gif: the walking dead

Runaways

A/N: I hope y’all are ready to feel some angst because I’ve finally finished my young Merle and Daryl Dixon fic! This fic takes place after Daryl was lost in the woods for nine days and his father didn’t even notice he was gone. After an argument with their father over this, Merle takes Daryl away with him to get away from their abusive father.

Word count: 4,471

Warnings: Language, mention of domestic abuse, mention of prostitution, sad brother angst feels

Without a word, Daryl Dixon shuffled through the rickety door of the trailer he lived in. It had been nine days since getting lost in the woods, and all he’d had were some berries he’d scrounged up. His hands, as well as a few other places, were uncomfortably itchy, as he’d accidentally used poison ivy leaves as toilet paper. He was starved, and the only thing on his mind was reaching the kitchen and walking past his father, who’d no doubt reprimand him for being gone for so long.

But that wasn’t what happened. Daryl’s father sat in his easy chair as he watched a wrestling match on TV. He barely glanced at Daryl when he came in. His father was more interested in the beer in his hand than his own missing son. It was better than being yelled at, Daryl supposed, and he walked into the kitchen to fix something to eat.

Without bothering to clean his hands of the muck caked on his palms, he grabbed the container of bologna and slapped a few pieces between slices of plain white bread. He was too hungry to add anything else. He just stood there in the kitchen, head down and swallowing his sandwich in big gulps like someone would take it away from him if he didn’t eat it fast enough.

Keep reading

Am I the only one who wants Tom Payne to sing in The Walking Dead?

When I found out he can sing I didn’t think about it further, but yesterday I watched a video of him singing and thought something like:‘Would be awesome if they would let him sing in the series, but that’s not gonna happen. It’s the walking dead why should somebody sing?’.
Then I remembered Beth singing a few times and I was alive!

I’m voting for some sort of campfire scene after the war. Thanks.

p.s.: It’s also perfect for the Desus ship (you know the Beth parallels and so on).

https://youtu.be/FitlJ4CpOoI 💙 https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=yFp2SZ46Bn4
What’s Left, Pt. 1

Requested by Anonymous: Can you write a story where the reader is Daryl’s daughter and he is super protective of her?

What’s Left, Pt. 1

When you woke up, you were grateful to discover that none of the dead had gathered around the car while you slept. You sat up in the backseat of the dusty, broken down SUV and stretched. Your supplies were running low, and you were disappointed to discover that you only had one can of corn and a few packages of fruit snacks and nuts left in your bag. You needed to find a store soon, otherwise the dead might be the least of your concerns.

As you tore open a package of fruit snacks and began to munch on your sparse breakfast, you looked up at the photos you’d set out on the center consul the night before. If the dead had broken in during the night, those photos were what you wanted to see before you died. One of them was of you and your mother; you were smiling and holding the keys to a new car, a present from your mother on your seventeenth birthday. In the photo, your mother was beaming and had one arms around your shoulders proudly.

In the second photo, you were eight-years-old and riding on your father’s shoulders at a Fourth of July parade. You had two fistfuls of beads and candy and were giggling at a parade float. Your father had draped his angel wing vest around our shoulders, and even though you were drowning in it, you were elated to have the chance to look like him.

You picked the photos back up and shoved them in your pocket. Your dad had been on the move for the last two years, so you hadn’t seen him since your sixteenth birthday, but he always managed to call you every few weeks or so to see how you were doing. He had been somewhere near Florida when the outbreak began, and you doubt that he would be anywhere near you now. Your mother had been with you in the beginning, but she had been bitten and you had to leave her behind two months ago.

The photos meant everything to you now. They were all you had left of your parents.

When breakfast was over, you cautiously got out of the car. Looking around the highway for dead ones, you began to pack up your backpack quietly. Being able to move quietly was an invaluable skill in the apocalypse, and you were glad now for your father insisting on taking you on hunting trips. You’d been too little to learn to use the weapons and therefore never learned to kill or prepare an animal, but if you couldn’t find any food today, you were going to have to figure it out quickly.

You took out your compass and map of Georgia, trying to figure out which way to go. You’d been travelling south in the hopes of running into your father, and you’d passed a few signs on the highway yesterday that claimed Newnan, GA to be only a few miles away. You refolded your map and turned on the highway until you were facing south, then, you set off in search of food.

—–

You crouched behind a dumpster and watched as the dead swayed in the wind. There’d been a small grocery store just off the highway, and you’d veered off in the hopes that the smaller store would still be relatively well-stocked. Now, you waited on the edge of the parking lot in order to assess your situation.

Fifteen dead ones in front of the store. No telling how many were inside or behind it, though. You checked your gun—ten rounds. Not worth it. You might need those rounds to save your life, and you couldn’t handle fifteen on your own with just a knife.

“Damn it.” You muttered, re-sheathing your gun in its holster. You shifted your weight to get ready to sneak back away when a red truck pulled up and three people jumped out.

One man, a slender Asian with a large knife and full riot gear, ran full speed at the first dead one and planted his knife deep into its temple. A pretty woman with long brown hair followed quickly behind with an axe and a whole lot more courage than you had. Finally, a man with a hatchet and a silver pistol gleaming on his belt joined the other two, and they began to make quick work of the dead ones in front of the store.

You smiled to yourself. They’d do the heavy lifting for you, and you could pick through the store once they were done. You repositioned yourself behind the dumpster to wait out the raid, when suddenly the man with the silver pistol was knocked to the ground by a dead one. He was pinned, and the others hadn’t seen it happen.

You watched the man struggle with the corpse for a few seconds, hoping that his friends would get him out of the situation. When the dead one’s jaw got closer to the man’s neck, though, you made a decision.

“Son of a bitch.” You swore, then sprung to your feet and pulled your gun back out. Striding over quickly, you took aim and shot the dead one straight through the skull. When the dust settled again, you saw that all three of the truck people were staring at you. “What? I got something on my shirt?” You smirked and reached out a hand to the man you’d saved, hoping that saving him would also save yourself.

The man took your hand and stood up. “Name’s Rick. That’s Glenn and Maggie.” The other two nodded. “Thanks for helping me out.”

You shrug. “Well, I need food. I figured, I save you, you let me scavenge the store with you.”

Rick smiled. “What’s your name?”

“Y/N.”

“How many walkers have you killed, Y/N?” Rick asks.

“Walkers?”

“These things.” Glenn points to a dead one at his feet.

“I don’t know.” You shrug. “I lost track after I escaped Atlanta.”

“How many people have you killed?”

“None.” You say.

“Why?”

“Haven’t had a reason to. You’re the first people I’ve seen in a long time.”

“You always been alone?” Maggie asks.

“No. I left Atlanta with my mom and neighbors. They’re dead now, though.” You look down at the pavement. “I’m hoping to maybe run into my dad, but it’s a long shot.” There’s a pause as the three adults search for something to say to an eighteen-year-old who’s lost everyone.

“We have a community.” Rick finally says. “It’s in a prison, about ten miles from here. There’s food, shelter, and other people. It’s not much, but it’s safe. You’re welcome to come with us.”

You look up and smile. “I’d love that. Thank you.”

——

You watched as trees and walkers sped past the truck, and listened absently as Glenn and Rick talked about guard shifts for the rest of the day. There was no other traffic on the road, and you smiled as you sunk into the comfort of the truck; it had been forever since you’ve travelled by car and not on foot.

The prison loomed ahead at the end of road, and you sat forward in your chair trying to get a better look. Normally, a prison wouldn’t be a comforting sight, but it was fences, walls, and grass that wasn’t filled with the dead. It was perfect.

Maggie saw you looking ahead in anticipation and put a hand softly on your shoulder. “You’ll love it here. I promise.”

“I think I will.” You smiled at her as the truck drove through the gate. The front gate was being held open by a young boy and an old man, and though it would normally look odd, it felt comforting to you in that moment.

“Come on, Y/N, I’ll show you around.” Maggie waved for you to follow her as soon as you were out of the truck, and you eagerly fell into step behind her.

“This is the main yard,” She gestured to the area around you. “We usually use this area for unloading and organizing supplies, cleaning and practicing with weapons, and just enjoying the sunshine.”

“Holy shit, you guys have a baby here?” You gawked at the small child in a blond girl’s arms.

Maggie laughed. “Yes. Her name’s Judith. And my sister, Beth, is the one holding her.”

“Beth’s so young to have a baby.” You remark, then immediately regret it. Maggie probably didn’t want you commenting on her sister’s teenage motherhood.

But, Maggie just laughed. “No, the baby is Rick’s. Beth is just babysitting. Judy’s mother didn’t make it, unfortunately.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” You mutter, and follow her inside to a cafeteria.

“This is Carol.” Maggie says. “Carol, this is Y/N. She’ll be living with us now.”

“Hi Y/N.” Carol smiled warmly. “You’re just in time for dinner.” A clattering sound came from a storage pantry to your left, and you jumped. Carol rolled her eyes and stuck her head into the pantry. “Daryl, knock it off. I told you to save your appetite.”

“And I told you I do what I want.” A gruff voice shot back. Then, the man behind the voice came out of the pantry, and you dropped your backpack in shock.

You and Daryl stared at each other for a moment, both too shocked to move. Carol spoke first, saying, “Daryl, this is—“

“Y/N!” Daryl said, stepping forward and pulling you into a crushing hug. When he finally released you again, you were crying. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

You wiped your eyes. “Me too.”

Maggie said, “You know each other?”

“Yeah.” Daryl said. “She’s my daughter.” Both Maggie and Carol looked shocked. “Where’s your mother?”

You tried not to cry again. “She didn’t make it.” You frown. “Where’s Uncle Merle?” Daryl shakes his head. “Oh.”

“But, all that matters is that you’re here.” Daryl hugs you again. “I went looking for your mom and you in Atlanta when things started to get bad, but I couldn’t get there in time.”

“It’s OK.” You pull out from the hug. “I’m just glad I found you again.”

Daryl picked your backpack up off of the floor. “C’mon, I’ll show you to a cell. You can have the one next to mine. Then, I want to hear about what happened.”

“Thank you.” You sigh. “I can’t wait to have a bed of my own again, and to be able to sleep without one eye open.”

“You’re my daughter, and you’re back in my care. I won’t let you sleep afraid again.”

——

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[”Coming Soon”]

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