just saw the angey birthday post and i lowkey have a headcanon that angey's little ahoge forms a hear whenever shes flustered like those old anime characters
Your headcanon is actually canon because her ahoge does form a heart when she’s flustered! In its default state it is actually supposed to be shaped like a heart, but when she’s around Navia, the little ahoge curls into a more defined heart shape to show how hard she’s swooning.
Her ahoge does move on its own somehow, it changes shape based on her expressions. Sometimes it stands straight up when she’s scared/surprised, other times it droops when she’s sad/disappointed. She’s very expressive, and even if she tries to hide her reactions, her ahoge gives how she’s feeling away. 😅
Pairings: Negan Smith x Reader; Lucille Smith x Reader; Negan Smith x Lucille Smith
Warnings: usual twd themes, slight mention of SA
A/n: Let me know what you think! Slowly getting back to writing and this series was and always will be my roman empire. Also I hope you love my boy Murphy just as much as I do 🥰
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The morning sun was warm against your skin, but you were too drained to care. Dehydrated, starving, and trudging along an endless road, there was no energy left for even a sliver of appreciation. You passed Murphy without a word, too caught up in your own exhaustion.
Not many things could dampen the mood between you two, but hunger and the apocalypse apparently made the list. Your relationship with Murphy had always been easy—built on years of jokes, teasing, and an unspoken understanding. But now? Now, for the first time, there was actual tension, and you fucking hated it.
“Would you stop ignoring me?” Murphy groaned, throwing his arms out like a dramatic teenager.
You turned on your heel, crossing your arms over your chest like one. “I told you we need to get to Lucille.”
“That is miles away,” he pointed out, exasperation leaking into his voice. “Do you want me to teleport us there, or should I summon a flying unicorn to give us a lift?”
“We could get a car,” you shot back, rolling your eyes.
“The roads are blocked.”
You narrowed your gaze, closing the space between you both with fast, determined steps. “Murphy, I can't let her go through this alone. Especially not now, when all hell’s breaking loose.”
He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “I’m sure Negan’s with her.”
You snorted so hard your cheeks puffed up like a chipmunk. Murphy grinned, knowing damn well he’d set you up for that exact reaction.
“Yeah, we both know he’s not,” you scoffed, shaking your head. “That man only cares about his stupid ass. If there was a competition for ‘World’s Most Self-Absorbed Dickhead,’ he’d be hoisting the trophy and giving a speech about how he single-handedly saved humanity.”
Murphy smirked. “At least he’d make it entertaining.”
“Oh, for sure. He’d probably thank himself twice and then dedicate the award to his reflection.”
Murphy huffed a laugh, but the amusement faded just as quickly. His face softened, and you knew the next thing out of his mouth wasn’t going to be another joke. “I get it,” he said, voice quieter now. “You need to be there for her. But I need you to be realistic. We don’t have food, we barely have water, and we’re running on fumes. If we rush in without a plan, we’re both gonna end up dead in a ditch.”
You hated that he was making sense. You wanted to argue, to do something instead of just standing here talking about how impossible everything felt.
You let out a long breath, shaking your head. “Okay, fine. What’s your realistic plan, then?”
Murphy’s lips twitched, just a little. “Step one: We find food so you don’t murder me in my sleep.”
Your stomach chose that exact moment to growl violently, proving his point.
“Shut up,” you muttered, and he grinned.
“We’re adding water to that list too, by the way,” he teased, tapping your shoulder before walking ahead. “You’re already cranky as hell, and I don’t need you passing out on me.”
You rolled your eyes but followed after him, muttering something about how he was the cranky one.
For now, the mission to get to Lucille had to wait. But you’d get there. You had to.
You’d managed to ransack an abandoned car for some food and water—if you could call a half-crushed granola bar and a bottle of warm Gatorade “food and water.” It wasn’t much, but it had to do. You were learning quickly that the apocalypse wasn’t exactly the buffet of resources you’d hoped for.
Apparently, you were late to the whole end-of-the-world thing, having spent the first week—or more—holed up in your apartment, wasting away in bed out of sheer boredom. At the time, you figured if society was going to collapse, you might as well be well-rested for it. Turned out that wasn’t the best strategy, considering most of the supplies had already been picked clean by the time you stepped outside.
Now, food was scarce, the gas was drained from most vehicles, and the town looked like it had been evacuated overnight. No hesitation, no looking back. The second the dead started walking, people got the hell out while they still could.
Smart move.
“I thought most of the population here was old people,” you mumbled under your breath, kicking an empty can along the cracked asphalt. The rattle of metal against pavement echoed in the otherwise quiet street. “Where the hell did they all go?”
Murphy hummed beside you, his fingers squeezing yours absentmindedly as he swung your joined hands between you. “Maybe they were super-elders,” he mused. “Super-speed, teleportation—whole damn X-Men package.”
You snorted. “Yeah, right. ‘Grandpa Lightning’ just zipped out of here at Mach speed.”
“Or,” he continued, deadpan, “they all turned into zombies but, like, polite ones. Just wandering around a retirement home somewhere, playing bridge and moaning about how they miss the good ol’ days.”
You chuckled, the ridiculous image softening the tension in your chest. Even with the world ending around you, Murphy still had a way of keeping things light.
He gave your hand another squeeze. “Anyway, we need to find somewhere to fortificate for the night.”
You stopped in your tracks and turned to him with a skeptical look. “Really? Fortificate?”
He arched a brow. “Yeah?”
“I’m pretty sure that’s not a word. And if it is, you definitely used it wrong.”
Murphy scoffed. “Oh, I’m sorry, Ms. English Major. My bad for not conjugating my fake words properly.”
You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips. “I think you meant fortify.”
“Or maybe,” he smirked, “you just lack the vision to appreciate my linguistic creativity.”
You huffed a laugh and nudged his shoulder before scanning the area ahead. The street was lined with darkened storefronts, their windows either shattered or eerily intact. A few houses sat in the distance, but you weren’t eager to test if they were occupied—by the living or the dead.
Then, you spotted it.
A rundown convenience store, its metal security gate partially bent but still hanging on. The sign above it flickered weakly, half the letters missing, leaving behind something that read “M_R__’_ M_RT.”
“Murphy’s Mart,” you announced, pointing at it. “Perfect. Looks like the universe wanted to name something after you before it collapsed.”
He grinned. “Damn right it did. Let’s see if my store has any decent snacks left.”
Together, you made your way over, slipping through the damaged gate and into the dimly lit interior. The air inside was stale, thick with the scent of dust and old, melted candy. Most of the shelves were ransacked, but there were still a few treasures left—a couple of dented canned goods, a few bags of chips that hadn’t been torn open, and a lone can of beer sitting proudly on the counter like some post-apocalyptic holy grail.
Murphy snatched the beer immediately. “Oh, hell yes. This night just got so much better.”
You grabbed a bag of chips and plopped down onto an overturned crate. “I hope you know we’re splitting that.”
“Uh, excuse you?” Murphy clutched the can to his chest protectively. “This was my mart. Clearly, this beer is meant for me.”
You threw one of the chips at him. “We’re sharing it, dumbass.”
He sighed dramatically before flopping down next to you, cracking open the can. “Fine. But only ‘cause I’m feeling generous.”
You both took turns sipping from the warm, probably expired beer, passing it back and forth as you leaned against the empty shelves.
For a moment, with the faint neon glow of the half-broken sign flickering outside and the distant, eerie silence of the world beyond the store, it almost felt… normal.
But then, as if on cue, a distant groan echoed from outside.
You and Murphy exchanged a look.
“Guess the super-elders didn’t teleport that far,” he muttered.
You rolled your eyes, shoving the last of the chips into your mouth before pulling out your knife. “Come on, genius. Time to fortificate.”
He grinned. “See? It’s catching on.”
And with that, the two of you got to work, reinforcing your little shelter for the night, knowing damn well this was only the beginning.
The convenience store’s counter wasn’t exactly a luxury bed, but it was what you had for the night. You shifted, trying to find a spot that didn’t have something digging into your back—a loose screw, maybe, or some other part of the register determined to make you miserable. The ceiling above you was a dull, off-white, and you found yourself staring at it without really seeing anything.
The fire you and Murphy had managed to scrape together from broken shelves flickered weakly in its makeshift pit on the cold tile floor. It wasn’t much—barely enough heat to chase away the chill, hardly enough light to make the room feel less empty. You’d shut off the store’s generator in the hopes that the flickering neon sign wouldn’t act as a beacon, inviting the dead to come clawing at your doorstep.
Didn’t mean the silence was any less suffocating.
“Do you think she’s alright?” you asked, still staring at the ceiling, your voice quieter than you meant it to be.
Murphy let out an exaggerated groan from his place on the floor. “God, you’re like a lovestruck teenager today, aren’t you?”
You didn’t bother looking at him, but you could hear the smirk in his voice.
“She’s fine,” he added, rolling onto his side to face you. “You haven’t already forgotten what a fierce little lady she is, have you?”
You finally turned your head, raising an eyebrow. “Little? She’s taller than you.”
“She is not,” Murphy scoffed, affronted.
“Murphy, she could bench press you.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Are you that blinded by love?”
“Might be,” you admitted with a soft chuckle. But just as quickly as the smile came, it faded. Your fingers picked at the edge of your jacket absentmindedly. “I miss her.”
Murphy sighed, folding his arms behind his head. “Sometimes I wonder if you hate her husband just because he is her husband.”
“I do not,” you shot back, but there wasn’t much conviction behind it.
Murphy smirked. “You're right. If hating someone was that easy, I’d already be six feet under by now. You still haven’t forgiven me for sleeping with your best friend in high school.”
Your head whipped toward him, eyes narrowing into a glare. “Is that why you think I dropped out?”
Murphy shrugged, unbothered. “Wouldn’t be the dumbest thing you’ve ever done.”
“If I wasn’t sure about killing you before, Murphy, I definitely am now.”
He cackled, completely unfazed.
Before he could get another smartass remark in, a loud crash shattered the fragile quiet of the store.
Glass breaking.
Loud.
Really fucking loud.
You and Murphy locked eyes for half a second, completely still.
Then, the realization hit.
You could have expected this. Should have. But apparently, between the two of you, there was only one functioning brain cell, and you’d been passing it back and forth all day.
The store had been secured against the dead. But the living?
They’d found a way through.
The sound of boots crunching over broken glass sent a chill down your spine.
Someone had just stepped inside like they owned the place.
“Hey, calm down. There’s nothing here,” you said, raising your hands in a show of peace.
The muzzle of the gun pressed against your forehead, its cold steel a sharp contrast to the heat prickling your skin.
“Yeah, we definitely believe you, little girl,” the man sneered.
“Little girl?” Murphy scoffed, letting out a dry chuckle despite the knife digging into his back. “She could bench press you.”
You shot him a glare. “Murphy, now is not the time.”
The man with the gun curled his lip, unimpressed. “Hey, man, tell your bitch to shut up.”
Your head tilted slightly, eyebrows raising in disbelief. “You think I need to shut up?” You let the silence stretch, then deadpanned, “Be for real.”
Murphy’s expression twisted as if he was holding back a groan. “Honeybun, please shut up,” he hissed, his tone shifting to actual concern when the knife was pushed harder against his spine. It hadn’t broken skin yet, but Murphy wasn’t Jesus—he wasn’t about to test resurrection theory. He knew where he was headed if he died, and he had no plans to go just yet.
The gunman scoffed, shaking his head. “Mouthy little thing, huh? I kinda like that.”
Your stomach turned.
The second man—the one holding Murphy hostage—chuckled darkly. “Bet she’d be fun to break in.”
Murphy stilled.
Your jaw clenched.
The gunman’s eyes flicked over you, his smirk widening. “Been a while since we had something this fresh. Maybe we oughta—”
Murphy spit in his face.
The man jerked back, stunned, as saliva dripped down his cheek.
“You fucking piece of—”
He didn’t get to finish. The punch he threw cracked against Murphy’s jaw with enough force to send him to the floor.
Then everything went to hell.
Fists. Boots. Knuckles meeting flesh and bone with sickening cracks.
You fought back, but it was like trying to fight against a tide of fists and steel-toed boots. A punch landed square in your ribs, knocking the wind from your lungs. Someone grabbed your hair, yanking your head back, and the moment your vision cleared, you saw Murphy curled on the ground, blood leaking from his mouth, his face already swelling.
You screamed his name.
The response you got was another kick to your stomach that sent you sprawling.
Your body screamed in protest, but Murphy’s voice—weak, wheezing—cut through it all.
“Run.”
Your head snapped toward him. “What?”
Murphy coughed, spitting blood. Then, in one last act of sheer, reckless defiance, he started laughing.
“Is that all you got?” he taunted, flashing them a bloody grin. “Fuckin’ amateurs.”
The men turned on him, their attention shifting.
And you knew.
This was his shot.
Your shot.
“Murphy, don’t—”
His eyes met yours. The same look he always gave you when he was about to do something really stupid.
“GO.”
Then he lunged at the closest guy.
You didn’t wait to see what happened next. You forced your battered body to move, stumbling toward the door, barely able to stay upright. The moment you hit the street, you ran.
John Murphy is and forever will be the greatest character on The 100
His character development is outstanding. He literally went from being a child murderer in s1, to becoming the adoptive parent to all sanctum kids. I feel like the growth this character had can only be compared to Zuko’s growth in ATLA, that’s how amazing it is.
His redemption arc is absolutely fantastic. Throughout the seasons you can actually see how much the things and emotions that he goes through change him. He started as a stupid, irresponsible, lost kid and transformed into a wonderful man, loved by everyone around him and so caring for the ones he loves.
His love story with Emori is actually healthy and beautiful (probably the only one of his kind on The 100). And it is the kind of love that knows no boundaries and can move mountains. These two lost souls found each other and helped the other grow and become the best version of themselves. That’s some real soulmate material right there.
His humor is the simply the best. Some of my biggest laughs (and those were not many) came from something that Murphy said or did. His sarcasm is on point and stayed like that until the very end of the show. Also the attitude, the witt, the boldness ugh I just love him...
And last but not least: Richard Harmon’s acting is simply *chef’s kiss*. He will forever be the one and only John Murphy. No one could have brought this character to life the way he did. He was so deeply connected to his character, that you could tell by the slightest change on his face exactly what was going through Murphy’s mind. I’m just so grateful for Richard cause I’m sure without him Murphy simply wouldn’t have been the same.
I’m going to miss him terribly, and even though the finale was shit, I’m so glad Murphy got his happy ending and that he’s alive, loved and well.
