#megjameswrites

[megjameswrites]

abandonment issues (loml)

Daryl Dixon x female!reader

pre-apocalypse, prison, pre-Alexandria time periods

Summary: Two times Daryl Dixon left someone behind, and one time he didn't. Just a random something inspired by a photo of a very young Norman Reedus with a backpack. CW: child abuse, physical abuse

Then

"Listen. I's leavin'. Cain't do this shit no more."

I'd known it was coming, but that didn't make it hurt any less. "Fine," I managed through the sudden weight on my chest. "Bye."

He sighed, hitching the strap of his bag higher on his shoulder. "Don't be like that."

"Like what?" I snapped, glaring. "Angry at being abandoned? Why shouldn't I be? Want me to be happy that you're leaving me alone here? Sorry. I'm not."

He tossed his head, an irritated jerk of his chin he'd picked up from Merle between his older brother's stints in juvie. "Merle ain't comin' back this time. Will's gonna kill me if'n I stick around, and you know it."

I did know it. But I also knew that school, home, this town- all of them would drag me into the depths if I didn't have my lifeline in the form of Daryl Dixon. We were the outcasts, inseparable, in trouble together always. How was I supposed to survive without him? I'd turn into my mother, a docile little barefoot bride in a run-down trailer, cigarette smoke staining the walls yellow-brown and always with a baby on my hip.

I was seventeen, and I didn't think Mom had stopped being pregnant or breastfeeding since I was born. I had too damn many siblings, too many small mouths I had to work to feed, too many bodies to wash and clothe. Mom was useless, too tired and bruised up from our daddy to do shit. And Will's favorite drinking buddy was too busy out back with a six pack and a carton of Marlboroughs to even think about caring for the brats he'd spawned.

But Daryl had it worse. At least my daddy'd never laid a hand on me or the others. Will, on the other hand-

I knew that bag along his back had to hurt like hell, given what Will had done to him last week, but all I could see was the empty future stretching out in front of me. "I know it," I admitted finally, scuffing the worn-out toe of my sneaker on the ground. "Go."

"Come with me."

I sighed, shoving a hand through my hair and ignoring the longing inside me at the thought. "I can't. You know that. Who'd make sure they eat? Take a bath? Get to school?"

"Ain't your job."

I shrugged. "Yes, it is. Same's it was Merle's. I should have been in juvie with him a few times, you know. I'm just better at not getting caught."

"Won't be juvie if'n ya get caught now." It was a familiar argument. All of them were, at this point, and that made it sting all the worse, antiseptic in the fresh wound of him leaving.

"I know," I said, suddenly exhausted. The weight in my chest had turned to lead in my gut, knowing I couldn't leave and knowing what would happen if I stayed. "I won't get caught, though. If you're going, you need to go. Will's gonna be up soon. So's my daddy. I need to get the kids to bed before they piss him off too bad and Momma takes a hit. Pretty sure she's pregnant again."

"She needs to cut his dick off next time he tries. Got enough kids already, ya cain't afford anymore." Daryl's lip curled in a disgusted sneer as he shot a glare toward the lighted windows of the trailer behind me.

"No shit," I agreed. "Dixon."

He shifted, looking down at his own worn-out boots and the tattered hem of his too-long jeans. "Come with me," he said again, quieter. Softer. Almost pleading.

"I can't," I whispered as the sound of the baby crying rose behind me. "I have to go. He's gonna wake up Daddy."

"Screw 'em. They ain't ya kids. Think of yourself for once, damn it!"

I paused with my hand on the door, bitter anger a lump that was hard to swallow. "I can't abandon them. Not like you."

"Ain't abandoning anyone but fuckin' Will," he snapped.

I looked over my shoulder as I opened the door, my daddy's voice shouting over the crying from the baby. "Are too. Me."

I disappeared before he could respond.

Now

I'd stayed behind, guarding the prison and Hershel and Beth and the kids. Always the kids, I thought bitterly, but this wasn't the siblings my parents had forced on me; the siblings child services had taken and scattered after my daddy'd taken his hand to my four year old sister when she'd tried to get between him and Momma. I'd gone to them then, because hell no was I gonna let him start knocking the little ones around like he did Momma. She'd made the choice to stay with him, told me a few days before that she couldn't live without him.

Well, I could. I did. I filed my report and I left, following Daryl's trail toward who the fuck knew where, since Merle was back from the damn Army-  dishonorable discharge, go figure- and had come looking for Daryl three months before.

And I followed the boys around, kept them alive and fed, and generally fucked around in a life I didn't want to live, but couldn't think of anything better after all. Not like I once had, when we were kids, before they'd both left and time and all those snotty noses and hungry bellies had worn me down to the point I'd taken the blows from my daddy when he'd started noticing I existed.

Six months of that and I'd been damn near the same shadow of a person my momma was. I understood her better now, for all I couldn't forgive her. The minute he'd started on another one, I'd put a stop to it. She'd never been able to do that.

Heard he'd died in a fire, with Will, sometime before all the dead started rising. Wasn't too put out by it, if I was honest.

But always, I couldn't help but put the kids first. Carl had just killed his own mom, shooting her in the head after Maggie had cut a baby out of her, and his dad was visiting crazy town and looking to apply for permanent residency, and I couldn't leave him or the baby behind to go on the rescue mission, no matter how badly I wanted to. He looked too damn scared.

So I watched Daryl go, and I stayed behind. Again.

Rick's car pulled through the gates and I wondered why it was hard to breathe. And then the car emptied, and there was no Daryl. There was Maggie, there was Glenn, both looking worse for the wear, but no Daryl Dixon, and-

"Hey. He's alive," Rick said firmly, his hands on my shoulders. "He's alive. He told me to tell you where he was headed, so you could find them."

"What?" I asked, not really understanding what he was trying to say. "Follow- what?""

"He left," Rick said, staring into my eyes. "We found- Merle was working with the Governor. Merle did this to Maggie and Glenn. I couldn't have him come back here, so Daryl- Daryl left. Went with his brother."

The world tilted and swirled, but I stayed on my feet. "Daryl found Merle. And left with him," I repeated slowly. "He left with Merle."

"Yes. He told me to tell you where we left them, and that he'd leave you signs so you could find them. But, please. Don't- don't leave. We need you. We need Daryl, too. We can't afford to lose anyone else."

Rick was pleading with me, staring into my eyes, but all I saw was Daryl at seventeen, bag hitched over his shoulder as he stared at his feet and told me he was leaving. "At least then he said it to my face," I murmured.

"What?"

I shook my head, trying to clear it of the memories. Left me behind, for Merle. Again. He'd followed Merle around when I would have stayed; left me behind alone to go fish Merle out of trouble.

He'd always choose his brother over me, I thought tiredly. That was fine. I'd always chose the ones who needed me more over him.

And right now, that was Carl. That was the baby. It was Hershel, missing half his leg; and Beth; and Carol. It was Rick, who needed his right hand. But his right hand had just left us.

So I'd step up, and take his place. "I'm not going after him. He'll come back. He always does," I said firmly.

Except when he didn't, I thought. Like when we were seventeen and he said goodbye and left me behind. And he'd done it again.

"And when he does, I'm going to beat his ass," I muttered as I turned away from the gate. "Twice. Merle's too."

Later

The storm had ended in the night, and it was quiet in the barn when Daryl's hand touched my shoulder. I woke instantly, hand going for my gun, but there was no threat.

He tossed hair from his eyes and grabbed my hand to pull me to my feet. "I's goin'," he whispered. "Come on."

I wrinkled my nose. "Why?"

He rolled his eyes. "See the sunrise, course. To scout."

"It's early enough to see the sunrise? Daryl, that storm last night would have taken out all of them. There's nothing to scout," I whispered, but I was following him as he made his way through the sleeping forms of our people and to the barn door.

Half-light made it possible to make out the damage, and I whistled. "Tornado?"

He grunted an acknowledgement as we picked our way through the downed trees and littered bodies of the dead. "Prob'ly. Shit."

"Yeah." It should have taken the barn out with it, I thought as I looked around. It was only luck that it hadn't. And luck- and him- that had kept the dead out of our little area of safety during the night as well. "Why'd you drag me out here again? There's nothing here."

"Cause ya don't like it when I leave ya behind. And cause that," he added, nodding toward the horizon as we emerged from the trees into a clearing.

The sun had started to rise, color exploding in the sky. He was right, I thought as I watched it. Not only about the sunrise.

His hand tangled in mine. "I ain't gonna leave. Know ya been worried about me, after- after Beth. But I ain't goin' nowhere. I promise."

"Good," I whispered, watching the sun. "I'll find you if you do."

"Won't have to," he countered. "Cain't do that shit no more. Leavin' ya. Nothin' and nobody could make me do that again."

"Excuse me?"

We both whirled, weapons raised. The man wore a poncho, carried a backpack, and had his hands in the air. "Hi," he said as we stared at him. "My name's Aaron. I have a community. Alexandria."

| Masterlist |

[megjameswrites]

someday

Daryl x reader, reader POV, witchy!reader, crystals

Summery: reader has a crystal necklace and a belief in the power of the shiny rocks. Daryl has an interest in reader and a mouth that sometimes gets him in trouble.

Atlanta quarry era

“Any rocks can protect if ya throw ‘em hard enough.”

“Whatcha always do that for?”

I blinked, coming back to earth abruptly to find myself twisting the chain of my necklace between my fingers. I stopped, heat flooding up my cheeks, and shrugged. “Habit, I guess. Didn’t realize I was.”

Daryl’s brow was furrowed, a small wrinkle as he stared down at me. I shifted under the intensity of his eyes, like I always did, and hoped he’d stop staring soon. I reached back up, fiddling again automatically, before shoving it impatiently under my shirt and staring down at my hands.

“What’s it about?”

“Huh?”

Articulate. Great. Fantastic job, I informed myself snidely. Oh well.

“The book. Seemed into it.”

Why was he talking to me? I wondered, a little desperately. He’d ignored everyone since he arrived at the quarry. Everyone except his asshole brother, that was, and spent most of his time in the woods killing things- not that I wasn’t grateful to be eating- and now he was…. Chatting?

“Oh. Um. It’s Dale’s,” I admitted, somewhat lamely. “Some thriller. Already figured out the killer.”

He scoffed, hint of a smile on his lips. “Ain’t a zombie, right?”

That got a laugh from me, and he cracked a bigger smile back. Then he jerked his chin toward the necklace I was somehow spinning again, despite not knowing I’d reached for it. “What’s them stones? Pretty. Just weird shapes.”

I grimaced. This was the part where he, like everyone else, would decide I was crazy. “They’re… crystals?”

“Say that like it’s a question,” he said mildly.

He was right; I had. Damn it. Before the dead started rising- a sure fire indication that magic or some equivalent was real, thank you very much- I’d been vocal about my beliefs. Now… it seemed unimportant in the face of survival. People looked at me more strangely now than they ever had before all this.

But I still believed, now more than ever, and I hated the hesitation in my voice.

“They’re crystals,” I repeated, firmly and confidently. “I believe certain stones have innate abilities to protect, to heal, to boost energy, etc, and- what?”

I broke off at his mutter, eyebrows raising when color flooded his cheeks this time.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I said, ‘any rocks can protect if ya throw ‘em hard enough’.”

I burst into laughter, harder and more genuine than any I’d done since the world ended. When I got myself under control, he was studying me again, those eyes more fierce a blue than the sapphire in the evil eye bracelet that had broken when I’d fought my way out of Atlanta.

“Like that. Ya laugh. Should do it more.” He gestured at my neck again when I blinked, shocked silent. “Them crystals. What’r they for?”

“Protection,” I managed, holding up the black obsidian before switching to the rose quartz, “and attracting love.”

I wasn’t thinking about my words, too focused on his casual assertion that I should laugh more. When they’d left my lips, I wished for a minute the ground would swallow me whole. Why hadn’t I just said “self-confidence”? It was equally valid, and far less embarrassing, and-

“Huh,” Daryl grunted. “They work?”

I shrugged. “Ain’t dead yet.”

“Fair enough. How ‘bout the love one?”

I looked away, rather deliberately opening the book in my lap so my cheeks wouldn’t flame again. “Don’t know. I’ll let you know someday, I guess.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Someday.”

(masterlist here; part 2 here; part 3 here; part 4 here; part 5)

[megjameswrites]

Chapter Eight: Mahimrêl

Pairings: Fíli x Original Female Character; Kili x original female character

CW: graphic depictions of violence; major character death; self-insert style original characters; The Trifecta (smut, fluff, and angst); time travel; MGiME

Smut, Sex, angry sex, public sex, 18+, MDNI, NSFW

Summary: @lilbardrhi and I started yelling about Tolkien. Go read her parts and my other before you read this one, or this makes no sense. Find them here (hers). And here. (mine)

SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT- this is the chant I've been hearing for days from LilBardRhi leading up to this chapter.

[Khuzdul, fuck]

"Elves couple for life, you know."

"How very penguin-like of them," I said dryly, not taking my eyes from the painting of Isuldur confronting Sauron.

Fí paused, in the corner of my vision, like he didn't quite know what to do with that. "I do not know what that means," he said finally. "You will be unlikely to find one willing to lie with you, warrior. I thought you would wish to know."

I turned to him now, smile on my lips a little sharp, a little hungry. "Oh, I don't know. That elf-maid you ran off seemed willing enough. Pelingilel. Pretty name. Prettier girl."

"Eagle," Fí said, tone as frustrated as his expression.

"Lion," I shot back mockingly.

He sighed and downed the contents of his goblet, then leveled a finger and a glare my way. "You need to stop."

"Why?" I tilted my head to study him, his jaw tight as he studied me right back. "I'm unattached. And this place… Something about it," I murmured.

I stretched my arms up, so the tunic I'd tossed on after my bath- Fili's, actually- rode higher on the bare legs I had curled under me. I arched my back into the stretch and let out a throaty sound, half sigh and half groan, and I knew the unlaced opening of the tunic was giving him a nice view of the nothing I had on beneath it. When I settled, leaning on the arm of the bench, I watched him watch me until I chuckled.

His eyes snapped to mine as I rose, holding his gaze.

"I feel good here. Rested and… restless," I said with a lazy shrug.

He muttered in Khuzdul and turned away, crossing to the small table nearby that held a pitcher. I thought it might be water, but hell, it could have been something stronger.

He cursed again and I laughed when he fumbled the pitcher and splashed red wine all along the table instead of into his goblet. Shaking my head, genuinely amused, I reached for the pitcher to take it from him.

"You're drunk, Fí," I informed him.

He shot me a smoldering look as my hand brushed his. "And you're- something."

I thought about his hand, warm under mine, and the way it felt with his fingers in my hair in the firelight. Intimate, indeed, I thought, and I trailed my fingertips along the back of his hand and toward his wrist. "I'm many things."

"Sleeping with one of them is a poor decision."

Like quicksilver, the restless, churning ache that had been filling me since we'd crossed into this place- or maybe since the Wargs had attacked, I honestly wasn't sure- flashed over into anger. Anger came easily to me, and Fíli Durin thinking he had any right to run off my choices of companion all week and then come tell me I needed to stop-

I scoffed and snatched his goblet from him, pouring it steadily despite hands that trembled. I sipped as I turned away, heading back for my bench. "Why? Why is it such a terrible thing for me to be in some elf's bed tonight?"

His hand locked around my wrist and he jerked me back toward him. Instantly, I flung the goblet in his face, anger turning to fury and need I didn't want to admit. He knocked the damn thing aside and pulled on my arm again, until I lost my balance and half-fell onto the bench with a hiss of irritation.

He gripped my shoulders and pinned my back against the wall, his legs pressing against my knees until I opened them automatically. Breath caught in my throat, I licked suddenly dry lips and watched the way his eyes heated as they followed the motion.

"Because," he growled, leaning in so close I could see every shade of blue swirling in his eyes.

"Because why?" I whispered. I watched his lips as he half-grimaced, frustrated sound rumbling low in his throat before he finally snapped, shaking me slightly.

"Because I want you in mine!"

His mouth claimed mine, hard and angry and urgent, and I arched into hands that shifted from pinning me back to pulling me toward him.

It was like he was a magnet and I was a blade, caught and helpless and not at all unwilling. I heard the needy moan that slipped from me when his hands slid up and into my braids, winding them all around his fingers and yanking my head back so he could bite his way down my neck in fast, sharp stings.

"Fí. Oh, shit, Fí," I muttered, clutching handfuls of his tunic as sensation lit my body up like a torch in the night.

He snarled, mouth pressed open and hot against my pulse, and I shivered hard.

"We shouldn't stay here." He trailed his fingers over my bare thigh, playing with the hem of my tunic until I thought I'd go fucking mad, lack of movement on his part at odds with the words.

"Why not?" I wrapped my legs around his hips to emphasize my point, already so aroused I didn't give a shit who saw.

They could mock us until the end of time if they wanted; this dwarf was going to fuck me, and please god, he was going to do it now.

His hand went flat and tightened on my thigh when I rocked my hips against him. "Stop that! We're- my room is not far, azaghâl. Come on."

"No." I held him stubbornly in place when he would have pulled away. "Here. Now. Fí."

He stared at me, eyes wild, and I took the opportunity to yank his own tunic from his trousers and get my hands on his skin. His eyes closed as he sucked in a harsh breath, and I smiled and hooked my fingers under the edge of his trousers.

"Eagle…" he said, tone warning but weakening. "Why?"

I shrugged when he opened his eyes to look at me and bit at my lip. "I'm here. You're here. I'm not wearing anything under this, so it'll be easy. Why not?"

His expression went dark and deadly, the same look I'd seen when we'd been encircled by the wargs and I'd drawn axe to stand against them. Moving like lightening, that warrior's controlled burst of action without any advertisement it was coming, he had his hand between my legs, two fingers thrusting brutal and deep inside.

He snarled in Khuzdul and I half-laughed around the gasp he'd summoned, and he curled his fingers and drew them slowly, so slowly, out again.

"See?" I whispered, and let my head fall back and my eyes flutter closed. I moaned, soft but passionate, as he continued stroking his fingers in and out. "Easy."

"Silence, azaghâl. This is foolish."

"This is hot, and you know it," I teased, writhing against the brick behind me when he thrust in fast and hard again. I shot him a sly look. "Admit it."

He didn't speak, but his eyes spoke wonders as they travelled my body. I ran my hand down his arm to grip his wrist, lifting my hips to meet the next movement of the hand I'd known would be as strong and competent at this as it was at swordplay.

I twined my other hand in his hair, tugging until his lips met mine. He thrust his fingers in a little quicker, a little harder, and I moaned into his mouth as pleasure built in a steady, sweeping flood.

"No," he ordered calmly against my lips. "Not yet."

My eyes shot wide and I glared at him, already panting and so goddamn close. "Why the fuck not?"

"Because I said so."

I scoffed and pulled away, even as he bit at my lip and sent me that much closer to the edge. "Fuck off. I don't play that kind of game. I'll come when I'm ready to."

He laughed, letting go abruptly and breaking away to study me sprawled disheveled on the bench. I glared, and he shrugged. "You'll get there alone then."

"Oh, you think that's a problem for me?" I said sweetly, and trailed my fingers up my own thigh, spreading my legs open wider and propping my foot up on the bench to give him a better view. "I play just fine all… by… myself."

He stared as I swirled my fingers higher on my thigh, arching against the stone and running my other hand down my body and back up. I licked my lips and let my eyes close, because dwarf or not, I needed to come and I needed it yesterday.

His hands closed over my wrists, lifting my arms and pinning my hands against the wall behind me. "No," he whispered, voice so goddamn commanding I froze. "Mine."

"Yes, your highness," I mumbled, going for mocking. Considering how I stayed still, eyes wide, and the smug way he smiled, I probably didn't succeed. He kissed me lightly and let go of my hands, and I kept them where he'd left them as he undid the ties on his trousers.

He pulled me closer by my hips, and I wrapped my legs around him again. He slid inside me with a groan as I dug my nails into his back and set my teeth into his shoulder to keep from half-sobbing his name.

Mahal, I needed this.

He seemed to be in as much of a fucking hurry as I was, all puns intended, as he buried himself hard and deep inside me. "Azaghâl," he breathed against my neck, then skimmed his mouth up my neck and to my lips as he moved.

I was gasping with each slow, sharp thrust, everything narrowing to just him and his body against and inside mine. He mumbled against my lips, neither of us kissing anymore, really- more just lips resting against each other as he fucked me hard but slow, a torturous combination that had me clawing my way up, up, up in a frenzied climb sure to end in a terrifying free-fall.

Teetering on the edge, I mumbled some of his Khuzdul back to him, sounds and phrases I understood without knowing what in the hell I was saying, and he shuddered, his fingers gripping my thighs hard enough to bruise as he kept to his tormenting pace with obvious difficulty.

I took his face in my hands and called his name as I fell, and he pressed his lips hungrily to mine and followed me down.

Panting, we stared at each other in the sudden stillness. That just happened.

That just fucking- oh shit.

A footstep sounded in the hallway, perilously close, and Fí jerked away, hauling his breeches into place and fleeing without a word.

Fuck, I thought, shoving a shaking hand through my hair.

| Azaghâl Masterlist| Meg James Masterlist| lilbardrhi masterlist|

[megjameswrites]

Ain't that enough?

Daryl x gender neutral!reader drabble

no setting/any time period

Summary: Daryl isn't so good with the words, but you get some from him anyway. And more besides.

"What do you see when you look at me?" I demanded, staring at the herd instead of at him. "Just another person who needs saving?"

Beside me, he shifted, shoulder shrugging as he tugged at the strap of his crossbow. We sat on the roof, both of us perched on the edge of the abyss and trying not to fall.

That was me, at least, I thought as I watched the river below. I didn't know what he thought. I never knew what he thought. So quiet, so close-mouthed, as he called himself. Made him easy to talk to. Not so easy to understand.

"You don't need savin'," he said quietly. "Never have." 

"Bullshit, but thanks, I guess." We sat in silence until I gestured, frustrated. "So? What do you see?"

He huffed like he was annoyed. Like the question was stupid. "See you, dumbass.. What you think I see?"

"I don't know, or I wouldn't be asking. Quiet is fine. I like being around you. But sometimes, you have to open your mouth and tell people what you think of them."

He stared at me. "Why? Show ya, don't I?"

I blinked, groaned, and shook my head. "Never mind. Forget I asked."

I swung my legs in, climbing to my feet. I crossed the roof, halfway to the door, when his voice stilled my feet.

"See a survivor. See a fighter. See the most- most interestin' person left on this damn rock. See someone who looks at me and don't see trash. See my best friend. I see… shit. How the hell am I supposed to use words to say it?"

He sounded pissed off, but that was just Daryl. I turned slowly, hardly breathing, to find him stalking soundlessly toward me. I felt pinned in place, prey before the hunter. He stopped, so close I wondered if he could hear my pulse thundering in my veins.

"Cain't say it," he whispered. "Cause there ain't words. But if I ain't showin' it, I guess I'll try harder."

He took my face in his hands, crushing his mouth to mind in a move that froze and burned all at the same time. I fell into it, into his lips and the faint cigarette taste; into his arms as my knees went weak and the only thing holding me up was his hands on my cheeks and his body now pressed against mine.

"I see you," he whispered against my lips. "Ain't that enough?"

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[megjameswrites]

wives (chess is a woman's game)

Negan x reader, morally grey reader

CW: dead dove: do not eat; morally grey characters; morally grey decision making; character death

Summary: The strongest chess piece isn't the king, it's the queen. Survival is a woman's game.

They whispered about what he did to them, the women who became his wives. I heard the rumors, even though I wasn't supposed to.

I heard all the rumors, from the beginning.

It started, after all, with me. It wasn't his idea, not in the beginning. It was mine.

I made the suggestion late one night, as I lay in his bed on the upper floor of the Sanctuary. We'd taken the place only recently, really- no more than a month or two before- and the memory of the starving times, the struggle, the lack of safety was still heavy in my mind. He ran his fingers down my bare spine as I lay on my stomach, asking what was going on in that pretty little head of mine.

In public, he was always such an asshole. But I'd asked him to be that way. I'd told him how to make people listen, how to take charge of everything, and he'd wanted me to do it myself. But I didn't want to be the leader; didn't want to be the face of these people. They wouldn't follow me, not like they would him. They wouldn't fear me more than they feared the dead.

They did fear him. And so, in front of the others, I was Negan's empty-headed bedwarmer, capable of staying alive but nothing more. In private, I was the mind behind the monster.

"I've been thinking," I said quietly.

"Oh, I know you have. You always do."

I smiled, turning to face him, both of us propped on our elbows. "There's a sense of security forming here. It's a problem."

"Why? Bein' safe- wasn't that the goal, darlin'?"

"It was," I agreed, trying to find the words to explain it. "But the fear- that kept everyone alive. Kept us all sharp. And now, with bringing people in… We need rules. Order. There's already been fights over food. We need a system."

"Okay," he said slowly.

I might have been the real mind, but Negan was far smarter than even he gave himself credit for. That night, together in bed with nothing but sheets and skin between us, we made the plan- the points system, how new people would become "Negan" and be one of his soldiers or work for points down on the factory floor. It was his idea, unifying everyone by saying they were all Negan.

I thought it was brilliant. Terrifying, identity-stealing, and brilliant. But we needed something more. There was something missing, some aspect that would not only provide a way out for those who had nothing to offer in the way of skill or strength, but also give me a cover and him an edge of mysticism, of godhood, that would keep anyone with bright ideas about a change of leadership in line.

Simon, for instance, wanted to take over so badly. We'd kept him in check with displays of physical strength and brutality, but without the constant threat of the dead, we didn't have that to offer very often. We needed something else.

And it came to me in the dark later on, my head on his chest listening to him breathe.

The first of the wives- I wasn't one, though everyone believed me to be; I was something else, something special- was terrified. I was the one who approached her, struggling with earning points for food and medicine, her mother sick and her father crippled.

"Negan wants to ask you something," I told her, the two of us in the stairwell alone. "He's going to do so in front of the factory floor, very soon. Consider it. You won't have to work for points, and neither will your parents. You'll be safe, you'll be cared for, and you won't be forced- that I promise you. But you will have to be loyal. There can be no one else. Think about it."

She stared after me, eyes so large and wide I wondered how she hadn't been blinded by the sunlight long ago.

She accepted his offer.

Sherry was a mistake. He shouldn't have taken her up on her offer, but by then, the harem had grown. He slept with those who were willing, but he never pressured. I made sure of that.

I didn't mind him seeking out the others. I could share, because I knew who and what I was to him.

But Sherry was a mistake, and I told him so- repeatedly- until he snarled at me one evening, asking if I'd rather he killed her and Dwight both.

"Yes," I told him plainly. "They're dangerous."

He stared at me, eyes troubled. "No."

I walked away. I did not share his bed for weeks.

Sherry did.

"Baby."

I looked up from my notebook, lifting an eyebrow. "Yes?"

He fidgeted in the doorway to my room, one of several in the wives' quarters, looking uncomfortable as hell. Good, I thought. He should be uncomfortable.

He'd begun to believe the character we'd created for him. He'd begun to forget that he wasn't a god, wasn't unbeatable, wasn't just a man with a bat and a jacket and strong will and a sharp mind. He'd begun to forget that he needed me, and he needed his people to believe in him in order to keep them in line.

Sherry had run, and she'd taken Negan's pet project with her. Negan had been trying to break the man, Daryl, he'd taken from the new group. He'd been doing everything I told him not to do, these days, and I'd finally gotten sick of it.

I'd stopped offering him advice. Let him find his own way, and see what that brought him. I'd be fine, if this place was defeated by Rick Grimes and his cohort in Alexandria. Rick was a man like Negan, so similar they could be two sides of the same coin.

I'd find a way to survive, with his people. They offered something Negan didn't, anymore. They offered compassion.

Compassion could be used, could be manipulated. Everything could, if someone knew how to do it. And I knew how.

"I need your help, baby," Negan admitted now.

I smiled, lips curving up in a show he recognized as bullshit as surely as my downward-sweeping eyes. "Of course, my love. Anything you need."

He stepped into the room and shut my door. "Stop that," he chided. "I need you. The real you."

"Then you should have listened to me all along."

He rubbed a hand over his face, sighing heavily. "You're right. I should have. I'm sorry."

I considered, studying him as he studied the floor. This was the man, not the monster. And the man, as usual, was my weakness. "Very well. But not here. There's too many ears."

I stood, wrapped his arm around my shoulders, and cuddled in close to his side, gazing up at him adoringly. "Let's go to your room. Please?"

He grimaced. "I wish you'd stop that."

"When we get there," I murmured under my breath, even as he opened the door and strode out, the character back in place ease.

He smirked around at the other wives, women who lived in quiet luxury in a time when most people fought to eat. And still, some of them hated him. And still, despite everything- including letting her Mark live, albeit with a scarred face- Amber cried.

Silk sheets against my bare skin for the first time in weeks, I lay back against the pillows of his bed and thought. He leaned on his arm, watching my face, even as his fingers traced over my skin in swirls and caresses that didn't distract me from the problem at hand.

"Rick's smarter than he let on," I said slowly. "He always has been. He's you, but if you didn't have me."

"I got damn lucky with you, sweetheart."

"Yes, you did," I agreed. He dipped his head to press a kiss to my sternum, and I ignored him as I turned the problems over in my mind. "He's going to try to fight. He'll bring the Hilltop in with him, and if he does that, he might find Ezekiel as well. Do we have the numbers to top that?"

"If we bring in freaky Jadis."

I grimaced. "I dislike her."

"She dislikes me," he said with a chuckle. "So I figure that's fair."

"She's the only choice, I suppose. And if he finds her…. Will she side with him? Or will she side with us?"

"We'll make sure she sides with us," he murmured, voice dark.

"Much as I love your violent solutions to subtle problems, perhaps persuasion might be in order for once."

He grinned, tipping me a wink. "Is that so? Why don't I practice my persuasion skills on you then, darlin'?"

I shook my head, the smile coming unbidden to my lips. "There's no one quite like you, you know."

"I can say the same for you, baby."

It would have worked, I thought as I pressed my hands to my stomach, blood leeching around the knife sticking from me. I struggled to breathe, to think through the pain, but that was all that circled through my mind.

It would have worked. We would have been safe.

If I'd had time to tell him, to hammer out the details and sort things through. If I'd been able to get to him one last time, if-

She stood over me, her hands shaking, her face twisted into a mask of anger and fear and hatred. "You did this," she said. "I've been waiting so long…. Watching. For my chance. You did this. These people, the ones he's trying to take down- they'll defeat him. I'll make sure of it. But I wanted you."

"Why?" I managed, voice a whisper. "We saved you. Your parents."

"Saved me?" she spat. "You gave me an impossible choice! You forced me here, to be- be a caged pet! Cushions and food don't make this less of a cage. I was struggling, but we were making it. We were surviving. You- you made me a plaything for a monster."

The mind behind the monster, I thought.    

"You think you're better than we are," she added. "You're not. He sees you just the same as he does us. You'd have found out eventually. You were just another wife."

I wasn't. My vision began to darken, the light fading. I focused on the single thought, the only thing that might get me through. It was a struggle, but the words slipped out from my clenched teeth.

"Not a wife. I'm the queen."

"Even the queen can be taken by a pawn."

(masterlist)

[megjameswrites]

my brother's keeper

CW: child abuse, alcohol abuse, drug abuse

Summary: The night before the world ends, Daryl rescues Merle from himself and wrestles with his perpetual role as his brother's keeper.

*characterization piece to get into Daryl's headspace

Some days, Daryl wished Merle would lose his damn number. Other days, he didn't know what he'd do without the asshole grinning at him, high as a kite, and suggesting they go get into trouble.

The thing was, Daryl'd been his brother's keeper his whole life. Merle would have said it was the other way around; that he'd protected Daryl from their daddy when they were kids, but Merle was a dick and he was wrong. Daryl'd been the one left behind at home, first when Merle would pull stents in juvie and then later, when Merle lit out at eighteen for the Army and didn't come back till Daryl was grown and their daddy was dead in a ditch on the side of the road, killed by a hit-and-run while he was drunk out of his mind and staggering home from the bar.

Merle came back in a biker vest with a club cut and holding two shovels. "Dig 'im a whole out back, little brother, and hit the road with me," he'd said with a wink and a grin.

They'd done a bit better than a hole in the backyard- legality and all that shit- but not by much. Either way, they'd left the ass end of nowhere town behind them and moved on to bigger'n'better things- or so Merle claimed.

Daryl didn't see what was so much better about cleaning up after his drugged-up brother instead of cleaning up after his drunk-ass daddy, but at least Merle didn't swing at him. All that often.

And there was just enough fun in there to keep him close. Merle might have been a racist, sexist asshole, and the Army sure hadn't beaten that shit out of him- but he had a wicked humor and a taste for adventure that landed them in jail, in bar fights, or in the pool halls making bank hustling the college kids with family money who wanted a taste of adventure.

Daryl hated to admit he liked those nights as much as he did. He'd follow along behind Merle like they were kids again, Daryl seven to Merle's twelve, included in the older kids' adventures by right of being Merle's little brother.

Worse were the days the drugs- or the club, or the PTSD- made his brother mean. Merle could cut him down like no one could, Daryl thought as he scowled at the beer in front of him while his phone vibrated against the bar for the third time in a row. And he often did. It was those times Daryl wished he had the spine to leave, or that Merle would ditch him again the way he did when Daryl was thirteen.

But it was his brother. And it always came back to that.

"What?" he snapped into the phone, finally answering it as Merle called for the fourth time in a row. "The fuck ya want, man?"

"Heyyyyy, lil bro!" Merle drug the word out, giving it a shit ton more vowels than it had, his voice too bright, words too quick, barely understandable. "Whatcha think 'bout an adventure? You'n'me, brother, headin' out into the wide world to make our mark?"

Daryl snorted. "Only mark ya gonna make is puke on the wall tonight. Where ya at? I'll come get ya."

He drained the beer, tossed money on the counter, and hung up with a roll of his eyes when he'd gotten a location out of his toasted-ass brother. He hopped into the pickup and headed to the club's hangout bar, wondering if he'd be regretting picking up.

Merle puked on his shoes before they made it to the truck.

Daryl, ever his brother's keeper, got him in and got him home, putting him to bed with water, painkillers, and a puke bowl beside the bed. He collapsed onto the couch and rubbed at his eyes, wishing once more that his big brother wouldn't send so much shit up his nose he forgot his own name.

The next morning, a dead motherfucker showed up on his door and tried to eat his face, and Daryl decided maybe Merle wasn't doing so bad after all.

| masterlist |

[megjameswrites]

how to clean old bones

Daryl Dixon x pagan!reader

CW: cleaning a carcass; knife collecting; paganism; survivalist upbringing

Daryl killed a deer. I wanted the bones for.... purposes. It certainly got Daryl's attention.

(I just like writing the moment someone catches Daryl's attention, that's all)

"Hey. Can I have it when you're done with it?" I asked Daryl, confidence in my voice I didn't actually feel. Inside, I was twitchy and nervous, wondering if it was a mistake.

This was Georgia, after all, and maybe coming out of the broom closet wasn't the best decision in the world. Some hippie tendencies were one thing, but what I wanted from the deer was another beast altogether; the kind of beast that got women like me burned at the stake in old Salem not all that long ago.

Actually, no it hadn't. That was the thing most people didn't remember- there weren't any witches killed in Salem. Just women.

Daryl glanced at me, surprise in his eyes. "Whatcha want the carcass for? Gettin' all the meat from it I can."

"Yeah, I can see that," I said, eyeing the buckets at his feet. One held the offal, one held long, expertly-removed strips of meat. He was damn good at what he was doing, that's for sure. "I want the - I want the bones. I'd take the hide, too, but I don't think I have what I'd need for tanning. And the time it would take would draw the dead with the scent."

Daryl stopped what he was doing completely to stare at me. "Ya know how to tan a hide?"

"Yeah," I said, shifting uncomfortably. "I know a lot of things. Grew up out in the woods, practically. Dad made sure we all knew how to fend for ourselves. Survivalist type."

"Shit," he muttered. "Merle an' I, we's just redneck assholes. Too damn broke not to be huntin' our own game."

That made me laugh, a grim twist of the lips. "Don't think we were much better, honestly. But seriously, can I have it?"

He grunted. "Help me finish dressin' it down, it's yours."

"Ew," I muttered, but that was fair enough. "Hang on. Let me go get my knives."

"Knives? More'n one?"

I came back with my knife roll. Unbuckling the straps, I unrolled it along the ground and grabbed the skinning knife from the collection. It was impressive, if I did say so myself- all of my extremely utilitarian knives were Damascus steel, horn or wood handles, hand-forged. It'd been a hobby of mine, finding the best, most well-crafted knives to add to my collection.

And yes, I knew that made me strange.

"Shit," Daryl whistled, eyeing the leather roll. "That's- a lot of knives."

I shrugged one shoulder. "I like collecting them."

"Sure." He turned back to the deer, shoving his bowie knife between the skin and the flesh to keep working it down.

I grimaced. "That's the wrong knife for that. Move over."

I shifted him out of the way, slipping the skinning knife- made for this exact purpose- where he'd been hacking away with his bowie. I let the knife do the work like I'd been taught, and in moments the rest of the carcass had been cleanly skinned. I set that knife aside and pulled out my boning knife to tackle the remaining meat.

Daryl was watching me, a look almost possessive in his eyes.

"What?" I asked, heart beating harder than it should have. "Do I have something on my face?"

"Naw," he said, still openly staring. "Just ya face. But I think I'm in love with it."

I blinked and chose not to dignify that with a response. I turned back to the deer, and this time when Daryl and his all-purpose bowie knife started working with me I didn't protest. In silence, we had it handled in no time.

I set the boning knife aside to clean with my skinner before I tucked them back into the roll and made a mental note to ask Glenn to look for knife oil on his next run. I contemplated the tendons and remaining bits of skin and meat holding the bones together and how best to get what I needed from them. "Can you cut it down for me, and drag it out into the woods?"

Daryl grunted, eyeing me sideways as he slashed the ropes holding it strung up. "Sure. What I'd have done anyway. What you want it for anyway?"

I hesitated, back not my worries about not letting everyone here know I wasn't exactly a cookie-cutter Christian southern belle. "Uh. I want the bones."

I could feel Daryl's eyes on me as I grabbed a strip of ripped-up tee shirt from my back pocket and a water bottle from the ground where I'd dropped it. I cleaned the knives as thoroughly as I could without running water and dish soap, then dried them even more carefully on my tank top. Slipping them into their places, I rerolled and buckled the leather and slung the strap over my shoulder.

I raised an eyebrow at him, gesturing to the carcass at our feet. "You get that? I need a shovel."

"Sure," he agreed, still looking at me. "You're an unusual one, ain't ya?"

"You have no idea."

Out in the woods, I nodded when Dixon dropped the legs he'd been dragging the remains of the deer by. "Thanks."

"Welcome, I guess."

He stayed where he was, watching me. Shit. I didn't really want an audience for this, nor did I want to have to explain any more about what I was planning to do. "I'm good if you wanna head back. I got it from here."

"Sure ya do," he agreed, leaning on the nearest tree with one shoulder and fiddling with his crossbow strap.

He clearly wasn't leaving. Damn it. I sighed and got to work anyway. I dropped to my knees beside the carcass, placed my hands over it, hovering without touching, and said a silent blessing for the creature's life-spirit, giving thanks for what it had given for me personally and us as a group. Then, boning knife in hand again, I started with the ribs and vertebra.

I worked in silence, giving thanks to the deer for each bone I separated. My pile grew steadily- this wasn't the first time I'd done something like this, after all- and I found myself wishing for hydrogen peroxide. We didn't have any, and it wasn't like leaving them in a bucket to clean in the sun was a good idea either.

I'd bury them, apart from the rest of the carcass. Though honestly-

"We should leave the rest out somewhere," I said, breaking the silence that had fallen. The woods were lovely, if I pretended I'd forgotten thee reason I was here at the quarry and not in my own house where my set of bones had be cleaned, cured, and chosen for me by others. "Away from the camp, I mean. To draw any of the dead who might wander this way."

"Ain't a bad idea. Gonna tell me what the fuck you're doin' now?"

I glanced at Daryl, then sat back to examine my collection of bones. I had all twenty-six ribs and thirteen of the vertebra. That was good enough, I decided, for what I needed. Twenty-four runes from the ribs, with two extra in case I fucked up carving, and thirteen was an excellent number for throwing bones.

"I'm going to clean them by burying them for a week or two. Then I'll carve the elder and younger futhark into the ribs to make a rune set. The vertebra are for throwing bones," I added.

He'd helped me so far. And he honestly seemed the least likely in the group to be judgmental.

He cocked his head at me, curiosity in his face. But no judgement, no concern, no freaking out. "The hell ya wanna throw 'em for? There's way better weapons."

I laughed; I couldn’t help it. His eyes danced, but I answered as if that were a real question. After all, I could never be sure. "Divination, asshole. I'm pagan. I throw bones, read runes, believe in magic rocks, and try to understand the universe through random signs. Got an issue with it?"

He studied me for a minute, then shrugged. "Nope. Kinda like it. Don't believe in much of anything, myself. Faith don't do shit, my opinion. What's gonna happen gonna happen, no matter what I believe in or don't."

"That's fair enough. I don't think believing changes the outcomes. We change outcomes. Through actions, decisions. But knowing what choices are coming can be helpful."

He shoved off the tree and wandered over as I rose, taking up the shovel. I started digging as he toed the bones I'd chosen. "Why bury 'em?"

"So bugs can pick the remaining flesh from them, and they can degrease underground," I answered with a grunt. "Works for cleaning them for knife handles too. Not as fast as other methods, but all I've got."

"Kinda- never mind."

I glanced at him. "Kinda what?"

He blushed slightly. "Kinda symbolic, I guess."

"Excuse?"

He blushed harder. "I mean, ya bury 'em to clean 'em. Give 'em new life. Seems like- I dunno. Seems like we could do that with people, too. Bury the old self, rise up new."

Perceptive. I stared at him, surprised by the observation. There was more under the angry, harsh movements and outbursts than met the eye, I thought. "Died and been reborn recently, Daryl Dixon?"

"Naw," he muttered, jerking his shoulders and blushing harder. "Just thinkin' is all. Ain't never gonna be any better than what I am. Any different, neither."

"I don't think you need to be better. You're good enough as you are." It popped out before I could help it, and I blushed furiously.

"Yeah?" He pushed the bones into the hole when I stopped digging, then took the shovel from my hands and started putting the dirt back. "Ain't much, honestly."

"Yeah," I muttered. "Me neither. Just old bones, I guess. Maybe someone will find them useful or interesting eventually. But probably not till I've been dead and buried awhile."

"I think you're interesting now."

I met his eyes over the finished burial, wondering if my cheeks were as red as his. "Well. Interesting's a good word, I guess."

"Better'n boring. Which I think ya anythin' but."

"Flirt," I muttered, turning to the carcass to finish disposing of it. "Stop."

"Naw, don't think I will."

[megjameswrites]

Chapter Eleven: gairurakhâs

Pairings: Fíli x Original Female Character; Kili x original female character

CW: graphic depictions of violence; major character death; self-insert style original characters; The Trifecta (smut, fluff, and angst); time travel; MGiME

Summary: @lilbardrhi and I started yelling about Tolkien. Go read her parts and my other before you read this one, or this makes no sense. Find them here (hers). And here. (mine)

{Khuzdul; goblins}

His lip curled in a sneer, eyes fixed on the goblins swarming around them. “Steady, eagle,” he murmured to the woman practically vibrating at his side.

“They’re gross,” she hissed back. “And they took my weapons. Fí. I hate this.”

“I know. Stop screaming, we need to listen.” He focused on the giant, repulsive king of goblin town, demanding to know which of them was Fíli’s uncle, and his hands moved for blades that were no longer there.

Mahal take these perversions of life, he swore viciously as the goblins crowded closer to him and his eagle. He shoved back, feeling her shudder at their touch, and found himself nose to nose with one particular bastard who leered at her harder than he liked.

He found his attention straying from the fat goblin king who was most certainly going to sentence them to death and focusing on the woman at his side more than ever before, and he wondered yet again if he had made a mistake back in Rivendell.

He had watched her flirt with elves, men and women alike, and jealousy flamed and screamed within at the idea of her lying with one of them. It was not merely that they were elvish bastards, whom he hated as his uncle did, but that- that it was not him who she looked upon with that single-minded hunger in her eyes.

He’d acted on it, taking her in a public place, on a public bench, and since then the thought of feeling her moving against him again had haunted his every dream and most of his waking moments, despite their careful promise to each other to stay merely friends.

He was forsworn to carry on the line of Durin, provided they made it out of this cavern with their heads in tact- a circumstance seeming more and more unlikely as the Goblin King held them longer- and she was not a dwarrowdam. There was no future in a liaison between them, however enjoyable it might have been.

So why did he flex the not inconsiderable muscle of his arm when she latched onto it?

“Fí. Pay attention. Things are about to get messy,” she said into his ear, so low he knew only he would hear.

It was unlike her to use the knowledge he knew she had of what would happen to them. There was something coming then, something urgent and important, and it was up to him to be the king apparent and defend his people. He nodded, not asking questions, and suddenly the cavern was awash with blinding light.

“And there it is,” she muttered. “Get ready for running. And improvised weapons.”

Something about it made him smile, how dryly annoyed she sounded about the whole affair. Then the cavern burst into riotous, chaotic motion, and he was indeed busy defending his people- and her- with whatever he could grasp to use as a weapon.

And while he said he defended azaghâl, the truth was, she fought right there at his side, yelling to Rhi- who burned goblins with a touch of her hands- and to him and adding insults to the unending crowd of goblins they charged through.

It was useless, and he knew it, but they would not go down without a fight. And besides, if she had believed it impossible to escape, she would have told him.

He could not imagine she would choose not to share that knowledge, if it was in her possession.

They found themselves once more in a precarious position, surrounded and outnumbered and taunted by the massive form of the king. At his side- always at his side, he thought, and when she wasn’t he searched her out until she was there- she muttered something under her breath he couldn’t catch.

Gandalf sliced open the goblin king at stomach and throat, and he would have cheered, except then they were falling.

They slammed to a halt, and beneath him, Meg groaned.

Instantly, Fíli reminded himself they were at risk of death, and did his best to not react to their deeply unfortunate positioning. Which he could not do anything to avoid, given Bombur was on top of him, and-

"Well, that could have been worse."

Meg groaned again, and instant later, weight slammed onto them from above. Fili grunted as the impact drove him harder toward the ground, which unfortunately meant harder into the body beneath him as well, and-

Her eyes opened and she flashed him a wicked grin. "At least buy a girl dinner first, damn."

He rolled his eyes at her as he strained to remove the weight of Bombur and whatever rocks had rained from above from his shoulders, and watched something move across her face that could, maybe, have been… appreciation?

She slid rapidly free the moment he'd gotten himself high enough for her to do so, grabbing Bombur by the arms and tugging until he rolled from Fili's back. "Good news, the fat bastard's dead. Not you, Bombur, we love you, I'd never call you a fat bastard. Bad news," she continued in a strangely cheerful tone, "we're not done with the running and escaping. Find your feet, Fi; time to go."

"Gandalf!"

Fíli's head whipped toward the sound of his brother's call, and he followed Kíli's eyes toward the swarm descending on them from above. Immediately, he began pulling the others to their feet, shoving what weapons they had into their hands and generally attempting to get the crowd of them ready for what was coming.

"There's too many. We can't fight them," Dwalin growled from where he did the same as Fíli.

"See? The running," Meg muttered at his side. "Come on, let's go already."

"Indeed. Only one thing can save us now," Gandalf agreed, eyeing her as he turned to search out a path. "Daylight."

"So let's fucking go," Meg repeated, grabbing Rhi's arm and hauling her to her feet. "Kick it into gear, bitches. That way."

In the bright morning sunlight, everything seemed, for a moment, to be fine. Their Hobbit returned, having survived some adventure of his own, and though his uncle was- as Meg would have put it- an ass, Bilbo remained with their party.

But nearby, despite Rhi leaning against her and breathing hard, his warrior seemed… uneasy. And Fili had learned to trust that unease explicitly.

"Something's coming," he said quietly to Kíli. "Prepare yourself."

Kíli looked startled, but he followed Fili's nod toward the women and sudden thoughtfulness crossed his face. "Do you think it's because she knows things, about us? They both have heard our story. They know how it ends, right? Why don't they tell us?"

Fili often forgot that small fact, their knowing everything about how this quest would turn out. But there was more to it than that, he was certain. "She is attuned to the world. To its evils. There is something coming, whether predestined or not, and I will face it the same either way. We make our own destiny, brother."

And then the Wargs began to howl.

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