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@marlxy-blog
marlxy liked for a starter
( onelivingpiece )
’ watch your step. ‘ unless she wants to step in walker guts, that’s none of his business.
At this point, Marley is seriously thinking about puking. Or perhaps crying. Or maybe even both. And she doesn't really care whether or not she steps in a pile of guts; she's eighty-two percent corpse blood at this point, anyway.
❝ Thanks. They smell like.. ...well, death, I suppose. ❞
If you’re not upset over Beth Greene’s Death in the msf the just imagine Carl sitting in the back of the fire truck holding Judith and waiting to see Beth again and to see her holding Judith but then he hears Maggie screaming and he just knows andall he can do is hold Judith a little tighter because Beth never will again
[ v; ash and dust. ] -- the walking dead (main)
When the outbreak began, Marley left college and made her way home as soon as she could. There, she found her family locked away in their attic, starving and terrified of the gunshots tearing up the street outside. While leading them towards the army base in the center of town, Marley's father was bitten. Once she found out, Marley's father took her to one side and begged her to take his life -- being a devout Christian, the very thought of becoming such an "abomination" made him sick to his stomach -- and, with trembling hands and tear-stained cheeks, Marley did as she was asked.
By the time she locked her father away somewhere safe from the corpses and made her way to the military base, her family were gone, and the soldiers gave her no clues as to where she might find them.
Since then, Marley has spent a few days here and there with groups along the way -- before filling up her backpack with food and ammo in the middle of the night, and bolting without so much as a goodbye -- but, for the most part, she has been, and is currently, alone.
❝ —————don't mention it. ❞
( stranger danger )
"This ain’t the safest neighbor hood right now - I’d get outta here pretty quickly - "
❝ I'm not sure there's a single safe neighborhood anywhere, these days. Do you think so? ❞
( daryl. )
He’s looking her in the face, but her image is growing blurry. A tear sneaks out of the corner of his eye, slips down his cheek. Carl’s gone. Glenn, Rick — he doesn’t know where they are, if they made it out. Maggie’s dead. Carol… …he’s not thinking about her. Not yet. Not now.
Daryl lowers the crossbow. He can’t do this. There’s been too much death, and the air still reeks of decay and rotting teeth and metal, and his legs feel weak and he can’t see the girl clearly anymore and he’s so, so fucking tired.
”Slide yer weapons to me, an’ stay there. Y’understand me? ’f you try an’thin’, I’ll kill you.”
She freezes, inches from the floor, staring up at the stranger with wide eyes. She has seen the dead come back to life, rotting corpses attack her every day, she's seen people who are still alive attack and murder and worse, but this? This man is unlike anything Marley has seen since this whole thing started.
And, honestly, she has no idea how to deal with it.
❝ Okay, okay. I'm not gonna try anything. Okay? ❞
Looking at the guy, Marley really doesn't think he would kill her, even if she tried to run. But she'd really rather not take the chance, not with the sticky hot blood coating the denim around her wound, not with the wound throbbing painfully, a silent air raid siren, calling her red blood cells to arms.
So she stays where she is, kneeling on the ground, hands raised just slightly above her head, lungs tight, heart hammering in her chest, so loud she can hear it her ears, feel it in her fingertips.
She stays, and she tries.
❝ Are you... okay? Do you need some help? You seem kinda... ❞
unstable.
out of ammo. my boyfriend's brother keeps resetting the internet because it's not running fast enough for his xbox and it's frustrating as hell help.
❝ Okay, okay, W H O A . Please don’t shoot! ❞
one, two, three and four the devil's knocking at your door caught in the eye of a dead man's lie
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+ independent original character for the walking dead fandom + semi-selective + seven+ years experience. + multiverse, multifandom, multiship friendly. + oc, au, and canon-divergent friendly.
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( stranger danger )
❝ No catch, ma’am. ❞ No catch at all. Maybe he’s not meant to live in this kind of world. Maybe his self- lessness is going to get him killed some day. All he knows is that he feels good when he can help others. If he’s not going to die at the hands (or teeth, rather) of the undead, then surely, what’s going to be his demise is his habit of giving food away to nearly anyone that asks. So he reaches out with that can in hand, offering it to her. ❝ I just.. I don’t know. I like being able to help, is all. ❞
❝ Are you serious? ❞
Marley could kiss him. She has absolutely no idea who the hell he is, but she could damn well kiss him. She hasn't eaten since the early hours of yesterday, and now the sun's beginning to set, and her stomach is protesting so grotesquely, she can barely focus.
Carefully, so very carefully, she steps forward, hand outstretched, ready to take the offering gratefully. Long, slim fingers wrap around the can, and once again, Marley looks at the stranger like she can't quite believe he exists, let alone gives food to anyone he meets.
❝ Wow, thanks. Really. So, I was thinking about trying out that Walmart a few blocks away. Would you wanna——— I mean, if you're running low on food, maybe we could team up ——————...or something. ❞
( stranger danger )
He’s far too selfless to deny someone food. But he’s been running low for a while—the internal battle might actually be evident on his features as his gaze drops briefly. After a moment, he scrunches his nose. ❝ Yeah. Uh, not much, but I got some. ❞ Dmitri takes a moment to lean over, rummaging through a duffle bag. ❝ I got a can of those weenie things.. ❞
She pauses, eyebrows shrugging down over her eyes as her head cocks just half an inch to one side as she considers his reply. As soon as it registers in her head, though, her eyes widen just slightly, and a small smile graces cracked lips.
❝ Wait. REALLY? ❞
Before she can get too excited, however, the reality of the world they're living in kicks in, and she hesitates.
❝ What's the catch? ❞
( stranger danger )
❝ You, uh—really scared me a bit, miss. ❞ That said, he lowers his gun, slipping it back into its holster. ❝ Sorry. ❞
❝ My bad. ❞
She lets her shoulders relax just slightly, still wary of the stranger in her midst, though she refrains from arming herself for the moment. Her stomach snarls at her, reminding her of why she entered the building.
❝ Don't suppose you can spare any food, can you? ❞
❝ Okay, okay, W H O A . Please don't shoot! ❞
( daryl )
No. No. He’s not fucking dealing with this right now. He just lost everything, he lost—— he lost the guns, and the food, and the car, and he—— he lost… people, he can’t do this right now, he can’t do this.
“——————get on the ground! NOW!”
Did she really think that was going to work? No. But, as she throws a glance to her left at the exit, she really doesn't think she's going to make it with the arrow currently wedged into her thigh. And, with the way this guy is acting, she's really not sure she can talk her way out of this, either.
Balls.
"Okay, okay. Please don't shoot."
With a wince, she removes her hand, wet with sticky blood, from her wound and raises them above her shoulders, moving very slowly towards the ground.
( derek )
Derek swallows dryly, and licks at his lips with a tongue that feels more like felt against his lips than anything else. Why should she? He doesn’t have a solid answer for her, but he needs one, and he needs one quickly, because he’s a foot or so away from surviving the week, but he’s staring down the barrel of a pistol, and one wrong word can have her pulling the trigger.
“Because…” He pauses briefly, trying again to swallow, to prevent his voice from cracking like the blood-stained floor tiles. “…you’re still human.”
That’s the best he’s got. There’s no room for charity, not anymore, and he knows that. Not even now, when this stranger is showing him all the kindness she can, and he’s so thankful for her selflessness. It’s still a foolish thing that she’s doing. She knows that too — she has to. He has to make it worth something to her.
“———and I can give you more bullets for that gun. Or the knife in my boot.”
Marley isn't sure what answer she was expecting, honestly. But it sure as hell was not that. It's true, though. She is still human; not just in the physical non-corpse way, but she's still kind, she's still compassionate, she's still human. And she's not sure if the stranger knows that or whether he just meant, 'hey, you're not a corpse,' but she very much takes it in the emotional sense.
She turns away from him, and tears open a box of granola bars, adding half of them to the pile of things she will allow him to take. Wait a minute. She pauses, turning back to look at the intruder, carefully assessing him up and down, taking note of both the weaponry he had on him, as well as the muscle she assumed was hiding underneath his clothes.
Before opening her mouth, she abandons the counter, keeps her gun firmly aimed at him, and quickly crosses the store to one of the boarded-up windows. She peers through one of the tiny slits between the boards; dusk. There's no way she's going outside now; not until morning. No way.
Slowly, Marley makes her way back to the intruder, coming to a stop four or five feet in front of him, her gun lowering a few inches as she takes in the sincere look on his face and makes her decision.
"Maybe we can help each other out," she suggests. "How are you at fighting the corpses?"
