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Title: Fall Right In
Author: Abelina/Abby/Abelinajt
Fandom/Pairing: The Walking Dead - Beth Greene/Daryl Dixon (Bethyl)
Setting: Season 4, Alone-divergence.
Rating: E/NC17
Summary: If Beth hadn’t interrupted him when she did, calling him back with the melody of her voice, he might’ve done something dumb like opening the door for a doomed dog and maybe dooming them both while he was at it. Beth and Daryl escape the funeral home together. An Alone-divergence Bethyl story.
Notes: Chapter title taken from lyrics to Dance with the Devil by Breaking Benjamin.

All Chapters Here

Fall Right In
Chapter 26 – I Won't Last Long in This World so Wrong

Beth hoped the warmth of Daryl’s body and the comfort of resting her head on his chest might lull her to sleep, but the night wore on and so did she. The Daryl part aside, sitting beneath a tree wasn’t the most comfortable way to try to get some sleep, even with the canvas spread beneath them to keep out some of the ground’s chill. Pretending to sleep under those same conditions wasn’t the easiest task she’d ever undertaken, and though she tried to be subtle about shifting her weight to relieve an ache here or a tingling numbness there, she wasn’t for a minute fooled into thinking Daryl didn’t know. Mostly, he let her pretend, with only the occasional press of his fingers into her side giving him away, and she was grateful for his tendency to do that.

She might be able to get there for real if she could lie down without letting in the chill, but the night wasn’t going to allow that, either, so she opted for warmth over comfort, since she couldn’t have both. Her thoughts refused to stop their endless circling, round and round in her head despite her attempts to lead them away from her worries about Daryl. About pushing him too hard, too soon or just plain doing it wrong.

She kept picturing his face as she slurped at that peach, kept thinking about what that might’ve looked like from his point of view. God, could she have been any more blatant? Here, Daryl, watch me enjoy the juices from this sweet Georgia peach. Want some? Her stomach squirmed now just thinking about it, since he was so obviously dealing with things she didn’t fully understand. What did that make her, teasing him like that? He hadn’t been able to keep his thoughts from showing on his face while she did, though. He wanted to respond, that much was clear, but she was afraid she had made him uncomfortable when that’s not at all what she meant to do.

Beth wasn’t going to cry, she was not. She was also probably lying because her throat ached in that way it did when the wrong word or the wrong thought could easily tip her over the edge. Now she was both lying and being stupid, because Daryl would tell her to stop if he didn’t like something she tried to do, and he wouldn’t look at her like he wanted to lick away every last drop of juice from her body if her teasing didn’t appeal to him, even a little. Peach Life Savers, he said, and not by accident.

But it was late and she was just a silly tired little farm girl who didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know how to be, if being herself made Daryl uncomfortable. She grunted, pretend sleep be damned. It wasn’t like that. Daryl wasn’t uncomfortable, not in the way she feared, he just needed time. But she couldn’t coax her brain into thinking about something else and endless time passed with the same worries rolling through her head, the same ridiculous back and forth between what if and of course he doesn’t until a headache throbbed behind her eyes.

She wasn’t gonna be good for anything at all tomorrow if she kept this up. Beth shifted again, turning even further into the warmth of Daryl’s body. Breathed deep until the scent of him filled her head and tried to take comfort in the way his fingers tightened again at her waist.

The river nearby rippled faintly, just audible above the sound of Daryl’s breathing beneath her. Beth focused on that for a while, one last attempt to trick her worried brain into distraction. She pictured in her head how the water might flow over the stones, all softly blurred like one of those long exposure photographs Mama used to take sometimes, those rare precious times when she would leave her work at home behind and go exploring with Beth. The water would shine like diamonds when the sun got high enough to touch down on its rippled surface. She could see it clearly, the way the colours danced, the speckles of light brought alive by the motion of the water. Daryl’s eyes shone so blue in light like that, even though he would squint as he always did, as though the power in his gaze was just too much to contain.

Beth could picture that, too, his brilliant irises glittering with the colours reflected off the water, once she swept the hair away from his face, that is.  That was nice, the thought of the two of them standing there amidst all that glittering light, tonight’s clouds all but gone. They would kneel down together over the sparkling stream and cup their hands in it to drink of its cool, fresh water, gazes catching as they did. Admiring the view in more ways than one, as blue met blue and struck up that skittering of fireflies dancing over their skin, for all it was morning and the only things moving in it were the rippling river and the songbirds, flitting about in the trees above to grace them with their sweet morning serenade.

It was probably because she was still listening, even as her thoughts finally wandered, that she heard it, a faint rustling of brush in the near distance. It was too big to be a rabbit or a squirrel, and too controlled to be a walker or some other hungry beast. No, whatever it was moved quietly, like something—or someone—trying not to make noise but not quite succeeding at it. Beth waited, listening. The rustling persisted. A little shake followed by silence followed by that same subtle noise, and that definitely wasn’t the wind, either. She pressed her fingertips into Daryl’s side and he hummed at her, a sound that meant yes, he was hearing it, too.

He left her by the tree and crept off into the night to investigate. Beth reached for her crossbow and held it firm in her grip. Told herself she wasn’t worried and ignored the trembling in her fingers. She couldn’t see Daryl. Couldn’t even hear him. Just the faint rustling in the near distance that meant something wasn’t right.

Beth waited. She waited and waited, but nothing happened. Whatever it was out there kept moving amongst the brush without getting any closer, but of Daryl, there were no signs. Worry squirmed in her belly, slimy and cold like a pit of eels. What was he waiting for? Where did he go, where could he be, in darkness like this?

She couldn’t stand it any longer, and pushed up from her spot beneath the tree, still holding her crossbow. This had bad idea written all over it but she couldn’t leave Daryl out there alone, with whatever was waiting for them. Two of us. Together. Beth and Daryl against the world and all the things that went bump in the night.

Through the pitch black of this clouded night, Beth picked her way amongst the trees, navigating by memory. Careful steps in darkness as thick as ink using the trees to guide her. She couldn’t hear the river anymore, or the rustling either, not over the sound of her own heart pounding in her ears. This wasn’t right. Daryl wouldn’t just leave her like this, would he?

Would he?

Static pricked at her skin, rushed over her shoulders the further she walked from camp, and the air around her grew thick, too, thicker than the night. Thick as smoke yet nothing burned, thick like sap without the taste of pine. She touched her hand to the next invisible tree and the contact jolted through her palm, like the shock from a metal doorway only strong enough that she felt the ache of it in her teeth, cold like winter, sharp like metal.

Up above, a blinding flash of lightning cleaved the sky in two, and she tasted it on her tongue, sharpness like ozone and the barest hints of rot. Thunder rumbled overhead, so loud, so forceful it vibrated down into her bones, shaking into her marrow until her whole body quivered. The squirming in her belly grew unbearable, the eels turned electric, her insides gone raw from the force of them, from the jolts of the current stirred up by their wriggling.

A second bolt of lightning stuck, a blinding flash illuminating the night, the forest, and everything in it with a light brighter than the sun could ever hope to be, and gone as quick as it came. What it revealed burned into her retinas, a ghostly white figure imprinted on the blackness in front of her, flickering in and out but never dimming completely.

Here, birdie, birdie, said the ghost’s voice, a sound which spread through the smoky air like an oil slick, coating her face, her shoulders, her whole world in a thick layer of sickly-sweet filth.

The thunder rumbled again and the ground beneath her shook. Beth tried to run, to get away from that spectre in the dark. She couldn’t force her legs to move fast enough through the foul, oily air and every step she took shot through her nerves like the lightning overhead, the pain so intense she cried out with it and choked on the sap, the smoke, the static-charged ink closing in.

Gorman appeared before her, body crackling with electricity, lit up from the inside with a blue-white glow, which hummed coldly in the air and tickled the static still clinging to her shoulders. It shone on the ring of trees surrounding them, deepening the shadows beyond it where thunder still rumbled with every arcing circuit that leapt from his body.

She called for Daryl, but her voice wasn’t right. Muffled. Distant. Distorted, as though she was shouting under the water. Gorman’s face near split in two with the width of his manic smile, the edges cracked and dripping with blood that oozed and shimmered like quicksilver. He laughed, a crackling thing that arced out into the trees, little fingers of lightning striking them black, then setting them ablaze with blue-white flames. 

The world spun and Beth spun with it, around and away from the monster in front of her but then he was there, where he wasn’t before, and there again, when she whirled back the other way. Everywhere she tried to go, there he was, with that sickening smile, that stink of ozone and rot. Beth’s feet sunk into ground, the dirt turned to oily mud, and the eels in her belly gnawed at her with teeth like jumper cables, shocking her with every bite until her whole body ached from the assault.

Please. Please let me go. I need to find Daryl, I need—

The ghost’s oily voice echoed, bouncing in her ears from every direction at once. Keep singin’, sweet birdie…

Beth screamed. Screamed and screamed until her throat burned but the only sound she made was that of water flowing over rocks. The Gorman behind her grabbed her and held on. Sparks shot out of his fingers, blue-white little hotspots sinking into her blackening skin, melting her, surging like fire through her veins. Everything hurt, and her legs buckled beneath her as the fire stole what was left of her strength. The Gorman in front of her laughed, that same impossible thing of silver ooze and lightning, and Beth couldn’t move. Could only dangle in that other Gorman’s grip, unable to break away from the flames licking at her bones. From the monster closing in from all sides.

Another bolt of lightning struck overhead. The thunder rumbled in before the light even faded, and Daryl slipped inside the glowing ring of trees.

Daryl, she said, but the word refused to coalesce outside of her mind. She couldn’t even lift her head to see him, to tell him without words so she tried again. Clenched her jaw despite the pain to make the words come forth. Daryl, help me. Please help me. Daryl...

But Beth couldn’t make a sound. She could barely see him from the water in her eyes, and he looked away, down to the ground, to her dangling feet coated in black, oily filth. Voices floated in, distorted again, echoing and distant but wriggling down inside her ears like dozens of maggots writhing in her head.

You owe me, Redneck...me, Redneck

Girl like that?...like that? Never really wanted her anyway...wanted her anyway.

Hear that, sweet birdie?...birdie?...birdie? How you gonna get outta this now?...outta this now?

Little girl?...little girl?...little girl?...little girl?

No. No. No, no, no, no, NO! She was a blur of knees and elbows and heels and teeth, teeth like the eels, snapping and tearing and tugging at the rancid flesh holding her hostage. Everything hurt but the pain was strength, and she shoved the heel of her hand up into Gorman’s stubby little nose and sunk wrist deep into soft, rotten bone, right through to the gore inside.

Blood flooded down like rain. Hot and red, coppery on her tongue, splat - splat - splat on the leaves, the dirt, the trees. Speckles of red on her grey sweater, bleeding into the wool until no other colour remained. The body fell away to land at her feet, the impact of it rocking the earth with a force greater than lighting, louder than thunder.

It settled there amongst the leaves and stared blankly up at her wearing Daryl’s face.

The world spun around in a blood red haze and Beth dropped to her knees beside him. Took Daryl by the shoulders and shook him as hard as she could. Called for him, screamed his name through the blood in her lungs and still no sound came out.

Wake up, Daryl! Daryl! Come on, just wake up. Daryl! DARYL!

The thunder rumbled, muted now behind the coating of blood splashed across the sky. Beth’s pulse beat in her ears as she knelt there in the circle of trees next to Daryl’s body. Nothing moved. No sounds reached her except for the thunder and the thump of her own heart inside her chest. Daryl lay motionless, staring up at her with dull blue eyes, the fist-sized hole in his forehead oozing with blood and smoke and a shimmer of lightning.

The back of her neck prickled with an itch that started small and spread out like a swarm of ants on her skin. This—this wasn’t right. The body, that wasn’t supposed to be Daryl.


The prickling intensified, no longer ants but long-legged spiders dancing on her spine. Gorman was dead. She killed him, but not with a fist. With a bullet, and not deep in some forest surrounded by trees, either, but on the grassy grounds of what used to be a funeral home. This wasn’t right, but what—what—?

“Daryl,” she said, the word coming clear for the first time since she stood up from the tree and stole off into the night to find him. “Daryl, wake up. Wake me up. Daryl? Daryl?”

Too late. Too late. The tide of blood poured into her open mouth, flooded her throat and stole her words. Stole Daryl’s body, too, and floated it out to sea as she sunk into the red depths below, reaching for something, for anything to keep her afloat. Fingers of panic clawed inside her chest, digging between her ribs, frantic in their need to get out.

I’m dreaming. This is a dream. I need to—I need to wake up. Daryl. Daryl, wake me up. Oh, God. Please. Please, Daryl. Daryl, wake me up, please! Daryl! Daryl! DARYL!

Pain erupted in her chest. A sharp, twisting pain then a hot pressure then a deeper burning ache like ice scraping at the insides of her lungs and finally—


Her eyes flew open and air rushed into her chest and she coughed and fell down onto her back in the leaves, head spinning, stomach roiling like a tidal wave. Cold water splashed down onto her face and lightning flashed through the canopy of trees above. The tidal wave broke and Beth wrenched her shaking body over as the contents of her stomach exploded out as violently as the thunder crashing overhead.

Thunder. Oh, God, she was still dreaming, still deep in the nightmare and it wasn’t going to let her go.  Oh, god, please no. Please, Daryl.
All around her a loomed a wall of dark and wet and thunder like gunfire in her ears. Her stomach rolled again and she coughed and gagged and retched but nothing came up, and she curled into a ball on the muddy ground as the shivering took hold. Any minute now he was gonna come back, going to trick her into killing Daryl all over again, and again, and again until she died in her sleep and turned and killed him for real, tearing out his throat right there beneath their tree and devouring him up until there was nothing left.

No, no, no, no, oh please, no.

“Shit, Beth. Beth!”

Daryl’s voice rose above the thunder, and in the midst of the chill radiating out from the marrow of her bones, his hand pressed hot on her back, branding the shape of his strong fingers into her clammy skin. The warmth of him, the scratch of his work-roughened fingers, was an anchor. A lifeboat, and she clung to it and let him pull her back and she heard, finally, the rush of the water, the whistling of the wind through the trees, the heaviness of Daryl’s breathing as he hovered over her shaking body.

Awake. I’m awake. Daryl, I’m awake, please. Please.

Before she could move he was lifting her from the ground, and she turned in his arms, reaching for him, burrowing in. Her chest and belly burned with that desperate need to crawl inside him, where the warmth of him and the life of him could stop the shaking and drive out the cold—so, so cold. Where the pounding of his heart would beat away the flashes in her head of Gorman, glowing blue-white in the inky black of a starless night, the ache of the words the real Daryl would never say, and the blood, so much bright red blood. She couldn’t keep doing this, wasn’t strong enough to stop the dreams from clamping their rotting teeth into her brain, tearing her apart piece by piece and leaving behind a sickness she couldn’t shake.

“Beth.” Daryl’s voice rumbled in her ear, soft and firm, again pulling her up just enough to hear him, to feel him, solid and warm beneath her, against her, around her, arms wound tight and holding her close. “C’mon, girl, come on back.”


She barely got the words out before her throat closed shut and the tears burst out, hot enough to sting as they poured over her cheeks. Daryl’s hold on her tightened and Beth pressed her face deep into his neck, pushed into the strong, steady beat of his pulse until she felt it on her lips. He was alive. Alive and warm and not letting her go, and she repeated that mantra in her head. Daryl spoke along with her in a low voice that cut right through the pounding in her ears, past the choked whine of her sobs not quite muffled in his neck.

“I got you, Beth. I got you. Ain’t lettin’ go.” His big warm hand came up to cradle her cheek, thumb sliding back and forth to the rhythm of his words, while the other tucked beneath her shirt to lay over her belly. “I got you. I got you. Hold on to me, Beth. I got you. Oh, girl, I got you.”

Beth let go of her own silent words to focus on Daryl’s, and the soothing rasp of his voice as he spoke to her, repeating the same things over and over again. I got you. Hold on to me. Ain’t lettin’ you go. The heat of his hands as they touched her skin sunk a bit more of his warmth into her with each gentle pass of his thumbs, each curl of his fingers. The shaking eased a little at a time, though her head and throat and chest throbbed both hot and cold all at once. Sounds shifted, settled, sharpened or dulled and returned to the places they belonged. Her pulse no longer roared in her ears and she could hear the storm now, still raging around them. Rain falling hard—though the tree they huddled beneath kept most of it off them—the creak and groan of the trees and the rustling of their leaves in the wind, and the thunder, rolling in close on the heels of the lightning flashing high overhead.

She didn’t want to move out of Daryl’s hold but she knew she couldn’t stay like this, not out here, not all night. All she wanted was to was curl up with him in their cabin bed, nothing between them but a few thin layers of cloth or maybe even less than that, wrapped up in his arms and safe from what plagued her.  But she couldn’t have that, just more of the stupid hard ground on this stupid cold night, and with a heaviness in her chest she started to pull away.

Daryl’s arms pulled tighter, just enough to stall her retreat. “Don’t gotta go, Beth. You’re still shakin’.”

She was, a little, from even the tiny effort of moving, and him saying so was all she needed to fall back against his chest, arms and legs with all the strength of a rag doll. “Can’t stay like this.”

Daryl hummed, just audible over the sound of the rain. “Get in front a me, then.”

The thought of doing that, of resting back against Daryl’s body, his arms around her to hold her close was so tempting, so near to what she really wanted that her belly pulsed warm just imagining it. Sitting up with her like that meant Daryl wasn’t going to lie down, and Beth bit her lip as she thought about what that meant. “You’re not gonna get any sleep, though.”

“Don’t matter,” he mumbled, leaning over to rest his cheek against her forehead.

Beth sighed. Of course he would say that. “Daryl, it does.

“Ain’t up for debate,” he answered, voice gravelly and low.


Beth.” The volume of his voice hadn’t changed, but there was a firmness in it that made her swallow down her protest.

Beth couldn’t see Daryl’s face in the dark, so she didn’t have proof, but as he shifted his head away from her, she felt his eyes on her and knew what she’d see in them if she could. Not the look of warm honey and butterflies in her belly, but something else, something that, even in theory, lifted all the hairs on the back of her neck with the intensity of it.

“Okay, Daryl.” It made her shiver to think about it, but Daryl squeezed her just a little tighter before he let her go.

Between the two of them, they got resettled, Daryl pulling his body more upright against the tree and arranging his legs to let her sit between them. He wound his arms around her and tugged until she settled back against his chest. It wasn’t a bed, but almost as warm as one, surrounded by him like this. A cocoon of Daryl, there beneath the tree, and their actual lack of safety didn’t matter. She always felt safe when he held her, no matter where they were, and Beth let her head fall back against his shoulder, turned her face to tuck into his neck. Barely a breath passed before he leaned his head over against hers.

She wasn’t going to sleep, even with the pinching ache of exhaustion pressing behind her eyes. That familiar heaviness gathered at the base of her skull, a cool, prickly reminder of what lurked in her subconscious, lying in wait for her to slip back inside her head where the dreams could take over. So she kept her face tucked into Daryl’s neck and fitted back against his body as though she was made to be there, just the sort of sleepy thought she couldn’t help thinking as she rested there with him. Her breathing gradually fell into sync with his, and she focused on that instead of the storm. He needed sleep, and Beth didn’t much like being the thing that kept him from it, but she was grateful that he understood why she wouldn’t want to be alone with her thoughts right now. Even if she was willing to be, for his sake.

Sometime later, Daryl slipped his hand under the edge of her shirts to let it lie again on her stomach. His fingers were cool, but he laid down a path of warmth as he glided his thumb back and forth in that little arcing sweep he always used. It seeped inside to stir the butterflies in her belly into a gentle flutter and pulled out of her that sigh he liked.

“Keep doin’ that,” Beth whispered. “Feels nice.”

Daryl’s chest rumbled with a sound too low to hear, and he turned his face until she felt the brush of his lips against her hair. “Couldn’t wake you,” he said, in a smaller voice than she had ever heard him use. “Wasn’t even sure you were breathin’.”

His words prickled cold down her neck, and that dark weight pressed a little harder at the back of her head. She remembered the pain, the burning in her chest when she finally pulled out of the dream. Did that mean she really wasn’t breathing, if even Daryl couldn’t tell?

Beth pressed her hand to her sternum, pushed in against the ghost of that hypoxic ache. In her panic, she thought that the nightmares were finally going to kill her for real, but that was just panic, wasn’t it? She must have been breathing. No way even the worst sort of nightmares could make her stop.


It was an idea about as absurd as dead people walking the earth trying to eat the living.

Daryl’s thumb still moved across her skin, but he brought the other one up now to swipe at her cheeks and the tears sliding over them that she hadn’t noticed until now.

Beth’s next breath came in shaky, laced with a hint of that icy burn she remembered feeling then. “I-I knew I was dreamin’ but I couldn’t get out of it. I kept callin’ for you and—and I think they’re gettin’ worse, Daryl.”

“Mm.” He brushed his fingers down the side of her face, then followed his own path back up toward her forehead. “They’ll get better, Beth. They got to.”

The weight in her head swelled larger, dark and heavy with sharp little fingers. “That what you think?”

Daryl snorted softly, fingertips now following the curve of her ear. “Sweetheart, that’s what I know.”

Sweetheart. The first time he said it, Beth realized right away he hadn’t meant to.  He wasn’t delirious still, but he wasn’t fully recovered, either, from his ordeal with the herd and the storm, and probably didn’t even realize he’d said it. She might have thought otherwise had he not had a history with that word, though until then its only target had been Judith. Judith. Thinking about her, even in passing, deepened the ache already pressing in her chest. Beth’s heart would always mourn for that sweet baby girl, but right now, that warm honey feeling swept in and covered over the sharp edges of her grief. ‘Cause he meant it this time, calling her that, thinking of that word and bringing it to voice for her ears alone. It didn’t matter if he never said it again because he said it now.

Beth sighed and nudged at his neck with her nose, smiled into his skin when he pressed his palm to her cheek so his fingers could stroke her hair.

“And you got me, right?” she asked, and maybe she was baiting him, just a little, but he was already on the line anyway.

His answer was immediate, accompanied by the fingertips of both hands pressing into her where they lay. “Yeah, I got you. You know I got you.”

Beth reached up to lay her palm on his cheek, too, thumb moving in a little arc across his face, where his skin lay smooth just above the scruff of his beard. “And you ain’t lettin’ me go.”

Daryl pressed his palm into her belly, pushing in deep and hard in the way that he knew she liked, and he pressed, too, with the other hand at her cheek, cradling her head tight to his shoulder. “Promise.”

“I promise, too,” Beth said. She pressed her lips to his throat and nuzzled in deeper, riding out his little shudder as it rolled right through his body and into hers.

These were words already spoken, once, in a place they made together, a pocket universe that existed only between the two of them. Until now, Beth thought it was the cabin, itself existing a little bit out of time, that let them find it, but that wasn’t true at all. It was never the cabin, never the safety of its four walls and a roof that allowed them to find their little space, because they were in it now, she and Daryl, out in the middle of the woods but hidden inside that same little bubble of existence. A place where all that mattered was Beth and Daryl and all that lay between them. Where even the biggest truths settled in like old friends. Like leather vests and warm blankets. Like moonshine bonfires and soft, lilting lullabies.

All they needed to get here was each other.

Though the night was cold, Daryl was warm, so wonderfully warm, and being here with him, with him, kept that warm honey feeling from fading away. The nightmare still lingered, a weight at the back of her head, a dark little beast with sharp fingers and a thick, scratchy cloak falling down across her shoulders, but it couldn’t quite get to her, not in the way she suspected it wanted to, not in this place. Not when she could rest here in Daryl’s arms, secure in the truth that no matter what, he had her back. He had her, and he had her.

Beth was safe. She was warm. She was right where she wanted to be.


End Notes: I have had dreams where I knew I was dreaming and wanted to wake up, but couldn’t. More than once I’ve had the terrifying sensation of being locked inside my own head, screaming my husband’s name and begging him to wake me up because I can't get there. Confirmed by husband that I am not actually making any noise at all during these episodes, nor am I moving around in any way that would get his attention. I will eventually wake up, and fortunately this happens infrequently (I haven’t had one for a few years now but by saying that I’m probably going to ugh) because it is not fun, folks. Not fun at all. I don’t know what that is exactly, but this is the best explanation I’ve found. This isn’t necessarily Beth’s issue, because she had to be doing something for Daryl to try to wake her. But I drew some inspiration for her dream from this real life experience.

To be continued in chapter 27 >>


( 3 have spoken — take the speaking stick )
Oct. 21st, 2015 02:15 pm (UTC)
Well done and powerful chapter. It took me a while to realize that Beth was dreaming and I was terrified for her. Not that a nightmare like that wouldn't be pretty awful too!

Oct. 22nd, 2015 03:58 am (UTC)
You can probably tell that was my intention as far as the dream went. Curious - when did you realize it? Different people have picked out different points and I'm curious!

Thanks :)
Oct. 22nd, 2015 01:29 pm (UTC)
I think when she killed Daryl I started to wonder what was going on. It was all so real, but I didn't think you'd do that to them, so....

( 3 have spoken — take the speaking stick )


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