Every Time I Even Think About Looking At My WIP Of A Crossover Fic Between The Maximum Ride Universe

Every time I even think about looking at my WIP of a crossover fic between the Maximum Ride universe and the Marvel universe. I know I don't have many, if any followers. But would anyone even be kind of interested in a fic like this? Or is everyone trying to forget that Maximum Ride was even a thing? Please comment, or do whatever it is, private message me. And let me know your thoughts about this idea. If even one person would read it I would put more effort into finishing it.

me: *opens document to write* brain: let’s rethink the entire plot instead

ARE YOU TODAY’S DATE?

BECAUSE YOURE 10/10

Loved this!

Whumptober 2024 No.8

Prompt: Forced to stay awake

Warnings: Allusions to torture

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

gif is not mine - google

“Oh, Daryl, Daryl, Daryl.” Negan swung Lucille around languidly as he paced the small cell, his smile one of amused condescension. “You know what you have to say. Just tell me who you are and the song stops.” Daryl trembled but remained silent, his nostrils flaring with each quick, restraining breath. “You’ll get a room, a bed, some real food and not this crap that—” Negan toed the untouched sandwich with his boot. “What the hell even is that?” With a cringe, he shrugged. “Anyway. Hell, Daryl, you tell me what I wanna hear right now and I’ll let you have one of my wives.”

One of his— The disgust must have echoed in Daryl’s expression because then Negan was laughing as he stepped across the threshold to hover just outside the doorway.

“You could have it all, Daryl.” The archer lowered his head, never giving the offer a single consideration. He knew he’d never kneel. He’d die first. When his name was said again, he looked up to find it was you in the doorway.

“Daryl.”

“What’re y’doin’ here?” He croaked, voice rough from disuse. He didn’t move. He dared not. If Negan saw what you meant to him, what would he do to you? “Y’need to go.”

“Go?” You stepped into the cell and his blood ran cold.

“The fuck’re y’doin?! I said ya need to go! Y’can’t be here!”

“Daryl.” The was a sadness in your expression but your demeanor was calm and unafraid. You were always so brave, especially when it came to him. “Daryl, you’re not there.”

Not— He looked around the cell, startled and confused. One blink, he was in the cold, cramped concrete room. The next, the light from the hall was the single candle on the bedside table. The walls were dancing with shadows cast from the flickering flame. There were windows and a bed. He was in a trailer.

“I—” It only took a moment to realize he was huddled in a corner, his knees pulled tightly against his chest. “I was—”

“You need to sleep, baby.” You crouched in front of him, tilting your head while that sadness shifted into concern. “You’re with me at the Hilltop. You’ve been back for two days.” His blue eyes tracked your movements as you reached for him, placing a hand on his knee. “I know they didn’t let you sleep. That they—” you swallowed hard, “they did things to you, but you’re not there. You’re here. You’re with me. It’s safe to sleep now.” He watched you stand, offering a hand to help him to his feet. “I’ll watch over you.”

“I—” He didn’t know what to say. Could he sleep? He had been dreaming, right? Or had he been hallucinating? The thought of closing his eyes was daunting. What if when he did, the song began to play and then you were gone when he opened them?

“I’m here, Daryl.” He hesitantly accepted your offer and allowed you to help him stand. He winced as the movement aggravated his healing wounds, the pain assisting in bringing him further into reality, closer to you. “I’m real.” You continued, stepping into his space to brush his hair out of his eyes. “Let’s get you settled.”

“Okay.” He finally agreed, following you to the small bed. You held up the blankets and he crawled beneath, nearly melting into the mattress. Maybe he could sleep after all. You climbed in behind him and molded yourself against his back, holding him loosely and placing a kiss against his shoulder blade.

“Sleep.” You whispered, pressing yourself impossibly closer. You began to hum a gentle tune, one that drove that vile song from his mind and brought him to a level of calm he had forgotten was possible. He was sound asleep within moments. “I’ve got you.”

This is beautiful!

Whumptober 2024 No.7 & No.11

Prompt 7: “It’s us or them.”

Prompt 11: Used as Bait (Alt)

Warnings: Allusions to torture; Allusions to violence; Allusions to death.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

A/N: War of the Worlds was responsible for a portion of this.

gif not mine - google

“They’re gonna lead them right to us, Daryl.” You rocked back and forth, exhausted and bloody, beaten down physically and emotionally by Alpha and her followers. You had been dangled in front of Daryl as bait, a means to bring him to his knees in front of the psychotic woman. Daryl—being Daryl—had refused her demands, knowing full well that he would crawl through hell to rescue you regardless.

And he did.

He was in just as rough of shape as you, giving just as good as he got in order to free you. Now, you were huddled in the corner of a small bunker, attempting to rid your mind of the memories of what Alpha had put you through. A young couple—obviously troubled, likely victims of the Whisperers’ devious plots themselves—bickered and raved over how they would destroy the entire horde with only their weapons and their meager might.

There was no hope of succeeding, but their raised voices of boisterous exclamations were doomed to bring the enemy down on your heads. Daryl had tried relentlessly to reason with them, all but begging for their cooperation and silence. He even offered them a place in Alexandria. They had laughed at him, called him a coward.

There was nowhere else to run. If Alpha discovered the bunker, you and Daryl were as good as dead.

The archer stood a few feet away, chewing on the inside of his cheek, his gaze darting between you and the two idiots standing at the open hatch. After a moment, he sighed and pulled his bandana from his pocket.

“Y’trust me?” He crouched in front of you, blue eyes searching yours, seeking an answer.

“More than anyone.” You replied shakily. He nodded, covering your eyes with the fabric and tying it at the back of your head. His calloused hands then took yours and brought them up toward your ears.

Your brow furrowed behind the bandana. “Daryl?”

“Sing me somethin’.” He waited you out and when you didn’t respond, he continued. “S’us or them.” He whispered, a hint of a tremor in his tone.

You knew what he meant then, what he was going to do regardless of the cost to himself. He knew you couldn’t fight, that you were hurting and tired and broken. He was going to protect you. You swallowed hard, nodding as you allowed him to place your hands over your ears.

“Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket.” You began quietly, your voice trembling. You felt his warm touch pull away, knew the moment he had stood, the second he had left you there. “Never let it fade away.”

You couldn’t hear what was happening but you could feel the vibrations against the dirty, cold concrete behind you. “Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket.” You flinched—something hitting the side of your boot—and drew your knees to your chest while your breath hitched with barely contained sobs. “Save it for a rainy day.”

You were unaware of when the silence ensued, continuing with your quiet tune until you felt the warm presence slowly position at your side. With a deep breath, your trembling hands left your ears and pulled the fabric from over your eyes. Daryl was next to you, his knees drawn up with his arms hanging over them. His head was bowed. There was blood dripping from his fingertips.

“Daryl.”

“S’gonna be okay now.” The light from the single candle in the center of the bunker cast shadows over his face, what wasn’t already hidden by his hair nearly impossible to see. The hatch was closed and there were two bodies lying motionless below it. With slow and careful movements, you pulled his arm across your shoulders, thankful when he held you tighter of his own volition. “You’re safe.” He whispered.

The snarls and shuffles and whispers above ground passed by quickly, never realizing their prize was just below their feet.

Instead of "Said", consider

replied

stated

exclaimed

remarked

declared

mentioned

commented

responded

articulated

noted

announced

asserted

observed

suggested

opined

acknowledged

claimed

professed

explained

affirmed