#Emergency Alexandria
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What Are the Different Types of Electricians?
Electrical employees are predicted to expand by 10% by 2028.Electricians operate in various professional fields, including industrial or commercial, office building maintenance, and residential and residential development.
An local electrician Alexandria is a trained tradesperson in the construction business who specializes in the maintenance, installation, design, and repair of electrical systems - and there is an increasing need for these experienced employees.
This article will provide you with a thorough grasp of the many types of electricians:
There are various broad types of electricians; however, the majority of electricians fall into two core groups:
Wiremen (Inside Electricians)- They are electricians who operate with lower voltages present within structures and buildings. Wiremen repair, maintain and install electrical systems that supply electricity to homes, businesses, and industries. This category includes residential systems like solar panel installation.
Linemen (Outside Electricians)- These electricians, often known as line electrical workers, labor outside, building high-voltage electric utility distribution and transmission systems. They guarantee that energy generated at power plants is transferred to base stations and is prepared to control high-voltage lines in industrial, commercial, and residential settings.
Electricians by Certification Level
For local electrician Alexandria, there are three levels of certification:
Master Electrician
The master electrician designation is awarded to those who meet the most stringent requirements; these requirements vary by state.
In most countries, candidates must first complete around 4,000 hours of electrical work as a Journeyman before taking a licensing exam to show an in-depth comprehension of the National Electrical Code.
Master electricians operate on the most challenging industrial and commercial operations and know to instruct journeymen electricians to do the same.
Journeyman Electrician
After completing your apprenticeship programmed and meeting all criteria, you may take the exam to become a journeyman electrician and get your license from the federal, state, or local licensing group.
Certification allows you to operate independently and provides you with the qualifications to teach new apprentices.
Apprentice Electrician
An apprenticeship programmed is one of the processes to becoming an electrician.
Most states demand a high school diploma to apply. Before entering a commercial electrician company, an apprentice must typically complete several hundred classroom hours.
You may enroll for an apprenticeship under a certified electrician after three to six years.
What Are the Different Types of Electricians According to Their Specialization?
There are several electrical fields under the two basic categories of electricians. Different types of electrician employment will also require certain skills and qualifications. These are some examples:
Commercial Electrician
Commercial electricians specialize in installing, repairing, and maintaining electrical systems, with the majority of them working in business structures such as offices and other enterprises.
As an electrician, you may also be asked to help plan and design electrical systems throughout new building development. If you like taking on new challenges, this is the work for you; the position usually requires you to handle public safety issues and local electrical regulations.
If you possess an entrepreneurial drive, you may also establish your firm as an individual electrical company, recruiting more electricians under you.
Maintenance Electrician
Maintenance electricians are essential in the residential, commercial, and industrial sectors. As a maintenance local electrician Alexandria or an emergency electrician Alexandria, you will be responsible for upgrading, repairing, and maintaining existing electrical equipment.
Other maintenance duties include diagnosing, troubleshooting, and testing equipment faults.
A professional apprenticeship with additional on-the-job expertise, backed by an electrician license, is also required to operate as a maintenance electrician.
Industrial Electrician
Repairing, diagnosing, and installing electrical equipment in factories, processing facilities, power plants, and mines is the responsibility of an industrial electrician.
These electricians deal with the production system and massive, complicated equipment, with some specializing in lighting and security.
As an industrial electrician, you might be subject to facility managers and maintenance supervisors. Before working in this sector, you should have many years of apprenticeship skills training behind your belt.
Residential Electrician
The most prevalent sort of electrician is a residential electrician. They often maintain, repair, install, and update electrical systems in residential settings such as houses, apartments, and condos.
As a residential electrician service, you will install and restore security systems and other home equipment.
Under the supervision of a master or journeyman electrician, job training combines apprenticeship with official classroom learning. Following the end of your apprenticeship programmed, you will also be required to complete a state-level examination.
Many electrical occupations, including electricians, involve working for a construction contractor or running a small company on your own.
Auto Electrician
An auto electrician specializes in automotive vehicles and is in charge of the electrical systems critical to the safe running of these vehicles.
An auto electrician must thoroughly grasp car diagnostics to analyse drivetrain systems utilizing performance electronics properly. Technicians also use these gadgets for formal motor vehicle certification.
Conclusion
The employment prospects for electricians are excellent, with several chances for various electrician roles in leading sectors. A job as an professional electrician services in Alexandria is a good choice for many people since it allows for specialization, growth, and good compensation.
Working with an electrician employment service like DRS Electrical may help you whether you're a master, apprentice, or journeyman electrician in the commercial and industrial areas, from competitive compensation and perks to steady job possibilities around Australia. For further information, please get in touch with us right away!
#electrician alexandria#Local electrician#Emergency Alexandria#Sydney#electrician services#Switchboard upgrade#home improvement#Wiring#Residential electrician#commercial electrician
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i have literally no idea how mangaka come up with shit for anniversary short stories bc there's always an expectation that you have to feature the mains in a 10 years later sort of thing while not making it feel too different from the original
in the meantime, if you give a little love is having its 10 anniversary this week and here i am, vaguely wanting to go back on fimfic to write an anni oneshot and sprouting up ideas about every character except coco and babs
#fanfiction#alexandria rambles#if you give a little love#the obvious answer would be scene proposing to coco but i have like no motivation to write scene/coco anymore#i know a lot of ppl like him but he was kinda just a guy i liked in high school inserted into a fic and i've moved way the hell on since#my major idea so far is finally doing the suri/sugar belle sister meetup i wanted to do forever#or maaaaybe another part of rotten oranges or something else with valencia#but i have no inspiration for babs/coco/scene and i've since accepted that i use mosely as a crutch for when that happens#i fr would just have an emergency 'mosely starts more shit' button and i've moved past the need to push it#my post
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#us politics#2022#Instagram#Snapchat#twitter#tweet#rep. alexandria ocasio cortez#forgive student debt#student debt#cancel student debt#student debt forgiveness#debt forgiveness#taxation isn't theft#taxes#medicare#infrastructure#climate crisis#climate emergency#climate reform#tax the rich
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Affordable Emergency Plumber in Alexandria, VA
Get an affordable emergency plumber in Alexandria, VA if you are facing a plumbing crisis. Whether it’s a burst pipe, a stubborn clog, or a water heater malfunction, we’ve got you covered. Our licensed and reliable professionals swiftly tackle emergencies day or night, contact us now!
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Are you worrying about best plumbing services in your area? Don't worry Captivate Plumbing is here to provides Best Plumber Alexandra Hills for your home/office.
#Plumber Alexandria Hills#Best Plumber Alexandra Hills#Local Plumber Alexandra Hills#Emergency Plumber Alexandra Hills
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Don't Panic! How to Choose Reliable Contractors for Emergency Roof Repairs
At K & M Roofing and Contracting, we are earmarked to deliver our consumers the highest quality roofing and contracting services in a timely, proficient, and transparent manner. Our trusted professionals will work diligently to ensure that every job is finished accurately and compliantly, surpassing customer satisfaction while remaining cost-effective.
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The circumstances can be pretty hard to handle, especially when you have kids and pets at home, as they do not have the patience to bear with the issue. If the problems arise during the summer season, then an electrician would be all you will need in such situations for help.
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PATHETIC COWBOY
warnings :: both are 18+, sub!carl, riding, piv, mommy kink, manhandling, humiliation, nipple play, teasing, begging, overstimulation
carl grimes x fem!reader
denise was a gift, truly. she saved many lives which proved a lot about her. but she needed help, and you along with a few others volunteered to be her medical assistants. you were the only one your age however, it kind of boosted your ego. learning all of this and helping people so young.
you dealt with patients nearly every day. it was typically older people, with he exception of one boy, one around your age. you got a glimpse of him around alexandria, you knew he came for check-ups and cleanings for his eye. he’s cute, but you’ve never gotten lucky enough to be the one to help him.
but when you see him, he’s always looking at you first. and if you’re not being too cocky, he seems like he’s trying to get your attention. but his lack of experience in the flirting department leaves him failing ninety percent of the time. but that only drew him to you more; how pathetic he was.
today is a particularly short-staffed day, meaning denise had gone on a run and you as well one other intern were the only one’s in the infirmary. even that lasted a short while, due to the lack of patients today your coworker decided to call it. checking with you before leaving you to the rest.
there was only maybe two hours until sundown, which is when denise should be returning. then you could go home. so you didn’t mind being left there, especially at the rate of, well, no patients today.
you make your way to the bag you bring every day, whipping out the comic you bring in case of a slow day. you sit where denise usually does and let yourself get into it. your hands mindlessly go to the stash of snacks in your bag before you’re interrupted by a soft knock.
guess you couldn’t have it all your way.
you put your things away and hurry to the door in case of an emergency, opening it to see him. the cute loser, the cowboy. well you couldn’t complain now, could you?
he seems taken aback at the sight of you, stammering slightly. “where’s denise?” you frown but stand to the side to let him in.
“she’s out on a run.” he gives you a weird look, no doubt confused as that’s not denise’s forte. “looks like you’re stuck with me.” you give him a sorrowful look that you only half-heartedly mean before leading him to a bed.
carl looks down when you sit in front of him, avoiding your eyes. “no offense…” he looks up to see you quirking a brow at him, “i’m used to denise doing this. since she usually has to clean it and all… not many others have ever seen it.”
you hum in acknowledgment, nodding your head in understanding. “okay then,” you place your hands on your lap and give him a tight-lipped smile. “i think you can wait if you want-”
“no.” he cuts you off, causing you to blink at him. he racks his brain for an excuse to get you where he wants without scaring you away with the mutilation on his face. at least that’s what he thinks of it. “you can still give me a check up, right.”
the thought of you so close to him made him nervous. he hasn’t felt this strongly about someone before, he doesn’t know what to do with himself. and with your hands on him? his brain may short-circuit.
but you nod to him with a sweet smile that eases him. but it doesn’t stop his mind from running wild when you stand up to grab his files. his eye can’t help but follow your ass as you walk. that’s how crazy you make him, his brain going haywire at your close proximity. but once you’re far enough away it’s free to be tainted and lewd.
he doesn’t snap out of it until he hears you sigh, and he realizes you’re sat down in front of him again. “so, since i’m not familiar with you, i have a few questions.” he nods as a sign for you to continue. “what brings you here today?”
he laughs a little, “check up.”
you nod, “i know, i know. i gotta ask,” you look down at the pieces of paper again. “is there anything bothering you?” he shakes his head. “do you often drink alcohol or use drugs?”
he tilts his head, “how would i do that?” you shrug and adjust yourself in your seat.
“there’s beer and stuff here, and medications.” you say it like it’s obvious, which makes him turn red at how dumb he may have sounded. but the way you said it, like he was dumb for asking, it made his face heat up. “and i know no one cares about the age thing anymore.”
he just nods, your words starting to become scrambled with the more questions you ask. he half-ass responds to most of them, focused on how hot your voice was coming from your pretty lips. that’s when the next question shocks him and rips him out of his head.
“are you sexually active?”
he chokes on his spit, not knowing how to answer that. the other assistants have asked him that before. it always flustered him having to say no, but it’s much worse when it’s you. the girl he’s been eyeing for way too long. the one who makes him feel like some dumb kid, humiliating him even when it’s something small. even when others probably wouldn’t bat an eye at it. even though you may not even notice how it affects him.
not that he doesn’t like it.
he squints his eye shut, “no?”
“that didn’t seem like an answer.”
and there it goes again, little things like that. making him feel like he does nothing but sound like an idiot. it makes him want to hide away, but at the same time crawl back to you so you can make the embarrassment worse. it’s like you have him on a leash.
“no, i’m not.” his voice is barley above a whisper when he says it. he curses himself for sounding so meek at quiet. how do you reduce him to this? and so easily?
the look in your eyes is hard to decipher. it drives him crazy. did he just ruin his chances with you? did he sound like some pathetic guy? or maybe you didn’t care, and this is just some one-sided attraction and you’re weirded out by his behavior. at least you can’t see into his slutty mind.
“have you ever had sex?” he blinks confusedly at your words,
“the… the other assistants never asked me that-”
“but i am.” again you’re saying things so matter-of-factly it has him curling into himself a little. mostly to hide the ever growing problem in his pants. “answer.” he merely shakes his head, leading you to grab his chin with your hand. you’re standing up now, towering over him while he looks up at you wide-eyed.
“no.” his voice is so breathless, his pupils blown with lust. he tongue darts out to wet his lips, is he finally getting you how he wanted?
a smirk rises on your face, your hand trailing from his face to his bicep. your eyes stay on his, silently challenging him to look away. you lean closer, lips close to his before you whisper, “do you want to?”
the weak ‘please’ he lets out is all you need to press your lips to his. it’s harsh and rushed and has him whimpering. he’s hardly even kissed, and that was only once. honestly, you could tell. but the inexperience was what drew you to him.
you pull away to push him down. your actions caught him off guard, leaving him to fall clumsily with a huff. he doesn’t get a lot of time to register anything when you’re grabbing him harshly by the collar and pulling him into another rough kiss.
he whines against your lips, one hand coming up to your left breast. you swat it away, separating from his lips again to glare down at him. “you don’t get to touch unless you ask.” he lifts his head to give you an incredulous look before letting it fall back down. his hat folds in the process, and you swear you hear him mumble something.
“what was that?” you give him a look that just dares him to ignore your question, to disobey and see what happens.
he grimaces, “it’s stupid, it slipped out-” you pat his cheek, harsh enough to leave a little sting but not enough to hurt him. the action has his hips bucking up, he’d never been treated this way. he didn’t know he’d like it so much.
you grab his face again, “say it.”
“mommy.” his face scrunches when the word leaves his lips. of course, why aren’t you surprised? you laugh at him, watching as he attempts to shy away from you. the grip you have on him is stopping him. could he overpower you if he wanted? definitely, but would he?
“you’re pathetic, cowboy.” your lips go to his neck, nipping and sucking at his skin.
he whines, “don’t call me that.” you don’t even look at him this time, opting for your left hand to go to his chest. you give a harsh twist to his nipple, laughing when he yelps.
“didn’t think you’d be so sensitive.” you smirk, letting your thumb run soothingly over the bud though his shirt. you hum, “physically, that is…” you run your hand down, stopping at the hem of his shirt. “i see how you act when i humiliate you in front of your little group.”
his breath picks up when your hand slides up his shirt, running along his abdomen. his pretty skinny, slightly toned from all the running and fighting he’s done. “mommy,” he whines out again, grabbing onto you in a way that’s pleading you to go further. to give him more.
you squint your eyes at him, “stop rushing me.” he goes to speak but just shuts his mouth, watching you with a needy, obedient gaze. “you’re gonna take what i give you, got it?” he nods quickly, his eye widening for a moment.
“i-i mean, yes. yes mommy, i got it.” you hum and slide his shirt up, muttering a ‘good boy’ under your breath. you trail kisses along his skin, starting above his jeans and stopping when you get to his chest.
you can’t help but smirk when your tongue hits his nipple, the way he flinched from sensitivity, you couldn’t help yourself. you listen to his whimpers get louder and breathing get heavier and more rapid with the more stimulation you provided to one side. so you switched, and the noises started all over again.
you glance at his neck, pride filling you at the sight of purple-red marks all over his skin. they went down to his collarbone, then more on his abdomen. some so others could see, some so just you can see.
“please,” he pants, leading your hand down to the tent in his pants. he hisses when you start to palm him through his jeans.
“please what?” you can’t even hide the amusement in your voice, it makes carl groan and shut his eye tightly.
“please mommy.” he breathes heavily, watching your hand travel to his zipper. “more.” you chuckle darkly, unbuttoning and tugging the fabric off his legs. he swallows thickly as he watches you play with the waistband of his underwear.
“you just keep begging and begging.” you tsk and shake your head. in reality, you love it. but you can’t pass up this opportunity. “you’re that desperate to get your dick wet?” you take his silence as an excuse to pinch his nipple again, smiling when he cries out.
carl sighs, brushing his sweaty hair from his forehead. “yes. okay, yes. just please, mommy.” his eye is slightly watery and he looks dazed and still rather confused on what to do. he gasps when you slide his underwear off, the cold air and how close your hand was ripped a moan from his throat.
you stand up, causing him to whine at the lack of contact. but the complaint he was about to dish out gets caught in his throat when you lift your shirt off. your work clothes hid the body you had underneath, which seemed so perfect to him that it felt criminal he hadn’t seen it until now.
his eye stayed on your body as you stripped down, watching you saunter off before coming back with a condom in hand. his eye widens and he looks at you hungrily, “do we have to?” you laugh and sit yourself on his lap,
“do you ask dumb questions on purpose?” carl purses his lips and stays silent, but you feel him twitch against your thigh. “you’re such a fucking loser.” you press your lips to his before he can speak, swallowing the whine he lets out at your crude words.
you’re suddenly taking your time, slowly sliding the condom over his cock. of course you pick now to tease him, he can’t help but squirm. “hips?” he asks dumbly, hovering his hands over your hips.
“are you asking to touch them?” he nods, causing you to scoff. “you’re already all dumb and i haven’t even fucked you yet.” his hands grip your hips, sliding your cunt over his length.
“then do it,” he whines out, letting his head fall back. “please, mommy.” you sigh, lifting up your hips and lining him with your entrance. you sink down on him slowly, adjusting to the feeling and wiggling your hips. all the while he’s a mess, trying to keep his noises as quiet as he can — which is still quite loud, not like you’re complaining.
you lean down to his ear, “you sound so pathetic.” you laugh, your breath hitting his skin causing him to shiver. your wiggling turns to grinding, which turns to bouncing. it left him a mess, gripping onto your hips like you’d disappear if he didn’t. he couldn’t stop the whines and whimpers of ‘mommy’ leaving his lips.
he lets his head fall into your neck when you tell him how loud he’s being. that laugh you let out every time you embarrass him is hypnotic. it’s like it commands his body to let go and fully be at your mercy. it leaves him feeling even more embarrassed, as he’s fought off being the small, inferior one. but the embarrassment you cause is good. it’s so bad and humiliating but it leaves his cock throbbing in his pants every time.
“i can’t,” he breathes out. “i can’t hold it. ‘have to-”
“hold it.” you snap, tangling your hands in his hair to pull his head back. you look him in the eye, “or you’re going to go again. and again, and again if your pathetic dick betrays you. you’re going to make me cum too.”
he nods frantically, letting his eyes fall to where your bodies connected. that was the wrong move, the sight alone had him cumming without even trying. you watch with an amused look at his face, scrunched up in a silent moan. his body shook and his grip got tighter before his arms fell.
he pants heavily, slowly lifting his head to look at you. “sorry mommy.” he purses his lips, unsure of whether to use the name or not. he grunts when you slide off of him quickly, too quick. you laid beside him and tugged his body on top of yours.
you took note of his dazed look, erratic breaths and flushed face. he was so dumbed down, but you couldn’t have him thinking mommy’s a liar?
“cmon,” you nudge his side with a laugh. his glazed over eye meets yours with confusion. “aww, you didn’t think i was serious.” you coo, running your thumb over his cheek. “i’ll use you as my own sex doll until i get what i want.”
his face flushed a deep cherry red, but he gets the message. and even though he’s so fucking sensitive, and so dumb, already unknowing of what to so, he slides into you again with a hiss. his thrusts are erratic, messy, and fast. you can’t help but giggle, causing carl to grimace. he couldn’t tell when you were laughing out of joy, or if he was doing something dumb again.
“mommy please, quick.” his rushed voice gave away his approaching orgasm. his face buries into your neck, lazily biting at your skin. “can i touch?”
you hum, letting out a moan when he hits a certain spot. but he’s so far gone he misses it, unlike before when he would’ve taken notice of anything that made you feel good. “touch where?”
he breathes out, letting his head come out from its hiding spot to watch what he’s doing. he shakily trails his hand down your body, landing near your clit. “here?” you move his fingers so they’re in the right spot, muttering something about how dumb he’s being. he feels his face heat up and he swore he could cum from your remarks alone.
he circles his fingers, starting slow but eventually speeding up to match the speed of his cock inside you. he whimpers, watching as he pumps in and out of you in awe. he looks up at you, using his free hand to hold onto your waist. “close, mommy? please tell me you’re close. i can’t hold on and i can’t go again.”
he babbles into your ear, losing his composure completely. he nearly screams out a ‘thank you’ when you tell him to cum with you, his hold on your waist near bruising as he does. he can’t even move, slumping down onto your body. his arms wrapping around you to hold you close.
he hears you chuckle, and he curses his body for reacting the way it does. but all you do is grab his hat, placing it back on his head from whenever it had fallen.
“there you go, my pathetic cowboy.”
#carl grimes x reader#carl grimes fanfiction#carl grimes x y/n#carl grimes x you#carl grimes#carl grimes smut#carl grimes oneshot#carl grimes x fem!reader#carl grimes imagine#carl x reader#twd x reader#twd oneshot#twd imagine#twd smut#twd fanfiction#the walking dead x y/n#the walking dead x you#the walking dead x reader#the walking dead smut#the walking dead fanfiction
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you send me
— pairing: negan smith x fem!reader
— type: ficlet
— summary: negan comes to see his "favorite" girl in alexandria, only to find out she's incredibly sick and that denise has absolutely nothing to help her as she slowly slips away
— tags: negan pining, negan worrying, negan trying to annoy you bc like a little boy he can't just admit he has feelings for you, there is a flashback of the two of you dancing bc i'm a sap
— tw: rocky mountain spotted fever is mentioned, vomiting, medication being forcefully administered
— word count: 2,602
— a/n: in my canon, denise never dies | my twd masterlist | sam cooke song that's mentioned
The house is silent, as usual, when Negan comes through the front door. "Where is my favorite girl?" He asks with a chuckle, but the words float into thin air, no response coming back to greet him.
The only reason he even bothers coming to your domain anymore is simply to annoy you. Maybe get under your skin by making the offer for you to join his harem of wives...again.
In hopes of pissing you off a few weeks ago, he'd taken a batch of cookies you'd just boxed up fresh from the oven with a wink, saying it was 'property of the saviors now' and 'hope they taste just as sweet as you are'. He'd even rummaged through your fridge, stealing a Tupperware container of leftover pasta, before whistling to himself as he walked out the door, not bothering to close it behind him, Lucille slung over his shoulder.
You'd been none-too-pleased the afternoon you came home to find him napping on your couch. You knew the saviors were once again 'visiting', but hadn't been aware that Negan had come with them.
He'd been rudely awaken by you vacuuming the rug directly in front of him.
Not that he hadn't then made some comment about 'going upstairs and getting cuddly under the covers'. You'd yelled that you couldn't hear him before deciding you wanted to try the vacuum against your hardwood floors next.
He never bothered taking anything of true use to you anymore, though. For one, it was due to the fact that his men had all but wiped out the whole of Alexandria the first time they'd come. But the most significant reason? The real one? The first time he'd met you, you'd been the only person to call him out on his bullshit straight-away. And with no fear, at that. Well, none that you clearly showed to him, at least.
He'd entered your neat and tidy little home, you emerging from the hall, doing your utmost to hide just how afraid you were as he looked you over for a moment.
"S'cuse me, doll, but," he leaned in toward you, despite being halfway across the room. "Your husband home?"
You crossed your arms over your chest out of a desperate attempt to hide your shaking hands. "I don't have one."
His brows raised then. He set himself on a barstool, setting Lucille atop your recently-cleaned countertop. "Really?" He asked with interest.
You hadn't replied. You'd simply opted for standing there instead, and staring. Afraid of saying the wrong thing.
"Not much for talking, huh? I like that in a woman," he said with a brilliant smile.
You briefly thought that perhaps he was just a male chauvinist. But that didn't seem...quite right to you. No. This behavior—it wasn't real. It was a defense. Just a façade. Right?
You walked over to the sink, starting on the dishes you'd left soaking overnight. You had a dishwasher, but pods for them were rationed. And, while Eugene had even taken a shot at it, he hadn't quite perfected the formula for them to not create kitchens full of suds just yet.
Negan watched you, taken aback by your lack of attention toward him. "Well, guess I'll just take myself on a trip upstairs and start lookin' through your-"
"Are you always like this?' You asked quietly, scrubbing a pan.
"Pardon me?" He asked, pretending to be curious as to what you meant.
"It's an act, right? Just a persona you've created to make yourself seem like someone other men might want to follow. To make yourself feel powerful."
A muscle in his jaw feathered. "Maybe this is just my natural form, darlin'."
You'd set the pan aside to dry on your dishrack, then you glanced at him over your shoulder. "I hardly believe you were...whoever this is before."
You felt tempted to start making guesses as to what, exactly, he did before the outbreak, but knew that was not a good idea.
"Think you know me?" He'd asked, voice a tad more serious.
The pot in your grip nearly slipped from it. Afraid of him hearing your voice shake, you'd instead merely shrugged.
He got down from the barstool, sliding Lucille off of the counter—you knew he'd just covered it in scratches—before coming to stand beside you. So close you could feel his body heat.
"Go ahead, take a guess. Try and read me."
You look up at him and he's looking down at you with an amused smirk.
Your next question catches him completely off-guard. "What happened to you?" You'd asked it barely above a whisper, brows furrowed.
His features shifted, his smile disappeared at the look of pity in your eyes when you gazed up at him. He leaned in close and it took everything in you not to step back and away from him. "You're on thin fuckin' ice, girl."
The two of you had stayed like that for awhile, him staring you down—you could swear he'd glanced at your lips, but it'd happened so quickly that you weren't sure—you doing your utmost to understand what the hell was wrong with him, until he'd finally turned his back to you, slamming your front door behind himself.
You felt lucky the small glass windows on it hadn't shattered from the force.
As Negan heads down the hall, he hears voices drifting down from upstairs. He tells himself that, if it turns out you're busy hosting male company, he won't care. But his hand still tightens around Lucille's grip, images of beating someone's face to a bloody pulp in his mind.
Heavy boots thump against the stairs, until he's reached the top step and sees Denise and Rosita standing on either side of the doorway to your bedroom. He nearly makes an inappropriate joke, until Tara leaves, walking past without even acknowledging him, as she wipes a tear from her cheek, going downstairs.
A heavy feeling settles into the pit of his stomach.
As he gets closer, Rosita blocks the doorway. She may be half his size, but she won't just let him in. Won't let him near you. Not while you're barely hanging on as it is.
"Get. Out." She spits at him.
He merely pushes her out of the way, not turning back as she shouts "Hey!".
Everything moves in slow-motion as he takes you in. Your emaciated form, the pallor of your skin which is covered in a rash, the sheen of sweat on your face, the shallow breaths escaping your lips, the rapid rise-and-fall of your chest, and your eyes as they keep opening and closing every few moments, your pupils seemingly dilated.
Denise walks over, checking your pulse, then glancing to the doorway—to Rosita—shaking her head.
"What's wrong with her?" Negan's voice—his tone as serious as anyone in Alexandria has ever heard it— breaks the silence.
"She's sick, pendejo," Rosita replies with vehmence.
He lets the insults slide. He has more pressing matters at-hand.
He shouldn't have waited so damn long to come visit you again.
Why had he waited so long?
He sits on the edge of your bed, gently, as if he's afraid any sudden movement may harm you. He looks at Denise, waiting for an answer.
"She went on a run a few days ago. She said she just...wanted to get outside...for whatever reason. Didn't seem like herself. And not long after coming back...she developed a rash, a fever, headache-"
She's interrupted by you doubling over the side of the bed and Negan quickly picks up the empty trash can you're aiming for, but all you manage to do is dry-heave.
Denise continues, arms crossed. "Vomiting—but because she can't keep anything down now, she refuses to eat. Hasn't done so in two days"
He sets the trash can back on the floor, smoothing hair away from where it's now stuck to your damp forehead.
"She has Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever. She must've gotten bit by a tick. Something so small..." She trails off. "She doesn't have long left without medication."
Daryl, Rick, Michonne, Rosita, Abe, along with a few others, had torn apart what local pharmacies they could find, but the drug was scarce—nowhere to be found.
Negan turns back toward her. "What does she need?" He asks, tone harsh.
"Doxycycline. We used to keep it in-stock here."
"Why the hell don't you anymore?"
Rosita replies with a sneer. "Because your people took all of it!" She shouts, unable to hide her contempt for the man.
A pained look flashes across his features. He then turns back to you.
This was his fault.
If you died...your blood would be on his hands.
He won't let that happen.
He leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, not caring if they see. As he pulls away, he sees that your eyes are now closed. "Just get some rest, sweetheart. I'll be back soon."
As he exits your room, he grabs Denise by the elbow. "Tell me what you need and I'll make sure you get it." He looks at her. "No strings attached."
Not that you'd ever know, but as you slowly recovered, Negan had been on a damn tear at the Sanctuary. Once he'd had the medication you so desperately needed delivered to Denise—along with anything else she asked after for you—he demanded to know, from his men, why they had taken so damn much, leaving you all with nothing to help yourselves with.
They'd told him it's what he had wanted—what he'd ordered. He really just wanted someone else to blame for you nearly losing your life over needing a damn antibiotic.
He'd gotten a lot of use out of Lucille against some walkers near the back fences for a couple of days.
He had delivered the medication himself, and watched as she began to administer treatment to you, even if you fought her at first, thinking she was trying to feed you again.
He'd had to—reluctantly—help hold you down as she practically forced the pills down your throat.
You'd stared at him wide-eyed and terrified, no sense of recognition in your gaze as you looked up at him. Something about that—you having no idea who he was—broke something small inside of him.
He'd merely muttered that he was trying to help. That you'd get better soon and this would all make sense. That it would all be okay soon.
He hadn't left until you'd fallen asleep once it was dark. Had nearly told Rosita to shove it when she'd come to check on you and saw him there at your bedside, watching over you.
After that night, Negan had to be away for a few days, tending to business elsewhere, even if he'd been chomping at the bit to get back to you.
When he finally came through Alexandria's gate, however, he'd pulled up right outside of your house, practically bounding up the steps to get up to your bedroom.
And when he did, his knees nearly gave out from the sense of utter relief that washed over him.
You were sitting up in bed, eating—a tray in your lap with vegetable soup and crackers on it, a glass full of juice next to it—your free hand holding a novel open as you read.
A natural flush now graced your cheeks, your rash all but gone, and you looked well-rested.
You set your book down, looking at him leaning in the doorway, a small smirk on his lips.
"See you're all better."
"I hear I have you to thank for it."
He'd merely shrugged, pulling the chair that'd been returned to its rightful spot across the room in front of your desk, around to the side of the bed once more.
He rested an ankle over a knee. "Just a bottle of pills."
"And food, water, juice, and anti-nausea-"
"Going to list off your whole damn inventory here?"
"All of that came from yours," you replied, taking a sip of your soup, licking your lips.
He tells himself seeing you do that does nothing for him.
He doesn't reply to that statement. Merely looks at the window across the room, then back to you. "Just glad you're recovering."
"Are you?" You take another sip.
His brows furrow. "Why would you ever think otherwise?"
You shrug. "You like to pretend you don't care about anything—not individuals, at least—so-"
"Maybe you're the exception," he states, completely serious.
You'd only ever seen him so deadpan one other time.
He'd come over late, the sun just beginning to set.
You'd been sitting at your dining room table, pushing food around your plate, lost inside your head. You hadn't even noticed he was inside your house until he sat down across from you. "Not gonna make me a plate?" He asked, leaning back.
You hadn't even looked at him.
Instead, your features had darkened, and you'd retreated further inside yourself.
He'd known by the look in your eyes that something was deeply wrong.
He'd leaned toward you then, forearms resting upon the table. "Talk to me, Y/N. What happened?"
"Go away," you'd said quietly, but firmly.
Leaving you alone like that was the last thing he intended to do.
"And leave you to brood all on your lonesome? Not likely."
A tear slipped from your eye and you'd quickly wiped it away in irritation. "I don't want you here."
His lip had twitched. "Join the club."
The both of you had been quiet for a moment until he'd spoken again. "Listen, I don't know if it's something that happened today, or a long time ago, but I'll listen if you-"
You'd picked up your plate then, stood—your chair scraping against the floor—before smashing it on the ground.
You sat back down, slumping forward, elbows resting on the tabletop, burying your face in your hands as you began to cry.
He'd stood after a moment, walking over to the record player in your living room, browsing your selection of music until he settled on a particular song.
He'd walked back over, shrugging off his leather jacket before holding out his hand toward you. "Dance with me."
You'd quieted, looking up at him, giving him a look like he was insane. "What?"
"Give me your hand."
Instead of waiting for an answer, he'd reached down, sliding his palm against yours, pulling you up from your seat.
Just as he'd gotten you halfway to the living room, you'd pulled your hand free from his.
He'd turned back to you, but you'd merely began beating your fists against his chest. And he let you. Let you push him, slap and punch. He could take it. Wanted to if it made you feel better—by any extent.
Until, finally, you'd calmed enough that he pulled you against him, wrapping his arms around you as the two of you swayed back and forth.
You'd cried against his chest, small sobs wracking through your body as Sam Cooke sang about wanting to marry and take someone home.
Finally, you reply to Negan's comment about you being an exception to him.
"I bet you tell that to all your girls."
"No. Because none of them are."
The two of you sit in silence as you finish eating, him taking your tray as you lie back down to rest.
You swear you hear him say something quietly about missing you as he stands in the doorway—about to head back downstairs—but you don't catch it as you fall off to sleep.
#fic: twd (negan smith x reader)#negan x reader#negan x you#negan x y/n#twd x y/n#twd x you#twd x reader
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alexandria is the break you've been yearning for since shit hit the fan.
an independent walled and gated community is exactly the place to catch your breath. the past eighteen months had been a blur of grit and gore; you deserve to decompress in a pretty house, not that you spent all of your time in your new settlement inside. you made a point to take judith on daily walks.
you're returning from one of your new routine walks to get judith down for her afternoon nap when you find olivia - the neighbor lady who ran the armory and the pantry - on the porch, greeting your name.
“hi,” you reply with a smile, bolstering the cooing baby on your hip. “what do i owe you the pleasure, olivia?”
“i’ve been meaning to get over here ever since shane brought it up to me-,” you pause. “-i wouldn’t mind having another set of hands around the armory at all, especially with the background shane mentioned you had.”
you purse your lips. “thanks. could we talk about this another time? maybe after the weekend? i’ll stop by.” you gesture to the little girl on your hip. “it’s just that i want to get her down now so her routine isn’t all out of whack later tonight.”
olivia nods, glasses bouncing a bit. “of course. come see me whenever you’re ready.”
you’re smiling and thanking her again before crossing the threshold with a huffy chest. it takes patience on your part not to slam the door but with judith in your arms, you slowly close it.
why would shane sign you up to work in the armory? is he stupid? you ponder. he didn’t even ask if you wanted to do something like that. you dismiss the thought the best you can and just focus on getting judith to sleep.
thank god for the blackout curtains jessie had sent over. judith sleeps like the dead with those things drawn.
a little rocking and the dark room do well to help the infant fall asleep in no time. that allows you to meander down the living room and hear the door swinging open.
"babe, we're back.”
you perk your head up when you see shane and rick come through the door. “hey, guys,” you forget to ask them how their day’s been when you see their new uniforms.
you have to pick up your jaw when you see the two men dressed in matching constable’s uniforms. you and shane hadn’t been dating for long when the world went to shit. he’d met you right after work before, even picked you up in the cruiser before but you forgot how strapping he looked in a uniform. brown and form fitting, you’re thanking the constable’s office inventory for stocking such flattering apparel.
you almost forget the frustration you’re harboring - the anger that had boiled, all because of how his ass looked in those brown fucking slacks.
“good to see you,” rick says with the same tone he had back on the side of the road when he helped you step back into your underwear.
“good to see you too,” you repeat, biting your lip.
a smirk appears on shane’s lips once he realizes you’re checking out their asses as you take their coats.
"why don't you head upstairs? we'll be up in a few minutes."
you nearly drop the jackets from your arms. “for what?” you ask, playing dumb.
rick is wordless and shane just smiles at you, hooking his thumbs in his belt loops. “you’ll see. we’ll see you soon enough.”
the bedroom is your next destination.
you’re tiptoeing up the stairs as not to disrupt nap time. those light treading feet are carrying you straight to the bed where you crumple into the comforter.
long was your day, longer would be your night. this is by virtue of the fact that you’ll have to ask shane about why olivia was about to onboard you to work in alexandria’s armory. and you’ll probably get split in half by an eight inch cock by the end of the night. you decide to put off your conversation with shane when your mind wanders to the newly clean shaven constable downstairs.
god, did he fit those pants wonderfully.
the man had been on your mind ever since this situationship of sorts emerged between the three of you - sans labels. awkward as it seemed, given all of your histories.
and then there’s shane.
don’t get you wrong, shane would give you the world if he could. whatever it would take to keep you nice and happy and purring “yes, shane” at his every word. he goes to greater lengths not just for your safety but for your convenience.
the man who’d circled back on a run after realizing he didn’t bring back your favorite brand of tampons. then again when the tampons be found had cardboard applicators. the one who held you at night in your shared cell back at the prison, kissed you and petted your hair, nuzzling as close as possible and telling you it would be alright. the man who trusted you to take care of his baby girl.
the one who had taken the time to give you not one but multiple masterclasses on firearms, shooting, and gun maintenance. he insisted that you know how to take care of yourself if it ever came down to and it boy, had it come down to it. more than once, you’d found yourself aiming your pistol and being forced to make a split second decision. the same man embraced you and reassured you in the aftermath of your beretta’s rounds claiming your first non-walker kill.
the man who’s about to fuck you into the mattress with his best friend.
you try to hold onto that thought as you shimmy out of the blue levi’s, deserting them on the floor thoughtlessly in search something cozier. digging through shane’s newly filled dresser drawers seems like an easy enough solution.
speak of the devil, he walks in with rick while you’re appraising a pair of gray sweatpants with a georgetown insignia on them.
“thought you had your own sweats.” shane’s behind you in an instant. just like rick, he’d noticed the way your sweatshirt falls to your thighs. “why don’t you just save those for later and let me help you take the rest off, huh?”
a telltale smirk takes over your face. a slant back into shane tells him all he needs to know.
he waits to toss you over his shoulder and situate you on the bed before he's yanking your boy briefs down your legs and brushing your clit with his fat finger. it's only natural that he's chuckling into your skin when you tense beneath him. prodding and playing with your newly awakened nerves, shane still managed to signal rick over to begin a maddening campaign, attacking your flush skin with their lips.
the lips on your that skin feel so deliciously inviting that you disregard how tender they turn you.
of course, shane is the one that can’t stand to wait.
“down you go, pretty girl.”
in an instant, he’s behind you with a finger in your pussy. you want to be upset that he's not still paying attention to the blushed out surface of your body but you’re too preoccupied with the hand in between your shoulder blades, encouraging your forearms down to the mattress. shane’s maintaining his grip on your hips and propping them up to send your ass straight towards the ceiling.
the moment that you feel a warm tongue, licking painfully slowly, and thoroughly towards your center, your hips jerk. shane is already bracing them, cooing, “easy, girl,” into your thigh before continuing the languid assault on your lips.
the lips on your face are pecked, if only briefly, by your boyfriend’s former crimefighting partner. licking your lips, you’re wishing he would circle back to connect your mouths again when a sharp sting interrupts your thoughts.
“fuck!” you cry into the comforter.
the obvious culprit is already testing the skin of your ass with his palm again. another yelp has blue eyes boring down, as if trying to memorize each moment you react - so expressively - to shane’s ministrations.
“what was that for?” you question, rotating your head to stealth a glance at him.
“fun.”
you’re about to tell shane about his idea of fun before a final slap and a sudden return to teasing your core spurs you away from the thought. pressure and heat course through you; shane just raises your internal temperature with a purposeful finger. you're whimpering at just the first stretch. past your throbbing rings of muscle, shane weaves a path with a single finger.
a heaved out moan has shane licking his lips. “gettin’ worked up off my fingers, baby?”
you nod. without a doubt.
another finger continues the mission of prying your tight cunt open for the men that would be taking turns with you until you’d come all over both their cocks. knuckle deep inside of you, the pressure is going to kill you before that third finger does.
“shane,” you’re hissing when he adopts a pace that has you clawing at his two fingers. “why are you being so aggressive with your fingers?”
“weren’t you complainin’ that it was ‘too much,’” he denotes with air quotes, “last time?”
rick seems to give you some breathing room at his friend’s taunt. he slinks back like his massive cock wasn’t the reason you’d been a sobbing mess in cowgirl on top of him the night before your group had reached noah’s old community in richmond.
you’d come so pornographically hard around him that you swear it’d been in your top five orgasms. but your cervix was still shot.
rick felt guilty. so guilty that he hasn’t fucked you since. only your mouth. of course he treated you to his mouth, his perfect tongue and his hands but you crave him inside of you. the thought of it with shane’s two pronged touch has you nearly grinding up the bed.
“fuck, shane,” you’re mumbling into the comforter, fists clenching when another finger worms into you.
“you ‘bout ready, baby?” shane asks, placing a strategic stripe down your clit as he fully buries his middle three fingers in you.
“mhmm.”
“wanna ask?”
a steady sentence isn’t going to come out of your mouth with how shane’s thrusting his fingers in and out of you. “please,” you sputter when he entrenches his fingers deeper inside of you.
“what was that?” the condescension in his voice has you squelching around his fast moving fingers.
you’re blushing at rick who has a hand on his cock and is staring straight into your teary eyes. “i want you to fuck me now, shane.” you don’t break eye contact with rick. “please.”
another smack lands on your reddening backside and suddenly those pleasure granting fingers are digging into your hip and you feel shane’s girth at your entrance.
“what do you want, baby?” shane asks. “you want me to fill you up?”
“yes, i want it so bad,” you’re begging through pouted lips.
rick doesn’t miss your doe eyes or how you moan shane’s name as he fulfills your fucked out request and fills you. even someone in the hallway can hear the wet sound from shane teasing your leaking cunt.
a few experimental strokes and shane is already balls deep. he didn’t heed the same new code of chivalry rick had adopted upon finding a hint of blood on the tip of his dick. that experience made you want to pull your hair out. stupid fucking cervix, you’d thought, ruining me getting fucked. rick didn’t usually treat you to such a pounding but the road did that to one. besides, he was freshly addicted to your cunt.
the electric feeling from how he’d taken you with shane that first time reignite as your boyfriend adjusts himself to brush against your g-spot. the fucked out look on your face can’t be missed as you let shane shovel his hips into you and closer to the only finish line you’d ever had no problem crossing. just like rick had plowed you into the mattress of the barracks you’d all stayed at in norfolk.
these thoughts of rick can’t escape you - even with shane groaning your name. the swats to your ass just go straight to your cunt and do little to rouse you from your daydreaming about the man lining himself up with your mouth.
yeah, you’re out of your mind already and he doesn’t even have his dick inside of you again.
“so good for me, baby,” shane’s gasping, his hand sliding down your ass to brace your thigh and fuck you deeper. “so good for us.”
rick nods, fingers pushing your hair out of your face and letting you take your time with him in your mouth. you hollow your cheeks and rock forward with shane when he cants into you. he’s gazing down at you as if this is the prettiest he’s ever seen you.
you could keep your eyes on him forever if it weren’t for the orgasm searing through you. it’d built up as you backed into shane and imagined how full rick would have you feeling - how connected, how close you’d feel with him inside of you.
“should’ve knocked you up back at the farm.”
god, that would’ve been inconvenient. you just focus on the pleasure you’re receiving and how you’re in alexandria with two men amazingly attractive men. it’s not the time but then again, shane doesn’t give you much of a choice with how revved up this whole coming in you business seems to be getting him. you can’t lie; it’s affecting you too.
so much that you’re nearly protesting when rick withdraws his twitching cock from between your lush lips, less than when shane pulls out of you. you won’t be protesting about what comes next though.
the first time rick had fucked your pussy you’d been whining, and you’re doing the same thing now.
“you wanna get on top?” shane questions, requiring you to repeat yourself before rick leans against the headboard.
still snickering at the whine that came out of you, your boyfriend helps to lift you and lower your hips onto rick who’s sprawled on his back, bronzed curls against the propped up pillow. rick hisses when his tip makes contact with your drowning heat again.
shane doesn’t waste any time. his hands are off you so he can situate himself on the bed to accommodate the best view of you two.
unfortunately, you’re not in shane’s lap so rick has him beat for the best seat in the house. or do you hold that seat?
your boyfriend hadn’t seemed too worried about you sliding too far down onto rick but rick was. his hands are firm on your hips - holding them in a semi-permanent place, only maneuvering for you as you rotate your hips down onto him.
“rick,” you rasp, wrapping your arms around his neck. you want to hear more from him so badly - to hear him panting your name. that’s your goal when you hurry your hips against him. you can tell that he’s hesitating, holding you back at first until you wiggle enough for him to allow you to break free.
grinding onto him, you watch a puffed out series of breaths escape his mouth. not missing a beat, you reposition your hips to sink deeper, hissing with rick and leaning into him. that’s when your clit begins to explode with pleasure from the friction.
“fuck,” you’re chanting. “fuck, that’s good. feels so good. fuck. fuck, that’s perfect.”
“dirty girl.” shane is teasing.
“just feels so fuckin’ good,” you’re twisting on top of rick, angling yourself against his pulsing member to stimulate all the perfect parts of your pelvis.
“is rick fucking you good, honey?”
you nod, having been given full license to be honest about how rick is making you gush.
“how good?” shane asks, hazel eyes on you while you ride rick.
your lip quivers. you feel rick thrum inside of you. “soooo good.” you’re saying in the lust addled way only you would. “you both make me feel so on.”
shane’s cock jumps and rick is picking up the pace. whatever motion your clit’s endured against rick is nothing once he crescents his fingertips into your sides. nice and deep, rick is threatening your cervix again but you don’t need to worry because he’s just taking the scenic route to your g-spot.
the same spot that’s making your toes curl and you chant for rick. “i’m close again,” you warn him. your head is falling onto his shoulder, blocking shane from view.
“you’ve got it, almost there, sweetheart,” rick rumbles into your ear.
his now gravelly voice against your ear has your cunt tightening. teeth pressed into your shoulder, you yelp and moan when rick brushes the flesh of your skin with his teeth. the purple marks being sown onto you will bloom later on but you don’t mind. not when your legs are shaking and you’re whimpering, “god, rick, you make me feel so fucking good.”
and suddenly you’re being fucked through your orgasm face down.
“so jessie cut your hair?”
rick nods and you’re hyper aware of how short his hair is. he’s so polished too. not that it’s terribly difficult to be after traveling on the road for so long.
“i liked your long hair. you should grow it out again.”
the new constable raises an eyebrow, leaning up on his forearms to sit up. “gotta’ shape up at some point.”
you would argue but shane’s distracting you with kisses to your shoulders and promises of morning sex already. you’re not distracted enough to miss rick’s weight absent from the pliable surface.
rick rises from the bed and you whine.
“i want rick to stay.”
shane scoffs. he extends his brawny arms across the bed. “baby, there’s barely enough room in the bed for the two of us.”
you shake your head, sitting up on your knees. “i think we can make it work. please,” you take a breath. “i just feel safer with you two in bed.”
“honey, there’s no room.”
“okay, i’ll just sleep on top of him then.”
you end up basically on top of rick - not that he minds. the night is spent with cuddled up into his chest; shane cupping the occasional hand around the curve of your ass.
weirdly, you’re falling asleep in no time. the steady thrum of his heartbeat lulls you. sleeping on top of rick might have to become a part of your bedtime routine.
shane wants you to pull a hostile takeover of the armory.
you stand with your arms crossed, giving the man one of your signature frowns. "why would i want to keep an eye on olivia in the armory?"
shane looks at you as if it's obvious. "it's good to have a hand on things," he explains, sighing your name. "it's good to have someone on the inside, in case..."
"-in case what?" you question.
shane stares at his feet.
you smolder. "you seriously can't be expecting to have to seize their guns, shane. we just got here for christ's sake."
"it's not even like that, baby," shane says, trying to walk back his conspiracy plots from you. “i just would feel better having you there. besides, it’s not like it’d be all the time and you could learn more about gun storage, whatever you want now
“that doesn’t sound like whatever i want, it sounds like you’re shoving me in the armory.”
“baby, you don’t have to do anything, i’m just sayin’-,”
“i’ll work in the armory if you stop giving me shit about going hunting.”
shane frowns af you. “now, you know that’s different.”
you cross your arms. “it’s not. i need a change of scenery, maybe some greenery to be specific.”
shane presses a flexed hand against the wainscoting he’s leaned up against. he shakes his head. “maybe once we know things are stable here, but for right now these people are far less capable than we are. i’d feel better with you in the armory.”
you want to ask him to consider what you want for a change. you honestly want to tell him to go fuck himself but then you remember.
ah, the thing that you want. the man that you want. the man you can only have with shane’s smirking approval.
so you just smile, walk over and take him by surprise, planting a kiss on cheek and telling him you’ll start tomorrow. it’ll all pay off in the long run.
the welcome party is a success.
if not for the fact that shane didn’t kill spencer just for saying hello to you, then for the fact that you got trashed.
so trashed that rick had ended up hauling your ass home when you hurled in one of deanna’s planters and shane was too embroiled in a push-up contest with abraham to even think about heading home. not that shane had ended up any better. the man drank so much johnny walker that even he came home and passed out face first in the bed bedside you.
you’re hungover the next morning, so hungover that rick moved you out of shane’s bed and into his to hang off the edge and puke your guts up.
rick even roped carol into coming over to cook and watch judith while you and shane recovered.
he even brings you soup.
“damn, look who’s still out of it.”
seems shane had recovered.
“she drinks like she’s still in kappa delta.”
rick rubs a circle or two into your back. “what’d you say? you won’t puke all over your bed, will ya’?”
when you’re well enough, you patter downstairs
“you’re looking better.”
“thanks, carol,” you return her jab with a wry smile.
“so,” the gray haired woman braces her hands on the picnic table at the base of the orchard. “are you going to help me with these apricots are what?” your gaze falls from the woman to her basket and circles back to the trees overhead. “the apricots came in early here. what do you think of apricots in march?”
you shrug. “i really don’t know much about fruits,” you admit as you take the chestnut colored basket into your hand.
it’s so odd seeing carol in her little pseudo-mr. rogers act, costume and all. the cardigan and capris paint a picture of the picture homemaker - a real martha stewart type.
and one of the most tactful, five steps ahead of you types that you’d ever met.
you wonder if this carol had laid dormant for some years.
the two of you work through the trees, plucking the precious fruit that was ready for harvest and leaving the rest.
“so, you having fun playing house?”
your mouth gapes open. you nearly drop your basket and waste quite a lot of apricots.
carol snorts at you. “i’m just kidding.” she sends you a look like you’re incredulous or something. “do what you want.” you pluck an apricot from the tree before you. gossamer head tilting when your apricot picking partner speaks again. “but just keep your priorities straight.”
you stiffen. that’s not what you were expecting. maybe some more sage or cunning advice is what you thought would be coming out of her mouth. priorities? you don’t wanna think about them. the priorities that you’ve been saddled with.
you moan someone about your hangover and muddle through the rest of your apricot picking, trying to keep your mind from defining your priorities.
the two of you part when at the sidewalk in front of your porch, with her last words to you being:
“you be careful.”
“gonna have to go out and find a king sized bed if rick’s gonna be stayin’ over this often.” shane comments and rolls onto his side to face you.
you shrug. “i’m fine with the arrangement the way it is.”
“yeah? sleeping on top of rick?”
you continue brushing your hair. “beds are hard to come by, especially great gigantic sized beds.”
“i’m sure there’s a king somewhere.”
“yeah.”
shane’s eyes don’t leave you as you set your hairbrush down on the vanity and tie it back. he’s even closer once you settle into your spot on the mattress. arms clutch you into him and lazy patterns begin to materialize on your skin, from massages into the nap of your neck to a dull squeeze of your ass. it makes you feel easy - subdued almost by shane’s unhurried touch. but you’re still wound up. you don’t know how you can be anything else nowadays.
"night, baby," shane mumbles into your ear.
"night." you reply, eyes focused on the single beam of moonlight tumbling through the window.
with rick down the hall, you won’t be sleeping tonight.
#the walking dead#rick grimes#shane walsh#rick grimes x reader#shane walsh x reader#rick grimes smut#shane walsh smut#twd#twd smut#twd imagine#rick grimes imagine#rick x reader#shane walsh imagine#shane x reader#not beta read#f/m/m#moodboard#twd moodboard#rick grimes moodboard#shane walsh moodboard#the pt 2 no one asked for#blowy#p in v sex#constable rick#shane warning!!#shane survives au#please excuse the multiple hair colors in the moodboard#sorry this is rushed! the next installment will be much more hq#grimesgirll boards#grimesgirll
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Whumptober 2023
No. 10 “You said you’d never leave.” | No. 13 “I don’t feel so good.”
Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader
Setting: Alexandria (Saviors War)
Warnings: Illness, Descriptions of injury
It had taken you all day to get ready. The war with the Saviors was coming and you, as well as everyone else, were prepared to end it. Rick had a plan, one you knew your partner wasn’t willing to follow. Still, you had tried to reason with him.
He wasn’t okay after what he had been through. He was lost in his lust for revenge. He wouldn’t let you be there for him, pushed you away harder than you were willing to allow. You were trying to pick up his broken pieces and cradle them until you could help him put them all back together. But he had slapped them from your grasp with venomous outbursts before cold silence.
He was your everything. He was hurting in a way he hadn’t since he was a child, and no one could reach him. Not even you. You knew you’d be there when he was ready, but you were done begging. If the both of you lived through this, you’d catch him when he fell. There was no sense telling yourself otherwise.
Right now, though, you were angry. You were angry and you were tired. And it was time to end this and give Daryl the peace he needed to heal. You would do this for him. You would single-handedly raze your way through each and every Saviour to get your hands around Negan’s throat and rip it out. For Daryl.
You threw your pack onto your shoulder, packed full of supplies that you never normally carried but still not as heavy as your heart. With a glance around your home, the one you had hoped to share with your archer when he was back, you were ready and you opened the door.
Daryl was there. He was standing on the porch with his back against the support post, nervously tapping his fingers against the wood. His head immediately snapped up, your eyes locking.
“Y/N.” It came out as an almost whimper. There was more on the tip of his tongue, his mouth moving but no sound emerging. You remained stoic as he began to approach you, a slight wobble to his gait. When his arms encircled your shoulders, your anger couldn’t withstand the tremble you felt in his embrace.
The bag slipped from your shoulder to fall heavily to the floor just inside the doorway, your own arms weaving around his middle. When your small hands splayed open on his back, you could feel the heat radiating beneath his shirt.
“Daryl?” You tried to pull away, just enough to look at him, but he wouldn’t allow it. If anything, he held tighter.
“Ya said ya’d never leave.” God, he sounded tired. Resigned, even. Your heart shattered. Had you really given him that impression? With careful steps, you led him over the threshold without separating, grateful that the action hadn’t spurred him into retreating.
Using your foot, your bag was pushed aside and the door closed. You carefully released him and gripped his forearms to encourage him to do the same for you. He let you without a fight. During the process, his expression was pained, as if you were denying him the comfort he was finally seeking.
“I’m not going anywhere. It’s okay.” Slender fingers still loosely held his arms and guided him to sit on the couch. The coffee table became your perch. With the looming war all but forgotten, you needed to get a good look at Daryl.
The two of you hadn’t spoken in days but you’d received reports that your friends had seen him during all hours of the day and night. He wasn’t sleeping. If the intel hadn’t confirmed that, the discolored circles under his eyes would have. There was a sickly pallid to his skin under the thin sheen of sweat. The archer continued to tremble, the damp strands of hair covering his fever-flushed face seemed to vibrate.
“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” Your voice remained steady, though you felt anything but inside.
“Yer pissed… gon’ leave me.” He was slurring, his gaze almost vacant. “Ya are, aren’tcha?” His brow furrowed, dull blue eyes searching for a moment before finally locating your worried ones.
“Pissed? Or leaving?” You could answer both with certainty, but keeping him distracted allowed you to brush back his hair and press a palm to his forehead. Definitely feverish.
“Gon’ kill ‘em. Me an’ Tara, we got us a plan.” The bowman carried on like you hadn’t even spoken. “Gon’ kill ‘em all.”
“We’ve talked about your plan, Daryl.” The attempts to coax his eyes back failed. There was a twisting in your gut that something more was happening. He was sick, that much was obvious, but since when did Daryl get sick. Perhaps the trauma he’d experienced had impacted his immunity? No, that wasn’t it. You could feel that there was more. “Don’t you remember?”
“I kept tha’ picture.” His tone had changed, almost void of emotion. “They made me look. Kept it so I don’ forget.”
“Daryl, baby, you’re not making any sense.”
His head turned toward you at the pet name, eyes looking clearer than they had even mere seconds prior. You found yourself almost leaning away, lest you drown in the high tide of raw emotion in those azure pools.
“Daryl?”
“Y/N, I—” His brow knitted but he didn’t look away. You nodded for him to continue, watched him take a deep shuddering breath. “I don’ feel so good.” There was no time to interrogate him about his symptoms. The words had no more than slid off his tongue when his eyes rolled back and he slumped toward you.
“Shit!” You caught him under his arms, only remaining off the floor because of the close proximity you had taken in front of him when you had sat down. “Daryl?” Your left hand moved to cradle the side of his head as you stood and guided his descent across the couch. Lifting his legs up was difficult but you managed, caring little for the effort it required. Your hands hovered over him, not sure where to begin, but the symptoms: fever, weakness, sweating, confusion. Had he… was he bit?
You grabbed his arms, lifting each to examine up to the rolled-up sleeves. You couldn’t see his biceps, so you’d have to remove the shirt. Grasping his chin, you turned his head toward you and then away, checking his neck. When you started on the buttons of his top, the corner of the gauze that covered his gunshot wound peeked out from beneath the fabric. What should have been a clean, white dressing was dirty and yellowed.
“Oh, Daryl.” You knew before you even pulled back the taped edge. While you were relieved it wasn’t the death sentence of a walker bite, infection in these times was nothing to play with. His shirt was wrestled off and pulled from beneath him, tossed somewhere. You’d find it later. “Jesus.” You whispered, removing the bandage completely and tossing it aside. The skin around the wound was angry, such a deep red that it appeared nearly purple. The poorly sutured wound was leaking puss, both yellow and almost green. Had he been to the infirmary at all since his escape?
“Goddamnit!” If he wasn’t in such a poor state, you would have shaken him awake just to knock him out again. You shoved yourself from the floor and began to pace. What could you do? Nearly everyone had left the walls to go fight. Shit! The war was happening without you.
Daryl groaned behind you, bringing your steps to a quick halt. The battle was suddenly absent from your thoughts. He didn’t wake, only turned his head back and forth before settling again. His breathing wasn’t labored. He hadn’t coughed. Maybe if you opened, cleaned and debride, and restitched the wound, you could buy some time to find antibiotics in the infirmary. Luckily, everything you needed for this was in your bathroom upstairs.
You began the ascent to your room. “Oh my god, Daryl Dixon, I’m going to murder you when you wake up.” Oddly enough, the threat came out in more of a high pitched whimper than an actual promise of bodily harm. Items in your cabinets and drawers were meticulously organized for this very reason. You had all you needed in less than a minute and were back at his side and placing things on the coffee table.
You could only pray he’d remain unaware. You’d given Daryl stitches before and he’d barely grunted at you. His tolerance for pain was incredible, hence the terrible mess in front of you. You just weren’t sure how a fever-ridden Daryl would handle having his skin cut open and away while it was so terribly inflamed.
“Okay.” You situated yourself on a chair from the dining room, bringing it with you after washing your hands. Daryl was still fully unconscious but you leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek anyway. “Here goes nothing.”
Over an hour later, you had done all you could. You had cut away any tissue that appeared necrotic, cleaning out the yellow with some vodka before suturing the wound. It was significantly larger now but the stubborn asshole would just have to deal with that. At least it looked cleaner than the disaster made of it at Sanctuary. The mess had been cleaned up and the wound wrapped. A pillow had been placed beneath his head, his boots removed, and a blanket spread over him. You sat on the floor now, your back against the couch and your head in your hands.
The streets outside were so quiet. It was unnerving. The sky was darkening and you found your thoughts wandering to the war you had missed and how many people’s deaths your absence had been responsible for. Would the Saviors come barging through the door to drag you and Daryl to Sanctuary? Maybe they would just shoot you both on the spot. Or would Rick come yell at you for ditching them before telling you of their victory?
Either way, you couldn’t have been there. There was no way you’d leave Daryl like this, even if it was the most cooperative he had been since breaking out of that hell.
“Y/N?” His gravelly voice rasped out behind you.
You twisted onto your hip and then onto your knees, one hand wrapping around his that lay on his chest and the other smoothing back his hair. “I’m here.” His eyes were barely open and he was still hot to the touch, but he seemed calm and lucid enough. “Just waiting for everyone to get back and we’ll get some antibiotics for you. Have you back on your bike in no time.”
“Wha’ happened?” He blinked slowly but didn’t appear to be struggling to stay with you.
“You didn’t take care of yourself, dumbass.” You admonished gently even when you wanted to yell and throttle him for scaring you. “Your wound was infected. Had to do some fancy field surgery.”
“Oh.”
Your eye twitched at his flippant response but you sucked in a deep breath through your nose and got yourself under control. “Think you could drink some water for me?” He gave an almost imperceptible nod. Your water bottle was beside your leg, and you were much too tired to get up so sharing was caring. Cap off quickly, you wiggled a hand behind his head and pulled him up just enough to drink a few swallows. Once he was settled again, you brought his hand to your lips, kissing the too warm skin stretched across his knuckles. “You know I’m not leaving, right? Not now, not ever.”
“I didn’ know.” He admitted, his eyes slipping closed.
“Well, now you do.” You smiled even though you had forty different emotions warring inside your head. “We have to start working through this, Daryl. Together. You have to let me in.” That pretty blue peeked out from behind his heavy eyelids again.
“I don’ know how.”
Your heart twisted inside your chest, an invisible vice squeezing and squeezing until there was no more room to beat. So much progress since the quarry and Negan had taken it all away.
“You just talk and I’ll listen. I don’t understand how it feels to survive what you have but I can try. I want to try.”
“Then I’ll try too.” He lifted his left hand to your face, fingers tracing down your jaw. “M’tired.” You already knew he was losing the battle to keep his eyes open. The rest would do him a world of good.
“Just rest.” There was cheering outside, but you couldn’t be sure who had come through the gate. Until Carol threw open your door, panting and concerned eyes wide. Her gaze flittered between you and Daryl. You jerked your chin toward the porch, sending her there until you could step out for a moment to give and receive updates as well as tell her what was needed from the infirmary. When the latch clicked, you looked back to Daryl, his eyes slipping shut once more. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”
#whumptober2023#no.10#no.13#“you said you’d never leave.”#“i don’t feel so good.”#the walking dead#fic#illness#major injury#daryl dixon#daryl dixon x reader#daryl dixon fanfiction#daryl dixon x y/n#daryl dixon fanfic#daryl dixon x you#daryl dixon x female reader#daryl x you#the walking dead daryl dixon#twd daryl dixon#daryl fanfiction#daryl x y/n#daryl dixon drabbles#daryl twd#daryl dixon imagine#daryl dixon twd#daryl dixon the walking dead#the walking dead daryl#twd daryl#daryl x reader#sick!daryl dixon
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📰 | part seven: capulet.
info: Carl Grimes x Saviour! Reader, father figure Negan my love, enemies to lovers/slow burn, kinda angst but not emotionally yet, graphic violence, attempted sexual assault, um this got kinda dark, also long.
summary: Once again, you are tasked with babysitting Carl, this time leaving Alexandria to find supplies. An unsuspecting attacker causes a rift in your feud.
eesh this is intense but also very succulent to write i LOVE LOVE LOVE some action!
also thank you all for 150+ followers!!! pls continue to send ideas to my inbox i’m absolutely eating it up <3
You’re really starting to get sick of this heat.
It’s sweltering, sticking your clothes to your skin, sweat patches running down your back and dampening the white tank you usually wear.
In favour of not being bitten, you wore the typical black jeans, which are doing absolutely nothing to combat against the unbearable heat.
Unfortunately enough, there isn’t any air conditioning in the Sanctuary, so you’d agreed to return once more to Alexandria with your father.
It had been a few days since your last impromptu visit, a week, actually. Though you’d previously been frazzled, irritated, you took the time to cool off and work through some pretty ugly emotions back at home.
Now, it was down to business, which meant giving strict orders to Saviours on where to check, what to take. Making sure everybody wrote things down, followed their routine.
“Woah, woah, woah! What do we have here?”
Your head snaps in the direction of Negan’s voice, who is standing at the gates, leaning against an old, beaten down car with the engine on. As you approach, the familiar outline of a sheriff’s hat comes into view through the rear window, and you almost want to turn away and forget you even saw anything.
“Now, I sure as shit hope you weren’t planning on leaving unsupervised.” Negan jousts at the teenage boy, still leaning against the passenger side.
It doesn’t take a genius to figure out where this is leading, and you shoot your father a tired little glare. “Can’t Dwight do it? Or, I dunno, anyone but me?” You plead, not exactly in the mood to be in a confined space with Carl once more.
For all you knew, he might swerve off the road to try and kill you.
Negan doesn’t let this slide, “Nope! You’re an excellent babysitter, doll. Best girl for the job.”
You bite your tongue against any sort of protest, still having not revealed the true extent of your last encounter with Carl. It would only cause unnecessary stress, you deducted.
At the beginning of this whole apocalypse, Negan had been cagey about letting you do just about anything. It only took a one bad incident to turn on his protective mode, and you felt like maintaining your freedom for a little longer.
“Fine.” You sigh, but instead of climbing into the passenger side, you skirt to the other end of the car. “Out, now. Leave the keys.”
Carl glares at you with an open mouth, clearly displeased about not only having his trip hijacked, but now being ordered around. “I can drive.”
“Don’t care. I’m not gonna risk you goin’ AWOL.” You tell him, unfortunately deadly serious, much to the boys’ dismay.
With an angry scoff, Carl departs from the drivers side, instead getting into the passenger chair. You sit down, leaning over to adjust the seat in order to ensure your feet would reach the peddles.
With Negan gone, having departed to keep a keen eye on the Saviours, you reach into your belt and pull a small handgun from the holster. This catches Carl’s attention, as he’s never seen you carry a gun before.
You hand it to him.
“One bullet,” You instruct, tone more serious than he’s ever heard from you. “Don’t fuck this up. It’s emergencies only. You’re lucky I don’t just let you die out there.”
He accepts it wordlessly, not wanting to push that very thin boundary.
The sweltering heat is worse in the car, harsh metal keeping the thick air inside, and you doubt it had any working cooling system.
Luckily, this proved to be less of a problem as you begin driving, the air whipping past your faces and offering a slight relief.
Carl gave you directions, but after the third instruction, you were beginning to get a little fed up.
“Why don’t you draw me a map?” You suggest, one hand on the wheel while the other brazenly fishes around in your back pocket, managing to pull out a small notepad. “Then I don’t need to listen to your voice.”
“What, like you can read?” Carl comments, a snide remark that contrasts the fact that he does take the notepad, flicking through pages in order to find an empty one.
His eyes are drawn to the little graphite sketches that adorn the pages, his thumb tempted to swipe the paper back and have a peek, but he resists.
A few moments later, and Carl hands the notepad back to you, which you hold in front of the wheel in order to get a good look. Your brows furrow, finger tapping against a strange looking blob.
“What’s this?”
Carl leans closer, brows pinched as he looks at the drawing. “A tree.” He says, as if it were obvious, despite the artwork being significantly less than professional.
“Okay?” You take your eyes off the road, giving the boy a confused, critical gaze. This only feeds into his temper, where Carl suddenly takes the notepad from your hands, drawing a few more scribbled lines on the so-called ‘leaves’ of his tree.
“So you know where to turn,” He specifies, like this would solve all of your problems, “At the end of the road. There’s a tree.”
You struggle to find your words for a moment, unsure how the simple action of drawing a map has just made this more confusing. “There are trees everywhere, dumbass. That isn’t helpful.”
“Well, yeah, but it’s a big tree,” Carl scoffs, throwing the notepad back onto the dash, opened so you can see it. “This wouldn’t be happening if you just let me drive.”
“Oh! Okay,” You turn to him, “I would have let you drive, had you not tried to shoot me. So, fairs fair, asshole. This is your fault.”
“I said I was sorry!” Carl retorts loudly, uncaring of how you’re no longer looking at the road, or about how fast the car is travelling.
You roll your eyes, “That doesn’t count. Murders don’t get let off scot-free just because they said two puny words.”
“That’s barely comparable!” He continues to push the conversation, all that pent up anger and frustration towards your adamancy against him starting to bubble up. “It’s not my fault that you’re, like, deranged or something.”
That was it.
You slam your foot on the breaks, sending the car skidding a few dangerous meters ahead. In that time, you brace yourself against the steering wheel, but Carl jolts uncomfortably against the seatbelt.
“What the fuck—”
“Get out.”
He looks at you like you’re actually insane, trying to decipher whether or not you’re being serious. But you only stare at him, glaring actually, jaw clenched in irritation.
“Get out!” You tell once more, needing Carl to get the message that you simply can’t be around him anymore. Not with all the arguing and bickering, it was getting on your last nerve, and you just needed some space to breathe.
With a huff, Carl obeys, but not without slamming the door shut. You run a hand raggedly through your hair, starting the car up once more and placing your foot on the accelerator.
“Fuck you!” Carl yells as you drive off, giving you the finger in hopes that you’ll see it in the rear view mirror. You probably didn’t, but it makes him feel a little better anyway, like he got the final word in.
But as the car disappears against the horizon, he’s left there, on the dusty road in that horrible summer heat. Sweat already sits on his nape, making his shirt uncomfortably sticky, and now he’s tasked with walking the rest of the way.
All because of your tantrum.
With the advantage, you make it to the abandoned gas station in record time. Thankfully, it wasn’t too far from where you’d ditched Carl, so you knew that he would be fine walking. You weren’t that cruel.
It’s relatively run-down, and you can only spot a few walkers mingling near the store’s back end. You keep your bat held tight, stalking through broken glass and tipped shelves to find anything of use. Whilst you don’t know what Carl had in mind for this trip, you could make a few assumptions, and managed to collect a small pile of minimal medical equipment, snacks, and even some baby food.
It was peaceful, actually.
Maybe a little too peaceful.
Slinging the bag of supplies over your shoulder, you approached the car once more, intending to drive the way back and pick Carl up along the way. He shouldn’t be too far off, at this point. You lean over, starting the ignition and popping the boot open, letting the supplies rest there.
But as you circle around, something catches your eye. A shiny glint on the ground. You poke it with your boot, only to realise that it appears to be a small razor blade.
Dread floods your system, and as you bend down to inspect the peculiar object, it hits you.
The tires, each one of them, have gone flat. Air completely let out, slashed. Unusable.
No escape.
You clench your jaw, rising to your feet once more, the metal bat still in hand. Someone was here. With what intentions, you didn’t know, but you could assume it wasn’t good.
Cautiously, you take a few steps backwards, towards the gas station. You watch the open space ahead of you, eyes steady on the treeline, inspecting for the most minute of movements that could betray the whereabouts of this potential attacker.
Except it doesn’t come from behind.
One steady thunk and your head is colliding with the concrete wall, to which the shock causes you to drop the baseball bat, one hand clasping the wall and the other digging your nails into the wrist of your attacker.
A firm hand has collected your hair, gripping onto your ponytail, fingers pressed into your scalp. You fight and squirm, but the body of a much larger man presses behind you.
With your stuff in the car, you can only imagine what he might want.
Despite this, you don’t scream, teeth clenched as you struggle to evade his grip. A harsh stomp to his foot assists your escape, where you’re able to land one solid punch square to the man’s jaw, before his leg swipes your balance out, sending you crashing to the concrete.
You almost twist onto your stomach, but the attacker is too quick, once again fisting your ponytail and slamming your face into the ground. One, two, three and you finally stop struggling as vigorously, blood and mucous caked all over your face, mixing in with chipped cement and dirt from the floor.
But the baseball bat is so, so close.
There’s one hand still in your hair, another on your back. Now waist, then stomach. Gross, burly fingers circling the button of your jeans.
A singular moment of weakness is all you need, where he’ll let his guard down, and you can leap for the bat.
Unfortunately, you know what form this weakness comes in.
You’re panting like a wild animal, trying not to squirm, carefully calculating your next move until suddenly there’s a loud pop then whistle that whirs past your ears, the sound almost making you flinch, before the weight of your attacker slumps against your body.
Crimson blood drips down onto your shoulder, coating your neck and back, the cold shock helping you regain enough consciousnesses to shuck the dead body from your smaller frame, scurrying out from underneath him.
The pavement is searing hot against your palms, you can even feel the burn through the thick material of your jeans. As you sit up on your haunches, looking around, you spot him.
Carl, crouched behind a few bushes, tentatively lowering the handgun.
One bullet.
As he begins to approach, you wipe some of the blood onto your arm, smearing the disgusting gunk further around your skin, which is still persistently dripping from your nose and mouth.
Gravel has surely made its way into the open wounds, but you do nothing about it. Not now, at least.
Carl approaches you slowly, putting the handgun back into his holster, and that genuine look of concern on his face makes you feel sick.
When he gets close enough, arms reach, you bristle and firmly shove him away, sending him stumbling a few steps backwards.
“The fuck did I say?!” You yell at him, directing all your rage and anger towards the corpse lying at your feet, back at Carl. “Emergencies only. What happens now, huh? I don’t have another bullet!”
He looks completely shell shocked by your outburst, not having accounted for such a reaction. But it doesn’t matter, as you’re still shouting, even as he stands there dumbly and watches.
“I had that under control!” You grunt, once again wiping at you nose, which runs with a mix of snot and blood.
When you garner no reaction from Carl, this frustration only continues to fester. You lean down to the ground, swiping up the baseball bat and clenching it hard in your palms.
You approach the body once more, and with one hefty swing, completely obliterate the man’s skull. Later, you would claim this was being proactive against potential walkers, but in the moment in was nothing more than revenge.
When you’ve entirely crushed the skull, you move on to the neck, spine, arms, torso. Anything. There comes a point where you’re no longer hitting to destroy any evidence of what happened, but hitting simply to feel some semblance of control. Blood spurts onto your jeans, some even reaching your tank, a darker colour that contrasts with the bright red of your own.
“Hey, hey. Cool it.” Carl is saying from behind you, and when you show no acknowledgment of his words, he reaches out to place a hand on your shoulder.
You shrug it off, but otherwise drop the bat, letting it clang harshly against the concrete, rolling a few feet away and leaving a gorey trail.
At this point, you try to clear your head, take stock of the situation. The tires are slashed, deeming the car useless. It was beginning to enter late afternoon, and though the days were hot, the nights were freezing. Not only that, but all this shouting has likely attracted whatever walkers you’d hoped to leave unsuspecting.
Finally, you spare a glance back at Carl, who’s been watching you this whole time. It looks like he’s on edge, waiting, ready for whatever you’re about to do, however irrational. A few specks of blood have made its way onto the sleeves of his flannel, where you realise how close Carl has been standing to you, even during the little outburst.
“Fine,” You mumble, answering his unspoken question. “No point heading back. Best push the car into some shade, camp out there for the night.”
Carl takes this as permission to contribute, though he still speaks to you with a level of cation. Mentally, you accept this as fear, but you know very well it’s actually concern. “I know the area pretty well. There’s a cabin not too far off, it was clean last time I checked.”
It’s reasonable, even if the idea of following Carl into the woods makes goosebumps rise on your skin. You’d rather not, especially now that he’d used the sole bullet, which you had none of on hand.
You chew on your busted bottom lip, nodding, accepting this makeshift plan. “Yeah, okay.” You sigh, almost sounding defeated, but nonetheless you pick the bat off the ground and stride back away from the gas station, not bothering to consult Carl any longer.
This was going to be a long night.
#carl grimes x reader#the walking dead x reader#twd x reader#carl grimes#negan smith x reader#twd x you#carl grimes x you#negan smith#the walking dead
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Party
Rickyl x fem!reader
Content Includes: angst, use of "slut", Alexandria era, pet names(babygirl, sweetheart), hurt, happy ending, suggestive themes
WC: 894
You and the rest of your group had just arrived at Alexandria and the leader, Deanna had decided to host a party welcoming you all. You and Daryl really didn't want to go but Rick convinced you and then if you had to go so did Daryl so here you were getting ready in one of the bathrooms. You felt silly dressing up like this in the middle of the apocalypse. You finished getting ready, emerging from the bathroom in a short, tight black dress with an extremely low neckline showing off your cleavage along with a pair of kitten heels and a little bit of makeup. Your hair was freshly washed and so were you. You spritzed on a bit of perfume before heading downstairs to join your boys.
You noticed Daryl dressed nicely in a blue shirt and jeans sitting on the couch. You look around noticing Rick isn’t there.
“Where’s Rick?” You ask.
“Already at Deanna’s” he replies looking you up and down.
“Ya sure ya wanna wear that?” He questions.
“Yeah, what’s wrong with it?” You ask hurt that he didn’t like the effort you put into your appearance.
“Nothin. Just a little revealing ain’t it?” He replies.
"What are ya saying?" you ask defensively.
"Nothin. Let's go." he says and you head out the door with him behind you.
You arrive at the party and beeline for the table full of drinks. You grab a cup and make your way through the crowds of people. Everywhere you turn is a new face greeting you as if this was just a normal party not some stupid thing in the apocalypse.
You end up in a corner and as you're looking for anyone from your group a guy that you recognise to be Deanna's son walks over to you.
"How are you liking it here?" he asks.
"It's nice. Different but nice" you reply stiffly hoping he'll get the message and leave you alone.
He continues talking and eventually, you zone him out locking eyes with Rick across the room. You don't even notice how Spencer's hand is on your shoulder.
"I should go. It was nice talking to you" you say with a curt nod.
He grabs your arm.
"Got two guys and yet ya gotta dress like that to get attention" he says.
"Let go of me," you say trying your best to sound stern and not scared.
"I could treat you so much better. Fuck ya right" he growls.
"Get away from me!" you say a little louder than you intended to. Immediately Rick and Daryl are by your side.
"She said leave" Rick growls as he glares down the man.
"Woah. Okay. You know where to find me if you change your mind" he says and walks away.
"This is why ya shouldn't dress like that." Daryl rasps.
"Like what?" you ask.
"Like a slut" Rick answers. Your eyes go wide and before you know it your running as fast as you can out of the house. Daryl and Rick try to follow you but Tara and Rosita who overheard everything stop them.
You end up at a small pond and that's when you collapse onto the ground below. Tears pour down your cheeks as you reply their words.
Slut. Is that really what they think of you?
You stay there for what feels like forever until you finally decide to head back to the house that your group was sharing. When you arrived most of the group was there. Daryl and Rick immediately walked over to you but you just pushed past them and went upstairs to change. You look at yourself in the mirror. Mascara-stained cheeks and red eyes. You remove your makeup and change into a baggy T-shirt and shorts.
You make your way downstairs and over to Tara. You lay down beside her and she doesn't question it. You look at her, tears threatening to spill and she pulls you in for a hug. You sniffle into her shoulder and she smooths your hair.
What you don't know is that Daryl and Rick feel terrible about what they said and you not sleeping next to them hurt.
You get no sleep that night and neither do they.
You get up before everyone else and head outside. Rick and Daryl notice and follow you.
You see them and are about to stand up to leave when Rick places a hand on your chest to stop you.
"Don't. Please. We're so sorry for what we said. We didn't mean it. You looked beautiful but we aren't okay with sharing you with anyone else. You meet his eyes and can tell that he is sincere. You then look over at Daryl and see that he feels the same way.
You grab your boys into a hug and start to cry.
"Don't cry, babygirl" Rick whispers.
"We have a little time before everyone else gets up" he suggests.
You pull back and look at them before nodding and before you know it your over Rick's shoulder and the boys are taking you inside the house and upstairs.
You end up in one of the bedrooms and Rick lays you down on the bed while Daryl locks the door shut.
"What do you want, sweetheart" Rick asks.
"Both of you. Now" you demand, which Rick and Daryl both laugh at.
"Anything for you" they both say in unison.
#the walking dead#rick grimes x reader#twd#angst#fluff#suggestive#daryl dixon x reader#rickyl x reader
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there was Chinese interest in the Out Of Asia theory, in both the Republic, Chiang Republic and People’s Republic periods before the Out Of Africa theory became commonly accepted. Was the 1954 Yeti expedition done just from the Nepalese-Indian side or were the American agents and “anthropologists” given access on the Sino-Tibetan side of the Himalayan border?
During the early part of this century, it was absolutely believed for a long time that the deserts of Western China were the most likely place of human origins, as seen in this migration map from 1944, made from the best available knowledge of the time:
Remember, the oldest fossil remains at this point were in China, where Homo erectus was discovered (originally known by his initial place of discovery in Chungkotien Cave, nicknamed "Peking Man"). The discovery of Australopithecus and Homo habilis in Olduvai Gorge and South Africa, which place human origins in Africa, were not until the 50s and 60s, so it seemed entirely reasonable that Homo sapiens evolved in Western China.
The idea that China's desert regions were the origin of modern humans and culture is seen a lot in pop culture from 1900-1950, mainly because there were tremendous explorations in the region, especially Aurel Stein's expedition of 1908, who ventured into the Taklamakan Desert to find the Dunhuang Caves and Khara-Khoto, a city destroyed completely by Genghis Khan and vanished in the desert.
If you've ever heard of Roy Chapman Andrews and his famous expeditions in the 1920s, it's worth noting that he ventured into the Gobi Desert looking for human remains....not dinosaurs, and the discovery of dinosaur eggs was an unexpected surprise.
For that reason, there was a short lived Silk Road Mania that seemed to be a smaller scale predecessor to the pop culture dominating Egyptomania of the 1920s. It's bizarre to read adventure and fantasy fiction of the 1910s-1920s that features mentions of Silk Road peoples like the Kyrgyz, Sogdians, Tajik, Uigurians, and Tuvans. The best example I can think of would be the Khlit the Kossack stories of Harold Lamb (who also wrote a biography of Tamerlane), which together with Tarzan and Tros of Samothrace, formed the core inspiration for Robert E. Howard's Conan the Barbarian.
The most interesting example of this would be A. Merritt's Dwellers in the Mirage, which featured a lost city in Xinjiang that was the home of the Nordic race, who worshipped their original religion, the kraken-like squid devil god Khalkru. It was widely believed in this era that Nordics emerged from Central Asia originally, and while it's easy to write this off as turn of the century racialist claptrap pseudohistory (along with Hyperborea legends), in this case, it is actually true: a branch of the Indo-European family lived in West China, and 5,000 year old redheaded mummies have been found in the region. As usual, A. Merritt was right on the money with his archeology, more so than other 1920s authors. After all, his "Moon Pool" was set around the just discovered ruins of Nan Madol, the Venice of Micronesia.
Jack Williamson's still chilling Darker Than You Think in 1948 was also set in the Silk Road/Central Asian region, as the place the race of shapeshifters emerged from, Homo magi, who await the coming of their evil messiah, the Night King, who will give them power over the human race.
H. Rider Haggard set "Ayesha: the Return of She" (1905) in Xinjiang, among a lost Greek colony in Central Asia (no doubt based on Alexandria on the Indus, a Greek colony in modern Pakistan that was the furthest bastion of Greek Culture). This was also two years after the Younghusband Thibetan Expedition of 1903, where the British invaded Tibet. At the time, the Qing Dynasty was completely declining and lost control of the frontier regions, and the power vacuum was filled by religious authority by default (this is something you also saw in Xinjiang, where for example, the leader of the city was the Imam of Kashgar).
This is one of the many British invasions they have attempted to cram down the memory hole, but if you ever see a Himalayan art piece that was "obtained in 1903-1904" ....well, you know where it came from.
Incidentally, there's one really funny recent conspiracy theory about paleontology, fossils, and China that I find incredibly interesting: the idea that dinosaurs having feathers is a lie and a sinister plot spread by the Communist Chinese (who else?) to make American youth into sissy fancylads, like Jessie "the Body" Ventura. How? By lying to us and making up that the manly and vigorous Tyrannosaurus, a beast with off the charts heterosexuality and a model for boys everywhere, might have been feathered like a debutante's dress. What next - lipstick on a Great White Shark? The long term goal is to make Americans effeminate C. Nelson Reilly types unable to defend against invasion. This is a theory that is getting steam among the kind of people who used to read Soldier of Fortune magazine, and among abusive stepfathers the world over.
...okay, are you done laughing? Yeah, this is obvious crackpottery and transparent sexual pathology, on the level of the John Birch Society in the 60s saying the Beatles were a Communist mind control plot. Mostly because animals just look how they look, and if it turned out that the ferocious Tyrannosaurus had feathers and looked like a fancylad Jessie Ventura to you, well, that's your problem and mental baggage, really.
I was left scratching my head over this one. But there is (kind of) something to this, and that is that a huge chunk of recent dinosaur discoveries have been in China. I don't think it has anything to do with a Communist plot to turn American boys into fancylads, but more to do with a major push in internal public investment in sciences in that country, and an explosion of Chinese dinosaur discoveries. If you want to see a great undervisited dinosaur museum, go to the Zigong Dinosaur Museum in Sichuan.
Pop quiz: what living scientist has named more dinosaur discoveries? It's not Bakker or Horner. The greatest living paleontologist, Xu Xing, which is why a lot of recently found dinosaurs are named things like Shangtungasaurus.
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