#gas station shane

[iovesia]

✧ ˚ ༘ ⋆ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍' 𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄.

slasher!john wick⠀x⠀fem!reader.

𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔. when you and your friends get stuck in the middle of rural texas, you decide to knock on death's door for help.

—⠀੭୧⠀warnings⠀· ˚ ༘⠀70s & slasher au. horror themes. naive!reader. use of marijuana. size kink. john has a southern accent. age gap (20s/40s). murder. gore. no happy ending. manhandling. 2.5k words.

𝒙𝒐𝒙𝒐, 𝒋𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒆 ִֶָ 𓂃 ⊹ i wanted to save this for my upcoming event for october (a themed kinktober el oh el!), but here's just a small au that's been conjuring up in my head for the last few days — hope you enjoy ♡ !!

#. keanu reeves masterlist. | main masterlist. | request rules.

"SHIT!" Your boyfriend, Matt yelps, nearly dropping the blunt from his lips as the sound of metal crashing fills your ears. A thick smoke began rising from the hood of the car, and soon enough the rest of you joined in on Matt’s irate attitude. 

“Babe, pull over!”

Matt lets out a few curse words under his breath, as he follows your instruction and pulls the Chevy van to the side of the road. The five of you scurry out the vehicle, exposing yourselves to the Texan sun and heatwave. 

Matt runs a hand through his feathered black hair while walking over to the front of the old, blue van. Popping the hood, he’s met with another batch of hot smoke, making him exclaim in disgust. 

“Matt, you jerk! You just totaled my car,” Trin scoffs, fanning herself with her hand in a desperate attempt to cool down. The rest of the group, consisting of you, Matt, and your two other friends, stand on the rocky terrain on the side of the road, letting out exasperated groans. 

“Relax, Trin,” Matt sneers defensively, taking another puff of his blunt. He examines the inside of the hood, his eyes squinting as he rubs the back of his neck. “Shit.. I think we popped.. or lost a valve or something.”

“We?” Trin raises her brow. The pair began bickering amongst each other, pointing fingers and only testing your patience. With their yelling and the sun beaming down on your skin, you prayed your migraine would kill you.

“Would you two just stop?” You sigh, pulling your shades over your head. “The car’s busted, doesn’t matter why. What do we do now?”

“Wait for help, I guess,” your friend, Shane shrugs, wrapping an arm around his girlfriend, Mary-Ann. Silence was casted among the group as you and your friends tried to think of a plan. Granted, the group was more Matt’s friends than yours— but what was his was yours, as Matt liked to pretend.

Your eyes trailed the scenery around you. The dead trees bordering the road, only a few desolate run down buildings nearby. The gas station, standing a few hundred feet, was falling apart at the seams. The shattered windows and creaking of the hanging “WE’RE CLOSED” sign was enough to crush your little hope. After a few agonising minutes, your eyes settle on a small house in the distance. You smile as you rise up, pointing to it and alerting the group.

“Guys!” You call out hopefully. “Let’s go ask them, maybe they can call us a toll or something.”

Shane furrows his brows, grimacing as he snicker. “You’re gonna go all the way to that shack? No, let’s wait here. Someone’s gonna come by soon.”

“Oh, c’mon,” your arms flap to your side, your head turns to glance at both ends of the road. “There’s not gonna be anyone driving here for who knows how long— it’s not gonna hurt to ask.” 

“I dunno, girlie,” Mary-Ann purses her glossy lips, her voice monotone with a twinge of her Californian accent laced in. She scratches her bell bottom jean covered leg with her other foot as she turns her head to the house. “Maybe Shane’s right, I’m getting super bad vibes from that house.”

“Everything gives you bad vibes, you hippie,” Trin mocks, wiping the sweat from her forehead, shooting daggers with her eyes at the blonde. The two girls start trading insults, and the familiar ache in your head starts crawling back.

“Ok, well.. you losers can stay here,” Matt finally interjects with useful commentary, handing his half smoked blunt to Trin. “My girl and I will go and actually be useful,” Matt walks over to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as the pair of you walk through the field. 

AS THE TWO OF YOU APPROACHED THE HOUSE, Mary-Ann’s words rang in your ears. The cream coloured paint on the walls was faded or peeling off like a tangerine, the porch was dusty and cluttered with random items. The patio swing squeaked as the wind forced its swing, the copper shade of the metal would make you think this house was abandoned. 

“Maybe blondie back there was right,” Matt jokes, nudging your shoulder playfully, only affirming your thoughts. 

The closer you got, the colder the chills down your spine got. You pause in front of the stairs, leading up to a mesh screen door, barely exposing the inside of the seedy home. Your boyfriend’s hand leaves your arm as he takes initiative, walking up the creaky, old stairs. You cross your arms over your chest, watching as he knocks a couple times.

No answer.

He knocks again.

No answer.

“What now?” You ask with a scrunched face, softly slapping at the mosquito on your arm. Matt glances over to the swinging seats, and notices the half built fence that led somewhere behind the home. “Let’s just go back to the road—”

“Let’s check the backyard,” Matt ignores your comment, jumping down from the porch, the heels of his boots squishing into the damp grass as he heads for the back. You call his name repeatedly and he only waves his hand as his figure disappears behind the fence. 

“Are you kidding me?” You mutter to yourself, as you sit down on the porch stairs, resting your chin on your knees. Minutes that feel like hours go by as you wait for your boyfriend to come back, and he’s still gone. The sun was going to set soon, and you’d rather get back to your friends before it got dark. Worry boils in your chest, and you chew on your nails anxiously waiting.

Suddenly, the mesh door bursts open, slamming against the nearby wall and making you yelp. You jump up, head whipping in the direction of the door and your eyes widen at the sight. An older, brawny man stands in the door frame.

His jeans were splattered with dust and a dark fluid, and his white wife-beater shirt was almost see through from the sweat trailing down his muscles. His coal, black eyes piercing into your doe eyes as he scans your figure, his eyes focused on your exposed legs. You swallow awkwardly, pulling the hem of your red, booty shorts down in an effort to cover more of your skin. You felt naked under his intense stare. 

“Hi!” Your voice cracks as you smile, trying to appear friendly. The man’s face is unreadable as he leans against the door frame, eyeing you carefully. “Um.. sorry to bother you, sir. But, uh, my friends and I need some help. Our car broke down, and I was wondering if I could borrow your landline?” 

The black haired man just stares at you, his stare occasionally darting down to your smooth legs before back to your face. He breathes deeply and tilts his head to the side, gesturing to his home.

“Yeah.. I got a phone you can use,” he spoke curtly with a slight southern drawl, before disappearing inside. You quickly follow the older man, skipping up the stairs as you gently pull the door open. 

Instantly, you’re met with a putrid smell of meat. The humid stench feels worse than the outside, but you try to keep your grimace to yourself as you glance around the room. The entrance was cluttered with old frames, the walls had holes and scratches as if someone had clawed their nails off them. 

“In here,” his baritone voice calls out to you and you follow it, leading yourself into the living room. Equally cluttered, if not more. The shabby, grey walls sucked any life out of the room and you tread cautiously to the older man who was sitting at a large dining room table. 

His calloused hand brushed against yours when he handed you the landline. You smile politely before turning around as you dial the number for an automobile service. You hummed quietly to yourself while the landline rang next to your ear, not even noticing the older man standing right behind you, looking right down on you. 

“Damn,” you hissed before putting the landline back. You turn around and jump again, your face immediately bumping against the man’s torso. “S-Sorry.. Didn’t know you were standing.. so close,” you mumble, your face flushing.

“Jumpy little thing, aren’t you?” The raven haired man wets his lips, picking up a dish towel from the table. “What’s your name, darlin’?” 

You say your name softly, as heat blooms in your face. You can’t help but focus on his figure, the glistening of his biceps and the movement of his large hands as he wipes them with a towel makes your throat go dry. 

“I’m John. You said your friend's car’s stuck somewhere, or what?” His baritone voice snaps you out of your ogling and you nod distractedly.

“Yeah.. yeah— it’s the chevy van out there. Dunno if you can see it,” you turn your head and point through the half broken window to the small car in the distance. John hums.

“Popped a tire?”

“No, it’s the hood. I think we, like.. lost a valve or something,” you say with air quotes, still focused on trying to see your friends.

“Pretty girl like you don’t have a boyfriend that could find it for you?” John teases, raising a brow as he catches a glimpse of the van. Your eyes widen at the compliment, and you clear your throat, a small smile etching onto your face.

“No.. I.. I don’t.”

“Don’t have a boyfriend, or don’t have one that could find it for you?” 

Your eyes meet again and you let out a soft chuckle when John’s brow quirks up, a matching smile on his lips. You scratch the back of your neck and take a breath.

“N-No, I mean I have a boyfriend,” you correct yourself awkwardly, “he just.. can’t find it.” 

“Bet there’s a lotta things that he can’t find,” John snorts under his breath and the innuendo goes straight over your head. 

There’s a painful silence casted upon the room, and you shift your weight to your other leg as you stand there, gazing out the window. You furrow your brows in confusion when you realise you can’t see your friends by the van anymore. 

The older man sighs and glances around the room. “I could take a look at it if you want. Just gotta go get my things,” he gestures behind him with his thumb and quickly turns to walk away. He’s gone before you could say anything, and you’re left alone in the room.

The sun shone through the crack glass of the windows, illuminating the dust particles floating through the air. Inspecting the antique living room, you analyse the framed pictures closer, even daring to pick up one of them. The cobwebs on the glass frame made you cringe as you gently brushed it away.

It was a picture of a family, all men standing in a line, all looked astonishingly similar to John. John stood in the middle, with two younger men on each side. He was holding a large butcher knife, and the entire family wore white aprons, stained with blood. The hanging pig in the background made you queasy. Perhaps it’s his brothers.. or his sons? You thought, slightly intrigued, and disturbed.

A muted cry, abruptly muffled by a low droning noise, broke your thoughts, immediately calling your attention outside the living room. Curious and naive as you were, you set the frame down. Your sandals slap against the wooden floor as you crept out the living room, and towards the door where the sound came from.

The door was unlike the others— covered in a strange fur, and chains on the handle, and slowly squeaked open, almost urging you to investigate further. The droning noise gets louder, and sounds of shackles and screaming fill your ears and strike fear in your heart.

“(Y/N), help!”

Colour drains from your face, and against your better judgement, you slam the mysterious door open at your boyfriend’s desperate call of your name. The door revealed a staircase, with sunlight barely shining on the first step as it leads to darkness.

You tiptoe cautiously down the stairs, the sounds of horror growing louder and louder as it echoes through the dim, damp basement. Water leaks from the pipes above, small sounds of the water pattering only makes the hair on your neck stand up as you edge closer to the sounds. Stopping right in front of another door, a dark liquid begins to pour out from the bottom, and your jaw drops.

“M-Matt?” You call out, lower lip wobbling.

The lively roaring of the chainsaw abruptly stops.

Thud.

A blood curdling scream escapes your lips when the door is slammed open and your boyfriends body slumps to the floor. His feathered black hair, now matteted with his own blood as his baby brown eyes rolled to the back of his head. Matt’s denim jacket was torn to shreds, along with his matching denim jeans— the blood poured endlessly out of his massacred body, washing over the entire floor and staining the bottom of your shoes.

“Oh.. Oh my god!” You shrill, a trembling hand hovering over your mouth and your eyes fill with tears. Horror and nausea wash over you in waves, as bile boils in your throat. You cower backwards, practically tripping over yourself as you hurry to get away from the source of this terror. 

The chainsaw wielding maniac turns to face you, and reveals himself to be one of the boys in the picture. The same sick smile on his face as he pulls the chain of the weapon, the thunderous howl of the chainsaw coming back to life. 

Suddenly a pair of muscular arms wrap around your waist, lifting your frail frame off the ground and you let out a terrified shriek. Kicking and screaming, your feet meet the ground and your back is pressed tightly against a toned chest. Lips brush against your ear, and the eerie words invited goosebumps on your skin.

“It’s awfully rude to snoop, darlin’”

You let out another painful scream as you realise it’s John— John and his deranged family responsible for this massacre of Matt. His calloused hands roam your torso, groping at your skin and holding you firmly against his sweaty chest. 

“Theodore…” John’s voice is low as he scolds his apprentice, who stands in front of you two, his cherub face doused in the blood and tears of your boyfriend, a twisted grin etched on his lips. “You’re scarin’ our guest.”

The younger man just laughs maniacally, dropping his weapon to the ground, and the loud thud of the chainsaw makes you whimper. You squirm helplessly in John’s grip, but your attempts to escape were fruitless. “Let me go! Let me go, you psychos!” Your voice is hoarse and your face flooded with tears.

“Aw, I don’t think so, darlin’,” John’s beard scratches against your cheek, his constricting grip on you nearly crushes your lungs. 

“I think we’re gonna keep you a little longer— show you that real southern hospitality.”

Your screams and cries for help are drowned out by the two madmen’s deranged laughter and taunts.

໒꒰ྀིྀི ੭ ˃̵ᴗ˂̵ ꒱ྀི੭ — taglist : @desoolate @hamburgerslippers @alwaysinblck @emosludge @nwheregirl @beansricejc @sughcashsaiki @namjoons-crabssss @scream-queen-25 @slutforsoldierboy @hamburgerslippers @redhotelroom. @hqmmett @ilovedilfs4ever

let me know if you wish to be added/removed♡

#dark.josie #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves imagine #john wick x reader #john wick imagine #john wick x you #john wick #slasher!au #texas chainsaw massacre

[frangipanilove]

Fighting Fire With Fire Part 2;

"The Duality Of Fire"

(read part one and part three here)

During the early stages of the outbreak, the military used napalm in an attempt to control the spread of the virus. Through flashbacks and through FTWD, we saw how Operation Cobalt completely failed to contain the virus, while simultanously contributing to the total breakdown of societal structures. Metropolitan areas on the North American continent were indiscriminately bombed, making no differentiation between the living residing there, and the undead. We also saw, for instance in Shane's flashback to when Rick was in the hospital, how federal forces went in and killed any remaining survivers.

This is the duality of fire. It can be used for total obliteration, but it can also facilitate new life, as we saw in TOWL 1x1 Days, when Rick told the story of how his father burned down the farm, and how it flourished the next year.

During Rick's echelon briefing, we see the duality of the "fire" symbolism illustrated. Both Rick and Major General Beale talk about how you sometimes "have to burn things down in order to bring things back":

Both recognize the tremendous power of the fire symbolism, but they use the metaphor differently. Where Rick is ultimately interested in a good outcome as in facilitating new life, thriving crops and a sustainable future, Beale is literally talking about burning down cities, along with the people living in them.

In flashbacks seen during Major General Beale's Echelon briefing, we witness how the military used napalm on Atlanta and LA.

Napalm is, simply put, a fire bomb made from petrochemocals.

Let's explore the "fire = fuel" angle for a minute.

The opening minutes of 1x1 was our first introduction to the visuals and the symbolism of the show. We see Rick arrive at a gas station in search of fuel.

He only finds death and destruction, meaning that since the very first seconds of the show, the literal opening scene, we see gas, gas stations and fossil fuel surrounded by death symbolism. And, when we later learn that the military bombed the cities and killed countless civilians using napalm, we realise they used a firebomb made from petrochemicals.

The symbolism around gas stations as temples of doom continues, such as in 4x4 Indifference:

This sign quite literally labels the gas station as "hell". The people residing there had committed suicide. Keep this in mind, I'll return to it shortly!

The term "fighting fire with fire" was originally used to describe a technique of forest management, specifically in regards to how to manage wildfires, in which controlled fires were ignited in the path of a wildfire as a preventative measure:

"Fighting fire with fire" as an expression has also often been used to describe vaccines, due to the way it was discovered that exposure to pathogens in some cases could trigger the immune system to produce antibodies against said pathogens, thus resulting in immunity:

When first we met the character Dr. Edwin Jenner at the CDC in TWD 1x5 Wildfire, his name was a reference to Dr. Edward Jenner, an English physician widely known as the “father of immunology”, due to his role in developing the world's first vaccine, against smallpox, in 1798.

It is not a strecth to say that this foreshadows a potential vaccine in TWDU. The virus is called wildfire. Vaccines are often said to be "fighting fire with fire". We learned about the wildfire virus from a character named after the guy who developed the world's first vaccine.

In TOWL 1x2 Gone, we see Michonne involved in a situation that sheds light on how the "fighting fire with fire" symbolism is utilized by TPTB. We see her trying to get through an enormous walker horde, it's a virtual ocean of death:

She tries to distract the walkers by shooting a small missile into the horde, which then explodes. Fighting fire with fire.

Eventually, Nat shows up and helps by adding more explosive fireballs, and the "ocean of death" parts to reveal a way forward.

Fighting fire with fire:

This also provides an interesting example illustrating how fire bombs can be used responsibly, in contrast to the way napalm was used by the military, who indiscriminately bombed cities, killing innocent civilians in metropolitan areas by incinerating them.

It shows that when the people, who have harnessed the tremendous power of fire, have the right intentions, it can be used for good. It shows the duality of fire, and it illustrates the duality of pharmakon, a poison and a cure.

Fighting fire with fire.

This guy stands out from the crowd, and I believe he tells us something about what the wildfire virus in TWDU in reality is a metaphor for:

He's a callback to Rick, back in TWD 1x1 Days Gone Bye:

He beautifully illustrates the ominous nature of the fire symbolism, here represented by fossil fuels, or simply gasoline. We saw it herald death and dystopian hellscape at the gas station in 1x1, we saw it at the gas station in 4x4 Indifference, which was literally named "Hell", we saw it when napalm made from petrochemicals was used indiscriminately to destroy metropolitan areas on the North American continent and massacre anyone in proximity, infected or not.

And we see it again here.

The gas man is Mr. Wildfire Virus incarnate, a posterboy for death and necrotic life, a metaphor for "the old ways". He represents the disease, the plague, the extinction event...

He represents "the end" of humanity!

I don't think it's a stretch to say that the wildfire virus and the walkers in TWDU are metaphors for carbon emissions, the fossil fuel industry and the rapidly escalating threath of climate change to humanity. That's always been my interpretation, and that's solidified after seeing the gas man.

An interesting detail is how the gas man is shown here with gold teeth, as though he's illustrating the incredible wealth accumulated by the fossil fuel industry at the expense of the equilibrium of the ecology of the planet.

Seeing a gas man as the front figure and team captain of an enormous horde of the undead, an insurmountable obstacle, an ocean of death... it's not subtle.

A gas station innundated in death symbolism was the very first thing we, the audience, saw of TWDU, it was literally in the opening scene of 1x1.

And the gas man were among the last things we saw in what's so far one of the last episodes of the last spin off. But a few episodes later, we did see a glimmer of hope, and a potential way out of the mess...

The gas man functions as the face of the threat to humanity in TWDU, and was, in my opinion, inserted as a counter point to what we saw few episodes later, the ethanol as a representation of a "cure", an "antidote" in the back Richonne's escape car.

An electric/bio-ethanol hybrid car, no less...

Again, not subtle...

Bio-ethanol, a sustainable, renewable source of energy, is portrayed as a foreshadow of a sustainable future, in which humanity recovers and thrives.

A green(e) future?

I wrote about how they in FTWD season 4, and in particular 4x16, explored the "ethanol = cure" theme in a post the other week, read more about it here.

Remember how we in TWD season 9, saw the production of bio-ethanol as an alternative source of fuel. We saw how crucial it was, in that Maggie was even seen trading produce for bio-ethanol.

This is a theme TPTB also explored in TWD World Beyond, where especially Elton was concerned about the sixth extinction event, the Holocene extinction.

The kids in TWDWB called themselves "the Endlings", seeming to have accepted that they were among the last survivers of a humanity that was on a direct path to self destruction. Here's from an article in Comicbook.com:

"'Wind always wins,'" Elton tells Hope, borrowing a phrase from his mother who died at the onset of the apocalypse ten years earlier. "Something my mom said about nature deciding who lives and who dies. Turns out she was right."

He explains humans are "at the conclusion of the Holocene extinction," the sixth extinction event on the planet following the Late Ordovician mass extinction, the Late Devonian extinction, the End-Permian extinction, the Triassic-Jurassic extinction event, and the Cretaceous-Paleogene extinction event.

"We were already killing ourselves directly and indirectly, but nature made a shortcut," Elton tells Hope. "It took the dinosaurs possibly 60,000 years to die after 240 million of living, so following that ratio, given the human race's 600,000 and factoring in other miscellaneous variables, I say we have about 15 years until we're gone."

Elton was referring to the walkers when he talked about the threath to humanity, however, if the walkers are a metaphor for climate change, Elton's predictions of 15 years until we're extinct are sobering...

In TWOL 1x6, Major General Beale estimated non-necrotic, meaning human, life has 14 years left.

In real life, the doomsday clock is currently at 90 seconds to midnight (x)...

...we're nowhere near reaching the 2 degrees Celcius target...

...and 2023 was the hottest year on record.

We're not doing great.

TPTB seem to be well aware, because...

...here we see how an electric/bio-ethanol hybrid car represent the "antidote", the future, the "escape" from the extinction event.

Richonne's yellow stick shift electric/bio-ethanol hybrid car represents a potential way out of the imminent Holocene extinction. It represents an "escape" from the sixth mass extinction event, much in the same way a shift away from carbon emitting fossil fuels, to sustainable, renewable sources of energy represents the "cure" against climate change in real life.

But back to the narrative of the show. The accumulation of walkers represent a real threath to humanity, as Major General Beale correctly stated. What could the expression "fighting fire with fire", or "pharmakon", tell us about a potential "cure"? What could the "antidote" be, in the canon of the show?

During Rick's echelon briefing, Major General Beale raised a few issues that would be of legitimate concern, even if most of the rest he said were the ramblings of an authoritarian genocidal madman. He mentioned hordes of up to a million walkers, and he referenced studies suggesting non-necrotic life, meaning humans, could have as little as 14 years left before the the dead would outcompete the living. Millions of walking corpses, spreading diseases, polluting the soil, contaminating fresh water sources.

Those are legitimate concerns and would have to be dealth with. Fire could play a literal role.

Glenn told us in season one. "We bury the ones we love and burn the rest". From an infection contagion prevention point of view, it makes sense to use fire to destruct the wildfire virus. Fighting fire with fire. However, there must be some way to contain the virus while still preserving one's own hummanity. "We bury the ones we love and burn the rest". Unlike what happened during the mass murders of Operation Cobalt during the initial stages of the outbreak.

Again, fire, when used responsibly, could play a role in neutralizing the treath of the plague. It's pharmakon, a poison and a cure.

Fighting fire with fire.

And using fire as a contagion preventation measure was already built into the infrastructure at the CDC. We first saw it in 1x5 Wildfire, when Dr. Jenner accidently knocked over a vial containing samples from Test Subject 19, his late wife, upon which the lab went into full decontamination mode and erased any remaining trace of the pathogen in a great ball of fire.

Later, when the doomsday clock at the CDC reached zero, we watched the entire CDC explode, effectively destructing everything inside, including test samples containing wildfire as well as any other pathogen they might have kept in there.

We also saw it on Hershel's farm in season 2, when the barn where he had kept the reanimated corpses of his loved ones while awaiting a cure, caught on fire. Although, that was more of a display of the symbolism involved rather than a depiction of how to scientifically contain a virus:

We've also seen it countless other times. Fire symbolism has been prevalent on the show since the very beinning, and there's a reason for that. It's because it represents pharmakon, a poison and a cure!

My hypothesis is that "fire" could play a literal role in the resolution of the zombie apocalypse. I also believe that it's likely the term "fighting fire with fire", or "pharmakon", could be meant to be interpreted figuratively, as in the develepment of some kind of cure/vaccine/treatment/immunity.

And like I explained in this post from a few days ago, connections to Beth is found everywhere in the symbolism surrounding these themes.

I mentioned her association with ethanol (as in moonshine = alcohol). I discussed the precedence set by Alicia from FTWD in regards to the bite/cure theory.

And finally, I've spent years now, talking about the Sirius symbolism that Beth has been absolutely immersed in. The word "Sirius" comes from Greek Seirios, which means "glowing", "scorching", it refers to Sirius the Dog Star, and it's associated with the scorching hot "dog days of summer".

"Sirius" symbolism IS "fire" symbolism, they're literally the same, and it ultimately means "return/resurrection/rebirth/reunion", as a reference to how Sirius the Dog Star periodically disappears from the night sky, only to return one morning, right before dawn.

I've talked about how Beth is deeply connected to the symbolism we see around Rick, I've talked about how they so often completely mirror each other and the resurrection symbolism around Rick is identical to the resurrection symbolism around Beth.

If "fire" is a part of the "cure" on the show, the fire symbolism includes resurrection symbolism, which we've seen countless exemples of around Rick and Beth.

And remember, the future is green(e)!

#team delusional #bethyl #daryl dixon #beth greene #team defiance #the walking dead #beth x daryl #twd #daryl x beth #twd towl #twd world beyond

[writer-by-the-sea]

The Gas Attendant

Stardew Valley Fanfic

Shane X GN! Reader

NSFW / NSFT

One shot

Reader is entranced by the sexy gas station attendant on an unscheduled stop.

The smell of gas still lingers, no matter how many times I wash myself… I can still smell it. I can still smell him. I let my hands linger on my waist, the hot water from my shower pouring down my back and trying to help me forget what could have never been.

A quick stop in a small town, against my schedule as I left the city and set the destination for my sister's wedding. Something I would have thought nothing of if it weren’t for the gas attendant. Deep plum hair, so dark it was almost black— each shift of head dropping the shaggy hair into his eyes only to be brushed away with a dirty hand. He filled my gas while I browsed the shop and grabbed a few snacks for the hours to come. 

Standing at the checkout, waiting behind a short woman with blonde hair as she went through her lottery tickets, I let myself watch him as he cleaned my car windows. He was handsome, far too handsome to be working at a place like this. His blue overalls were covered in spots of oil and dirt, giving him this appearance of ruggedness that I found myself craving as I continued to watch him. 

I wanted to stall, to spend as much time as I could at this gas station. To throw caution to the wind and chase after the man pumping my gas— 

“Excuse me?” A voice called in front of me, a young girl working the register calling me forward to finally check out. “Whenever you’re ready!” 

I placed my items onto the counter, taking my time and glancing out the window after I set each one down. Chips, cookies, sour gummy worms, a few bottles of water and soda… 

Then I grabbed some candy bars displayed under the counter, following through with finding an excuse to keep eye fucking the gas attendant outside. 

“That’s my uncle Shane!” I jumped as the girl spoke, grinning ear to ear as she rung up each item. “He won’t steal your car, don’t worry!”

“Oh!” I shook my head and brought my hands up defensively. “No, no, that’s not why I was staring at him. I promise!” 

“No worries!” She replied and reached for one of my bottles of water. Then she paused, her fingertips only grazing the bottle before she dropped her hand. “So… why are you staring at him?” 

I gulped and pretended to search for my wallet instead of answering right away. “Uh. No— no reason.” 

She smiled and only hummed in reply as she finally grabbed the water and rung it up. 

After I paid I went back outside, taking a moment to take in my surroundings. Being born and raised in the city, it was odd to actually see trees and the ground. Even the sky was so large it was almost obnoxious… But when I walked up to the gas attendant, I thought maybe I could see myself living somewhere like this… 

“You’re all set,” he said and handed my keys back to me, his fingernails lightly scathing across my palm as he set them in my hand. “You need anything else?”

“Yeah…yeah I do.” 

There was a motel across the street… and Shane didn’t even ask any questions. 

His lips were crushed against my own, ripping my jacket off my shoulders and pushing me into the bed with urgency. I gasped as I fell back into the bedding, but could only watch as he quickly removed his uniform and let it drop to the floor. 

“I don’t normally do this,” I said as he crawled on top of me and worked the button of my pants. “Actually, I’ve never done this—“

“Me either,” he mumbled. A man of few words I came to learn... but that didn’t mean he was lacking in skill. He undressed me with impatient hands, removing each piece of clothing and throwing it behind himself carelessly. 

Soon I was completely nude before him, my legs spread as he buried his head between my thighs. His hands gripped my bottom, spreading me open as he lapped his tongue against my entrance. Each lap slow but eager, dipping into me and working me open as he savored each and every lick. 

“Shane!” I called, my hands digging into the sheets, my legs kicking out as I neared release. But, to my frustration, he wouldn’t allow it. Not yet.,

Shane lifted his head and smiled, lazy and relaxed as he moved himself to settle between my spread legs. He ripped open a condom and rolled it onto himself before placing his cock at my entrance. 

In one smooth motion, he was inside me, taking my breath away as he carefully bottomed out. I was silent, my mouth hanging open, hands on his back and pressing him down deeper, deeper, deeper. 

“Fuck,” he groaned and began moving his hips, fucking into me with lazy thrusts. The head of his cock catching on my hole as he eased himself all the way out and then back in. “You feel so good, baby.” 

He bought his lips back to mine, licking inside my mouth as he brought me closer and closer to release. Shane picked up the speed, fucking into me now recklessly, his hips slamming into me as he gave himself over to me. 

“Please,” I whispered, moaning as he moved his lips down to my neck and bit down. “Shane, please!” 

“Anything you want,” he gasped into my flesh. “Anything you want.” My legs wrapped around him as he went as hard as he could, our moans growing as we came closer to finishing. My nails digging into his back, my head thrown back as I took everything he gave me. 

“Fuck—“ He slammed his hips into me one final time, both of us shouting out as we came together. He gave me a few more light thrusts, his hips barely moving as he filled his condom. 

He left shortly after, giving me another kiss before running out the door. And now I stood in the shower, washing away our love making and trying desperately to forget it. Which I knew was impossible. 

In such a short amount of time I grew so attached, so enamored with this stranger that just made love to me like no one ever had before— 

I sighed and stepped out of the shower, taking a moment to glance at myself in the mirror— still looking throughly fucked. I wrapped myself in a towel, prepared to dry off, get redressed, and then leave this small town forever. 

“Hey,” Shane stood in the room, holding up two button up shirts. “Which one of these would work for your sister’s wedding?” 

“I—“ On the bed was a duffle bag, a few pieces of clothing hanging out of it. Along with a newly purchased box of condoms. “You’re coming with me?” 

Shane chuckled and rolled his eyes. “Babe, If you think for a second that after a fuck like that I’m letting you out of my life you’re out of your damn mind.” 

Maybe… this was meant to be after all. 

#shane x reader #shane stardew valley #shane sdv #sdv shane #stardew valley shane #shane sdv x reader #sdv x reader #x gn reader #stardew valley x reader #Stardew valley au #stardew shane #Shane fanfic #stardew valley #sdv #seaside writing

[promiscuouspomegranate]

If you're not busy can I request a yandere shane from stardew I really don't see that much of him😸

Midnight Martini

“A little oneshot with some rambles toward the end.”

Oneshot TWs: Drinking, Existential Thoughts, Shane is Depressed, You got Drugged lol, implied abduction.

Ramble TWs: Alcoholism, Depressive Thoughts, and Yandere Behaviors

(You’re the second person to request something.. so I simply have to entertain the anon. I hope you like it.. I was sleepy writing this 😪)

º

“Do you ever drink, Y / N or do you constantly keep up the happy farmer charade? I’m genuinely intrigued by your little persona,” Shane smirked and elbowed me, “What happens at this lake stays between us.”

I nervously gripped the martini I ordered earlier and quickly chugged it. It was dry and bitter and overpowered my mouth with gin. I covered it and felt a burn in my throat. Shane, instead of getting a water bottle for me, laughed as if comedy peaked at this very moment.

“You seriously have never drunk before? Fuck, I didn’t know I’d encounter someone like this ever,” He took a swig of his bottled beer and wiped his mouth, “It’s kinda sweet.”

“Shut up,” I nudged him and groaned, “I was always the damn designated driver at work events and high school parties fucking sucked.”

“Oh, you can curse too? It seems my world is coming to an end,” He chuckled and set his bottle down, “I get it, though. I didn’t start until.. well, until some time ago.”

“I don’t get how you enjoy this shit,” I glanced over and realized what I said, “No offense, of course!”

There was a moment of silence between us, and the moonlight rippled through the iridescent lake water. I moved in a little closer and grabbed an unopened bottle of cold beer. I used the dock to pop the cap off and took a sip.

“I don’t even like to drink, honestly,” He sighed, “I only like the feeling of being drunk. It’s the only way I feel happy, y’know? So much shit happened, and life continued. I wasn’t fucking ready to man up, so I drove to the closest gas station in ZuZu city and came him with a six-pack. I woke up the next morning with a throbbing pain in my head and vomit in a bucket, but not a single memory about the shit that happened to me. It’s.. it’s become a ruthless cycle.”

I took another sip and Shane grabbed his bottle. He gazed at my face and rubbed his stubble.

“Do you ever think this is it? All we have in life is a cycle of horrible feelings and emotions until we die? Yoba, I hope it’s not,” His voice sounded raw with emotion as he spoke, “I just wanna get better.”

“For what it’s worth,” I paused and thought about what to say. I set my bottle down and grabbed Shane’s hand, “You’re not alone, Shane. I don’t know what happened, and I would never expect you to tell me. I know what despair feels like, and you can’t help but think it all fucking sucks. That’s because it does. Everything is horrible, but.. but we have these ever so brief moments that make life worth living.”

He was silent and I decided to continue.

“When I first came here, I was depressed. I lost the only family member that genuinely cared about me and had no fucking money, friends, or food,” I laughed and looked at him, “Shane, I remember approaching you, and you told me to fuck off. I went home and started sobbing because I felt like shit. I could’ve wallowed in my misery, but then.. I wouldn’t be here with you.”

Reality seemed to blur with desire and I selfishly leaned in closer. I brushed my hand across his face and his eyes glowed in the darkness of the valley. He felt warm and my mind felt fuzzy.

“I want to be here with you,” I murmured.

“Fuck you,” He whispered back, “Fuck you for being so.. you. Damn it, you’re not supposed to be a flirty drunk. I’m supposed to be making a move on you.”

Our noses touched and I felt my heart racing with intoxication and want. I wanted this kiss to happen and I wanted it to be with Shane. I quickly pressed my lips against his and pulled his head closer to mine. He reciprocated my feelings and wrapped his arms around my body. After a moment, he pulled away.

“That was a long time coming,” I slurred my words and grabbed his face, “I want more Shane. ‘S not fair to kiss me then pull away so quickly.”

“Oh, I know sweetheart,” He calmly replied and kissed my forehead. He stood up and put our bottles back in the cooler, “I’m just concerned about how you feel right now.”

“I’m fine,” I stupidly smiled and bounced up. My head was pounding, and the ground felt like it was swirling, “Just.. just sleepy.”

“That’s good to hear; you’ll be out any second now. It’s past your bedtime, isn’t it,” He pulled me into his arms and muttered, “Just go to sleep. It’ll all be better in the morning. We’ll be together.”

.

That whole scene would take A LOT of gifts and bonding to happen. I’m sensing a major inferiority complex and, “Oh, if I talk to them, they’re just going to think I’m some stupid drunk who can’t take care of himself.”

I think something terrible happened in his life that spiraled into his alcoholic depression. His parents refused to accept him after discovering that he had nowhere else to go but Marnie’s ranch. He’s stuck in the past and refuses to move on from what happened. He feels horrible and desperately needs to feel something other than self-hate and sorrow.

When you first approach him, he’s too absorbed by his grief to realize that YOU WANT TO BE THERE FOR HIM (like.. you don’t bite.) He tries to close off any form of interaction and conversation. Why would he deserve to talk to someone when he’s terrible? He’s too afraid of his flaws to let anyone close.

Yet, you insist on hanging around like some incurable parasite. Shane feels startled when he finally realizes you want to be with him. Here’s this kind farmer who thinks that HE is worth something. He hasn’t felt proper affection in so long that his feelings spiral immediately. He finally has someone that makes him feel like he has self-worth and that he’s important.

He starts drinking less and talking to you more. As he sobers up more, his feelings are less intense but still linger. He wants you to himself and hates the thought of you falling for another bachelor. So, what better way than to take you late at night? Not like he could just ask you out himself.

Give this man counseling and a hug ⁉️⁉️⁉️

#yandere stardew valley #yandere #yandere shane #yandere writing #dark romance #yandere sdv

[dreamdropcompanions]

10/27/23 a day with our buddy Novel Atticus.. got some grass pics.. pics with Shane.. Shane fronted during youth mentor contact today. we went to gas station store and the park. at gas station store Shane used AAC and the cashier was nice about it ;-; yay.. Shane don't usually interact with people IRL who are not family or mental health team. so need to work on using AAC around strangers.. anxiety was there but Novel Atticus have support and Shane was happy cashier was nice about it. - Shane

#novel atticus #us #our plush #our companions #aac #aac user #autism spectrum disorder #autism #autistic #actually autism #actually autistic #aurora gift #aurora plush #aurora world #aurora #riley bear #riley bear aurora #teddy bear #teddy #emotional support #emotional support plushie #emotional support plush #plush #plushie #comfort plush #comfort plushie #stuffie #companion #object sentience #posic

[girldewar]

🥰 or 😭 or 😵‍💫 <33333

woe! timbrady be upon ye. this is from a teenage runaway thing i was working on a couple years ago that i'd really love to revisit but unfortunately sort of left my brain in 2022 :/

It’s a nothing night, some random house show with a no-name high school band that was put on by a friend of a friend of a friend who Josh is maybe trying to fuck. Tim agreed to go because he’s seventy percent of Josh’s impulse control, and because if he didn’t, he’d be spending his Friday night fruitlessly dialing Shane for calc answers.

But it’s been an hour and the band’s just started their set, finally, now that everyone’s high enough that the singer’s whispery excuse for vocals sound revelatory instead of shitty. Josh disappeared half an hour ago with the girl, the friend’s friend’s friend, and Tim is standing sort of toward the edge of the crowd, largely uninterested in showing up to practice tomorrow with a bunch of extra bruises from the mosh pit.

He shoves the last of his gas station bag of Ruffles in his mouth, and he pulls out his phone. His messages are barren, Josh having ignored the rosy-cheeked emoji Tim shot him about ten minutes after he vanished. Besides that, the last thing Tim sent anyone was the house’s address, which has likewise gone unanswered. Tim flicks his phone off and slips it back in his pocket, frowning lightly. Pulls it out again unconsciously and feels the crease between his eyebrows deepen when the lock screen still comes up empty.

It’s not like he’d owed a response, obviously, but Tim’s not used to being ignored. For a moment he debates the merits of stepping outside just to leave a voicemail, but he wouldn’t be able to get back inside. Josh got them in the first time, and Tim’s pretty sure plus-ones don’t get priority re-entry.

He’s pulled the thread back up to double-text, because fuck it, honestly, he’s too bored and a little wasted for this, and anyway he has a faint headache coming on, when a voice says, too loud and too close to his ear, “Someone keeping you waiting?”

Tim bites down on a ridiculous grin. “Just this guy. Said he’d meet me here but he’s running late.”

Hands settle on his hips briefly before lifting up and away, rubbing over Tim’s upper arms. “Well that’s rude of him.” Tim can hear his smile. “What an idiot, bailing on a guy like you.”

“Oh yeah? A guy like me, huh?” Tim gives it another second for the incredulous laughter to bubble up, and then he spins around. He is sure his face is ridiculous. He’s smiling incandescently and his cheeks are flushed from the crowd and it’s so good to see Brady that he can barely remember to breathe. “Hey there.”

Brady’s smiling a little dumb and open-mouthed. His eyes are clear. He must have driven here from his parents’ house. “Hey. Sorry about that. Dinner ran late.”

Tim shrugs. His headache’s completely cleared up now and everything. “Just glad you’re here now.”

“Yeah,” Brady says, drawing it out a little and looking around. “This is kinda ass, isn’t it?”

Tim shrugs again. He’s feeling very magnanimous. “You’re just too sober to appreciate it.”

“Don’t actually know if that makes it better.” Brady doesn’t wait for an answer, and Tim doesn’t really want to give one anyway. He’s not sure why he’s defending it. He’s only here for Josh, and it’s not like Josh is around to hear them talking, now. But Brady — and this is why Brady is the best, why Tim texted him to come along instead of Shane or Jacob or, god forbid, Drake — Brady leans in close and breathes hot into Tim’s ear. “You wanna get out of here?” He puts on an affect so it’s a joke.

Tim swallows. His face hurts from smiling. “Where are you gonna take me?”

“Dunno.” Brady’s hands are back on his hips. “I know this real nice place near here, great food, sit-down service.”

“Sounds fancy,” Tim hedges.

“Well,” says Brady. He pulls back so they’re a normal distance apart. A safe distance. “Worth it, for a guy like you.”

#ty britt!!! #ask #alltheprettyplaces #rpf talk #718

[boygiwrites]

Harley D. Dixon 4

An amazing edit inspired by this story! (Cred to Cora_Line99) Harley D. Dixon's Pinterest Board! Harley D. Dixon's Playlist!

📖Chapter List.

Author's Note. Happy to be posting another chapter! Please enjoy :)

We drive all morning.

The leafy dirt and tilted trees of the quarry crawl past our windows, and they take about an hour to turn into cement roads, gas stations, pharmacies and corner stores with the windows busted out. We're in an empty town, now, trailing the sidewalks like a long line of ants.

At the head of the group is officer Rick's car, leading us left and right 'round the edges of danger and death, 'cause that's what cops do. Behind him is Morales' car. Then, me and my Dad are in the middle, and behind us is the RV. At the back, sandwiching us all together, 'cause he's the only other cop, is officer Shane. His voice crackles up on the walkie every few minutes, goin', everything lookin' good up front, over, which Rick's voice answers, all's good, over, except for that one time, 'cause there was a dead buck blocking the road, and they had to get out and shove it off.

Sometimes we'll get a, Daryl, from one of them, which means, How's Harley, which means, Do we need to pull over and shoot your daughter in the face, and my Dad always answers with a, Keep drivin', and he throws the walkie down like it tried biting him.

Adults like addin' layers onto what they say, 'cause the truth is too offensive to say out loud.

My Dad's watchin' me real close; closer than the road, even. He's chewin' on his thumb.

Things were a little like this when it was just us, in the beginning. All we did for the first three days was drive.

Then, we found these people.

I think about Rick — And how just for one more day, he saved my life.

He split Sophia's Dad in half with a bullet, to keep him from ripping me up. Without him, maybe those teeth in my shoe would'a had one more moment to sink into me, and I'd be dead again, some other way. The only reason I'm able to feel the sun on my skin right now, and listen to the birds as they flutter and chirp on the phone lines is because of Rick, the man who killed my Uncle. I'm half-dyin', and Rick — He's half-good. There might be walker germs inside my body, and they might be squirming their way into my lungs, and my heart, and eventually, my brain, which will turn me into one more dead name the living will have to carry around with 'em, and my Dad will be sad forever, but today, I get to watch the sky pass over us.

That's just enough, I think, for me to only hate officer Rick with half of everything I got.

The walkie chimes.

"Daryl?" It's Rick, again, and I know his police badge is prolly winkin' in the sunlight.

Do we need to shoot your daughter in the face? Did I fail?

Dad snatches up the walkie. He don't like answering the secret question that Rick's askin', not one bit.

"No. Keep drivin'."

He throws it down and goes back to chewin' his thumb, bouncin' his knee, and glancin' at my arm. If he could, he'd blast the music so loud that there wasn't enough space left in his head to think so hard about everything. I go back to watching the clouds pass by, just for today.

We drive all morning, and then after that, we drive all afternoon.

Somebody honks twice, quick. Honk, honk.

That's code for, everybody pull over; something's wrong.

"Stay here, chicken," My Dad mutters, before he hops out. We're in a parking lot for a supermarket.

The adults gather, and the kids are all lookin' at each other through the windows, mouthing what's going on, and frowning. We all shrug.

My Dad comes back a few minutes later.

"Old man says the RV's runnin' on fumes." Dad reports, folding him arms on my window.

"What's that mean?" I ask him.

I can feel nausea spilling in through my stomach; rolling inside my skull, for the third time today.

"Means we're gonna have to stay here for a little bit." He sighs.

The first thing I do when he lets me out the truck is retch my guts up onto the front tyre.

Heads turn, and I know everybody's already makin' excuses in their heads, like I'm just feeling car-sick, but it's just not true. I'm not car-sick. I've been throwing up since yesterday, and everyone knows it, 'cause they watch me like hawks.

My Dad helps me use a spare shirt to wipe my chin clean, and then he sets me up in one of the camping chairs people are pulling out for the long wait. He makes me drink some water, three big sips, and he finds me an apple to nibble on, nagging me to eat as much I can. I hesitate, 'cause it's just gonna end up in another slimy puddle of vomit some hours from now, but I bite into it, anyway.

He tells me to stay put, and then he's leaving with all the other men to search for gas. The women hover around me — Some sitting, some leaning, some standing, but all of 'em starin'. Except for poor, poor Andrea, who's not staring at anything other than her shoes. I feel like Andrea.

More apples and water get passed around.

"Sweetie, I just wanted to tell you I'm so sorry." Lori says to me. "I should have been paying more attention. I shouldn't have let you run off."

I force myself to look at her. "Don't be sorry. It's my fault."

"Oh," She sighs, and she just looks so, so sad. "Please don't say that. It's not your fault."

But, "It is my fault." I tell her. "I ran away."

Carol speaks up. "Honey, what happened was not your fault. It wasn't anybody's fault. It was just... a terrible, terrible accident."

Jacqui nods. "Don't blame yourself."

"Rick feels awful." Lori admits. "After Atlanta, after Merle... Now, this. God. He's just so torn up about it."

I shrink into my chair, 'cause I don't wanna hear a single word 'bout Rick, or his feelings. He saved me, but he's not my friend, and I don't have to care about his feelings; especially not when they're about murdering my family. I don't have to care about any of their feelings. I think they're forgetting that I'm also waiting to see if I die. They keep glancing at my skin, my eyes, and my fingers, which aren't twitching, yet — But, so am I. I don't want to die. I want to listen to the birds every day. I want to see my Dad, too. I want to watch the stars at night, and pick out the shiniest one.

"Okay," Is all I can croak out, 'cause there's something very thin inside of me that's stopping me from crying, and I don't wanna break it.

Then — "God," It's Andrea, and she's laughing. "She's dying! The kid is dying, people!"

I whip my head up. The other women gasp.

"Last thing she wants is you people pestering her all-damn day, so just do her a favor and shut your traps."

Everyone is gobsmacked, as Dale likes to say. Their mouths are hanging open, and their eyes are all shifty, like they're lookin' around to see if everyone just heard what they just heard. But, yep, they heard right. Andrea just said the word dying, which is basically a cuss word, and nobody can do anything to take it back.

You can't swallow words you already said. I know that, 'cause I've tried, like the night I told my Dad he killed my Momma.

"Or Daryl's gonna come back and do it for you."

Andrea don't even care 'bout the stares. She goes back to eating her apple. 

"I don't think that's appropriate," Lori tells her.

Jacqui sighs. "Let's just talk about something else, y'all, huh? Like, uh..."

"There's nothing else to talk about, Jacqui. We're all just playing the waiting game, here. Whether we talk about the damn weather or not isn't gonna change the fact that we might have to shoot Harley in the face in a few hours."

Andrea's right, and nobody can change it.

After that, all we do is wait, and wait, and wait, for me to start twitching. Nobody likes this game.

To keep busy, me and the other kids scribble flowers and stick-men into the tarmac with some chalk that Carol finds in a trunk, and she makes sure to compliment my drawings way more than the others, even though they're kinda wonky. Carl snacks on some jerky. Then Dale wonders on back, and we get to listen to some more of his poetry book, which has teeny-tiny letters that he needs to put his glasses on to read. It makes him look more like everybody's grandpas than he already does. My Grandpappy Dixon, though — He wouldn't read no damn poetry book. He'd chop it up and use it for firewood, just so he could burn some more poetry books.

We're on a poem about a newborn lamb when the men come back.

They're all carrying jerry cans and plastic tubing and heavy, droopy frowns that mean bad news. Glenn flops onto a chair and when he shakes his head, sweat goes flying off, and his arms are covered in black car soot. Morales and T-Dog pinch and shake out their sweaty shirts.

My Dad stands behind my chair, squeezing onto the muscles on either side of my neck.

"You eatcher apple?" He murmurs to me.

"Yeah," I murmur back, and he nods.

Everybody straightens.

"Alright, y'all." Rick hooks his thumbs into his belt. "At the moment, we're only getting gas from 'bout one outta every fifteen cars we check, which'll have us back on the road in about a couple hours. I'm aware that ain't ideal. I'm aware we're on a time limit, here. But we don't have a lotta options."

"There's space in the RV." Comments Dale. "We could ditch one of the cars; pile in the RV."

Shane tries to laugh. "That's a whole lotta pilin', there, Dale."

Glenn looks like he hates to say it, but, "He's right. We've already got me, Jacqui, Carol, Sophia and Andrea crammed in there."

Dale deflates and goes back to stroking his beard.

"Now, this here's a parking lot, people." Shane announces. "There's cars here. There's gas. We're just gonna have to stick it out 'til then."

There's a general wave of disagreement passing over everyone's faces.

I know what they're thinking.

"Is someone going to say it?" Carol huffs, and nope, nobody's going to say it, so she has to. "Harley can't just, 'stick it out'."

We haven't had a real conversation about this. My imminent maybe-death has only been passed around in whispers and mumbles, like a bad stain nobody wants to hold onto for too long. Nobody wants to mention my weak stomach or just how much I've been hurling up my food, because that way, it can't just exist in the background, anymore. It has to take a front seat, where they can see it; where it's scarier.

As soon as the words come out Carol's mouth, eyes start jumping around, as if it's easier to discuss my death if they can't see me.

"I'm sorry, but that's the reality, here." Carol's taking a page out of Andrea's book. "Daryl, how many times has that girl thrown up today?"

His hands grip me harder. "'Bout... 'Bout four-five times."

"Right. So, I think it's time we throw the possibility of those scratches bein' nothing out the window." She says, grim.

Glenn rubs at his forehead. "Oh my God."

"W— H-Hold on, now." Dale's stuttering, shaking his head. "We can't just diagnose her from— from one measly symptom."

"This doesn't change anything." Shane suddenly argues.

My Dad starts, "The Hell it don—"

"We're headed to the CDC for a cure." Shane talks over him. "We're headed there, and that's it. It's all we can do."

Dale's just totally appalled. "I think there's a lot more we can do."

"That supply run from a few weeks ago," Glenn's frowning, "I brought back some good stuff. Maybe that can... Stave it off."

It, meaning the germs reaching my brain, once and for all. I recall the posters in my old science classroom, where a person's head would be sliced in half and you could see all the brains on the inside, and I imagine that it's my brain, and that there are millions of little ants chewing away at the edge, and then one of them breaks through, 'cause all it takes is one, and they eat my brain from the inside-out like an old melon, then that's the end — I die.

My Dad can tell what I'm thinking, 'cause he's magic like that, and he silently takes my place in the chair, and sets me in his lap. His arms wrap around my waist, and Jacqui reaches over to put her hand over mine.

You can't stave off turning into a walker. You can try — Like, with cables, and apologies — but really, it doesn't work like that. We're all just meat and bones and guts and skin, and rules like dying apply to us, even if we don't want 'em to. We're all just animals, even if we read poetry.

Shane scrubs his face with his hand, and he looks like he really wants to call Glenn a cuss word. "Glenn—"

"It doesn't work like that, I know." Glenn snaps. "You think I don't know that? You think I'm an idiot? You think I wanna watch a kid die?"

Rick pipes up. "Nobody's sayin—"

"'Nobody's saying that', I know," Glenn argues, "But you're all thinking it. What? You don't even want to try?"

"No. It's a good idea." Rick disagrees. "In fact, I'm all for it. Daryl?"

My Dad's gone quiet. He gives a nod.

"Well, then I don't think it's anyone else's decision to make." Rick concludes. "What do we have?"

"Kaopectate, Ibuprofen. Nausea stuff." Glenn lists, calmer now.

"Still stuck sitting on our asses, though." Morales sighs, holding Eliza, who's not full of germs. "Wasting time we don't have."

"CDC's not going anywhere." Jim shrugs.

Suddenly, Dad's not quiet anymore. "How 'boutchu go ahead and share whatcher fuckin' problem is with the class?"

Jim claims, "Don't got one."

"Nah, matter fact," Dad scowls, "You know what? You said my daughter's life ain't worth a few drops of gas this mornin', if I 'memmer right, so why don't you go ahead and shoot a fuckin' hole in yer head 'fore I get up 'n do it for you? Right here, right now?"

Jim's jaw drops. "Woah—"

"Hey — Let's just get back on track, here." Rick holds up his hands, always the peacemaker. "There's no need for this."

Jacqui whips her hand in the air, squinting. "Hang on. What?"

"Yeah," Dad's getting heated; his voice higher. "This fuckin' string-bean bastard, you know what he said to me this mornin'? He said, 'Let's just think 'bout how much gas this is gonna cost us', with some lil' fuckin' smirk, when we were talkin' about savin' Harley."

Jim bursts, "Oh, that's compl—"

Conversation breaks out, but my Dad's shouting over all of it. "Yeah, man! S'what you said, right to my face!"

"That's—" Lori's gobsmacked. "I don't even know what to say to that, Jim."

"H— H-hang—" Rick's trying desperately to squash all this arguing down, but the shouting and the bodies — standing, now — are drowning him. Underneath me, my Dad's legs are jerking up and down, up and down, like that day in camp, 'cause he wants to get up and beat Jim until he's just a lumpy, red smear in the road. Suddenly, there's half a dozen people out of their chairs, forming one hostile voice. "H— Hang on, a secon—"

"You know what," Shane's booming, "I thought there was something off 'bout the way you said that, Jim."

"Is that true?" Glenn's asking, eyebrows screwed tight. "That's messed up, man."

Morales frowns, "Would you say that about my daughter?"

"Calm down," Dale echoes Rick. "Calm down."

"What, you gonna hit me, now? That's whatcher gon' do?" My Dad goads, grinnin', now. "Really?"

"Calm down," Jacqui says.

"Calm down," Lori says.

"Calm down!" T-Dog says.

"Calm down!!" Rick bellows, furious, absolutely furious, and there's a cracking gunshot — a bang — aimed into the clouds, and then silence.

Absolute, total, complete silence. It's so solid that people are stuck in it. So solid that I can hear the bird on the hood of Dad's truck jumping back and forth on its little talons, twenty feet away. It watches, oblivious, hopping and shuffling, until people start remembering to breathe again.

Even Rick is disturbed, and he's the one that pulled the trigger. "That's enough," He exhales, lowering his revolver.

"That's gonna pull a lot of geeks this way." Glenn whispers.

"Good thing we can leave right now, then." Rick pants, and he's staring down Jim, now. What does he mean? Leave right now? But we're stuck here. He said that. His cheekbone looks like an old plum, from where my Daddy punched him a couple days ago, and his eyes; they're piercing, like sharp, blue shards of glass melting under a blowtorch, and suddenly, he don't look like much of a peacemaker no more. "'Cause, Jim, your seat just became available."

His seat? What's that mean? Is he—?

"You're leaving me here?" Jim cries.

"Next bullet's goin' in your leg." Rick tosses the words at Jim, tired. "You doin' this willingly, or not?"

Jim cries out again, and that's how he goes down — He goes down crying and kicking and screaming, bastards, bastards, bastards, but the words mean nothing, and Dale's tryna stop them but neither him or Jimmy are strong enough to fend off four other grown men. I find myself in Lori's arms, right beside Carl, watching with my heart in my mouth, as Shane, Rick, Morales, and my Dad pin Jim down like he's an angry cat, and beat his fighting hands into a long coil of rope that they twist — God, you don't have to do this, please, you don — it tight, and then they anchor him to a shopping cart bay, and they leave him there, with nothing but a jar of peanut butter, a steak knife, an unloaded gun, and their bitter regards.

Dale's blubbering, speaking up for everyone who won't; can't. "This isn't right—"

But they brush past us, into the cars. Rick grabs Lori. My Dad grabs me. Shane starts unloading his Jeep, 'cause we're leaving that behind, too.

"We're leaving Jim?" I shriek quietly to my Dad, who's ushering me back into the truck.

He yanks my seat-belt down. "Ain't our fault," Click. "Fella deserves it."

"But—"

The door slams shut.

"Please!" Jim cries. I scramble to peer outside, and I see him kicking the air. "Please! I'll die out here!"

"If yer smart, you'll cut yourself out with the knife, and you'll ration the jar." Daddy calls out as he hops in the driver's seat. "But it's like I said." Slam. "Bag'a bricks."

"No, no, no! Please!"

More doors slamming shut; engines roaring to life. Rick shouts out the radio channel, again, as a reminder.

I can still hear Jim screaming when we peel out onto the highway.

"Everything lookin' good up front? Over."

A pause.

"All's good. Over."

I never wanted this.

Outside the windows, the sunset is melting purples and oranges all over each other like hot wax, and the tips of wheat fields are whipping past.

There's a long list of things that have happened the past few weeks that I never wanted.

I never wanted to leave home. Homes aren't meant to be left. That's why we got a word for house and a word for home, 'cause they're different. House is the walls and the bricks and the paint, but home is the twenty-year-old sofa that's in it, and the people that have been on it, and the old pictures stuck on the fridge. It's where I made memories in the day and dreamt about 'em at night. It's where I took my first steps, and it's where I cried, and laughed, and broke my first bone, and got my height scribbled into the doorframe. It's where I miss — deeply, like a wound I can't put a bandage on — every moment of every day. It's where I won't get to grow up. I never wanted to drive for days and go nowhere. I never wanted my Uncle Merle to turn into a star. I never wanted a dead man to scratch my own death into my skin, and there be nothing I could do to stop it besides stave it off. I never wanted to die; not yet, not now, not before I could live.

And parents aren't supposed to live longer than their kids. It's just one of them rules that everybody's born knowing.

I think that's why my Dad is cryin' again; crying, crying, crying, and he just can't stop. My Daddy never cries. Toughest man in camp, I'd say.

The common assessment, now, is that I really am infected. I'm going to die.

I remember my Dad's wallet, with all the photos tucked into the sleeves. I remember all the other photos we lost, or left, or didn't think to capture. I remember my last birthday, which was my seventh. Such a small number. Not even all my fingers. Some people get two number-candles on their cakes before they die. I only got one, but that's okay, 'cause I got other things. I got a day just for me, and I got I love you's, wrapped up in pink and even pinker birthday paper, and I got it all even though my Daddy didn't have much money. I got to live. I don't know how many days are in a year, but I know it's a lot. There's even more in seven years. I got to be alive for every single one of them. Isn't that lucky?

We left Jim to die, and I never wanted that, neither. Nobody deserves to die. I don't.

"Daddy, are you gonna leave me?" I ask. Maybe I won't get shot; I'll get left. I don't know which one I'd choose. I don't wanna choose at all.

"God," My Dad snuffles, smackin' away his tears. "Don't fuckin' ask me that."

"I— It's gonna happen, though." The germs will reach my brain, and that'll be it. "E-everyone thinks so. I'm sick."

"Shut the fuck up, Harley." My Dad whispers, and I wish he was singing again. 

"Dad—"

"Don't."

"Maybe you should— Maybe you shoot me instead."

"This weren't never supposed to fuckin' happen!" He shrieks, suddenly, and punches the horn. "Fuck!"

Then, right on time, the walkie chimes.

"Daryl?"

Do we need to shoot your daughter in the face? Is it over?

With a rage like I ain't never seen before, my Dad steals the walkie off the dash and smashes it into the horn, over and over again, honk, honk, honk, honk, honk, until a piece breaks off, and then another, and another, until the buttons all pop off and the plastic cracks in half, like a broken heart. Then he chucks the whole thing out the window, and it's gone forever, and he sucks in a breath that sounds like a chainsaw tryna start, and he cries.

I feel sick again. My stomach's ballooning up and shrivelling down at the same time, and I'm gonna be sick.

By now, all the cars are pulling over, 'cause my Dad honked the stop, pull over signal ten times over, and then some.

"Daddy, I need to get out—" I'm sayin', gagging.

"Fu— I know. I know." He's sayin' back, and he swerves onto the side of the road, into the wheat.

He leaps out, slams the door shut, and runs around to my side, but by the time he yanks my side open, I've already thrown up all over my feet. I lurch, and then there's more, and my stomach empties again, and there it is — I see the apple, and I see- I see blood, streaked through it, like red-brown poison. I cough more up while my Dad soothes my back and holds my hair out the way.

Then, there's Rick and Dale, standing at either one of my Dad's shoulders.

"Is she okay?" Dale's panting.

"That's it. There you go." Dad beats on my back, and I spit the last of the apple-slime onto the floor. "It's done?"

I murmur a uh-huh, and then I realise what I've done. "I'm sorry."

"Hell you got to be sorry 'bout?" He frowns, still half-crying; still mourning me while I'm still here.

"The— The truck."

"Huh? The tr—?" He huffs, confused, and then shakes his head. "Truck's the last thing I give a damn about."

Rick's tryna put a smile on, but it don't look quite right. "We've got tissues in our car. We can clean it."

I wish they'd all turn away, 'cause it's like I'm naked. My vomit, and the blood, is just sittin' there like a puddle of evidence and dead people germs, for everyone to see. My Dad pulls me out by my wrist, and then we're sitting on the steps of the RV, and he's cradling me, and I'm crying like a baby, and the seven years mean nothin', 'cause I'm zero years old again, like I was in that picture at the hospital, a little pink newborn, so new and alive, and I just need my Momma and my Daddy to kiss it all better again. All I got is my Daddy, now. He's tryin'. But all the kisses in the world won't bring my Momma back. They won't give me another birthday. 

"Sh, sh, sh, baby." He's sniffling into my hair, kissing where it meets my skin. "Shhh. I'm sorry, baby. Stop cryin'. Stop cryin'. Please."

But I can't. Not when I'm dying, and I ain't even lived, yet.

Lori and Rick clean the car out for my Dad, and when I climb back in ten minutes later, it's like it was never there, but we all know it was.

We continue driving into the night.

Carl can balance spoons on his nose.

He can also bend his thumb all the way back, twirl a coin like a spin-top, and cross and uncross his left eye. It's pretty cool. Now I know five things about Carl.

"Check this out." He says.

We're sitting at the RV booth, 'cause I get to sleep in here again, tonight. Morales is driving my Dad's truck for us. It's nearly us kids' bed-time, but Carl's trying all this stuff to make me feel better, and his Momma's lettin' him. My stomach's still whirling around, and my eyelids feel bloated, but it's working. I'm not crying anymore, not so much.

"How do you do that?" I giggle, sniffing. He passes me the spoon, and I try copying him.

I wish we had actual toys to play with, but we just gotta make do with what we got.

He shrugs. "I don't know. I just kinda do it."

Lori's chuckling to herself in the passenger seat, next to Dale.

I drop the spoon. This is hard.

"Show me again," Demands little Eliza, who looks far too grumpy for someone so small. "Show me how it works."

Carl's like Glenn — He's a good sport — So, he tilts her head and moves her spoon around until it stays, and she's giggling, too.

"Wanna see what else I can do?" He wiggles his eyebrows.

There's more? Just how cool is Carl?

He takes Sophia's spoon, and he takes my spoon, and then he grips them both so they're cupping each other. He shakes them. Cluh-clink, cluh-clink, cluh-clink. Music!

"I need a piece of wheat to chew on or something." He smiles, pulling an uh-huh, look how awesome I am, face. "Cowboys used to play the spoons, right?"

I grin. "You should have a cowboy hat, like your Dad's. Then you'll be a real cowboy."

"And a horse!" Sophia adds.

"And a gun!" Louis snarls, excited.

Lori gives us a sassily raised eyebrow. "Uh. I don't think so."

It's so silly that we all start laughing together. Carl, the spoon-clinkin' cowboy of the West.

"Oh, and did you know—?" Carl's got another trick. He presents the spoon to me, backwards.

My upside-down reflection stares back at me. For a second, I'm curious, but the feeling quickly fizzles away. Is that really what I look like? The little girl in the spoon got blonde hair that's all spillin' out of a rushed pony-tail in shoulder-length strips, and choppy bangs, and heavy brown eyebrows at the bottom of her face. She got one little black mole dotted onto her cheekbone, a fairy kiss, like Momma called 'em, and another one under her nose. She got purple-ish craters above her lids. She got red cheeks. She got a pair of green eyes, blinking at me from her upside-down prison inside the spoon. She's me, but inverted; wrong. I don't like this trick.

The girl in the spoon is frowning.

"What is it?" Carl asks. He pulls the spoon away and inspects it. "It didn't work?"

"N— No." I quickly tell him. "It worked."

"Then, what's wrong?" He asks, but not in the way adults do. There are no layers to anythin' he says, 'cause he ain't learnt to add 'em, yet.

I think of the spoon-girl, and I compare her to my school photo — The right way up; healthy, a neat ponytail.

"I just look so different," I shrug, 'cause I ain't learnt neither.

Sophia looks like a little dolly when she pouts. "Yeah..."

"What's it feel like?" Eliza asks.

She leans forward, 'cause she wants to hear a secret. Am I allowed to tell her one?

Everyone at this table's seen somebody turn before. Sophia saw her Dad turn. Eliza and Louis saw their Aunt and Uncle turn. Carl was there when Amy... I saw a hitch-hiker turn, once. There's not really an exact moment where someone changes. There's no switch. There's only a slow decline, and then a last breath. Then somebody else wakes up, in your body. This is what I say to the other kids. I think they're picturing each step happening to me as I describe them.

Louis goes, "Woah..."

Then, Eliza asks the un-askable. "Harley, you should show us what's under the bandage."

We all look at her. A proposition. We're all thinking, is she crazy, but then I say the un-sayable, 'cause lookin' won't hurt.

"Alright," I murmur, glancing at Lori and Dale. Their backs are turned. "I'll just lift the corner, okay?"

They all nod and lean even closer.

I pick at the edge of the seal, and it burns, just a little, and nope, the adults are still not looking, so I keep peeling and peeling until there's a little hole. We all contort ourselves to peer inside, and I keep going and going, and it's halfway off, now. It's like I'm opening a little door into a different dimension. I'm expecting melting, pizza-cheese skin, and maybe some gross, alien fungus carpeting a layer of yellow ooze, and blood bubbling up under my muscles, and we can almost see the scratches, now, and I wonder if—

"Hey." I whip my head around — we all do, like meerkats — and it's not Lori, or Dale. It's my Dad, coming in through the bedroom door. He's too tired to be proper angry, so he just sighs. "What the Hell do you think you're doin'?"

"Sorry—"

Wordlessly, he comes up to me and sticks the patch back down.

"What's going on back there?" Lori asks. "You guys behaving?"

"Takin' her bandage off." Dad snitches on me.

He kisses me quickly on the hair to balance out the scolding. He's never done that before. Then he pulls a box of pills off the kitchen shelf.

"Time for yer second one of these."

Lori gets up to pour me a cup of water, and Dad pinches my nose, and I swallow the pill in one gulp.

This is what some people would call a last ditch attempt — Racing to the CDC, filling my stomach with Glenn's medicine, and not being allowed to fiddle with the bandage, to stave it off. Rules are just words, but I'm supposed follow 'em, anyway. That's why I say I'm sorry again, but Dad don't like that, either. He says it's bed-time.

"Say goodnight to everyone," He tells me, 'cause he likes when I have good manners.

He grabs my pyjamas off the back of the driver's seat, where Dale's trying not to fall asleep on his face. I say goodnight to the other kids, and Lori, who gives me a hug. Dale calls out a goodnight, too, and he reaches over to ruffle my hair, like a grandpa. Then my Dad tugs me back into the bedroom we spent the last night in. The kids mumble goodnight to me again as I'm dragged away, but they feel a little too much like goodbye.

I hope Carl knows he made me feel better, even if it was just for a few minutes.

Apparently, we're on the outskirts of Atlanta now. When I peek outside, I see skyscrapers.

"We're gonna make it, right? To the CDC?"

I won't run outta time?

Dad freezes for a second.

"I'll drag you all the way there myself if I gotta." Dad says, and I know he's dead serious. Outta Hell on hot coals.

We're not stopping for the night. We can't. The engine's rumbling below me when I hop onto the bed.

My Dad grabs my hair-brush from our back pack on the floor, and he settles himself behind me on the covers to do my hair. My Daddy's a Dixon, and that doesn't just mean that he looks out for me and hates when people see him cry. It means that instead of saying I love you, he'll show me I love you. This is what he's doin' right now, by carefully running the brush through my messy hair, petting my baby-hairs into place, and threading his fingers through it all from scalp to end. He's done my hair so many times that I couldn't count, even if I used all my fingers and all my toes. He'd brush it while I sat in the bath when I was littler, and when he was gettin' me ready for school. He ain't that good at it, 'cause his hands are made for tools and guns instead of little-girl-hair, but that don't matter. The I love you matters more.

After that, he helps me into my pyjamas even though I don't need any help at all, and I realize that he's got that same intense look on his face that he did on that night in the quarry. It's not so much flaming, anymore. It more of a sinking, heavy look. I study it as he wraps me up in my button-up dinosaur pyjama shirt. Does he think this is the last time he'll put me to bed? 

"Can you sing for me tonight, Daddy?" I ask, suddenly. If he gets to brush my hair and do my buttons, then I want to hear him sing.

He was just about to do up the last button. He hesitates.

"Yeah." He says. Then, he pinches my cheek, and he finishes looping the button. "I'll sing, little chicken. Lay down."

I burry myself in the thick covers. My Dad sets down his crossbow on the side-table, and shirks off his red flannel shirt, leaving him in a white tank-top. It's warm enough in here that he can do that, and I wish it was his lamb-skull tank-top, the one with all the crumbs, and I wish I still had my Raggedy Anne doll, which Uncle Merle found on the side of the road but I loved with all my heart, anyway, and I wish we were home. He kicks off his mud-caked boots. That's the last step. This is it.

Dad clicks off the lamp.

The room turns dark, and he rolls onto his side, facing me, but on top of the covers. I reach out and touch his mole, 'cause it matches mine. Lots of him matches me. His blonde-ish hair, his thin mouth. If time let me, I might've looked a little like him when I grew older. Then, I touch my name, permanently marked into his skin. Another I love you, shown and not spoken. I wonder if this will be all that's left of me if I don't wake up. He watches me, and I must be pretty interesting, 'cause he does it for a while. It's like when he was staring at my baby picture. He cups his giant hand over the side of my head, and I can feel his thumb wagging back and forth. Then, he starts whisper-singing, and I close my eyes and I imagine home. Home, where I belong. Home, where everyone I love, plus me, are all still alive.

I dream of a tyre swing and baby lambs.

I hear retching outside.

It's so dark I can't even tell if my eyes are closed or not, and my Daddy's already half-way on his feet, but it's not me, this time. I was sleepin', just a second ago. He notices, and then he's just confused. Who's throwing up? The lamp clicks on, and ugh, that's real bright. I sit up, rubbing my eyes. Dad's pulling his flannel back over his tank-top. He tells me to stay here, baby, and he grabs his crossbow and hurries outside. I crawl to the window.

We're pulled over in an emergency lane. The headlights are beaming a spotlight onto all the commotion.

It's Carl, hunched. He's throwing up over the guard rail, and Lori's crouched next to him.

Why's he throwing up?

My Dad pokes his head back in, hand outstretched, and he says I'm allowed to follow him outside, so I pad alongside him into the night. We reach the small crowd that's gathered around Carl, and I grab onto one of my Dad's belt loops and hide behind him, 'cause I'm scared. There's this terrible moment where I think that Carl is also bitten, or scratched, somehow, but Rick rips Carl's shirt off and rolls up his shorts, and nope, he's totally clean. Lori feels his forehead. It must be hot and wet, 'cause she frowns, but mostly, they're all just really, really confused. Weird, weird, weird.

"What's goin' on?" T-Dog asks, jogging over from one of the cars.

Dale answers, tense. "We're not sure, yet."

Rick searches for me and my Dad amongst the others. "Daryl, bring Harley over here."

We squeeze past some people and into the light. Dad stands me right next to Carl, and now I'm gettin' spun and poked and peered at.

First, me and Carl's skin is the same blotchy white. Weird. Then, our eyes are the same red. Weirder. We've both thrown up. Doesn't make sense.

"They have the same symptoms?" Jacqui asks.

How could we be the same typ'a sick, if he ain't even infected?

"How could this happen?" Glenn's asking for everyone.

"It can't be anything contagious, right?" Dale guesses. "Otherwise, we'd all have it."

Nobody knows what to do or say, 'cause this is the biggest, weirdest mystery in the world. Rick looks back and forth between Carl and me. Lori does, too. My Dad's got a frown on. But then my Daddy's eyes shift off my face and down to my arm, and he gets an idea and it's a weird one, 'cause he pinches the edge of my bandage, and I flinch, and then all in one go — ouch — he rips it off, just like he told me never, ever to do, and it lands on the road, and there's my arm.  The cars fill the silence with hums. Am I dreamin'? Am I really still in the RV, sound asleep? My arm— It's not fuzzy or melting or oozing. It's—

"It's healed?" Rick shakes his head, eyes wide, and he grabs my arm like my Dad, to bring it close to his face.

I can't believe it. My arm — It's healthily scabbed over, with not one skin cell outta place.

I gasp, "Daddy, my arm."

"Am I seein' this right?" Dad asks Rick and Lori, suddenly breathin' as if he's been running.

"It— It looks completely healed." Lori breathes.

Several people come forward to take a look at me. Nobody's quite believing it. I'm not—? I'm not dyin'? Is that what this means?

"Have either of you kids eaten the same thing these past few days?" Asks Shane.

It's a weird question, but I have to answer, so I think really hard and so does Carl. The fish fry? The peaches? The—?

"The jerky!" We both shout.

"The—?"

"Who made the jerky?" Dad's lookin' through the crowd; desperate, not breathing, not yet. "Who was it?"

"It was m— I made it." Glenn confesses, but he doesn't know what it is he's confessing to.

"How'd you make it?" Dad asks, and he's pointing, now. So many strange questions, tonight. "Tell me exactly how you made it."

Glenn stammers, and we all listen to him list his jerky recipe like it's the most important thing in the world. "W—Well, I guess I took that meat you bought back — The possum? — And I don't kno— I sliced it, and then I—" Dad barks at him to tell us the exact thickness of the cut. "I guess, like an inch. Then I smoked it, I guess, on a stick over the campfire. I don't know, man. I—"

"You ain't salted it? You ain't cut the fat off?"

Glenn's lost. "No. No, I guess not."

My Daddy, then, drops onto his butt on the tarmac and he does the most confusing thing. He huffs out a big lungful of air, like he's boutta cry, but he doesn't cry. He starts laughing. He starts laughing, hard, like it's all a giant, funny joke that no one has gotten until now. Rick stands and starts laughing too, but his eyes have gone wet, too, and slowly, surely, everyone else starts sighing and laughing and clapping. Even Andrea's smiling! I'm smiling too, because I feel like I'm allowed — Like there ain't some catch. The jerky. Glenn made botched jerky. All those times my stomach was clenching like a sore fist — I weren't dying. All those times I was hurtin', back at the quarry — It weren't nerves. It was the jerky, messin' up my insides, 'cause it weren't made right. Jacqui runs for the food supply and she comes back with a zip-lock bag full of Glenn's jerky, and—

"God!" Everyone cringes all at once.

It's absolutely covered in mold. It's the worst-cured jerky in the entire world.

"Daddy—?"

"It was the fucking jerky?" Glenn's never looked so happy to be an idiot. "It was the jerky?"

"Fuck. Oh, fuck." My Daddy grabs both my cheeks. "You're fine. You got food poisonin', baby."

"I'm not dyin'?" I ask, just so I can hear him say no again, and then I ask it three more times, just to be sure. My Dad kisses my forehead, and then I'm in a big, strong, hug, and I'm alive. I'm alive again! And I can feel my heart-beat in my chest, and I can breathe, and I can do whatever I want, 'cause I'm alive. All that pacing and worrying and breaking of hearts and grave-digging of old memories, just for it to be Glenn's fatty, unsalted jerky. He's coming closer, now, and my Dad pulls away from me just enough to let Glenn give me a little hug.

He almost killed me. I think that makes us friends, now.

"Hoo! Praise Jesus!" T-Dog hoots, and Carol thinks he's bein' silly, 'cause she slaps his shoulder.

"I'm not dyin'." I laugh.

It's like we've won the lottery. All one camp, all happy, together. Rick grabs my Dad's arm and gives him a nod, a nod that says, It's over now, and my Dad nods back. I think to myself, randomly, that this is what family looks like. None of us were born together, and we ain't even know each other before, but we're all cryin' and laughin' together, and we chose each other. We chose to be scared together, and now we get to be happy, together.

"Man, we gotta keep you away from the food for a while!" Shane's teasing Glenn. "I mean, whoo!"

"I love you, Daddy," I'm suddenly admitting to my Dad, under all the happy shouts, while he stares up at me in the light of the truck.

He says somethin' he ain't said in years. "I love you too, Harley."

I get another kiss on the head, and another hug, and maybe, I'm thinking, this could be home. I might get to grow up here, instead.

I'm alive.

"Somebody throw that damn bio-hazard jerky in the trash!"

Author's Note. Hehehe, that last scene. So much fun to write. Stupid Glenn.

There's actually quite a few lines of foreshadowing in all the chapters leading up to this one. We all knew that Harley was probably going to be fine, but I tried using the food poisoning to keep everybody on their toes. Drama. Gotta have it, hehe.

I really hope you enjoyed reading. Thank you for being here! :)

#the walking dead #twd fanfiction #twd #daryl dixon twd #daryl dixon daughter #daryl dixon fanfiction #daddy issues #parent daryl dixon #rick grimes #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #angst #reader

[rickgrimesdoingrickthings]

✰ Character Info Sheet

name: Richard "Rick" D. (Daniel?) Grimes

name meaning: "Fierce brave ruler" Richard: Means "brave ruler", derived from the Old German elements rih "ruler, king" and hart "hard, firm, brave, hardy". Grimes: Originates from the Norse-Viking pre 7th Century personal name of “Grimr” which is both an Old Danish and Old Swedish name as well, appearing in both of these ancient languages as “Grim.” In England, this surname of Grimes was popular due to the influence of Scandinavian settlements. Grimes is a surname that is believed to be of a Scandinavian, English, or Irish descent, that means Masked Person, Fierce.

alias/es: Sheriff, Officer Friendly, Helicopter Boy, Ringleader, Fearless Leader, Consignee Grimes, Mother Goose

ethnicity: North America, United States (British, Irish or Scandinavian descent probably).

one picture you like best of your character: (I'm a rebel, I will put 2).

three h/cs you've never told anyone:

He's actually quite clumsy, specially if he's not paying attention or overload with worry or emotion.

He likes and writes poetry, loves to draw, loves reading novels, but he seems to only do those things in private when he's alone, he's very reserved. He also can play the guitar but that's a secret to most people.

Still has schizophrenia symptoms once in a while (when he's not okay), but doesn't tell anyone.

three things your character likes doing in their free time:

Building or repairing things or organizing things, he will do out of pleasure when he has energy.

Reading

Playing with his kids

eight people your character likes / loves: In canon, everyone he considered his family. (Lori, Shane, Judith, Glenn, Maggie, Beth, Daryl, Carol, Hershel, Jessie, Michonne...) Verse dependent: my Rp partners muses / OCs for sure.

two things your character regrets:

Not listening to his son Carl back at the gas station about recruiting Siddiq and being less moved by hatred and more by compassion (which lead to Carl going back to recruit Siddiq, where Carl got bitten, resulting in his death).

Not solving the emotional conflict with Lori before she died. Rick thought he would have more time to make amends and approach his wife Lori again (she was sleeping with his best friend and got pregnant). He never stopped loving her, despite their arguments, despite being so emotionally distant for a while.

two phobias your character has:

1- Potentially developed a fear of confined spaces (claustrophobia) with large crowds (enochlophobia), due to the tight and dangerous situations he often encountered (Prison reckon, being kidnapped by Jadis, being stuck in a tank). Rick doesn't panic- he can stay calm if he's exposed to the phobia, but he would rather not- at the prison, he would rather sleep outside or in more open indoor areas with windows etc. Isolated crowds in the open or isolated confined spaces are less stressful, I think that what gets Rick is when both are combined.

2- He seems to have a fear of heights (needs to be very high height) specially if it's a place he can potentially fall from. When Michonne climbs a very high tree, he keeps asking her so many times if she's okay, and keeps pacing under the tree as if she were doing something very dangerous- to someone who kills zombies every day, Rick seemed to be overreacting a bit. Rick doesn't seem to have any problem climbing things that aren't too high, like fences, or things he can feel safe while climbing (the top of a building, or something he has firm structures to grab). If he had to face high heights, he would though. Rick normally won't let his phobias stop him from acting.

Tagged by : @sxbaist Tagging: My rp partners (who wants to do)

#character analysis #rick grimes #rick twd #twd #the walking dead #twd rick

[mintytealfox]

Hellooooo, its me again uwu.

A bring more Nortalice/Alicenort content! This time its AU releated stuff! Hope that is alright

-Modern AU, they are like Shaun and Ryan from Buzzfeed Unsolved with a mix of Nancy Drew and Scooby Doo thrown in. Lots of hijinks and breaking into restricted and or forbidden areas. Sometimes they are actually solving cases, other times they broke into a gas station left to rot from the 1980s because Alice swears she saw something in there and it results with Norton rushing Alice to the doctors because she ate expired Cosmic Brownies. Not like Norton will complain, because him and Alice agreed on 50/50 on the money that comes from the cases and beats working his dead end job.

-Fantasy AU, Norton is the king of the demon realm, and Alice is the queen of Paradis (the one seen in LG and Orpheus's essences). Their kingdoms have tension with each other. Orpheus the Novelist urges war while Nightmare (yes they are two separate people). Alice however is like "Nah, imma talk to the king" and goes to the demon realm, so the two can work on some sort of peace treaty. Nonsense ensues and the two slowly fall in love, it ending with Norton asking for Alice's hang in marriage, which at first she thinks its so their kingdoms dont fight and his response being "...no you dumbass i love you. Thats why im asking to marry me"

Oletus Manor Doesnt Happen AU, aka what if Norton and Alice never went to the manor but still met each other. Can imagine its because Alice is doing a report on Golden Caves, what happened, why it shut down and interviews Norton, the only survivor from the accident. The two just seem to click and neither know why. Norton at the start tries to use this to his own personal gain, since in his state, he knows damn good and well, he will not be able to get a job again, forcing him in poverty so he tries to butter up Alice, get close to her in the hopes maybe he can marry into money. Alice also tries to use this connection to her advantage, hoping Norton's ties to the mining industry can give her access to more secretive information (like how they treat their workers). They do end up falling love properly though, and Alice uses the money from her family to help push Norton out of poverty and help him start a small jewelry business with the only catch being "Before you even dare spend a penny on clothes or luxurious things, I want you to spend the money I give you to go see a doctor in the chance to save yourself. I care too much about you Norton". Which in turn breaks Norton, but like a good break, like a "Holy fuck, she really does love/care about me, this wasn't an act, i wasnt dumb to let her into my life"

HELLO 🫡You're always welcome!! 🤣 AU stuff is ABSOLUTELY ALRIGHT 👏👏👏

LOOOL I saw Shane and Ryan and 80s and my brain went STRANGER THINGS LOL Like it starts as Norton: 'lol ghost hunting, those aren't real at least these people are paying' while Alice: 'ghost hunting, can you imagine the stories ghosts could tell if they could speak easily?? How thrilling!' But it turns into running for their lives LOL followed by eating expired cosmic brownies like nothing happened but they are all covered in dirt and grime and trauma LOL

OH F A N T A S Y A U S are ALWAYS BANGERS IN MY EYES AAAAHHH YEESS! Gives me strong Persephone and Hades vibes and that has me SO HYPE OH MY GOOOSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! AND This reminds me of the theory I saw who knows where by this point lol but it was about the one Alice skin 'Eternity' and FG's skin 'Infernal Sin' and it went something like him being the dragon of the apocalypse to deal out the punishments that Eternity laid out. Something like that, I wish I could remember it cause it was dope as hell LOL

IF THEY MET WITHOUT THE MANOR AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

10000000% using each other until Alice falls first and Norton falls HARDER MUAHHAHAHA Recently my brain keeps going to the quote from 'Our Flag Means Death' and they say "you wear nice things well" and just seeing Alice saying that to Norton when he finally gets to get all dressed up for something and him like 'oh woah' but the magic fading pretty quick at the realization, 'this is not comfy at all' and then waiting until at the gathering to say something out of pocket like "I feel like I have a pickaxe shoved all the way, right up my--" -Alice slams her hand over his mouth- 🤣🤣🤣

#norton campbell #alice deross #idv norton #idv alice #identity v norton #identity v alice #idv #identity v #idv prospector #idv journalist #identity v prospector #identity v journalist #nortalice #asks #minty answers #minty speaks #THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL OF THESE FEASTS YOU KEEP SENDING #I AM EXTREMEMLY GRATEFUL #AAHHHHH #👏👏👏👏👏👏 #🤌🤌🤌🤌🤌🤌

[shyanshippingsociety]

Hello there! I am looking for a fic where Shane and Ryans car breaks down in the middle of nowhere so they go and walk to a gas station. At the gas station, Shane goes and get the gasoline and Ryan goes inside the station to buy chipsnor something. I can't seem to find it ands it hurting my brain.

If you could help me find it that would mean a lot to me...truly..

hiya there! our server members suggested it could be one of these:

kick me like a stray by transfreak | M, 42k, In Progress

“There’re no wolves in Missouri,” he says dismissively, closing his eyes again. “Then what do you think that was?” Shane makes a noncommittal noise that causes him to cough again. “You didn’t see it,” Ryan adds over the hacking. “Could’ve been anything. A dog for-” “A dog? It was fucking huge!” “Hate to break it to you, Ryan, but dogs can get pretty big.”

Something has been building between them, and Shane can't help but think getting mauled by a wild animal and then having the weirdest goddamn month of his life might be getting in the way.

In These Frozen and Silent Nights by beethechange | E, 25k, Complete

“You know me,” Shane says, “I love a good cabin. I’m a cabinhead.” “I’ll show you cabin head,” Ryan rebuts without thinking, and then he turns his face into the pillow to stifle a nervous snicker. “Oh shit, wait, that’s—” Planning a shoot at a remote cabin in Vermont the week before Christmas wasn't Ryan’s best-ever idea. Taking a leisurely walk in a blizzard wasn't Shane’s. Scrap the ep, there’s a new plan: survive the storm, stay warm, try not to kill each other, and figure some shit out along the way.

#fic finds #shyan shipping society #mod rowan

[biggerbetterbat]

WITH YOU [10] GOOD LUCK TO US THEN

Daryl Dixon x OC (Charlie Reed)

Summary: The group has to fulfill Jim's last will. Charlie and Daryl get closer to each other on the rode. The CDC is not what they expected.

Warnings: language, death, mostly fluff tho

Song: Snow On The Beach Taylor Swift&Lana Del Rey

A/N Hello! Short chapter today, because episode 18 of season 10 just destroyed me. And absolutely hate this chapter... Next one will be much better and longer, I promise. Feel free to comment and I hope you enjoy this one.

WITH YOU ON WATTPAD

The RV? A mess.

White smoke was coming out of the hood, while Rick and Dale tried to come up with an idea of how to fix it.

"I told you we'd never get far on that hose," said Dale. "I said I needed the one from the cube van."

"Can you jerry-rig it?" Rick asked.

"That's all it's been so far. It's more duct tale than hose." Dale shook his head. "And I'm out of duct tape."

"I see something up ahead. A gas station if we're lucky." Shane said as he put down binoculars.

"Y'all, Jim...It's bad. I don't think he can take anymore." Jacquie gasped as she ran out of the RV.

"Hey, Rick, you want to hold down the fort?" said Shane. "I'll drive ahead, and see what I can bring back."

"Yeah, I'll come along too and I'll back you up." he nodded and headed into the RV to talk with Jim.

"Y'all keep your eyes open now. We'll be right back." Shane informed everyone.

There was no saving Jim. The ride was just killing him faster. He felt every bump, the smallest rock was causing him pain. Besides, he was like a bomb, ready to blow and it was just dangerous to have him around. Charlie knew it. Shane knew it. Daryl knew it. And Rick had to face it. There was no way he would make it to the CDC, and he probably didn't even want to.

"It's what he says he wants," said Rick.

"And he's lucid?" asked worried Carl.

"He seems to be." nodded Rick. "I would say yes."

Dale looked around. "Back in the camp when I said Daryl might be right and you shut me down, you misunderstood. I would never go along with callously killing a man. I was just gonna suggest that we ask Jim what he wants." he said. "And I think we have an answer."

"We just leave him here?" Shane asked. "We take off? Man, I'm not sure I could live with that." he shook his head.

Charlie furrowed her eyebrows as she looked at him. He was acting all good and pure, he couldn't live with that...But there was no problem sleeping with his best friend's wife.

"It's not your call, either one of you," said Lori.

Eventually, Rick and Shane helped to carefully walk Jim out of the RV. They placed him under some tree, so he could lean his back on it, and everyone gathered around him- Charlie a little at the back, hiding behind Daryl.

"Hey." Jim breathed with a smile. "Another damn tree."

But nobody laughed or even smiled.

"Hey, Jim." Shane leaned in. "I mean, you know it doesn't need to be this."

"No. It's good." he shook his head. "The breeze feels nice."

"Okay. All right."

Jacquie kneeled beside him and sniffed as she looked at his pale face. "Just close your eyes, sweetie. Don't fight."

After that, she placed a gentle kiss on his cheek and smiled to make him feel better- if a smile could make someone feel better in a situation like that.

"Jim, do you want this?" asked Rick, showing his gun to Jim.

"No," he said. "You'll need it. I'm okay."

Charlie said nothing to Jim. She looked as everyone were trying to come up with something nice, but it was just unnatural because they didn't know him. He was a stranger. He was always keeping his distance from the group and nobody really knew him. His family was dead and he was the only one that made it alive.

And she didn't want to be fake and say things she didn't mean or just to make him feel better. He was dying for God's sake. Probably the most painful death that was killing him slowly.

Her eyes met his. She stopped furrowing her eyebrows immediately and she felt uneasy on the inside. Charlie remembered his words from before and now with how he looked, they were even more scary to her. So she just turned around and sat in the car, waiting for Daryl.

"You didn't like Jim?" Daryl asked as soon as he got inside and started the engine.

"He didn't like me," she answered.

Daryl hummed.

"You are still sad?"

"I wasn't sad." she sighed, not looking at him.

"That's a shame then because I wanted to give you this."

She looked at him and saw the small package in his hands. She gasped. He was shaking small bright red package that screamed to be opened. "No way! Where did you get them?"

He shrugged, giving her sweets.

Once she felt the sweet taste of chocolate, she had to close her eyes. It was the best she felt since a long time. Sugar overflowing her body, she could almost feel how it already gets to her blood. First little square was to just tease her, but soon she just stuffed whole fist of it.

"And you?" she asked with a mouth full of little KitKats.

"What?"

"You didn't like Jim?" Charlie asked.

"I guess he didn't like me, either," Daryl answered.

She smiled and stuck her fisted hand, waiting for a bump. He looked at her hand and then in her eyes, big question marks inside.

"Come on," she said. "Welcome to a club."

"What club?"

"People that are not liked." she encouraged him. "Well, we will come up with a better name." she shrugged.

"You are liked," he said. "Shane seems liking you more than others."

"Please," she rolled her eyes. "Now give it to me. I now you want to." Charlie smiled and moved her brows.

"You are lame," he said.

"I guess we're lame together."

He shook his head in disbelief, but finally, he fist-bumped her and saw even bigger smile on her face.

"You're my brother now!"

"I'm not your brother," he said.

"Best friend."

He looked at her skeptically.

"Friend."

Daryl grimaced.

"Man that saved my life...oh, no. That's Glenn," she said. "Umm...A man that is driving a car."

"Mmm. I liked you more when you were sad and looking out the window."

"Yeah, you gave me sugar. I'm like a child when I eat sugar." Charlie replied and put even more KitKats into her mouth. "And I haven't had it since forever, so..."

That made him think about a question that never entered his mind before. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-four. You?"

"Double your age."

"You're forty-eight?!" she gasped, looking at him with wide eyes.

"Just forty," he said.

"Woah," she said. "You look good for your age...for a Merle brother...for a man who spends most time in the woods...for a person that whole life went to shit. Is it because you never smile?"

Daryl sighed. "What happened to your face?"

Charlie looked in the mirror as if to remember what happened to her. After all the events from the last days, the fight with Ed seemed to be forever ago.

"Cool, right?"

"No," he said. "Somebody just beat the shit out of you."

"Yeah and now I look cool." she smiled. "Laundy can be dangerous. Especially when Ed Peletier is your husband."

"Hitting his wife was too boring for him?" he scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"You knew? Why haven't you done something?"

"'Cause she's not my wife," Daryl answered as if that was the most obvious answer.

Silence fell in the car again, but only for a minute. "Did you have a wife?" she asked.

"No. Why?"

"Nothing. Just curious."

"Curiosity killed the cat," he mumbled.

"Are you a dog person or a cat person?"

"Stop," he said.

"But-"

"But don't." he cut her.

Charlie sighed and looked out the window. But she was in a much better mood than a moment before. She knew he was just acting, he loved her presence...well, maybe he didn't love it just yet, but he enjoyed it more than he thought he would. Daryl on the other hand, was content, too. For a strange reason, he was really happy that he was able to make her feel better. Besides, it was the longest conversation he ever had with any person from the camp.

"Did you have a boyfriend?"

"That's a complicated question," she said.

"You either had or ain't." he shrugged.

She sighed.

But it wasn't that easy. Charlie wasn't a person everyone took her for. She wasn't gentle and sweet like a porcelain doll that needed protection. All she cared about before the turn was money and a comfortable life in luxury, that's all. That's how she was choosing her partners. Charlie didn't expect this big love from romantic comedies with butterflies and sleepless nights when only the touch of your person can calm you. And of course, they could read each other's eyes, what the fuck?

Now, sitting in a stolen car with some stranger man, made her realize how shallow she really was. How heartless for everyone she really was.

"I was seeing someone. And the relationship was more from his side. I was his girlfriend and he was...just a boy to me. Someone I could talk to in the gaps of my schedule." she confessed.

"You weren't in love?" Daryl asked.

"No. In fact, I never was in love." she shrugged. "Feelings are...complicated. They make your life complicated." She looked at him. "Say it. I'm a heartless wrench."

"No, you ain't," he said. "You just haven't met your person yet."

"Like you?" she asked and looked at him. "Haven't met your person?"

"Merle was my person," he answered.

Then she rolled her eyes and made him smile lightly at that. She clearly forgot about whatever was on her mind, which made her feel uneasy.

"Yeah. I haven't met her yet."

"Well, then good luck to us," she said. "Population is getting less and less."

As to confirm her words, they drove into the city and Charlie put back the pack of sweets, sitting up straight on her seat, because nothing could prepare them for what they saw...or smell.

[previous] [masterlist] [next]

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl x reader #daryl fanfiction #daryl twd #daryl dixon twd #daryl the walking dead #daryl dixon series

[autisticdreamdrop]

we have a lot of system members with verbal issues / verbal loss. and we prefer communication nonverbal. we use AAC / TTS (nonverbal communication) we have communication cares, a communication sheet and we usually mostly use AAC / TTS apps.

we have a ipad which we use to communicate with a lot. some times we are more verbal other times we have verbal loss. it depends which alter is communicating..

inner world and cocon a lot of system members use AAC. we use AAC with our disability program people some alters feel nervous we want to use it more when we move out but we dont really interact with people out of our bubble. we use it with our mom sometimes but she gets irritated. she doesn't understand fully

mom doesn't know were a system but we knows we have verbal loss and she tried to force us to talk to people and she hates the idea of using tts / aac around people because it will "be weird" and "turn people off”. we want to use our aac more around people Shane used aac a while ago at the gas station and it made them happy the cashier had a kind response.

#group post #blurry #aac #tts #aac tts #aac user #tts user #mom #mother #mental health team #our mental health team #autism #autistic #asd #actually autism #actually autistic #autie #autism spectrum disorder #autism spectrum #autistic spectrum #did system with autism #system with autistic #autistic system #autistic did system #vebral loss #verbal shutdown #semispeaking #semi speaking

[mdemontespan1667]

AND I FEEL FINE

-SHANE WALSH (TRUCKS/MAXIMUM OVERDRIVE AU) X READER (3RD PERSON)

-SHANE'S POV

WARNINGS: VEHICULAR VIOLENCE/HOMICIDE - MENTIONS OF DEAD BODIES - GORE - BLOOD - HORROR - VAGINAL SEX - ORAL SEX (MALE AND FEMALE RECEIVING)

18 + ONLY/NO MINORS

No one ever in the history of fan fiction has asked for this AU. But here it is. It's based on the short story Trucks by Stephen King and the cocaine fueled Maximum Overdrive directed by the same. I copied the following synopsis from Wikipedia:

"Trucks" takes place in a truck stop in the United States. The truck stop is located off a freeway and it features a diner, a gas station, and a convenience store.

The story's narrator and a handful of strangers find themselves trapped together in a freeway truck stop diner after semi-trailers and other large vehicles are suddenly brought to independent life by an unknown force and proceed to gruesomely kill every human in sight.

A great big humongous THANK YOU to the uber talented and always fabulous @caffiend-queen. Without you I doubt I ever would've posted this.

“We’re gonna die.”

Her voice was composed, resigned but even.

The hysterics of 2 days ago had settled, much like the remains of her friend.

Shane had watched as their lime green VW Bug fishtailed into the parking lot, narrowly missing the concrete embedded pumps, an old International Harvester on their ass.

The driver had overcorrected, pitching the vehicle forward in a sickening roll.

Both occupants had escaped the wreckage, bloodied and disorientated.

The woman standing behind him had made it inside.

The IH had clipped her friend’s leg.

She’d spun, falling under the truck’s 24 inch wheels.

Others had followed.

All that was left was a vague dark shape, the oil stained limestone parking lot absorbing most of the gore.

It wasn’t the only body.

An elderly couple staring lifelessly from their Lincoln Towncar.

A boy, who couldn’t have been more than 16, half in, half out of his primered Nova’s windshield.

The balding, middle aged Bible salesman who had lost it last night around the time the electricity went out.

Babbling about End Times and God’s wrath against the sinners, he had bolted out the double doors. 

A cement truck had pounced.

The impact had fling him a good 20 feet, flinging him in an overgrown drainage ditch.

His agonized wails had carried in the air despite the burbling diesels, putting everyone on edge.

No one would admit they had been relieved when it stopped.

Shane’s own patrol car was unrecognizable.

Each truck had a turn like a group of sailors with a cheap whore. 

He’d been inside, shooting the shit after filling his tank when the first trucks arrived.

Trucks with no drivers.

Motion to his right brought him back to the present.

The woman had set down on the faded vinyl seat that now faced the tinted plate glass windows.

The dim glass showed her reflection.

Her eyes were still swollen and bloodshot from sobbing, lips chewed raw, a drawn, pinched look to her cheeks.

She reminded him of one of his Grandma Jean’s Limoges figurines, fragile and ready to shatter at the least provocation. 

The short Flamingo pink sundress she wore was dotted with blood, hem torn.

“Make love to me.”

“Huh.”

Her words caught him off guard.

He glanced at the woman, trying to gauge her sanity.

She continued to stare straight ahead.

“Make love to me.”

There was no mistaking this time.

Faint, tinny music from an ancient battery operated boombox floated from the kitchen.

Time is the essence

Time is the season

Time ain’t not reason

Got no time to slow

Time everlasting

Time to play B sides

Time ain’t on my side

Time I’ll never know

Burn out the day

Burn out the night

I'm not the one to tell you what’s wrong or what’s right

I’ve seen suns that were freezing and live that were through

But I’m burnin'

I’m burnin'

I’m burnin' for you

“I’m not sure this is the right time or place darlin.”

She reached over, placing her hand in his lap.

Her fingers traced Shane’s dick under his uniform.

“It’s the end of the World.”

Despite the circumstances, he felt himself react.

Fucking her might be a Grade A Asshole move but it wouldn’t be the first one he’d ever made.

“Where to?”

He made to stand up but she stopped him.

“Here. I don’t care who, or what, sees.”

She dropped to the worn, pitted linoleum, situating herself between his legs.

Shane expected her to be fumbling, desperate.

Instead she was calm, drawing his shirt over his head, unzipping his pants, pulling his hard length free, her eyes glazing at the size.

She licked him from base to tip, swirling her tongue around the head, taking more of him with each swipe.

The woman hollowed her cheeks, bobbing her head, hand pumping in a  synchronized pattern.

Shane hissed, leaning back.

He lifted his foot, dragging her dress down.

She dipped her head over and over, saliva pooling on her chin.

Tittering on the edge, he gently pushed her away.

She stood, shimmying her dress to the floor.

Shane ran his knuckles through her slit.

“Damn girl, sucking my dick got your pussy all kinds of messy.”

The urge to bend her over and slam his dick home was strong, but if this was the last time he wanted it to be good for her too. 

He bent forward replacing his knuckles with his tongue.

Her breath caught.

He grabbed her ass, bringing her closer.

He lapped at her cunt circling and sucking her clit.

Low moans spurred him on.

He worked her faster, inserting two fingers, sweeping her nub, raising her to her tiptoes.

She braced her hands on his back, nails digging in, her legs starting to tremble.

Shane doubled his efforts.

She came hard, incoherent cries bubbling from her lips.

He held on as she ground her pussy on his tongue, dragging out her orgasm. 

Gradually the shaking resided.

He set back, lifting his hips, pushing his uniform pants down.

“Climb on.”

The woman straddled him, knees spread wide, hands balanced on his shoulders.

His hands settled on her lips, guiding her.

She whimpered as he slipped in.

A small smirk formed on his lips.

“You can take it all darlin.”

Her legs slid further apart, taking more of him.

“Jesus fuck, you’re tight.”

With a pained sigh she enveloped him to the hilt.

Shane gave her a moment to get accustomed to his size then slapped her ass.

“Ride me girl.”

She rolled her hips, hesitant at first, more confidently as her walls adjusted.

He caught a nipple, his mouth hot on her cool skin.

Arching her back, she tangled her hands in his hair.

One hand snaked from her hip to her sopping cunt, thumb caressing her swollen nub.

Shane’s other hand held her, his hips rising to meet hers.

Her pussy clenched around him, a sure sign of her impending orgasm.

“You gonna cum all over my big dick?”

The woman nodded, biting her lip.

He stroked her clit quicker.

Her rhythm was chaotic as she came, squeezing his dick so hard he growled.

Before the aftershocks faded Shane caught hold of her hips again, fingers digging in her flesh.

“Hold on.”

She leaned forward, clasping the back of the seat.

Shane lifted his hips, thrusting inside her velvety warmth.

He fucked her mercilessly, bouncing her on his dick, her tits swaying.

He caught one, then the other, sucking and nipping.

She dropped her hand between them, fingers twitching violently at her overstimulated nub. 

“That’s it darlin.”

He gritted his teeth.

“That’s it. Show me how bad you want it.”

The bench springs squealed in protest. 

She let go, her cunt clamping, head falling back as she came. 

Shane hooked his arms under hers, holding her to him.

He pistoned his hips, driving up into her, harder, faster.

Beyond control Shane used her body like a fuck toy, her head flopping like a rag doll.

Grunting he came, his cum dribbling from her abused cunt.

When their breathing slowed, she shifted, settling beside him.

He situated himself, zipping his pants.

The woman retrieved her dress.

Headlights splashed across the windows.

A faded yellow bulldozer had joined the others, smoke stacks belching fire.

She wiped a silent tear from her cheek.

“It won’t be long now.”

Shane wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. 

He kissed her forehead.

They watched………..

And waited.

Burnin' For You / Blue Oyster Cult 1981

It's been so long since I've written anything I have no idea who to tag so if I tagged you and you don't want to be tagged in the future let me know. Likewise if I didn't tag you and you would like to be just in case I actually write something else let me know.

@caffiend-queen @starynighty @lokislastlove @ironlady1993 @americasass81 @cake-reads @sinceimetyou @imdarkinme @lizzystuffsthings @msdmc1 @imanuglywombat @sagechanoafterdark-main @littlefreya @jtargaryen18 @cockslutpadalecki @boxofbonesfic @alexakeyloveloki @albinotigerpython @slothspaghettiwrites @missdemona @valancy88 @shikin83 @xsapphirescrollsx @joannaliceevans-fanficblog @msdmc1

#SHANE WALSH #SHANE WALSH AU #SHANE WALSH X READER #SHANE WALSH X READER AU #STEPHEN KING TRUCKS FIC #MAXIMUM OVERDRIVE FIC #jon bernthal #horror #horror fic #the walking dead au #twd au

[greenxgloss]

Before - Glenn Rhee

fluff

summary: you and glenn were friends before the apocalypse and had feelings for eachother but never got serious until you finally confronted him about it.

you’d met glenn just before the apocalypse and you were able to stick with him. you’d both been in the group with lori, shane, rick, andrea and dale for a few days and since you knew the world was ending you thought it was time for you to finally make your move.

“Glenn? can i come with you on the run today?” you asked him, the hair on your neck rising in worry. “yeah? just stay close.” he said and you followed him into the car after shoving your knife into the holster. “we havent had a chance to be alone to talk in a while.” you told him as you got comfortable and the car started up. “what do you mean? what is there to talk about?” he acted clueless.

when the apocalypse hit you and glenn hadnt talked in weeks. you became friends through working together. he was a delivery boy and you were a cashier. but then you quit. on one of your last days at the parlor you two shared a kissed. but then he never called and you thought youd give him space but the apocalypse hit and it became your mission to find him. when you did, he didnt bring it up. almost like he avoided the topic for months. you contemplated for a while if you should bring it up. does he even remember, you questioned. but now was the moment.

“that kiss?” you suggested. “why did you totally ghost after that?” you asked. he blushed and clenched his jaw. “i dont know. im a pretty awkward guy. i didnt know what to do.” he said, gluing his eyes to he road. “you could have called. or even come by my apartment.” you told him as your face heated up in frustration. “i know i should have. i missed you. i wish i did. it probably would have given us more time, more normal dates.” he said and it gave you hope. maybe he still felt the same? “i still have feelings for you.” you told him, hoping hed say the same. but he stayed silent as ever. “well?” you hollered. 

“look there!” he pointed to an abandoned gas station. “try to syphon the gas. ill grab what i can from inside.” he said before parking and running inside. your face burned as your blood rose to your face. boiling hot. you were angry at this point. why wouldnt he just tell you how he felt? it made you feel worse. he’s still acting like a child. 

you rolled your eyes and followed his instruction before catching up to him inside to gather more supplies. “lets try to get back soon. i think the sun sets in an hour.” you told him while you grabbed all the instant noodles and the canned food. “sure.” he said quietly as he dumped all the water bottles into his back pack. you werent sure what he was thinking about but you knew he was thinking. you hopped that he would come to his senses and kiss you in the rain and begged to be yours until the sun burned out. you prayed deep down that he would make his mind and say something before one of you died. 

your skin was still boiling in anger and confusion. even when you’re upfront with a man and the world is ending, you might be one of the last women on earth and they still run and hide like theres better out there. you wanted to give up. you wanted to push him around and call him stupid. but you were still hoping that this was just one of those times that he needed time to think about his side of things and time to make up his mind. how much time did he need, you thought. he had weeks before the world ended and then months after it did. you decided that you were going to back off and let him make his move if he even planned on one.

you drove back in silence. you knew if you said anything you’d be mean and say something you shouldnt. you kept your mouth sealed like a childproofed back of chips. thought, if its meant to happen itll happen.

the only other person that knew about all this was lori. she told you that if he shuts down like a child to leave him be. the world has ended and theres no time to sit and think. you have to act fast now. glenn should know that of all people. hes saved and recruited most of your group. 

-*

“he didnt say a thing?” she asked as you washed the clothes in the quarry. “nothing. acted like he couldnt hear me. he said he missed me and regret not calling me when he could. like he wasted time. and after that he zipped his mouth closed.” you recalled as you wrung out carls shirt. “tsk tsk. so immature of him. Ill have rick talk to him, try to at least make sure hes thinking about it.” she said picking up the basket and heading back to camp. you nodded. “be vague.” you called out as you laid back and watched the sun go down. men werent supposed to be this confusing are they, you questioned.

after you got back to the camp and had relaxed you stared up at the stars. you couldnt stop thinking about it no matter how hard you tried. you attempted to cloud your mind with what you might make for breakfast or what games youd play with carl to keep him company or even if the characters of your favorite book would have survived as far as you. but the thought of glenn just ignoring me and what he was thinking crept up like an ant hunting a bread crumb. you rolled your eyes and tossed and turned until you finally fell asleep.

soon you were woken up by a branch breaking followed by a hiss and a groan. you knew exactly what it was and you rushed to your feet after grabbing your knife. you peeked out of your tent and there was a geek. a walker. you quickly jumped out of your tent and diped your dagger into its skull before having a look around and finding more creeping up to the camp. “swarm!” you exclaimed and everyone slowly jumped out of their tents.

“behind you!” glenn yelled and rushed to your side to catch it. you listened to the slosh of brains as he jammed his knife into the walker. your breath hitched and you dropped to your knees in fear. for a moment you heard the chatter of the corpse in your ear and suddenly you understood the gravity of the world ending and you almost ending with it. the sounds of everyone shuffling and hunting walkers muffled as your jaw dropped in terror. 

“y/n? Y/N?? are you okay? its over.” rick yelled in a hushed tone. “everyones safe.” he tried but you didnt budge. “glenn?” he called. rick and shane thought, maybe glenn could do something to bring you back to.

soon you were pulled out of your trance and glenn was feeding you. he stared at your pale skin. “i guess its time we have that talk. i realized how little time we have left and i shouldnt hold back my feelings for you just because i dont think theres enough time for either of us.” he receited his thoughts like those of a poetry book. “some day im gonna regret not having confessed earlier just so i could have had another day with you in my arms. another, i love you or even just a quiet smile. i hadnt said anything because i didnt want to risk losing you. i was afraid that id get close and then id lose you and id have to deal with the heart break alone. what is heart break worth if the world is over. but thats very selfish. whether i lose you after i love you or not ill srtill be heartbroken. but i can choose i want to be angry at the fact that youre gone or the fact that i didnt man up and make a move.” he looked deeply into your eyes and smiled. 

in that moment it was like your life flashed before your eyes. but it wasnt ugly. it was all the honey sweet memories with glenn that you’d suppressed. and you didnt understand why but even some darker memories resurfaced. memories that had nothing to do with glenn.

“glenn. christ i’ve been waiting for you to say those words for months. you idiot. i’ve been waiting for you.” you said as you laughed and smacked him on the shoulder. you both laughed and hugged each other tightly. you leaned in for your second kiss and it felt just as euphoric as the first. maybe more electrifying. like you were the last couple on earth and youd finally met. a funny thought popped into your mind about repopulation and you giggled to youself. “what is it? am i doing this wrong?” he asked as he pulled away. “no no.” you shook your head. “this is perfect.”

#glenn #glenn rhee #twd #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfiction #twd fanfiction #fanfiction #fandom #fanfic #steven yeun

[dontwalkwiththedead]

( closed starter w/ @rickgrimesdoingrickthings )

ALICE x RICK

One of Alice's worst fears had always been losing her family. She couldn't imagine life without the sweet scent of her daddy's cigars, her mom's colorful flowers filling the vases of their family home, or sneaking six packs of gas station beers into the barn with her three older siblings. She was one of the fortunate few who was sincerely close with her family and one of the unfortunate ones to lose everybody the first night shit hit the fan. The plan had been for everybody to meet in downtown Atlanta for dinner after she got off work at Peachtree Middle School. By the time she fought her way out, Atlanta was burning, and all she had left of her family was a voice-mail of her mom sobbing that everyone was gone before she got cut off by an explosion. The bombs.

It's only when your worst fear gets horrifically realized that you have an opportunity to discover your strength.

Alice found her strength on a highway outside of Atlanta at two am. A former police officer named Shane Walsh needed help getting a couple of families up to the quarry campsite and off the roads. She ended up ignoring her grief in favor of saving those she could. By sunrise her and said police officer were laying out a plan to survive for a bunch of scared people. Within twelve houes over a dozen men, women, and children were relying on the two of them. She was the only one other than Shane who could shoot well. And, admittedly, it was easier to lose yourself in a job you weren't asked to do than acknowledge everyone you've ever loved was gone.

Alice sipped the bitter black coffee from the tin cup as she lingered near Lori and Carl and watched the country road that led up to their camp. It'd been hours since Glenn and his group was supposed to be back with supplies from Atlanta. She was worried. She kept checking her watch. An old piece she found in Dale's junk drawer. If they weren't back in thirty minutes she was gonna take the car and go look for them. She knew it was stupid letting that many people go with.

[irishvampirelady]

Requests Open! Artwork and Writing!

Season listings are for anything related to canon plot.

What I will write for:

The Walking Dead (Seasons 1-4)

Daryl Dixon

Shane Walsh

Carol Peletier

Michonne Hawthorne

Abraham Ford

Supernatural (mainly Seasons 1-4)

Dean Winchester

Sam Winchester

Castiel

Crowley

Bobby Singer

John Winchester

Tales From The Gas Station

Jack Townsend

Jerry Pascal

Spencer Middleton

Benjamin/Benji

Amelia O'Brien

Rosa

Eric Riggins

iZombie (Seasons 1-2)

Liv Moore

Ravi Chakrabarti

Blaine DeBeers

The IT Crowd

Maurice Moss

Roy Trenneman

Dangerous Fellows

Lawrence

Ethan

Harry

Obey Me!

Brothers (Lucifer, Mammon, Levi, Asmo, Satan, Beel, Belphie)

Undateables (Diavolo, Barbatos, Solomon, Simeon)

You can request any of these as x reader stories, just random short stories between characters, or with my characters. You can also request doodles of these characters.

I don't write smut, non-con stuff, discrimination, or character death.

You can ask about other characters not listed, including my characters, or about any other boundaries I may have.

#daryl dixon x reader #carol peletier x reader #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester x reader #castiel x reader #crowley x reader #bobby singer x reader #john winchester x reader #jack townsend #tftgs jerry #spencer middleton #liv moore #ravi chakrabarti x reader #blaine debeers x reader #maurice moss x reader #roy trenneman #the it crowd #michonne #dangerous fellows #obey me #shane walsh x reader #amelia o'brien #tftgs rosa #tftgs benjamin #eric riggins #abraham ford x reader