over at him. “You’re better than that. You’ll love the shit out of that kid.” Merle shrugs. “Cause, you know, you’re sensitive and shit.”

Daryl frowns. “You’re just saying what I want to hear because you aint’ real.”

Beth starts to laugh. “Of course we’re just saying what you want to hear!” Daryl frowns at her. “But it’s only because you already know it’s true.”

“What if it all goes south? And we lose Alexandria? I can’t lose my family like that.” Daryl shakes his head.

“So, you’re going to lose your family by running away?” Merle accuses. “Because THAT would make you an even bigger pussy.”

“I ain’t runnin.” Daryl says angrily. “I just needed to think.”

Beth gives him that sad, knowing look that he always hated. “Go home, Daryl.”

Daryl presses the heels of his hands into his eyes and sighs loudly. “Alright.” When he looks back up, the ghosts are gone.

—–

Daryl was getting closer to Alexandria, picking through the last mile of woods, when he heard the shots and saw the smoke. Something was wrong.

He began to run.

When he came into view of the front gate, he pushed himself to run even harder. Fires were blazing in a few of the homes, and the streets were filled with gunfire and bodies. Pulling the gun off of his back, Daryl ran past the destroyed gate and into the streets of the community, firing on anyone he didn’t recognize.

He ran up the main street, turning sharply onto the road that lead to his house, and running nearly smack into Rick. The other man was struggling with one of the strangers and Daryl didn’t hesitate to put a bullet in the man’s skull.

“Thanks.” Rick said, picking his gun back up.

“What’s happening?” Daryl asks.

“We’re under attack.” Rick says. “We’re winning, though.”

“Where’s Y/N?” Daryl says and Rick shakes his head.

Daryl follows Rick as they make their way through the community, clearing out the invaders one-by-one. After an hour of fighting, the gunshots had died down, and the remaining members of the opposing group were being chased out of the community. People then ran in all directions to put out the fires and close the hole made by the incinerated gate.

“Maggie!” Daryl yelled, grabbing the woman by the arm as she ran past. “Where’s Y/N?”

“I don’t know.” Maggie says, shaking her head. “I need to find Glenn, though.” She says, before pulling gently out of his grip and running off to find her husband.

Daryl started running again, calling out loudly for his girlfriend and asking everyone if they knew where you were. Finally, he turned up the street near your house once more. “Y/N!” He yelled.

“Daryl!” The call came back, and Daryl turned to see Denise trying to flag him down. She was kneeling in the grass of a nearby lawn, attending to someone who was lying next to her. “Get over here!” Denise yelled.

Daryl jogged over, but stopped suddenly a few feet away.

—–

You were lying in a large pool of blood, blinking back tears and gripping Denise’s arms tightly. “Denise, it hurts.” You say, though you’re sure she knows that.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, I—“

“Y/N!” You turned your head and saw Daryl running through the street next to you, calling out your name.

“Daryl!” Denise flagged him down. “Get over here!”

Daryl began to jog over, but stopped sharply when he saw your face. You watched, helpless, as the color left his face and he slowly walked over to you, sinking down into the bloody grass at your side. “Y/N.” He said quietly, taking his jacket off and using it to apply pressure on the gash across your stomach. You winced and whimpered in pain. “Can you do anything?” He asks Denise, but she only shakes her head.

“I’m sorry.” Just then, Tara called out to Denise, saying she was needed in the infirmary. “I’m so sorry, Y/N.” She says, then squeezes your hand before standing up and running off in the direction of the infirmary.

“Daryl?” You say once you’re alone. “Are you mad at me?”

Daryl began blinking back tears, and his words were choked at he said, “No, no, I’m not!” He put his head in his hands, smearing your blood across his face. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I did this.”

You reach up weakly and put a hand on his knee. You were crying now, too. “I love you.”

Daryl looked up, tears carving rivers through your blood on his cheeks. “I… I love you, too.” He says. “And I should’ve told you sooner. And I shouldn’t have left you last night. I should’ve been here to protect you and… and our baby.”

It was harder to keep your eyes open now, and suddenly, you felt very warm. “It’s not… your fault.” You say slowly. “I love you.” You whisper again before closing your eyes and sinking deeper into the warm feeling. Daryl is saying something, but you can’t understand it anymore. “It’s OK.” You say softly. “I can see our friends.” You mumble. “They’re waiting for me.”

—–

“They’re waiting for me.” Y/N whispers, then relaxes and her labored breathing slows to a stop.

“Y/N?” Daryl asks, pulling her lifeless body into his arms and shaking with fear. “Y/N, please don’t go!” He balls the back of her shirt into his fists as he starts to sob freely now. “Please! It’s my fault! I’m sorry!”

Daryl felt empty, and yet too big for his body at the same time. His chest hurt and he couldn’t seem to cry out loud enough to release the pressure building up inside of him. He felt like he was going to pass out. But instead, he just held her and cried.

“Daryl?” Beth’s voice sounded out right in front of him.

“Not now!” Daryl raged, not looking up; clutching Y/N tighter to his chest and refusing to be torn from his grief. Eventually, he calmed down enough to breathe again.

It was quiet and still for a moment before Beth said, even quieter, “Daryl.”

Finally, he looked up and his vision clouded over once more with tears.

Sitting cross-legged in the grass in front of him, in between Merle and Beth, sat Y/N. She was smiling kindly at him, a baby boy clutched tightly to her chest.

—–

Want to make a request? Make sure to read the Guidelines for Requests before submitting!

Check out this “Coming Soon” post to see what imagines I’ll be posting next!

[Masterlist]

hey fam just a little reminder when it comes to locations. the sanctuary is not easily found, it’s not a place that a non savior would be able to stumble on while out and about. it’s heavily guarded and the patrols are everywhere, meaning very few people would be able to get in and out without being found. sooooo their is an unofficial (but is based on knowledge from the show and books) guide that gives a rough understanding of where each community lies. alexandria is about 7 miles from washinton, dc. the hilltop is about 20 miles from alexandria(according to jesus. obviously the best source) the kingdom is about 12 miles from alexandria, so it is estimated. just a little bit of info to help you establish where you’re muse is in relation to everything else! keep being amazing and slay the day!

Day Two

Great tour of HD Vehicle Operations Center. Nasty ride to Alexandria VA. 12o miles of hot, humid metro traffic, accidents and chaos skirting around Washington DC. Quite rest of day. Off the bikes for a day

2


requested by @anntol2001 : Can I pwease have a Carl grimes imagine were when you meet you are totally bad ass and he starts to like you and they kiss or you choose how it ends

~.

If the walkers weren’t going to kill him, his father would. It happened fast, too fast for Carl to track down and understand how their small job of scavenging turned into a full-scale attack. Carl had been cooped up in Alexandria too long, posing as a content boy, rather than a survivor of this living hell. Of course, Carl had volunteered to go on a run with Daryl and Glenn just to get out, get some fresh air, bash in a few walker heads and help out the community. He felt safer with them rather than in his house in Alexandria, but today that was not true.

Somehow, they were caught off guard. Somehow, Carl pulled away from Glenn and Daryl from the midst of the chaos (Glenn screamed at him to run and as much as Carl wanted to stay and fight, he knew that it was a lost cause). Somehow, Carl was barreling through the forest, ducking in between trees and leaping over rotting roots. He ran out of ammo and there were too many walkers chasing (hobbling more like) after him to decapitate all of their heads.

Keep reading

Pigs’ Feet (Daryl Dixon imagine)

imagine: shortly after meeting a man named daryl, you get attacked and badly injured. daryl takes you back to alexandria where denise needs to give you stitches, but your anxiety bubbles up and you have a panic attack. as clueless as daryl is, he attempts to help you keep calm. (2772 words)

based on this request from anon: imagine where the reader has anxiety and hates needles and anything medical really but while on a run with daryl reader gets cut badly and needs to get stitches so daryls there to calm the reader down and help out. pleeaaase :)

note: so i changed this a little so that daryl doesn’t actually know the reader very well at all so of course they wouldn’t be on a run together! hope thats ok and as always i am sorry for the wait. also writing denise made me so sad i love her so much and she shouldnt be dead tbh. screencap below from here - natasha

  It was all about perseverance. That was my mantra for surviving the apocalypse, and it was what I told myself as I attempted my eleventh handstand. I had a lot of spare time on my hands, not least because the world was over, but also because I had no group to talk to and nothing to scavenge.

  My lack of people had come about gradually. There had been more than twenty of us to start with, but the dead had wiped half of us out within a matter of months. Those of us that were left could deal with the corpses: it was the living we had to fear. Another group infiltrated our camp in the dead of night, murdered everyone in sight and swiped our resources. Three of us survived, myself included. Then my two friends left the world like boats drifting out to sea, their frail bodies clenched tight by illness. And now it was just me.

  I had wandered the earth in a trance in the weeks after their deaths, unsure if it was worth being alive, or even if I was alive. Then I had come across a slice of heaven — a tiny cabin buried deep in the woods, the shelves inside brimming with long-life tins of food. A crystal-clear stream ran steadily just a short walk away, and whoever had lived there previously had stocked up well on weapons: three guns hung on the wall, and a block of sharpened kitchen knives sat on the table. It was almost too good to be true, and for the first few days I was sure someone would return from a hunting trip and shoot me on sight for eating their food, but no one came.

  And so that was what led me to attempting handstands up against the wall of the cabin. There was nothing else to do and I had always wanted to learn ever since I was little. “Persevere,” I whispered to myself as my arms buckled underneath me yet again. Taking in a deep breath, I crouched on the floor, pushed down and lifted my legs into the air. I faltered for a second, gravity tugging my legs backwards, but I finally hit the right angle, and my heels hit the wall.

  “Yes!” I exclaimed, grinning widely. I tapped my feet against the wall in celebration and stayed in position a little longer, enjoying the head rush.

  Without warning, the door burst open. The shock of it broke my perfect handstand and I fell to the floor in a crumpled heap. I grappled for the gun under my bed and pointed it at the intruder, trying to seem threatening even in my current disheveled state.

  “Who are you?” I yelled, my hand shaking as my finger hovered on the trigger. My instinct was to shoot him: as much as I wanted to see and talk to another person, the memories of the massacre of my group were still painfully fresh. It was hard to give anyone a chance when the last strangers I’d encountered had done that.

  “Calm down. What were you doin’?” the intruder said dubiously, his eyes narrowed and a hint of bemusement flitting across his features. The man had long, dark hair; his skin shone with a light sheen of sweat, and he wore a leather vest over a dark denim shirt. The crossbow in his hands was artfully aimed to shoot an arrow clean through my skull.

  “A handstand,” I said matter-of-factly. “Who are you?” I repeated, lowering my gun ever so slightly. The fact that he hadn’t already shot me likely meant that he wasn’t planning to.

  The man’s eyebrows furrowed and he took a few steps further into the cabin. He didn’t make a move to lower his weapon, and I started to regret showing weakness so soon.

  “M’Daryl,” he muttered, his eyes darting round the shelves of the room, taking in the rows of food that still remained even after more than a month of me living here. “You?” he asked, jerking his head questioningly.

  “I’m Y/N,” I answered, finally clambering to my feet. Daryl’s eyes flicked back to me and he renewed his aim. I held out my hand.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said.

  After staring me down for a few seconds longer, Daryl lowered his crossbow and slung it over his shoulder. He wiped his hand on his pants before grasping my hand and shaking it roughly.

  “Strong handshake,” I commented, tightening my own grip to equal his.

  Daryl pulled his hand away from mine hastily, wiping his hand again.

  “Uh, so —” I began, but he interrupted me. I could see it wasn’t out of rudeness, but rather less than polished conversational skills.

  “How many walkers you killed?”

  “Um. A lot,” I said, my face scrunching in confusion. “Too many to count.”

  “How many people you killed?”

  I hesitated, thinking about lying, but decided to keep things honest. “Two.”

  “Why?” Daryl growled.

  “People came into our camp. Killed most of my group. So I killed some of them back.”

  Daryl nodded understandingly and glanced around the room again. “This all yours?”

  “Yeah. Well, kinda. I found this place and all this food was here. And the guns,” I added, gesturing to the line of weapons. “Have you got a group?” I said eagerly, caring less and less about my own set-up in the cabin, and more about the possibility of being with people again. Actual living, breathing people. People who didn’t want to kill me.

  Daryl hummed affirmatively. “Got this place, Alexandria. Couple miles east from here. Y’can come with me. Meet Rick, he’ll have the final say.”

  “Sounds good.” I tried to stay cool and nonchalant, but I couldn’t help the beaming smile that overcame me. “You wanna take some of this stuff with us?”

  “Was just ‘bout to ask,” he said, immediately grabbing tins off the shelves and stuffing them into his bag. I smiled wryly and joined in, putting all five jars of pickles in the bottom of my backpack, and then padding the space around them with instant soup packets. Daryl and I worked our way round the shelves, meeting in the middle. Both of us reached out for the pickled pigs’ feet, and Daryl’s hand brushed the back of mine.

  “You like them too?” I asked, having never met someone in my life who shared the same penchant for the things.

  He shrugged and the warmth of his hand was long gone from mine, but he surreptitiously slid two of the other jars of feet into his bag.


  Daryl told me that he’d hidden his motorcycle slightly off the road, and that it would take us an hour or so to reach the spot. After trekking through the woods for half an hour, we were walking down a long and empty road, Daryl a few feet in front, our bags heavy with tins, jars and guns. I’d suggested taking the kitchen knives too, but Daryl assured me that Alexandria had plenty of knives already.

  “So, how many people live in Alexandria?” I said after a few minutes of silence.

  “A few.”

  “What’s Rick like? Is he the leader?”

  “Yeah,” Daryl muttered, ignoring my first question.

  “You don’t talk much, do you?” I teased.

  “You talk too much,” Daryl said, shooting me an irritated glare.

  As soon as he turned away I raised my eyebrows and smirked at his annoyance. He was one of the strangest people I’d ever met, but I kind of liked it.

  We finally came across the spot where Daryl had left his motorcycle hidden, and Daryl pulled it from a bed of dry leaves, sweeping off the clinging twigs and leaves with the care of a mother cleaning her child’s face.

  Just as I was about to comment on the obvious adoration that Daryl had for his motorcycle, a man tore from within the trees brandishing a knife and ran straight at us. Daryl let the motorcycle drop back to the ground and fumbled for his crossbow, no doubt alarmed at the sudden appearance of the man. I pulled my gun from its holster but before I could even turn the safety off the man had grabbed me round the waist and slid the knife along my stomach. My thick jacket meant that there couldn’t be too much damage, but he’d pressed hard and I felt hot blood gush from the wound.

  I managed to flick the safety off and shot the man in the arm just as one of Daryl’s arrows plunged into the man’s head. I breathed in and out shakily and pushed the man away, his limp body thudding sickeningly as it hit the ground. “What… the fuck… was that guy’s problem?” I said hoarsely, already feeling faint from the blood I was losing.

  Daryl looked in alarm from my midriff to the man’s knife that was still clutched in his dead fist. “Shit.”

  “What? It’s… it’s fine, right?” I said quietly, but before I’d even finished the sentence I looked down and saw the blood seeping stickily through my clothes.

  “We need to get back. Now,” he said urgently, picking up the motorcycle and righting it.

  I was barely aware of Daryl pulling me onto the seat behind him, and it was a miracle that I didn’t fall off and die during the trip back. My arms clung to Daryl’s waist weakly and the edges of my vision blurred to blackness.


  “She needs stitches,” said a woman’s voice. The last word brought me back from the bottomless lake of near-unconsciousness. I blinked in harsh white light and found I was sitting on a table in what looked like some kind of doctor’s surgery. Several figures slowly became clear: Daryl was there, taking off his blood-covered jacket and glancing at me anxiously; there was a pretty, kind-looking woman with glasses and a ponytail; and there were at least three people gathered in the doorway, eyes wide and mouths open.

  “No, no stitches,” I mumbled, shaking my head as violently as I could, though the slightest motion made me feel sick. “Please. I don’t… I can’t do needles.” I heard my voice as if I was standing on the other side of thick glass.

  “You’ll die if you don’t let me do this,” the woman said, already pulling out medical equipment from various drawers around the room.

  “Please, I can’t…” I whispered, my heart racing. My breathing was painfully fast and heavy, and my body shook with fear. Sweat glued my hair to my forehead and I couldn’t decide whether I was too hot or too cold. I felt as if I floated a few inches left of my body, and my limbs didn’t feel real.

  “I think she’s having a panic attack!” the woman said, sounding almost excited. Daryl shot her a disbelieving look. “Sorry,” she said guiltily. “But that’s psychology, I know a lot about that.”

  I swayed on the table, close to fainting not only from the loss of blood but also from the attack that was flooding my body.

  “Okay. Okay. I need to stitch you up, I’m sorry, but you need this. Then you’ll need a blood transfusion. Do you know your blood type?”

  “B positive,” I managed to get out before I retched loudly.

  “Daryl, stay,” the woman called, and I managed to turn my head to see Daryl close to the door. “You need to keep her calm.”

  “Me?” Daryl muttered.

  “Yeah, you.”

  “What do I do?”

  “Try and get her to breathe slowly and regularly, and once she’s doing that get her to count to ten. Make her feel safe and in control,” the woman said clearly and confidently. She obviously did know a lot about psychology.

  Denise pulled up a stool and threaded the needle. I sobbed as the point touched my skin and alarm bells rang as I watched it sink in to my flesh. She glanced up at me and yelled at Daryl when she saw that I was watching her work. “Make her look at you, Daryl!”

  “Look at me,” Daryl said in an almost even voice. He was still unsure, but his voice was steady enough to ground me. He gently pushed my chin towards him with his fingers so that I was facing him.

  His eyes were dark pools of blue-grey that beckoned me closer, and I kept my eyes open only so that I could keep looking at Daryl’s. He broke eye contact after a minute and looked down at Denise’s needle, which meant that I did too, and the panic rose again.

  “Daryl!” Denise shouted.

  “Shit, okay; y’need to breathe, Y/N,” he said, twisting my head towards him again.

  “I… am… breathing,” I said as I hyperventilated.

  “Like this,” he said, breathing in and out exaggeratedly slowly.  

  I tried to imitate him, and gradually I stopped hyperventilating, and my breathing felt almost normal.

  “Okay, now… count to ten?”

  I counted, and as I did so Daryl’s eyes bore into mine once more. The counting helped, but his eyes tied me to reality more than any grounding exercise could. Before I got to eight, my eyelids started drooping, and I fell into unconsciousness. The last thing I was aware of was Daryl’s hand on my back, stopping me from falling from the table.


  When I awoke, I was tucked into warm sheets, and the pillows under my head were soft and fresh-smelling. I moved a hand cautiously to my stomach, and was relieved to feel bandages covering my injuries. A tube fed into my arm and I followed its length to a blood bag towering next to the bed. I looked away quickly and covered the tube with the sheets. Another panic attack was the last thing I needed.

  “You okay?” the woman’s voice said from the corner. She was curled up in an armchair with a huge book open on her lap. “My name’s Denise. Didn’t really get the chance to introduce myself.”

  “I’m alright.” I shuffled up the bed and leant against the headboard, trying to ignore the pain that dwelled in my midriff. “I’m Y/N. Thanks for… for saving my life. I’m sorry for freaking out on you. I really can’t deal with needles. Or any of that stuff. Ever since I was a kid.”

  “Don’t apologise for a panic attack; it’s not your fault. You were really brave,” Denise said kindly. She closed the book and stood up, tucking the hardback under her arm. “I’ll come change your bandages in a few hours. Right now just get some more rest.” She opened the door to leave and revealed Daryl standing on the other side. Daryl asked with a look if he was allowed to talk to me, and Denise nodded.

  Daryl ambled into the room and Denise shut the door behind him, giving me one last sympathetic look.

  “So,” Daryl murmured.

  “Thank you.”

  Daryl looked at me carefully. “For what?”

  I resisted from rolling my eyes at his absolute cluelessness. “For helping me through that. The only person that was ever that good during my panic attacks was my mom. Nobody else ever understood.”

  “I mean. It was Denise, really,” Daryl said, his skin flushing slightly.

  “Nah, it was you.”

  Daryl nodded awkwardly and shifted from one foot to the other. “Won’t be doin’ any handstands for a while. What with that bandage and everythin’,” Daryl said, bringing up the last thing that I had expected from him.

  I let out a small laugh. “Guess not.”

  “Rick said you can stay.”

  “Really?” Happiness subdued any pain that I felt, and even the blood bag next to my bed faded to nothing more than a nuisance. “That’s so great, thank you so much.”

  “S’alright. I’m gonna go, then.” He turned to leave.

  I decided to take a risk. “You know, I read this thing once.”

  Daryl stopped and twisted his head to look at me curiously.

  “Apparently, if you make eye contact with someone for two minutes, even if they’re a complete stranger, you can get really deep feelings for each other. Just like that. It’s psychology.”

  Daryl let out a puff of air, which I assumed was his version of a laugh, and he shook his head like he thought I was crazy. Which I probably was, to say something like that to someone I’d met mere hours before.

  But it seemed to have some sort of effect, because the next afternoon Daryl returned to my bedside with two jars of pigs’ feet.

Watch on andyrichardscn.tumblr.com

AT&T Feel the Music – Different Colors by WALK THE MOON

“Feel the Music is an innovative, social project designed to expand musical access to the Deaf and Hard of Hearing community - helping them celebrate, experience and share in their love of music.”

3

The Alte sword, dated to 1795. This weapon is one of the most mysterious and perhaps tragic gifts given to George Washington. It was commissioned and personally engraved by Theophilus Alte of Solingen, a city renowned for the supreme quality of its steel. Washington wrote to John Quincy Adams in 1796:

“Some time ago… I read in some gazette… announcing that a celebrated artist had presented, or was about to present to the President of the United States a sword of masterly workmanship, as an evidence of his veneration &c. &c. I thought no more of the matter afterwards, until a gentleman with whom I have no acquaintance, coming from and going to I know not where, at a tavern I never could get information of, came across this sword (for it is presumed to be the same) pawned for thirty dollars; which he paid, left it in Alexandria, nine miles from my house, in Virginia with a person who refunded him the money and sent the sword to me. This is all I have been able to learn of this curious affair. The blade is highly wrought, and decorated with many military emblems…”

A few months after receiving the weapon, a letter arrived from Theophilus Alte addressed to the president. In it he wrote that his son Daniel was traveling to personally deliver the sword to Washington, with the hope that he would protect him from an unspecified danger. Daniel Alte never appeared and his fate will probably never be known, nor the reason why the sword wound up at that tavern.

Mount Vernon’s website describes this as a horseman’s sword, and it would indeed have been a formidable weapon for a mounted soldier, resembling the straight swords favored by heavy cavalry of the period. The weapon is 39.5 inches long overall. The guard is gilt brass, composed of two upturned quillons and a simple knuckle bow. The grip is bound with leather and copper wire, with gilt backstrap and pommel. The blade is double-edged and decorated with intricate emblems, scrollwork and writing. The words on the left side read thus, translated from German:

“DESTROYER OF DESPOTISM, PROTECTOR OF FREEDOM, STEADFAST MAN, TAKE FROM MY SON’S HANDS THIS SWORD, I PRAY THEE.

Theophilus Alte at Solingen.”

“Coverage”

Canon-friendly one-shot for season 6 that’s partially inspired by @siancore‘s post here, as well as, someone mentioning Rick going on a run for Michonne’s robe a few days ago [on the Richonne-Tumblr tag].  This is unabashedly-sexually-attracted-to-Michonne!Rick.  So like, you know, pretty much canon!Rick, cause for real…  What could have been innocent gets kind of sexy and then finally awkward.


Rick jogged down the steps, cuffing his sleeves as he called out, “Michonne!” He rounded the corner, eyes downcast as he focused on his shirt, yelling out, “I wanted to ask you…” His voice trailed off as he finally looked up, seeing her emerge from the bathroom, towel entirely too short wrapped around her body, droplets of water on her skin, her hair hidden in a towel turban.

Rick’s mouth was suddenly dry, partially open, as he took in this goddess of a woman. The white towel clung damply to her curves. He recalled her looking good in white. One leg was slightly bent, its foot delicately up slightly, demure-like. Rick exhaled, eyes traveling back up to her lovely face, dipped back down to her chest, then back up again. He cleared his throat.

“Daryl, Daryl and I, um…we’ll be back in time for dinner. I’ll make sure of it. Did you need anything in particular?”

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Supremely angsty prompt: Carol gets bit. Daryl puts her down. (Because I usually see it he other way around)

(How dare you. I hope your tears are salty)

They left a messy trail. It was all kinds of snapped tree limbs, rucked up footprints in the dirt, and a crossbow half-trampled into the soft mud. Nothing walkers would pay attention to, but it was an easy trail to follow.

When Morgan smelled the blood in the air, he knew there were only two ways that this trail ended. Either he found the person who’d left these tracks as a walker or well on their way to death. The smell was thick, fresh. They were hurt bad, and the woods were quiet.

Morgan drew his knife, ears tuned through the haze of the silence. He didn’t hear any moans, no screams of pain or the wailing of grief…It was quiet.

The tracks ended like he thought they would…mostly. The two bodies were propped against a tree: a man and a woman. She had a messy bite on her thigh and a bullet’s clean entry wound through her temple. Her head was in his lap, and the blood was still dripping out of the exit wound. He was leaned back against the tree, one hand resting on the short grey curls of her hair, the other hand holding a gun by her hip. He couldn’t see a wound on the man, but if he wasn’t dead yet, he was past the point of no return.

Morgan relaxed, glancing around. Any walker nearby would have smelled the blood and torn these two apart, but they were still here, so that meant walkers weren’t. His boots rustled through the underbrush, and the man suddenly jerked. Morgan lifted his knife, and the man lifted his gun. He pulled the trigger, eyes half wild, but the hammer just clicked…empty.

“Hey.” Morgan didn’t see any other weapons on him, and the shaky way that his hand dropped back to his side showed how weak the man was. Fading fast. He drew closer.

The man’s chest shrugged laboriously as he breathed, swallowing thickly and speaking, hoarse and with words slurring together. “You Death or som…somethin’?”

Morgan frowned, taking a few more steps until he was within a meter of him. The woman was pretty, maybe the man’s wife, and she hadn’t had a chance to Turn. He’d made sure of that. Good men didn’t let their wives become walkers…

“About…about time…” the man mumbled, eyes blinking out of sync.

Morgan still didn’t see a wound on the man, though with the woman’s body lying across his lap and part of his legs, he wasn’t seeing all of him.

“Did you come for h-her or me or both’us?” He was delirious half out of his mind.

Morgan reached out a hand, but before his fingers could even touch the man’s forehead, he could feel the heat from the fever. It came off him like a furnace. Bit.

“I’m not Death, mister,” Morgan replied lowly, voice hoarse from disuse.

“You might as well be.” The man started to smile, then coughed, and he cringed as the motion shook his bones. A few tears leaked out the corners of his eyes, where streaks of older tears hadn’t quite dried. “Used my last bullet on her.”

Morgan grimaced, his hand reaching to the gun at his belt. He didn’t draw it yet. The man exhaled brokenly, lifting his head from the tree and looking down at the woman in his arms. Pain of another kind seized his form, and Morgan recognized it down to his own soul.

“I loved her,” he wheezed, one thumb smoothing some hair from her forehead. He closed his eyes and his head dropped back against the tree. “Somebody needed to hear it at least once.”

Morgan inhaled, running a hand across his head before looking at this dying stranger. “I don’t know you, man, but I think she knew.” He looked down to the woman’s face.

She looked peaceful. No pain or sorrow there.

“You did right by her,” Morgan stated. “I have a bullet. Do you—“

His eyes trailed up to the man’s face again, but the man did not look back. His eyes were half lidded, gazing down unseeing to the woman in his arms. He was gone. His chest was still, and his expression was like hers: at rest.

…Not yet.

Morgan hissed and lifted a hand to his mouth, swallowing a curse. This never got easier. It wasn’t supposed to…He closed his eyes hard for a long moment.

Clear. He had to clear.

Composing himself, he ran his fingers over the man’s eyes, closing them, then he placed his hand against the man’s head, feeling the heat still seeping out as the fever finished burning, and he drew his knife in the other hand. He pushed the blade in and out quickly through his temple, gently tilting his head back against the tree again. Morgan cleaned his knife and made sure the woman’s eyes were closed too.

“Be at peace,” he murmured, straightening on his feet.

As he left the woods, he came upon a cleared asphalt road, and his eyes snagged a sign just beyond the trees.

Alexandria: 10 miles.

thought came to me– it was mentioned a lot, both by alex & interviewers, that eycte has a lot of references to dreams. considering some people’s experience of seeing alex a little ‘off’ as well as his skiddishness w/ answering when things are happenening, maybe he’s just tired. like, physically tired. maybe he just doesn’t sleep enough.

he’s been touring since he was like, what, sixteen, something ridiculous like that? between AM & tlsp & the submarine soundtrack & writing w/ miles & alexandria savior the bastard has at least 11 albums he’s worked on in ten years. he said in one interview he wants to get back to writing like a song every day or something insanely frequent like that.

I don’t think he sleeps very much.