#glenn rhee x reader platonic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

havin-fun-imagining-twd · 10 months

Text

"fondness" LOL

When -- directly after Scary as a sleepy kitten. We're back to season 2, slowpokes. We had taken a brief trip to pre-season 9 for Still beating

Is there a picture of baby Carl at the end as a prize? -- yes, just as Dale describes it to you!

What -- Andrea and Dale thought you and Daryl were a thing? Lol. But like why are you so defensive about it? While also being defensive about the mangy hick, oh, this is confusing...

Perspective -- 2nd person (you)

Pronouns - nada

Who -- You, Andrea, Papa Dale, and Glenn. Daryl's sleeping, he's concussed and fell down a ridge twice with a bolt hole in him, he needs his rest.

How long is this one? -- shorter, about 10 minutes!

TWs -- a few cusses, and reference to Carol's spousal abuse

Reading assignments -- How's your head? Part 2, then souls stripped bare if you want more emotional context, as well as Invisible tugging strings Part 1 but especially -> Part 2 , then Spell your last name, please. , He hasn't been himself, and Scary as a sleepy kitten.

All that for reading assignments?? -- reading is healthy, y'all :P

Choose your fighter: The Full + Official Masterlist vs Chronological Slowpoke Chapters Only (reading them in publishing order as opposed to chronological order is recommended)

have fun and happy reading!

“Ah, the culprit behind Andrea’s little conclusion. How are you?”

Dale finishes matching a pair of socks as he responds with a quiet chuckle, “Just fine, I hope. I see now that the conclusion caused some…offense?”

“Don’t be silly, Mr. H, you meant nothin’ by it,” you play off, and start to help his sort through the pile of clean, dry socks.

“‘Meant nothing by it’ implying there was some offense taken.”

You tuck in your lip, and meant to return eye contact, but you’re still feeling strange about the whole mix-up. With the simple words, “nazi-bike,” you tell him what you consider a fair reason to have taken some offense.

---------------------

20 minutes ago

“Y/N, I didn’t realize,” Andrea says, slowly walking beside you.

“Realize what?”

“You two.”

“Me, too? What’d I do?” Is she talking about how you’ve got the medical wrap on your upper arm, maybe? “Do you mean this?” you question, looking down at your shoulder.

She peers at you, head tilted to the side.

“You and Daryl,” she softly clarifies. “It was Dale who wondered first, after you had to excuse yourself.”

Me and Daryl? “What’d we do?” Perhaps she's referring to the search today? Andrea isn’t one to not speak her mind, you wonder why she’s not being more succinct. She doesn't know about you having shot that guy. Dale has an idea, but he's tight-lipped about it.

“So, you and he…?” she trails off.

So, you start to fill her in about the search. “Before Daryl found the doll, we’d—”

—OH WAIT, now you get it!

---------------------

Once you figured it out, your hands were raised in innocence and you kept your voice lowwww. “Ain’t nothing romantic happened between us two.”

And you weren’t fully sure why you were going into defensive mode so hard, either, but there you went. “C’mon, Andy, there’s a fuckin’ nazi symbol on his drug dealing, motorcycle gang bike,” you’d grit, doing your best to play if cool regardless of how weirdly defensive you’d gotten.

Forcing a smile to cover up for that fact that you licked your teeth in annoyance, you finished up, “He’s my friend, but that right there would be a deal breaker off the bat for aught else. And besides, back at the quarry, we noticed he didn’t seem into people.”

“I’m not entirely sold on that. Maybe, it’s simply that he’s shy and careful and not a pig like his brother was.”

Andrea then had peered at you as if she could see something you couldn’t, which disturbed and annoyed and for some reason thrilled you even more.

You thought about it, and supposed that he did seem to blush that time Amy was headlighting after the first rainstorm at the camp. A squall had come out of nowhere. Last time she ever wore that shirt without a tank top underneath.

Anyway, Daryl had immediately turned his head away, in fact, as opposed to (Merle, obviously, but also) even Glenn, who’d frozen when he’d seen. Amy didn’t know who’d been gaping, but you’d been on the hunt for anyone objectifying your new friend, so had been darting your eyes around like a cat getting ready to pounce, and took inventory of every glance.

That Daryl turned his head so readily was the main reason you’d felt safe enough to ask if him if he’d teach you how to hunt, in all honesty…

“It was his brother’s bike, not his,” Andrea next stated, very like the way older siblings will talk down to younger ones. “Merle was the head, and the dealer. Would you want to be held accountable for what your brother does, his choices?”

That simple reminder made your bow your head, and you could hear your pulse begin to thrum in your ears. You wouldn’t want to be held to Shane’s choices and actions. You still couldn’t (can’t) wrap your head around the fact that he’d just flirted with Lori. And kept flirting after she’d clearly been alarmed by it.

“Something Merle once said made it sound like Daryl wasn’t a big part of the gang,” Andy went on.

However, you got even more defensive at what you were taking as insistence of Dale and Andrea’s little conclusion. “And? He still rode or, or at least hung with them. He still wears the cut sometimes.” 'Sometimes' meaning that spate of a few days when he was particularly sad about Merle...

“‘Cut?’” she repeated, then remembered, “Oh, I remember learning that from Sons of Anarchy, it’s the um, that’s the Boy Scout vest that bikers wear, right?”

Ha. You were cracking up despite yourself, that was funny. Boy Scout vest.

“As for the bike,” Andrea added mildly, “painting over that symbol isn’t on his radar. I mean, routine hygiene isn’t on his radar.”

Nope, you weren’t defensive at all. “…So he’s grimy and desensitized to a nazi symbol. It’s a match.”

With a tut very-like what your eldest sister would make, she stated, “I didn’t remember what the symbol on the bike stood for at first, and I'm a civil rights lawyer. I thought they were stylized lightning bolts.” You heard her breathe deeply as she rested her arms on the livestock fence. “The symbol, the one on Merle’s bike, what’s it mean again?”

“Shoots-stah-full.” You’re bad at pronouncing it and were feeling embarrassed, so spoke it shyly. “SS is easier to say.”

“They were the secret police?” she checked.

“The secret police was the gestapo, the SS were another sort of special branch. Über-jarheads, I guess.”

“See? I only really remembered the swastika as being a nazi symbol, until you and Dale were talking about the symbol on the bike. It’s not unreasonable to think some things in Daryl’s education were forgotten or missed, too.”

That was the point in the conversation when the private knowledge of him having gotten lost for 9 days, as a young child, and without anyone looking for him, slapped you in the metaphorical face.

Why did you react so strongly to her assumption in the first place? It’s not a big deal. You’d have probably assumed the same. Like, for goodness sake, you were the one who couldn’t keep the pet names for him from going on parade little over an hour ago. You'd cupped his cheek and kissed his forehead in relief that he was alive!

Either way, there was a (…sane?) inner battle in your head between being offended at Andrea and Dale’s conclusion versus being offended at your own negative reaction to it.

Bitch, he tossed the ‘hard stuff’ this morning, obviously he isn’t a user.

Still ran with the dealers, still was complacent and complicit with it all. And think about how cruelly he insulted you earlier today, how scary he was? You were expecting it to turn into his backhand. It’s something that was plainly done to him, you think he’s unlearned that yet? No, because you remembered how he grabbed you by your arm and dragged you back at the house until you cussed him out.

But then he apologized. Then, when you needed help, he carried you gently and made sure it wasn’t hurting you. You saw how careful he was being, and he isn’t good with touch.

Then he stole Mr. Greene’s horse instead of just asking like a normal person.

He also gave Carol that flower and told her the story to go with it, and meant it.

Before drinking about four beers last night and was hardly buzzed from it.

He carried, buried, and mourned that family of strangers with you today, he’s not some selfish deadbeat, Y/N!

Well, he chain smokes and drives a nazi bike!

And still almost died today three times to give the group—to give Carol—concrete proof that her baby girl’s been near.

Fine! Explain away the r-a-c-i-s-m.

That mangy hick saved Glenn’s life, he saved T-Dog’s life twice. He gave Jacqui extra root beer when she said she loved it, helped the Morales kids learn to throw a punch (and a kick). Y/N, he’s clearly doing some kind of weeding of the bad stuff in him and letting good things take their place, idiot, are you stu—

“Y/N. It wasn’t an attack on you, or a judgment. Amy told me how,” Andy paused to think of a good verb, “discerning you are when it comes to things like that. How strong your boundaries are. And how hesitant you’ve been to enter into a relationship for those reasons.”

She was diplomatic and tactful, you were grateful. You’d have just said ‘old-fashioned, kinda scared, comparatively prudish.’ Lol.

Crossing her arms as she walked, she then drove home, “Maybe I would have trusted your decision, if there was a ‘you two.’”

A slightly stammered “Okay,” was the best you could do right in terms of responding. Let’s be real, sentences aren’t your strong suit on a good day, never mind today.

Andrea stuck her hands into her belt loops and she ambled alongside the fence. You followed, looking out at the cows. One of them had twin calves.

“You gave him the benefit of the doubt before any of us,” she reminded you. “Are you backtracking?”

Your voice cracked when you tried to insist, “I ain’t backtracking on that, it’s j-just been a long day.”

“It’s been something else,” Andrea softly agreed. Her pace slowed a little and she placed her hand on your back as she continued toward the nearest cow field. “I saw Carol washing your stuff. Where’d the bloodstains come from?”

You shrugged. “My stitches ripped.” Ohh damn it, you said it out loud. “Wait, Andy, don’t—please don’t let Shane find out,” came out of your mouth in such a desperate tone of voice that you couldn’t not see a red flag.

“Oh, I won’t.” Andrea’s lips pursed, and she put a hand on her hip. “He’s been acting up.”

One word for it. You closed your eyes, and mumbled, “Thank you. He has been.”

“It doesn’t seem like you to hide stuff from him.”

Hide stuff? “No, it’s the…” After inwardly tugging the halyard to get that red flag down, you give up. Let it fly; you were hiding stuff from your brother, plain fact. Still are. For now, at least.

Andrea said nothing more about it. Again, you were grateful. You also felt stupid.

You stood there in silence for a few minutes, listening to the breeze, the mooing, the birds chirping, the cicadas buzzing.

Once the sun was halfway set, she lead the way back.

“At any rate, back to what we were discussing,” she relaxed her position and gave you something of a teasing smirk. “T-Dog is convinced Daryl’s a good guy, too, so what does that tell you?”

“That Teddy’s a saint,” you answered quietly, mouth twisting into an embarrassed grin. You may or may not sometimes remind her of what a catch you think T-Dog is combined with the fact that he’s single and in her age range. “Andy, where was all this goin’?”

“I have no idea, at first I thought I was being supportive,” she chuckled. “I guess: Daryl is proving to be a different man than we thought. And I’d say you know that better than anyone here.” She inhaled, then made a slight groan. “And, well, I did just shoot him, so maybe I’m biased.”

You held back a giggle. “So you’re tryin’ to set Daryl up to make amends?”

“Mmhm,” she sassed back. “Guess I’ll need a more willing victim.”

“Understood, let’s find Carol, she's half in love with him after today.”

“Perfect, let's get her. She’s probably hanging laundry,” was her initial sarcastic agreement. After a few steps in silence, she grew serious. “Carol needs to learn her worth before we can let a man near near her again. Especially one like Daryl.”

The first half of her statement sent you in for a hug. But the second sentence in her statement put you right back on defense and simultaneous offense. What came out of your mouth as you sought clarification, however, was unproductive. “Seriously?”

Per usual, Andrea remained unruffled. She held a hand up. “Based on what I know, your bar is high enough to do pull-ups on. Now, you’d help hoist someone up to your bar—and would kick off anyone who tried to lower it.” She gave you a pointed look. “Carol’s bar wasn’t only low, Y/N, it was taken down and used to beat her.”

The mental image struck right in the gut.

Blindly, you followed her past the grove of trees where Otis’ cairn lay, so offered a quick blessing in your head for him.

She turned back to look at you. “Do you understand where I was coming from, Y/N?”

You had to swallow some of the emotion down first. “I think so.”

“You and him, I’d be fine with, because your bar is set high and firm. It would imply good things about Daryl.”

After a sniff, you thanked her, that was a very generous compliment. And unfortunately, unable to not be a weirdo, you mumbled this dumb comment: “I can’t be hoistin’ nobody up until my darn shoulder is healed.”

----------------------

Now

“The motorcycle was Merle’s,” Dale lightly defends. Same response as Andrea, but with more of an understanding tone of voice. He was raised Jewish and lost family during the Holocaust, you know that.

Still, why didn't he react with more gusto, then? You hum and end up matching a sock somewhat aggressively. Which is not a sentence you’d ever have imagined thinking.

“Y/N, you can’t fault the man for accepting his dead brother's gas-friendly, easily repairable and reliable mode-of-transport that can go places bigger vehicles cannot. Him being able to go ahead and scope out the roads has been a boon. The emotional connection to the bike in itself would be understandable.”

“Yes, sir.”

He sighs. “My first thought was one of…how to describe it, uh, it was an...” he considers for a moment. “I suppose the best word is ‘confidence’ in Daryl’s character, if you had taken a shine to him.”

“‘Taken a shine to him?’”

“You know, a fondness for each other.”

“A 'fondness?'”

“Though I suppose the camaraderie that you two have is a commendation for him in itself,” he went on, eyeing you with something of an exasperated look. Good humored, though.

You scratch your nose. “I think we all have some kind of camaraderie or, y’know, a ‘shine’ with him after today.” It would be impossible not to. “To be fair, I couldn’t stop callin’ him pet names earlier. There’ve been a lot of up and downs we’ve gone through together the past few days, I’m not lookin’ too deep into it.” And you were merely so relieved that he was alive after getting grazed by that bullet, which is why you pressed your forehead to his and gave it a kiss.

“And he was injured, a circumstance which tends to encourage terms of endearment,” he kindly agreed. “Nothing wrong with that, kiddo. And there’s nothing wrong with acknowledging that he’s not so bad.”

Nodding, Dale points his finger after matching another sock. “For me, what solidified it was when he found out that T-Dog had the blood infection.” He pressed his thumb and pointer finger together. “The man immediately gave us those antibiotics, as well as some painkillers.”

The recollection of that blessed relief trickled from your belly down to your toes and fingertips. And hearing that it had been done ‘immediately’ sent a tightness to your throat. You swallowed.

“However, it was before that, at the quarry, when I really started to trust that the, uh,” he raised his brows, then grinned briefly. “That the ‘first impression’ wasn’t accurate in several ways. One, I imagine you will remember, it was a few days prior to the supply run to the city. The last supply run, as it were.”

You nod. You’d been barred from going due to an uptick in getting migraines the previous two-ish weeks. Must’ve been the barometric pressure or something.

“Daryl had been looking for you, found fresh tracks close to the campsite, if I recall.”

Just then, Glenn walks over with his mouth full of something—oh snap, he’s got a container of honey wheat pretzels. Yay!

He plunks it in the middle of you and Dale and begins to help with the sock-sorting and laundry folding.

Like a starving Dickensian orphan, you zero in on the pretzels and quickly stuff a few too many into your mouth. Glenn finds this very funny, cracks up, and now you’re trying not to snarf as you desperately try to chew and swallow.

“I gave half my supper away,” you do your best to enunciate as you crunch.

“Glad you’re doing better after passing out earlier.”

You press a finger to your lips and subtly shake your head, just in case your brother would somehow overhear it.

“Anyway,” Dale gets back to it, with a handful of the pretzels for his own, “after I explained to him that you were indisposed, he seemed irked, wandered off. Some time later, however, he came back to me with a sports drink in his hand, asking if you’d left your tent yet. It seems that he intended the beverage to go to you.”

The memory kicks in and, mid-motion and mid-chew, you stop reaching to grab the mate to the sock in your hand. Another sensation spreads through your belly, a nice but nervous one. Your eyes flit up at Dale, who paused to take a drink from his water bottle.

“I hadn’t seen you or Amy leave your tent at that point, so let him know,” he narrated, capping his bottle again. “Except, on his way back to his and Merle’s spot, he slowed and crouched to look under the truck. Then, he held out the bottle.” Dale next makes a chuckle that probably qualifies as a ‘guffaw,’ it’s a proper old man belly-laugh. “And to my quite vocal alarm, a skinny, pale little arm popped out from underneath and took it!”

The name “Gollum?” is the unfortunately first thing that enters into your head and, yes, you say it out loud…but it’s cool, because Glenn happens to say at the same time, “Like Sméagol.”

“You’re such a nerd.”

“Look who’s talking, dork,” he pokes right back.

“My mind went to the two children hiding behind the Ghost of Christmas Present’s cloak, personally,” Dale muses, then continues the story. “Daryl wandered off on his way after that, but, naturally, I hopped down from the RV to see who on earth was under there." He lifts a shoulder. "I bend down to see who but our young Carl! The boy had already drunk half the bottle, said he felt much better for having done so. It seems he’d felt sick before and crawled under the truck to escape from the sun.”

Daryl gave your Carl a gatorade, too, and said not a word about it.

Good Moses, just when you thought you’d tamped down any notion of irrational affectionate feelings toward that mangy hick...

“With that, little Luis came dragging Miranda over with a cup of water—Miranda had been watching the boys while Lori was out foraging for mushrooms, Eliza must have been with Sophia and Carol.” Another sip from his water bottle. “Mmm. Those mushrooms were a treat,” he said mainly to himself. "Y/N, he found you later and gave you the beverage before you washed up, if I'm not mistaken? He came by with another bottle, I directed him to the quarry lake after seeing you head down with a wash bucket."

You nod. Was it obvious that you flushed when he told you the story?

Because you feel flushed, and that’s with the cool breeze outside this evening. You fold a shirt. Some undies. Match another pair of socks…then you figure you should say something, you’ve been too quiet and Dale is looking at you expectantly. “C-Carl does have a way of, uh, slippin’ out of sight.”

“Like a hobbit.”

“Just like a hobbit, Glenn, the boy coulda burgled us blind.”

Your friend remains mock-serious. “He still might.”

“He’s a tricksy one.” And with that, you take more pretzels. Maybe if you feed the butterflies in there, they’ll get tired and nap. Or, if you stuff enough into your belly, there won’t be enough room for them to fly.

“Hey, saw Shane’s setting up his own tent,” your friend mentions.

“Mm. Privacy will be nice.” You kept your face and voice nonchalant, except for maybe searching a little too intently for the matching sock that was plainly in front of yo—owww, you reached too far with your bad arm.

When you found out from Lori last night about the new baby and who the biological father potentially might could be, it’d felt like the seed of dread that had taken root in you however many months back, regarding Shane, had blossomed.

Now, after you caught him flirting with a very unreceptive and visibly shaken Lori, it feels like the plant shot up and was now pushing against your insides. It’s a wonder the irrational butterflies in your stomach even have room.

“That sound good, Y/N?”

“Huh?”

Glenn nudges you with the side of his foot. “Can you join?”

“Join what?”

“I told you, head was in the clouds,” Dale commented, kindly razzing you.

“Jimmy and I are playing board games later, we want you to come. Beth will be there, too. And maybe Maggie? I-I don’t know…” His cheeks turn purple-red. “Sound good?”

“Yeah, sounds real good. On the porch?”

“Yup.”

“Cool. I’ll be right in the house tonight, anyhow.”

“No way?”

“Way. Daryl needs overnight supervision, I think Carol might will be helping, too?”

Dale looks up from his lap. “Oh, did he enjoy the spam and eggs that she made for him?”

“Not sure, he was asleep last I knew.”

“Ah, that’s right, yes,” he remembered. “Well, maybe in that case she’ll have the pleasure of watching him eat and enjoy. I tell you, it smelled heavenly. She was very intent on making something special for him.”

The first half of what you said was totally innocuous, if maybe on the wishy-washy side.“Who could blame her? After today, she’s probably half in love with the guy.”

But then you followed it up with, “Who isn’t?” and you knew right then that you’d misspoken.

Dale’s made a point to keep his eyebrows level, as if that would help him hide his surprise and suppressed grin better.

But Glenn was under no such pretense, and your best friend dead-ass coughed his mouthful of pretzel.

“Dude—” you go to say.

He held up his hands after getting the pretzel bits off them. “I didn’t say anything.”

You held up yours, too. “I was bein’ objective.”

“Okay, Amy,” he said regarding your choice of word. Amy liked the word ‘objective.’

“Calling me that’s a compliment.”

“We are all objectively in love with Daryl?” he repeated. “Isn’t that a little…wait. Dude, are you saying you—”

“—It was hyperbole.”

“But you’re not, like, do you like him?”

“Now, Glenn,” Dale starts.

That surge of both self-defense that people would think you’d be into a grating racist or that one would be into you collided and was catalyzed with protectiveness against the poor man. That wonderful sumbitch has been on a solid redemption arc, let anybody try to deny it. “Define ‘like.’”

“Like like.”

“Bless your heart, no!” What is with people today? “However, I want you to think back over how he was when we done first met that mangy hick, to today, in terms of his behavior. Try and make like he ain’t grown. Don’t you love a good redemption arc?”

Glenn considered it. “Fair.”

The awful thought that Glenn might not believe you and might think less of you only worsens the mosh pit that is your stomach right now. “I’m gonna, um, g-go grab some of my stuff, bring it inside.”

“Wait, bumpkin, I wasn’t trying to, like—I meant it more as, um,” he can’t seem to get the wording right.

You’re making it worse, man. “Dude, it’s cool, you didn’t mean nothing by it.”

“But like—”

“—Glenn, I’ma start chargin’ a quarter for you using too many ‘likes’ per sentence.”

“Perfect, I’ll charge you for talking too hillbilly.”

Eh. You reckon admit you’ve been speaking a lot more twangy now than you had been at the quarry camp. There’d just been so many new people, you’d toned it down. Maybe being around more folk people who talk like you is why you’ve let it fly. “It’s a deal.”

“Good — you owe a quarter for saying ‘when we done first met’ Daryl,” he races to say.

“And you owe me one for how many likes you done sprinkled durin’ this here conversat—shoot! Did that count?”

“Yup.”

Dale, entertained by the looks of it, cuts in, “See, this is why I’ve been thinking that you two had a fondness for each other.”

“Aw, hear that, buttface?” you giggle, folding the last undershirt from the pile.

“Fondness.” He makes an exaggerated curious face and strokes what would be there if he had a mustache.

“You two expect me to believe there wasn’t fondness between you two?” Dale remarks with a bit of a tut thrown in.

“There still is, it’s just different now,” you insist. And immediately hop into gear to (gently) bust your friend’s balls. “Especially now that Glenny-boy here’s got his eye on a certain mystery lady.”

He’s right there with you. “And now that Y/N’s apparently hopelessly in love with Daryl.”

“There’s such fondness,” you barely manage to say without laughing, as much as it makes your newly stitched abdomen ache.

Dale sighs and throws back a gulp of his water as if it were something stronger. “Glenn, just tread lightly with the certain mystery lady, is all I ask. And Y/N, kiddo,” he looks at you. And winks? “I trust you completely with Daryl.”

“What?” Glenn protests, to which you just slap your leg and snicker “Ha!”

“If between you, there ever was a…” Dale pauses long enough for you to see the twinkle in his eye. “Fondness.”

----------------------

And here's the picture from Dale's memory

------------------------

-> Masterlist link here <-

and our teeny tiny taglist :D

@spenciepoo338 @its-freaking-bats @whistlesalot @buffy-the-assbutt-slayer @dreamingaboutthewonderland @kwazii-kat @darylsmavis @outlanderhornet22 @battinsonrobs @dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable @multiifandomhoe @writingmybeloved @boomergirl123 @iheartathena0 @moonliight-luv @suniloli @supernaturalgirl02 @cnake-garden @daryldixmedown

(inbox is open if you would like on or off the taglist, slowpokes. Please don’t feel bad or nervous if you don’t want to be tagged anymore, just let me know! We’re all friends here and your comfort level matters!)

48 notes · View notes

puppypopcornpizza · 7 months

Note

hey pookie idk if ur taking fic requests but a man can dream!!! so if u are, could you do something like ur angsty fics with daryl (idk if you've done them for others) with glenn where it's either gn or male and reader is just kinda like exhausted and not eating

if u don't want to or don't feel comfortable feel free to ignore!!!!! have a good day

Hi, nonny, I don't mind requests at all! I'm just typically more comfy with characters I've already written a lot of, but I gave it a crack just for you. I've written Glenn a total of maybe 6 or 7 lines of dialogue before this fic lmao.

I made it so their relationship is platonic, I hope that's okay!

I hope you're doing well, remember you are loved.

Heavy

Warnings ➳ massive caution tape, flickering light warning for eating disorders and depression, pls be safe

Pairing ➳ Glenn Rhee x Platonic GN!reader

Word Count ➳ 710

Alexandria's roads sparkled with rain, petrichor hanging in the late afternoon. Gravel crunched under their boots, weary footsteps accompanied only by the scattered chirp of a bird or cricket. Fatigue seemed to seep into the very wildlife surrounding the community.

Their limbs, heavy as they felt, moved unthinkably down the asphalt. Muscles tense but exhausted, an unbearable weight in their chest yet a feeling of moving underwater. The contradictions felt the most infuriating.

"Hey!" Glenn's voice echoed from behind them, heavy steps approaching before he fell into step. A look of happy recognition falling into immediate concern and their stomach twisted itself into knots at the coddling neither of them knew was needed.

"You okay?" But that wouldn't stop Glenn from trying.

"Yeah," they breathed shortly, shooting him what could only be described as a grimace in an attempt for comfort. It only worsened their situation.

Glenn spun and continued walking backwards, his focus fully on them and they wanted the ground to swallow them at the scrutiny from their friend.

"I'm fine, Glenn," a more convincing smile this time round. "Really."

His eyes narrowed before hands gripped their shoulders to a halt, sighs and a look to the side to avoid his gaze. They couldn't hide hollow eyes and the sway in their stance.

But then his face changed once more, and their heart shattered in their chest as eyes finally locked. He knew.

"Again?" His shoulders fell, hands still firmly planted on them and an anguish taking over his features. The crack in his voice was what had their so carefully built up facade crashing down into pieces.

They bit their tongue, hands trembling before balled into weak fists and Glenn was the only thing holding them upright in that moment. Gaze fell to their shoes, how could they look at him? Why would he want to see them?

"I'm…" But that would be a lie, an insincere apology to provide false comfort to the one whose mind was clear and fingers stayed steady.

Time felt like limbo in that moment, in the moment where he pieced together patterns that had repeated and tangled until the start couldn't be determined from the end. Until they all blurred in a horrid weave of stupidity.

Because they were stupid, they had to be. They couldn't tell the difference from the walkers outside the walls and their own reflection most days, more often than not, they avoided their own eyes completely.

"What…" Gears turned at rapid speeds in his head; working out a plan and determining solutions that they both knew would end them right back where they stood now.

"You shouldn't have to-"

"You're crazy if you think I'm gonna let you deal with this on your own," and he said it with such certainly, such unwavering belief that they almost believed him.

They wanted to believe him - more than anything.

"Glenn-"

"Let me help, me and Maggie." Words urged further, leaning down to make sure their gazes locked. "Please."

When words stuck heavy in their throat, he continued. His hands still held their shoulders firmly, they knew his fingers felt the trembling beneath.

"And even if we can't help, just let us be there." They searched his eyes for traces of a joke or malice, it seemed idiotic to even consider the idea of a lie because it was Glenn. "Lean on us."

Swallowing the lump in their throat, eyes fell to their boots once more and the disagreement sat on their tongue.

No.

But why? Did they believe themself so unworthy of help that even the idea, the mere thought of healing made the wicked voice in the back of their mind scream to spin around and never speak to him again? To continue fabrications of, "I've eaten already," and, "No, I'm not hungry."

Because as loud and as awful as that voice was, they were tired. Exhausted of waking to trembling fingers and a mind that couldn't fucking think. They could barely find the energy to wave greetings with false niceties and find excuse after excuse to not go on runs because they knew they'd only be a liability.

So they swallowed their pride, along with that screaming voice wailing in disapproval.

And they nodded their head.

#glenn rhee x platonic reader #glenn rhee #glenn rhee fanfiction #glenn rhee imagine #twd glenn #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfiction #fanfiction #writing request #my writing

25 notes · View notes

wolfish-nightmares · 2 months

Text

Days Gone By

Pairings: platonic!Glenn Rhee x reader, platonic!Carl Grimes x reader

Era: Season 1

Warnings: TWD gore and violence. Bad language. Death.

Category: Fluff, Angst.

Word Count: 3.2k

Summary: After joining the group in the quarry, you grow closer to some of the group members and make enemies out of others.

Game of Survival Masterlist

The quarry was like a gift from the universe. Spending endless days in the woods made living in the quarry like an expensive spa resort. Having other people to talk and interact with became a grace from your slowly slipping sanity. Never before would you have believed that not having the constant background noise of other people, going about their lives, would have bothered you, but now, you almost craved it.

Pushing open the flap of your tent, you stepped out into the blinding sun. As much as it hurt your eyes, it did feel good to no longer be under the constant shadow of trees. Being here felt like there wasn’t impending doom lurking around every corner. It allowed you to relax a little.

But not completely.

A figure moved into your peripheral, and your body tensed as you grabbed the handle of your knife. You shifted your back to the tent, so you had a view from almost all sides. All that time in the woods had rewired you in a way, you had become untrusting and alert.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Glenn spoke softly as he came more into your field of vision. He moved slowly and spoke like he was trying to soothe a wild animal. “I was just wondering if you were going to get breakfast. I was going to offer to join you.”

You felt a bit embarrassed now, you had fully overreacted. No geek, a name you picked up from Glenn, had come anywhere near camp since you arrived, and most of the people in camp didn’t seem to have some devious personality lurking beneath their smiles. Except for Ed Peletier or Merle Dixon, you wouldn’t trust those two for anything.

“Ain’t your fault,” you let go of your knife and relaxed a bit. “Is there still oatmeal left?”

Glenn smiled, “I saved us two bowls and some of those peaches you brought.”

What was left of the canned food you had packed was given to the group. The peaches were the hardest thing to let go of, but the younger kids seemed so excited to see them. Reluctantly you let the peaches go to the group, fully thinking you’d never see them again, but of course, Glenn came to the rescue, saving you some.

“Thanks, Glenn.”

He smiled at you, “I think we should hurry up and go eat before the kids try to take what’s left of those peaches.”

You chuckled softly and followed behind him to the main area. Your tent was a little further away from the others, not as far off as the Dixon’s but enough to give you some personal space away from the group. Sitting in the main area wasn’t your favorite thing to do, you had always hated being in large groups before, and now it was even worse.

Glenn handed you a bowl of lukewarm oatmeal with some peaches on top. You gave him a small smile as thanks and sat down, digging your spoon into the bowl of mush. Oatmeal wasn’t a go-to breakfast option of yours, but now it was all you ever seemed to eat.

The oatmeal didn’t have very much flavor, it was the generic oats in a can, so there was really nothing to be expected from it. The peaches, however, were like gold. You pushed them around until you had scraped every last bit of oatmeal from the bowl. You smiled to yourself once you had finished, you knew the juicy sweetness of the peaches would wash down the dry-tasting oatmeal.

Using your spoon, you cut off a piece of the peach and ate it slowly. Never before would you have savored peaches so much but now with a lack of food, flavorful food, these peaches were practically a five-star Michelin dish.

You scooped up another piece with your spoon, ready to savor it, and suddenly someone harshly shoved your shoulder. The spoon and the bowl both fell from your grip and landed on the dirt in front of the fire pit. You whipped around to face the asshole who ruined your breakfast and weren’t surprised to see Merle standing behind you with a proud smirk.

“Sorry sweetheart, didn’t see ya there.”

Pushing yourself off the log, you stood up to him, “Like hell you didn’t see me. You wasted my fucking food, Merle.”

“Looked to me like you was done, nothin’ but some scrappy peaches in there.”

Naturally, most teenagers didn’t have the best tempers, little things could quickly set the average young adult into a fit of emotions. Your temper had become short and your emotions came on strong. With Merle around it felt like he was just poking at the live wires of a bomb and it was only a matter of time before he set it off.

This was going to be the fateful day that Merle finally sparked the explosion and everyone could tell that he was getting closer and closer to setting you off. There really was no surprise when you suddenly punched Merle in the face. You were preparing to hit him again when Glenn stepped in and pulled you away from him.

Perhaps your reaction could have been considered an overreaction but in your mind, he deserved every bit of it. Ruining someone’s food was the highest offense in your book, and frankly, you were tired of Merle’s attitude.

“What the hell is going on here,” Shane’s demanding voice boomed from across the quarry.

“Peaches here just woke up on the wrong side of the bed, that’s all.”

You could tell from the way he spoke, Merle still had that annoying smirk on his face. Fighting against Glenn’s grip, you tried to turn around to face him but Glenn held you tight. How the former pizza boy had such a good grip was beyond you.

Once Shane came closer you turned to him, “Asshole here knocked my food out of my hand. That’s what’s going on.”

Everyone in camp knew you and Merle would have an all-out brawl if Shane allowed it. The tension between you and him was thick enough you’d need a chainsaw to cut through it. Since day one, you two had been at each other’s throats, constantly.

“I didn’t see the little one here, was just an accident.”

Glenn’s grip loosened a bit and you turned around to look at Merle, “What? Did mommy and daddy not love you enough so you have to go around camp being an asswipe?”

Your question must have really hit a nerve because Merle’s jaw clenched and he stepped forward, obviously coming to do something to you.

“Listen here ya little bitch!”

Shane pushed him back and Glenn kept his arm out, stopping you from stepping forward as well. It was like trying to hold back two feral cats who were ready to have it out.

“You two need to stop it, now!”

By now some of the others in the group had come over to see exactly what the problem was. Daryl had come over as well, placing his hand on Merle’s shoulder before Merle angrily shoved it off. You and Merle continued to stare at each other for a moment before he turned and stalked off into the woods.

Glenn completely let go of you and stomped back to your tent. You wanted to go out hunting but you knew since Merle was out there, Shane would never let you go. He probably thought you’d kill him out there, not that you hadn’t considered it, so instead you just decided to sulk in the corner of your tent. You grabbed the book Glenn gave you and figured you could just kill time by reading.

You weren’t in the tent long before someone came and tapped against the front flap. The new way to knock, brought to you by the apocalypse. You got up and unzipped the tent so whoever knocked could see you.

“Yes?”

Lori smiled at you, “Hey, I know you’re probably still upset but I was wondering if you’d be willing to watch Carl later today.”

You usually sat and entertained Carl and Sophia while the others were cooking, foraging, or just doing laundry, so this was a usual request from Lori. Apparently, most of the adults believed that you’d be a good babysitter for some reason, and you had gotten stuck with that duty. There was nothing wrong with watching them, they were pretty self-entertained and if they did need you to entertain them it was pretty easy too. Most of the time you just had to keep them from wandering off or go with them when they wanted to pick flowers from the woods. In fact, your favorite thing to do was play with Carl and his toys. He was one of the most entertaining people in the camp, in your opinion.

“Yeah, how much later?”

“After lunch should be good. I want to go foraging again, see if I can find something.”

Foraging, sure.

You nodded in response and she thanked you before leaving. For a while, you considered just staying in your tent until Lori needed you to watch Carl but it was too hot and too boring to be cooped up in your tent all day. If you couldn’t go hunting then you figured you should at least do some target practice.

With your bow and arrows, you left the tent to head over to the tree you usually shot at. It had multiple markings of previous shots and there was an “x” etched into the bark. You ensured that the tree was far from the main camp so nobody could accidentally get hurt.

For a moment you just stood there, watching the leaves sway from the slight breeze and listening to the songs of distant birds. It reminded you of hunting with your dad, staying still and quiet, just listening and watching the forest. A small smile crept across your face as you remembered what it was like out there. It was always so peaceful with your dad by your side, cracking a joke every once in a while or pointing out a pretty bird. You’d both talk about the next big project your mom wanted to start, claiming it would be a total disaster but you always had faith she’d find a way to pull it off. You would give everything in the world to go back to that.

The sound of footsteps pulled you from your wishing and you looked over to see Shane walking toward you. You already knew that he was coming over to talk to you about your outburst with Merle. It happened every time, he’d come to find you after the big blow-up and give you some wanna-be lecture on why you should just leave Merle alone.

“Look Shane, I know the drill, okay? I have an argument with Merle, it gets big and you come over to talk to me about the importance of peace in camp. I get it, I can practically recite it at this point,” you gave him a tired look. “Can you just leave me alone this time?”

He ran his hand through his hair, “I didn’t come out here to lecture you. I just wanna talk.”

“‘Bout what?”

“Look, I don’t know what happened to you before you got here-”

“Stop,” you shook your head. “I’m not having this conversation with you.”

You walked past him, not caring for what else he had to say. There were a few in the camp who asked what happened to you when this whole thing started but you never answered. Having to put your mother out of her misery was not something you’d want to relive.

“Hang on just a second,” he followed you and grabbed your shoulder, you turned and shoved him back. “Shit!”

“Don’t touch me! I said I’m not gonna talk about it so leave me alone!”

By now, you were breathing hard and fighting back tears. You hadn’t given yourself time to grieve, and it left you bitter. It was why you never wanted to talk about it, the grief of what happened left you feeling hollow and shattered. It also made you angry, which was why you were so quick to jump to violence now, and how easily everything pissed you off. Even just thinking about it brought every buried emotion clawing to the surface.

“I’m sorry, I won’t touch you. I just think it would be good for you to talk about it.”

You stopped and stared at the ground as you tried to blink back the tears that were threatening to spill over. A part of you wanted to confide in him, to tell him what happened, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You could feel Shane’s presence behind you, waiting for you to say something, but instead, you just shook your head and walked away.

Speed walking to Dale’s RV, you tried your best not to catch the attention of the others. You leaned your bow against the side of the RV but kept your quiver strapped to your back. The door was always unlocked so you didn’t bother to knock, swinging the door open and climbing inside. You ignored Dale and Andrea sitting at the table and made a beeline to the cabinets. In the very back of the cabinet, there was a small stash of food.

When you first arrived and began giving your food to the group, Dale offered to keep a few things for you since he could see how badly you didn’t want to let it go. You decided to hide a can of ravioli, cherry pie filling, and a bag of jerky.

Originally you planned to save it just in case something happened but today you really needed a pick-me-up. Grabbing the can of ravioli, you decided that would be your lunch for today.

“Forks are in the right top drawer,” Dale said, showing no surprise to what you were doing.

“Thanks.”

You grabbed a fork and peeled back the lid of the can. The watery insides made you think of your childhood, back when Chef Boyardee was gourmet to you, the mini cans had been your go-to snacks after school. You saw them on the commercial and begged your mom to get them, she caved and they eventually became your comfort after a long day of school.

“Wait, you’re not even going to heat it up,” Andrea gave you a shocked look as you dipped your fork into the can.

You shook your head as you speared a ravioli and popped it into your mouth, “‘s good straight out tha can.”

Her face twisted in disgust, “Cold ravioli?”

“A delicacy.”

Since you didn’t feel comfortable sitting right beside them, you liked your personal space, you went and sat in the driver's seat of the van and kicked your feet up on the dashboard. The seat allowed you to see what some of the others outside were doing.

“So, other than the Merle incident, what else happened that warranted your little craving for canned ravioli?”

Craning your neck, you looked back at Dale and chuckled, “What, you don’t think Merle was enough for me to need this? This right here,” you tapped the side of the can with your fork, “is the equivalent of a drink, the alcoholic type. Dealing with Merle, I definitely need a drink after that.”

That earned a chuckle from both Andrea and Dale.

“You had a look on your face when you came in, something obviously bothered you out there.”

Sighing, you sat the half-empty can down, “Shane tried to take a dig into my past again.”

Both of them knew that Shane had tried a couple of times to get you to talk about what happened and they also knew that it was something you hated talking about. You had no idea why Shane seemed to want to know so badly.

“Oh, that makes sense,” Andrea said, “It’s usually Shane or Merle that gets on your nerves.”

You turned around and gave Andrea a deadpan look. Before you could say something to her, Shane came inside.

“Speak of the devil,” you commented under your breath and Shane gave you an odd look before turning to Andrea.

“We’re putting together a group to make a run. Figured you’d wanna join.”

Andrea got up and left quickly but Shane stayed for a moment. You raised your eyebrow at him as you continued to eat.

“Where’d you get that?”

“What?”

“That can of food you’re eating right now.”

You shrugged as you ate the last piece, “Dunno, just found it. You can have it if you want it.”

You held the now empty can out to him and he gave you an annoyed look before following Andrea outside. Since they were getting a group together, you figured it was time for you to go and watch Carl, so you got up and threw the can away.

“See ya later, Dale.”

He waved at you as you left. You stopped and grabbed your bow before heading over to the main fire pit. Lori and Carl were already there, finishing their lunch.

“Oh hi, I’m not going out right now but if you want you can sit with us,” Lori gave you a bright smile.

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

You sat on the log across from them and plucked at the string of your bow as you looked around awkwardly. Lori kept giving you small smiles whenever you made eye contact and it made you feel uneasy. You always felt odd when it came to her praise and thanks for looking after Carl.

“Sorry I told you after lunch, I didn’t know Shane was planning a run,” Lori apologized.

When Shane put runs together, Lori often stayed around to see who was going. You tried offering to go plenty of times but he always said no and put you on some other duty. That was another reason why he drove you so crazy.

Looking over at the group you spotted Glenn among them and got up to go give him the usual goodbye when he went on runs. He saw you walking over and smiled.

“Anything you want this time?”

That was his usual question, always wanting to know if there was anything you wanted him to pick up for you. He had grabbed plenty of books for you on the last few runs. He even found you a book of word searches.

You shook your head, “Nah, unless you find any cool bracelets, I’m good.”

He nodded and you gave him a fist bump. That had become your usual goodbye, rather than actually saying the words. He turned to walk away but you lightly punched his shoulder.

“Make sure you come back.”

“I promise.”

You gave him another smile and made your way back to Lori and Carl. Once you sat down, you looked back over at the group and saw Merle among them. You didn’t notice him come back. He made eye contact with you and he gave you a smirk and a sarcastic salute, something he often did when you caught his eye. You rolled your eyes and flipped him the bird, something you often did back to him.

As the group went off, you silently hoped that all of them would come back, even that douchebag Merle.

#the walking dead x reader #the group x reader #platonic!glenn x reader #platonic!carl x reader #glenn rhee #carl grimes #game of survival

14 notes · View notes

gracemyface · 2 years

Text

Daryl: The Professional (Daryl Dixon x Young! Reader)

Chapter Six

Key:

Y/n - Your Name

Y/l/n - Your Last Name

Y/e/c - Your Eye Color

Y/h/c - Your Hair Color

Series Masterlist | Previous Part | Next Part

Summary: Things are unsettled at camp after the fight and Jim's breakdown, and the Reader finds themselves too worried about Daryl to really enjoy any of the festivities. Meanwhile, Daryl finds himself struggling in the city, wanting to return to camp but not wanting to face the wrath that would come from leaving Glenn behind. They're finally reunited when, in a turn for the worse, the camp is attacked by a wandering herd of walkers...

Warnings: Major Character Death, Canon Typical Violence/Gore, Some Angst.

A/n: I will have no real Lori slander. She did some shitty things, yes, but she loved her kids and the other women’s kids. Anyway, how do we like Daryl’s pov? I really, really struggled with it bc he’s such an asshole (I mean that affectionately.)

Shit really goes down this chapter. You guys have a slight breakdown, but it's been a long time coming. Character development ig?

also, do we want more stories from when the Reader, Daryl, and Merle were together?

Word Count: 4.8k

The first time Daryl ever saw you, the blood-soaked orphan with a far-off stare who’d barricaded themself into the corner of his father’s cabin, he felt a prickle of annoyance travel up his spine.

He didn’t know why you were out in the woods, or what had happened to result in you being covered in the crimson liquid (though, if his father hadn’t just been eaten in front of him, he would’ve assumed it was a pig slaughtering gone awry), or how you got into the cabin. He, especially at that moment, hadn’t even cared. He knew immediately that Jess wouldn’t have left you behind, cursed his father’s half-brother and his bleeding heart, and reduced you to nothing in his mind but another mouth to feed — a weak, sniveling mouth at that. He wasn’t ever keen on being around kids, smart-mouthed teenagers even less, and he didn’t really want to have to handle the collapse of society with anybody who couldn’t fend for themselves.

You showed him, though. You really did.

In those few days when it was just you and him after Jess took that fall off the truck when you officially became his responsibility, you proved you weren’t weak. You adapted to the end of the world quickly — learned to be quiet when you needed to be, to be useful most of the time, and to just eat whatever he managed to catch. And then you took on Merle in a way that nobody really dared to, most nights ending with you sending his older brother a heated gaze over the fire, the flames reflecting in your y/e/c eyes. Now, he still wouldn’t leave his life in your hands if he had the choice, even after you shot that man clear in the head back in Fontana and walked it off, but he knows for sure that he can trust you to handle your own — and, even if he doesn’t really appreciate being wrong, he can’t help but admire you for it… though, he’d never admit it aloud.

Standing in a long-abandoned lab building in an overrun Atlanta, the redneck stares down at the whimpering kid they picked up with pure disdain. His lips are curled back over his teeth in a sneer and his eyes are slanted as he stares down, internally picking apart every little thing the teenager does. That is what he expected from you.

What a shit show this little expedition-slash-rescue mission has turned out to be.

Not only was Merle not where they left him — currently down one hand and on the run through the sweltering pit of hell that has become of the once lively city — but now they’ve lost Glenn, too. If Daryl’d known that the younger man was going to get taken hostage by a bunch of wannabe gangsters and hold them up like this, he’d have left before these assholes could’ve even thought about getting into the truck with him.

He wanted to be the hell out of dodge three hours ago. “Them guns are worth more than gold. Gold won’t protect your family or put food on the table— you’re gonna give that up for that kid?”

Both of them give him a stern look, and he resists the urge to roll his eyes. Sure, the kid is nice and all, and half the camp (including you) would be really pissed off if they came back without him, but they can’t give up half of these guns. It’s either Glenn or a better chance at survival and he picks survival.

“If I knew we’d get Glenn back, I might agree. But, you think that Vato across the way is just gonna hand him over?”

Daryl nods in agreement. There’s that, too. They have no idea for certain if giving up the guns will even get them what they want. It might just be a trap that gets them all killed.

“You calling G a liar?” Their hostage— Miguel, was it?— inserts himself into the equation.

His mind once again drifts to you. If you were kidnapped, you wouldn’t be this stupid. You’d be smart enough to not mouth off to the people who held you captive, smart enough to figure out how to get yourself free, and smart enough not to make promises on his behalf that he might not be able to keep. You’d be mute, sitting there and watching your captors with those dangerous little eyes of yours.

This kid, though? Christ.

“Are you a part of this?” He crosses the room and leans down over the kid, slapping him lightly. “You wanna hold onto your teeth?”

T-Dog continues on, ignoring the violence. “Question is, do you trust that man’s word?”

“No, question is what are you willing to bet on it? Could be more than them guns. Could be your life. Glenn worth that to you?” He holds Rick’s gaze.

Truth be told, Daryl doesn’t quite get risking why anybody would risk their life for someone who wasn’t their blood. Glenn wasn’t any of their brother, son, or cousin — he was just some (former) pizza running kid that was on the highway, in the right place and at the right time when Shane spearheaded the group and lead them off the highway. Merle is probably the only person in the world that the redneck would even think to sacrifice anything for.

(Except maybe…)

“What life I have I owe to him. I was nobody to Glenn, just some idiot stuck in a tank. He could have walked away, but he didn't.” Rick loads his revolver and sticks it in his pocket. “Neither will I.”

Daryl scoffs in his soul. “So you’re gonna hand the guns over?”

“I didn't say that.”

The sheriff's voice has now taken a quality that has his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline.

“There's nothing keeping you two here. You should get out, head back to camp.”

T-Dog winces from his injuries, rubbing his head with his hand. “And tell your family what?”

Daryl and Rick stare at each other for a beat, a silent conversation happening between them, before he sighs shortly and reaches for a weapon. You’d probably be really pissed at him if he didn’t try, and he doesn’t want to deal with an emotional teenager right about now.

“Come on, this is nuts.” The boy sits back down when Daryl holds a hand out to him. “Just do like G says.”

The redneck ignores the whining boy and starts loading a shotgun. He needs this to be over as quickly as possible, and he needs the gangster assholes to go down without a fight.

He made a promise to come back alive, after all.

──────────────────

Jim has a heatstroke. Or, at least, that’s what Shane keeps dismissing it as. With the current state of the world, it could’ve very well been post-bite fever or a psychotic break.

He’d been digging for reasons unknown and unintentionally ruined the good news of the incredible amount of food they were going to have tonight in the process. Shane went all cop on him, which didn’t really surprise you after what happened with Ed, and the whole ordeal ended with Jim being tied to a tree after ranting and raving about how he left his family for dead. Everyone seemed to move on after that, the mothers dragged their children off to do schoolwork and a few of the other adults started setting up for the fish fry, but you found yourself a little nauseous.

It looked like he was digging graves, and why did he go into such intense detail?

Hiding away in your tent, you lay down on top of your sleeping bag and throw a ball of socks up just to catch it as it comes down. You hoped the action would be therapeutic — something to take your mind off the image of Jim’s poor family and how it bleeds into the image of your own — but the socks lack the weight of a real ball, and you can’t get out of your head.

Had washing your parents’ blood off your skin absolved you of any responsibility in their deaths? Were you doomed to end up like Jim?

Would you also, someday soon, have a psychotic break?

“Hey, Y/n?” Lori’s soft voice drifts through the thin fabric of your tent as he speaks timidly.

For a beat, you decide if you want to be silent and let her think you’re asleep. “Uh, yeah. What’s up?”

“Shane’s gonna teach Carl and Sophia to clean fish. He wanted to know if you’d join.”

You already know how to gut an animal. Squirrels, rabbits, and even a deer, once — Daryl had always been very big on you learning how to survive in the time you spent together, and that learning involved getting over the grossness of animal entrails very, very quickly. You were living through the end of the world, he’d reasoned, you don’t have time to be weak-stomached.

And you don’t want to spend time with Shane. That’s at the top of the list of things you don’t want.

But you’re not going to tell the woman that you dislike the man she was sleeping with, so you say, “I already know how to.”

There’s another beat of silence, and you can see the shadow of her willowy figure shift through the wall of the tent.

“Can I come in?”

You, certainly not expecting that, pause.

“Uh, sure.”

You sit up and push yourself to the back of the tent, watching as Lori unzips the door and ducks down inside. She’s got sincere eyes. So sincere that when she crouches down in front of you and meets your gaze, your skin starts to crawl.

“You feelin’ okay?”

You hate that question. Something burns behind your nose and you snuggle, shrugging pitifully. “Dunno. Pretty shit — what happened to Jim, I mean.”

Lori nods thoughtfully. “Yeah… it is.”

She looks a little pale. Surely, the death of children doesn’t sit well with a mother, even if they aren’t her own.

“I, uh, I understand that you’ve had a rough time.” The brunette doesn’t seem to know what to say to you, and you almost feel bad. “I mean, I don’t. Not really. And you don’t have to tell me anything.” She stresses that point with a sweep of her hand. “But I know something must’ve happened because everyone has something happen.”

You nod along, fiddling with a loose string on your jeans.

“I— Daryl and Merle don’t exactly seem like the easiest people to talk to, so if you ever need anything, me and Carol are right here, okay?”

“…okay.”

She smiles softly at you, and you spare one back. Lori and Carol are perfectly nice women, but you almost prefer Daryl, who has put a ban on personal questions and mostly ignores the emotional side of everything. You know you aren’t going to go to Lori and tell her things.

You wouldn’t even know where to start.

“Y’know, Carl likes you? Like, a lot.”

“Really?”

“Mhm. Sophia, too.”

Deep down, you know this is her trying to coax you out of the tent, but you let it boost your ego anyway. There’s something so incredibly normal (and endearing) about being looked up to — even if, sometimes, it gets a little annoying.

“And I’m guessing they would really, really like it if I went out there and helped Shane gut fish with ‘em?”

“Yeah. They would.”

Pursing your lips, you stare at the woman through slightly narrowed eyes before sighing and giving in.

“Alright…”

She grins widely and it kind of makes up for it.

Shane seems to be getting frustrated with the ordeal when you arrive, correcting Sophia’s stance with a tightness pulling at his smile as Lori gently nudges you along. You take the seat next to him without a word, pretending you don’t notice how he and the woman exchange a look, or how Carl shifts toward you on the log. It’s a hundred degrees out and he’s attached to your hip already, watching with those big blue eyes of his as you silently grab a fish off the pile and get to gutting it.

You can remember the steps well: descale, cut a slit in the belly, remove the guts and fins and head, and rinse.

“Look at you.” Shane compliments in a drawl, finally getting Sophia to do what he needed her to. “Like a swan to water.”

With a wrinkled nose, you drop fish innards into a bucket and turn to look at him as you shake the blood off your hands.

“Yeah, well, you spend enough time with the Dixons and you’ll learn how to gut anything.”

Something dark flashes across his face but you don’t care. You turn back to the fish, making a little joke to Carl about fish eyes that makes his entire face scrunch up and draws a long ‘Ewww’ from his lips. The laugh that bursts from you rattles in your bones.

──────────────────

“Hey, Dale, you got a?—“ The question dies on your lips as, upon stepping over the threshold of the RV, you stumble upon Andrea.

Every cabinet in the mobile home’s little kitchenette is open and she appears to be rooting through them desperately. At the sound of your voice, she pauses, looking up at you like she’s an animal and you just caught her looking through your garbage cans.

“Hi.”

“Hi?” You retort, shifting your weight. “Do you know where Dale is?”

“No, but I wish I did.” She heaves a sigh and runs her hand through her hair.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen the woman quite so frantic. Somewhere down the line, Andrea Harrison was a lawyer, and it’s hard to imagine her standing in the front of a courtroom, prim and proper and ready to kick some ass, with her standing in front of you like this.

“Can I help you any?” You ask just as Dale finally responds to his summons, stepping over the threshold with a quiet, “Did I hear my name?“

“Yeah.” Both you and Andrea answer at once, but you step back and gesture to her. “I think she needs help first.”

The blonde spares you a nervous smile.

“Alright. What do you need?”

“Wrapping paper, color tissue, anything?”

(Okay, maybe you regret letting her go first. At this rate, you’ll never get that bandaid.)

You stare at her with furrowed brows and a scrunched-up face.

“Seriously?” Dale shares in your confusion, glancing warily between the two of you. You offer him a shrug.

“How could you not have any?��

“Had I been informed of the impending apocalypse I'd have stocked up.”

Your snort at the old man’s dry words earns you a particularly derisive look from Andrea. “What? It’s the end of the world and you need wrapping paper. Shoot me for finding that amusing.”

“It’s Amy’s birthday tomorrow.” She says it like you should know that (probably because you should.) “I've been marking days on the calendar just to make sure.”

Your eyes wander over to the calendar on the wall of the RV as she lifts the necklace that she stole for a gift to her sister. Surely enough, Andrea has been crossing out the days on it.

Despite what you expected, there is no big circle over Amy’s birthday or anything, but you then figure that would probably ruin the surprise. Your older (in age and not maturity) blonde friend had come to you earlier in the week and lamented to you about the situation. While you’d always known that Andrea was the older of the pair, you didn’t know just how much until Amy filled you in on the ghosts of birthday past; she told you all about the older blonde’s broken promises to return to the nest for her little sister’s birthday, about how, more often than not, college and other things got in the way. She must’ve seen the calendar, too, and been disappointed by the apparent lack of acknowledgment that it was growing closer and closer to her favorite holiday.

“You can’t leave a gift unwrapped.”

“Oh, it’s good that you got something. I think she thinks you forgot.” That was told to you in confidence, but you stretched the truth a bit, so it isn’t that bad, right?

Dale and Andrea both look at you for a moment before he nods his head slowly. “Alright. Deep breath. I’m sure we’ll find something.” He turns back to face you. “What did you need?”

As if a lightbulb turned on over your head, you lift up your hand and the handkerchief that’s been wrapped around your minor flesh wound. “Carl cut me while I was demonstrating. I just need a bandaid.”

The old man shakes his head at you and steps around Andrea to go get the first aid kit, muttering to himself about the youth of today and how you’re going to lose your limb if you aren’t more careful.

──────────────────

As the grating summer sunlight fades into the darkness of dusk, taking the heat with it, the whole group (excluding the men in Atlanta and Ed, who refused to show his face around camp) sits down for the biggest meal most of them have had since the end of the world.

Cold beer and water are handed out as serving trays full of fried fish get passed around between the clusters of people who gather around their fires, the murmur of their happy chatter and soft laughter cutting through the blanketing sounds of the night. After the big fight and Jim’s foreboding breakdown, it’s nice to see everyone smiling and knowing that nobody’s going to ruin it this time — even if you can’t really find yourself joining in on the festivity.

“Pass the fish, please?”

“Here you go.”

“Man, I missed this.”

Sitting down on the end of one of the logs and feeling a little removed from everyone else, you wrap your coat tighter around your frame and let yourself worry about the group of men who went into the city. You don’t know Rick Grimes too well — he didn’t exactly give you the chance to get to know him, did he? — but you do know Glenn, T-Dog, and Daryl. You know that they’re very capable men and that, in certain circumstances, most of them have more experience with geeks than you do, but you can’t help but worry. The sun has long since set, meaning that the men, wherever they are, are stranded out in the dark. You don’t really remember the nights from when it was just you and Daryl (a combination of many sleepless nights and too-high adrenaline made the memories blur together), but you know enough to know that things do get worse when the sun goes down; geeks aren’t exactly quiet, but they can really sneak up on you when there’s no light and your body wants to sleep.

Experienced or not, they're going to be tired eventually, and, if Merle doesn’t try to kill them, something else will.

“Hey, Nervous Nellie.” Shane draws your attention to him by nudging your leg with his boot, “Yeah, you— how's the fish?”

Your eyes flit down to the bottle in his hand. Beer surely makes him a little looser.

“It’s alright.”

The ex-cop cocks a brow and echoes your response. “Alright?”

You really wish he’d just leave you alone.

Truth be told, you don’t really like the food. It’s bland and it tastes fishy in the worst way, and (even if you’ll admit that you’ve been eating it like a death row inmate getting their last meal as if indigestion isn’t a thing), chasing it down with water isn’t helping. Sure, it’s better than the food you’ve been eating for weeks — better than measly mushrooms, canned rations, and whatever game the Dixon brothers could hunt up — but it’s not great.

“It’s no cheeseburger.” You shrug, stabbing some more of the pale flesh with your fork. “But beggars and choosers, and all that.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Morales interjects lightheartedly, tipping the head of his beer in your direction. You smile a thin-lipped smile.

The arrival of his long-lost best friend has made Shane rather… unsettling. Whether it’s because of how cold Lori has been acting toward him or his superiority complex, you’re not sure. You just know that you want Daryl to come back, even if that means putting up with Merle for the rest of his life.

“I’ll be right back.” You dismiss yourself quietly to Jacqui when the temperature changes and your discomfort proves to be too much. She nods absentmindedly, too engrossed with whatever Dale is saying to really respond, and takes the plate from you when you hand it over.

You slip away into the darkness pretty easily, retreating to your tent in search of a sweatshirt, a breather, and maybe some reassurance that the redneck you’ve grown to like could survive whatever came at him.

With a press of your hand, the nylon flap of your tent opens and you step in. Pausing briefly to turn on the little electric lantern on the floor, you then scan the small space with your eyes, looking for anything that might pass as something with long sleeves. There’s already a pile of dirty clothes forming in the corner and most of your stuff is strewn about, but you ignore that and grab for your bag— an old duffel that belonged to Daryl’s deceased father. Curling your fingers around one of the fraying straps, you pull it up and toward you, rooting through the stuff in there until you find it. A red and black flannel.

Somewhere down the line — just like most of your stuff did — the flannel belonged to one of the Dixons. It hangs loose on your frame, the sleeves too long for your arms and the length stopping mid-thigh.

Buttoning it up, you cuff the sleeves and fiddle with the ends for a few minutes until they sit in a way you like.

Just as you’re able to breathe a deep breath and feel remotely at peace, a blood-curdling scream, followed by many more, cuts through the quiet dark of the night. Adrenaline is the first thing you feel, your heart beating in your ears and your lungs squeezed of air, and worry is the second, fear for your friends forcing your legs to move and push out of your tent again. Though, before you can do that, you’re greeted by two rotting hands shoving their way through the opening and grabbing at your shoulders in a surprisingly iron grip. The shock of seeing a geek so up-close causes you to stumble back, but your ankle twists harshly — sending you sprawling to the ground with the monster right on top of you.

“Oh, god!” The cracked scream leaves your lips, the now-shattered glass from the lantern digging into the skin of your leg.

The walker is — or, was — a man. It gnashes its teeth and pushes toward you, the sound of the bones clacking together making you whimper. Is this what your parents felt in their last moments? Jim’s wife and kids? Very quickly, your arms start to tremble under the weight of the much larger body, and you decide to not resign yourself to the same fate. Craning your head, you search for a weapon.

There’s no way for you to reach your gun right about now, which you can’t really shoot with one hand anyway, but there has to be something else — anything you can use.

As the walker claws desperately at your shirt and groans miserably, you have to make the rash decision to remove one hand from its chest and give yourself less leverage to reach blindly behind you. Panicked breaths puff past your lips and your head starts to feel light as you grab at your stuff. Your fingers tightening around your sleeping bag, you give a harsh tug and hear the faintest sound of objects clattering around. The walker pushes down on your forearm as your fingers touch what feels like the hilt of a knife. Daryl must’ve thrown it in with your belongings a while back.

Letting out a strangled and panicked sound, you take the weapon and stab the walker with all your might.

The steel of the blade pops the walker’s eye upon entry and slides right through to its brain. Closing your eyes and mouth, you whip your head to the side as a mixture of ink-like blood and gel-like eye fluids drip down the hilt of the knife and onto your face. Its body, now eerily still and limp, falls on top of yours, making it hard to fully inhale as stuttered, panicked breaths rack your chest. As the sounds of gunshots and screams continue from outside the tent, you roll the body off you and force yourself up on your knees, gasping breaths through frightened sobs as you try to tug the knife out of the dead head.

As you pull it free, another walker stumbles into your tent and tries to pounce on you. Before it can bite a chunk out of your body, the tent door is being pushed open and a bullet is shattering its skull.

“Y/n!?” Glenn’s voice is just audible over the deadly mixture of your heartbeat and painful ringing in your ears, his eyes wide as he hopes what he just shot was actually dead before he shot it. “Y/n?!”

“Glenn.” You whimper, kicking the other dead body away from you. Your alleviation that the men from Atlanta are alive is short-lived.

“Oh.” He breathes in relief and slings the gun over his shoulder, reaching out to hold your forearms. “Oh. You’re okay. Oh, god. That’s good.”

“Daryl— is— is Daryl?” You can barely form words, your fingernails digging into his skin.

“Daryl’s fine. C’mon. We have to get out of here!”

He ushers you to your feet. The pain in your calf worsens as you stand up on shaky legs, every movement causing the glass to shift in your skin, and you stumble forward into his chest.

“I can’t— I hurt my leg.” You hiccup and Glenn sighs softly, wrapping one of your arms around his shoulders so he can half carry you.

“I have you.”

Glenn leads you out into the chaos. What’s left of camp isn’t very different from what Sedalia was like all those weeks ago — bodies, both rotting and fresh, littering the floor and the once-contained fires roaring loudly against the stones. Howls of anguish and sobs fill the air.

“Y/n! Y/n!” Daryl’s southern drawl echoes through the remains of the camp, worry, fear, and anger lacing his words. “Where the hell is the kid?!”

The survivors are all gathered around the RV, and you watch as he shoves Shane lightly for getting in his way.

“Where are they? Did you leave them alone?” Rick tacks on as T-Dog tries to get in between them, his son in his arms. “Has anyone seen Y/n?”

As the moonlight casts a blue shadow on your blood and grime covered skin, you let go of Glenn and find it within yourself to shout. “I’m right here!”

The redneck’s head snaps over to you and he abandons his antagonism against the ex-cop in favor of running over to you. Daryl grabs your face in both of his hands and starts scanning over your features.

“You alright? Any of this blood yours?” He whispers gruffly.

“I’m… I mean I hurt my leg but otherwise I’m fine. No bites.” Your hollow voice cracks slightly as you speak, and your gaze flits away from him as he bends down to check your leg. “Is that?…”

Andrea sits, crumpled at the foot of the door into the RV. In her lap is Amy. Sweet Amy. Amy, who missed texting more than most and still had this beautiful ability to wonder in her twenties. Amy, whose birthday is tomorrow.

Amy, Amy, Amy.

Your blood runs cold and your stomach drops so fast you might fall over as the older blonde’s bloody hands brush across your dead friend’s pale skin.

“Don’t look.” Your guardian orders once he’s followed your gaze, but it’s too late.

Tears, burning hot and long coming, spill out of your eyes and down your cheeks. Daryl sighs and, because the attention isn’t on either of you, lets you curl into his chest, his hand rubbing down your back in an attempt at comforting you.

It’s useless, though.

Andrea’s sobs filter through the air as a heavy silence overcomes the rest of the group, each and every one of them consumed with the weight of what they’ve lost.

──────────────────

tag list (lmk if you want to be added/ if you're not actually being tagged you might have to check the settings on your page):

@stawvberrymilktae / @vilaneiie / @letxhyng / @fnicolpcab / @redneckstrash / @dixonarchives / @howlerwolfmax / @spenciepoo338 / @luvelyxp / @quietly-scrolling-through / @btsiguess-kpop / @littledxve / @mich1551-blog / @anunstablefangirl / @furiousfandomenthusiast / @ineedmorefanfics2 / @justababygaysworld /

#daryl:the professional #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine #the walking dead #the walking dead imagine #the walking dead x reader #gender neutral reader #young reader #carl grimes #glenn rhee #lori grimes #tdog #dale horvath #carol peletier #sophia peletier #zombie apocalypse #platonic fic

301 notes · View notes

book-place-incorrect-quotes · 3 months

Text

Maggie: I don’t want Y/N to die

Maggie: You don’t want Y/N to die

Maggie: So we’ve just got to make sure Y/N doesn’t want Y/N to die

Glenn: Fantastic idea, but have you met Y/N?

#the walking dead incorrect quotes #twd incorrect quotes #twd x reader #twd #the walking dead x reader #the walking dead #maggie rhee x reader platonic #maggie rhee x reader #maggie rhee #glenn rhee x reader platonic #glenn rhee x reader #glenn rhee

609 notes · View notes

scarisd3ad · 5 months

Text

man oh man you're my best friend

Part of the ‘to the end and back series’

Pairing(s) - Glenn Rhee x best friend!reader (platonic)

Warnings - regular twd warnings

(a/n) - similarly to Daryl I can't find an age for Glenn in season one, so I just said he's 22 because I do know he's on the younger side.

Masterlist

Taglist

I let out a deep sigh as I laid back on the overgrown grass that tickled at my ankles. “I hate this,” I whisper as I stare up at the night sky that was freckled with millions of little stars. Sometimes I wished I could become one of those stars.

I wished I could be up there twinkling so gorgeously instead of being down here fighting to survive. “What?” Glenn whispers as his head turns, so he’s facing me. “camping” I whisper back with a giggle. Our whole lives were camping now. We slept in tents, cooked on fires, and bathed in a quarry. My entire life was one of my grandpa’s favorite hobbies and my least. how could that even happen? “I wish we could find a neighborhood and clear it out so we could live there,” I whispered.

Maybe it was a ridiculous dream, but it didn’t seem too farfetched to me. I’m sure other humans have already done it. Clear out a small neighborhood, maybe a gated community and then secure it so no walkers or other humans could get in. Then we could live normal lives and not camp.

“I don’t think we can do that,” Glenn whispers as his hands reach up to sit behind his head comfortably. “Why?” he shrugs. “Too much work,” he whispers back. I sigh as I scoot closer to him, snuggling into his side. “you’re like my best friend” It’s weird that a man I had met maybe a month ago was my best friend. normally a person wouldn’t label someone as their best friend until years of knowing them. but with Glenn, it felt like I had known him for more than a month. it felt like decades. we already knew each other so well; it was like we were made for each other.

Glenn was younger than me, but it never felt that way. Despite being only 22, the same age as my little brother, he was braver than I could ever be. He was brave, so brave he’d throw himself in front of walkers for the entire group if it meant we’d survive. He was selfless, and so kind it was hard to believe that he was only 22.

“Yeah?” he asks. I hum a quiet “mhm,” back. “You’re my best friend, too.”

Taglist

@rivversin @soul4death @furiousheartpoetry @silicone-bonez @nezukos-number1fan @your-shifting-gurl @maziejay08 @oi-itse @rhaenryawhore @kimbunnysstuff @blipblopper @ramielll @ilyhannah @daryldixonnn @delicatebearpandaopera @crypticmushroom @daryldixmedown @duckybird101

#fanfics #x reader #female!reader #the walking dead #glenn rhee x fem!reader #glenn rhee twd #glenn rhee x reader #glenn rhee #the walking dead x reader #fem! reader #platonic

30 notes · View notes

glennrheesdaughter · 1 year

Text

Imagine you and your brother, Hershal, experiencing snow for the first time.

You were asleep in your bed as you felt your brother jump on you." SIS! IT SNOWED!"he yelled as he ran back out.

I groaned as I put a cardigan on and my boots as I walked down the stairs. I looked to see white stuff all over Alexandria and it's still falling.

Eyes wide, I walked out and touched the white stuff, it was cold. Then I felt Judith take my hand and we ran outside.

I looked to see Uncle Daryl smashing the head of a frozen walker.

Then I saw mom and dad walk out. They both smiled as they saw all the kids play. I grabbed Hershal and bent down." Wanna ambush, Mum and Dad?" I asked as he nodded.

We loaded up with snow balls and we started throwing them. Mom shrieked as Dad laughed.

In the chaos I hit Uncle Daryl. He turned as Judith and I pointed at each other. He smirked and had a pile himself." SCATTER!" I yelled, as we ran.

After three hours, I felt Dad pick me up." Okay, Lunch and Cocoa." He said, as Mum held Hershal. I nodded as we headed inside.

#x reader #daryl dixion imagine #daryl imagines #glenn rhee #the walking dead #walking dead #platonic #glenn x reader #glenn x maggie #daryl x reader

9 notes · View notes

sunnybunnyy2 · 6 months

Text

THE WALKING DEAD MASTERLIST

I write for Daryl Dixon, Rick Grimes, Rosita Espinosa, Maggie Rhee, Glenn Rhee, Abraham Ford, Sasha Williams, Tyreese William, Enid Rhee, Lydia, Negan Smith, Tara Chambler, Connie, Kelly, Beth Greene and potentially anyone else if you request it!

I am around Lydia, Enid and Beths age so it’s nothing creepy and most of the fanfics for them will be platonic especially towards Lydia because she is literally my child.

💋- Smut 💖-Fluff 👀- Angst

One shots:

Series: Dark Cell Masterlist Daryl Dixon x platonic!reader. 💖👀

One shots:

Series:

One shots: A Morning Pick-me-up Rosita Espinosa x fem!reader 💖💋

Series:

One shots:

Series:

#the walking dead x reader #the walking dead #rosita espinosa x fem!reader #maggie rhee x reader #Maggie Rhee x fem!reader #daryl dixon x platonic!reader #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon x reader #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes x female reader #Beth Greene x reader #enid rhee x fem!reader #Lydia x reader twd #Sasha Williams x fem!reader #Connie Twd x fem!reader #kelly twd x fem!reader

49 notes · View notes

castielli · 2 years

Text

How to request:

Send your request featuring the character you want, the plot (+ANGST, FLUFF…) and anything I need to know about the reader.

MASTERLISTS:

MOVIES/TV SHOWS

KDRAMA/KPOP

OCs PROFILE:

@nathan-ocs

Fandoms I write for under the cut!

——————————————

NCIS

Timothy McGee

Jimmy Palmer

Nicholas Torres

CRIMINAL MINDS

Spencer Reid

Penelope Garcia (platonic🫶)

Luke Alvez

CALL OF DUTY (MW/WWII)

John Price

Soap MacTavish

Ghost Riley

Gaz Garrick

Alex Keller

Alejandro Vargas

Phillip Graves

Vladimir Makarov

Rudy Parra

Red Daniels

William Pierson

Joseph Turner

Robert Zussman

Frank Aiello

Drew Stiles

SHAMELESS

Ian Gallagher

Carl Gallagher

Lip Gallagher

Mickey Milkovich

Kevin Ball

THE WALKING DEAD (+TELLTALE GAME)

Rick Grimes

Daryl Dixon

Glenn Rhee

Negan Smith

Shane Walsh

Lee Everett

Kenny

Doug

Mark

STRANGER THINGS

Steve Harrington

Billy Hargrove

Robin Buckley (platonic)

Eddie Munson

Jim Hopper

Jonathan Byers

Peter/001

Jason Carver

Dimitri

THE UMBRELLA ACADEMY (I still need to finish the last season😊)

Viktor Hargreeves

Klaus Hargreeves

Diego Hargreeves

Number Five

Luther Hargreeves

Ben Hargreeves

SUPERNATURAL

Dean Winchester

Sam Winchester

Castiel

Crowley

Bobby (platonic)

Chuck

NOW YOU SEE ME

Jack Wilder

J. Daniel Atlas

Merritt McKinney

Dylan Rhodes

Chase McKinney

MARVEL (Avengers/X-men)

Wanda Maximoff

Tony Stark

Bruce Banner

Thor Odinson

Loki Laufeyson

Steve Rogers

Stephen Strange

Peter Parker (Tom/Andrew/Tobey)

Clint Barton

Deadpool

Bucky Barnes

Sam Wilson

Peter Quill

Quentin Beck/Mysterio

Eddie Brock/Venom

Druig

Ikaris

Charles Xavier

Erik Lehnsherr

Peter Maximoff

Wolverine

Scott Summers

Hank McCoy

Bobby Drake

Alex Summers

Phil Coulson

Marc Spector/Steven Grant/Jake Lockey

Scott Lang

Pietro Maximoff

Mobius M. Mobius

Matt Murdock

Shang-chi

STAR WARS

Anakin Skywalker

Luke Skywalker

Obi-Wan Kenobi

Kylo Ren

Poe Dameron

Finn

TEEN WOLF

Stiles Stilinski

Scott McCall

Derek Hale

Isaac Lahey

Jackson Whittemore

Peter Hale

Theo Raeken

Liam Dunbar

Jordan Parrish

Mason Hewitt

Danny Mahealani

Aiden Steiner

Ethan Steiner

Corey Bryant

THE BOYS IN THE BAND

Bernard

Harold

Hank

Donald

Cowboy

Alan McCarthy

Michael

Larry

Emory

WHITE COLLAR

Neal Caffrey

Peter Burke

Mozzie (platonic)

Clinton Jones

DIVERGENT

Peter

Caleb Prior

Four

HARRY POTTER

Neville Longbottom

Sirius Black

Cedric Diggory

Seamus Finnigan

Viktor Krum

Remus Lupin

Draco Malfoy

Tom Riddle

Charlie Weasley

Fred Weasley

George Weasley

Percy Weasley

Ron Weasley

Oliver Wood

FANTASTIC BEASTS AND WHERE TO FIND THEM

Gellert Grindelwald (Mads Mikkelsen)

Newt Scamander

Credence Barebone

Theseus Scamander

Albus Dumbledore (Jude Law)

HUNGER GAMES

Peeta Mellark

Coriolanus Snow

Sejanus Plinth

MAZE RUNNER

Newt

Thomas

Gally

Minho

911 (and LONE STAR)

Evan Buckley (Buck)

Howie Han (Chimney)

Bobby Nash

Eddie Diaz

TK Strand

Carlos Reyes

Paul Strickland

Owen Strand

Jud Ryder

Mateo Chavez

RIVERDALE

Jughead Jones

FP Jones

Archie Andrews

Hiram Lodge

Sweet Pea

Fangs

Kevin Keller

Reggie Mantle

Chic

Moose Mason

BROOKLYN99

Jake Peralta

Terry Jeffords

All the others (platonic only)

CHRISTIAN BALE

Patrick Bateman (American Psycho)

Bruce Wayne (Batman)

PEDRO PASCAL

Joel Miller (TLOU)

Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)

Javi Gutierrez (The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent)

Javier Peña (Narcos)

Oberyn Martell (Game of Thrones)

Agent Whiskey (Kingsman)

Silva (Strange Way of Life)

Francisco Morales (Triple Frontier)

Marcus Moreno (We Can Be Heroes)

Dieter Bravo (The Bubble)

DETROIT BECOME HUMAN

Connor

RK900

Hank

Markus

Luther

Simon

Gavin

Josh

BARBIE

Ken (Ryan)

Ken (Simu)

Allan

SHERLOCK

Sherlock Holmes

John Watson

Jim Moriarty

Mycroft Holmes

FNAF (movie)

Mike Schmidt

Steve Raglan

SUITS

Harvey Specter

Mike Ross

LA CASA DE PAPEL

El Profesor

Berlín

Palermo

Denver

Río

I WON’T WRITE:

-Smut (for anyone)

-R*pe

-Female readers/GN readers

-Suic*de

-inc*st

-Crossdressing

-Romantic/Suggestive stories for underage characters (only platonic, basically)

If the character you wanted to request is not on the list, you can try and ask me anyways.

275 notes · View notes

havin-fun-imagining-twd · 1 year

Text

The first Christmas “without,” Pt. 1

Hey now, traditionally Christmas was still celebrated until Candlemas, which is February 2nd. Just doing my part to keep the season bright with my lateness!

When - 35ish minutes after A fu---n’ great Christmas. It takes place in between season 2 and 3. That means heck yes, we’re doing a time skip after souls stripped bare

What - the first major holiday without loved ones is hard. The first major holiday without loved ones because one of your loved ones was killed by another loved one is somewhat harder. (for those who are newer Slowpokes, Shane was your older brother. Remember, he was at most your half-brother by blood. Imagine yourself as you are!)

**Note that some plot points haven’t actually been published yet, they are merely discussed or alluded to because the series is non linear**

Relationships - slow burn Daryl x Reader always, but this chapter’s Part 1 is focused on the found-family aspect of the TWD, specifically platonic Glenn x Reader. Part 2 will be focused on familial Rick x Reader. You’re still snuggled in the mangy hick’s poncho and wishing he didn’t smell so good, though

Perspective - 2nd person You

Pronouns? - ain’t even needed, y’all, but in Part 2 they/them

TWs? - discussion of respiratory percussion, some foul language, crying, discussion of grieving, and you and Glenn being nerds and quoting LOTR.

Word count - normal, but if you wait for Part 2 (arriving tomorrow), set aside some downtime and get comfy and snuggly in something cozy, dare I say a poncho, perhaps?

What stories to read or reread - “All of them!” the author cackles A fu--in’ great Christmas, The Chicken Swim, Too much thinking before bed, Part 2 and Ain’t nothin... are the ones most pertinent to this chapter.

Check out the Masterlist if you’d like to read all about your Slowpoke self :)

35ish minutes later

Glenn calls out “Time!” and promptly hoists Hershel back up and onto the bench. He starts smacking the pillow the way you’d just been smacking the poor man’s back, then places it behind Hershel so he can relax. “There we go.”

“Thank you, son,” he coughs out. You’re worried that him getting the night off last night in honor of Christmas Eve was the wrong choice, but that’s by the by.

And it should be noted that postural positioning with gentle respiratory percussion isn’t quite ‘smacking’ in the usual sense of the word and isn’t violent in the least, but you still sort of want to cry every time you do it to him.

The last position requires Mr. Greene to angle face-downward with his hips above his lungs; it’s that position that gets people emotional sometimes because y’all achieve this by his laying belly-down with his hips on a couch while the forearms brace against the floor. But you use pillows, and Glenn or T-Dog or Lori or Maggie or Beth or Carol or Rick or you tend to brace him, too.

Still, it simply feels a little cruel to see a man of his age maintaining such a position, even with support — especially when the whole point is to help him cough, therefore, he ends up coughing a lot.

He’s fully on board, though, you aren’t being a bully, Glenn.

In fact, perhaps 10 minutes after you and Daryl settled by the fire following you gifting him the nicotine gum and pickles (those gifts sound so weird when you say them out loud, don’t they?), Hershel had made a particularly wet cough. You, of course, straightened up and turned your head like a ��lil prarie dog and watched as he raised his eyebrows as if considering something.

Then, he gestured to the little water department building and said directly to you: “Shall we?”

It was so scary how sick he’d gotten and how quickly he’d become so a few weeks back, good Moses. All you’d wanted for Christmas had been an expectorant (and that elusive peak-flow meter) because you’d been convinced Hershel was gonna develop pneumonia and slowly suffocate to death. There weren't that many nebulizer doses in the tinfoil packet you and Glenn found a few weeks back, so while it was amazing that you could offer Hershel treatment with a nebulizer (by plugging it into the jack of the crank radio and having someone crank away to power it up), it wasn't enough and wasn't the right medicine to thin and expel the mucus from his lungs. What it did was open up his airways via mild steroids.

Not two hours ago, you were gifted with four boxes of the stuff, plus one, beautiful, unopened peak-flow meter that your sweet Carl had found because this year, he wanted to be Santa. That little punk surprised everyone.

The treatments y’all were able to give Mr. Greene before did help a lot, but that medicine is 100% how he’s improved so fast and so much since yesterday.

Daryl was spot on when he said it was a fuckin’ great Christmas.

Anyway, Hershel found the fact that most of you got so up-in-arms and oft times emotional about the positioning and percussion somewhat amusing. Quote: “You’d think I truly was a small child, the way you’re all coddling me after a simple pulmonary treatment.”

He said all that while darn near hacking up a lung following his second day of the regimen a couple of weeks ago.

Okey dokey, all that’s left of the regimen for now is the deep breathing, and the last set will be done closer to bedtime.

“We are blessed to have found a place like this —” Mr. Greene cuts off to cough several more times. “It may be smaller than that lovely house we had for the past two weeks, of course, but this feels much safer, in my opinion —” He cuts off with more coughing, but you can hear how much mucus is getting kicked out, it’s great!

Good Moses, the things you get excited about now that you’re taking on the group’s medic role to a more official extent.

“It’s small, but yeah, we could camp out for a while here,” Glenn hopes.

“The water from the reservoir seems clean enough,” Lori agrees, adding honey to the mug of tea she’s heating up on top of the woodstove. She chuckles to herself and mumbles, “We’re living on waterfront property now.”

Cool story about the tea: Glenn found the exact same tea that his family swore by for lung issues at this crunchy, holistic type of hole-in-the-wall market tucked away in a corner plaza in the middle of nowhere in between Clermont, Cleveland, and Dahlonega. It had this cool ingredient(s?) you’d never heard of called pyungang—no, pyung…tang…shoot, you don’t remember. And Glenn had pronounced it so nicely.

Hershel now swears by it. He’s big into naturopathic stuff, too, very pro-elderberry (if only it wasn’t December, you’d hunt some down for him). He was pleased to discover that you had a few of those plant books. ‘Backyard Medicine’ was on his bookshelf back at the farm, turns out.

“I’ve just psyched they’ve got a woodstove here, guys, like, that’s insane! The chimney is so tiny, we can keep the fire going all day and night,” Glenn goes on. “No more building a campfire and hoping it’s not wet outside. No toilet here, granted, but…”

Mr. Greene chuckles. “But there is toilet paper. We’ll have to get started on a good, old-fashioned hole. The ground hasn’t yet froze.”

You groan.

“Here you go, Hershel.” Lori carefully walks over holding the mug of steaming tea handle-side out, using the ends of her scarf as oven mitts.

“Wanna do your deep breathing exercises now while that cools down, Mr. Greene, or later?” you question.

Uh-oh.

Glenn is doing his jaw clench.

“He needs a break, Y/N.”

“Sorry,” you apologize. You know you tend to go big or go home when it comes to medical stuff, and you’re working on toning things down. He does seem a little off today, but Glenn is your strongest ally in terms of reminding you, but one time, okay, this is gonna sound stupid, but he name-called you “Nurse Ratched” one of the first times you two had a genuine argument about Hershel’s treatment and it was such a slap in the face to the extent that you’d accidentally blurted out “fuck you!” in your shock and had a solid two days of being convinced that everybody secretly hated you because you must’ve been a cruel, nasty person, anyway that’s the story of your first real fight with Glenn.

So, you defend your question as delicately as you can when you start to reexplain how “All them pulmonary exercises build on one other —”

“— So wouldn’t it be better to wait a few hours so he’s better able to do them?”

Lori places her hand on your elbow and softly voices to the two of you, “It’s up to Hershel.”

“Seems Lori is still the only one in here with sense,” the man himself grumbles.

Neither you nor your best friend heed any of that.

“After a few hours, a whole ’nother set of all the exercises would need doing, Glenn.”

“Y/N, you’re going too hard on him,” he warns, “that could make him worse.”

“Might could make him tired, sure, but I’m not goin’ too hard — he would speak up if I were. And he had the night off yesterday!”

“Coughing too much can break someone’s ribs, man, he’s old! Too much exertion could, like, give him a heart attack!” He quickly adds, “No offense, Hershel!”

“He ain’t that decrepit yet, Glenn!” You quickly add, “No offense, Mr. Greene!”

“If I, the old but not-quite-yet decrepit patient as well as individual with the most medical training here, may interrupt,” the old but not-that-decrepit-yet Hershel who has the-most-medical-training-here begins with a serious, firm frown at the two of you, “I would like to use my lungs as much —” ohp, and he’s coughing again.

Lori rubs his back while you and your friend wait like two schoolkids outside the principal’s office.

“Pardon, excuse me.” He clears his throat and continues where he left off. “I would like to use my lungs as much as possible right now, because,” he pauses to look at Glenn in particular, “I don’t know how long until the turkey Y/N and Daryl bought home will be safe to eat, but I do know I intend to enjoy a very large helping or two of it without worrying about a coughing fit emptying the contents of my stomach.”

Oh poop, now you’re welling up.

That happened a few weeks back when you’d first begun the regimen with Hershel. Lesson learned: lung drainage and smacky-smacks should take place either before a meal or well after. Ugh, the poor man had gotten so ill, then he went and coughed so much he couldn’t even keep his tiny meal down…

“You okay?” Glenn whispers.

“M’good.”

“It also is better to let the exercises build upon each other, son, your friend is correct,” Hershel affirms. “Everything’s warmed up, so to say, which makes it the ideal time to continue. The whole purpose, even.”

The door opens and cool air whooshes in.

It’s Maggie, who correctly guesses within a few seconds: “Were they buttin’ heads about you again, Daddy?”

“Only a little. I was referred to as ‘old’ and ‘not that decrepit yet’ this time. But they resisted name-calling each other, so haven’t broken their two-week streak on that yet.”

Back to using those terms likening you and Glenn to schoolchildren, this is the equivalent of the principal calling your grown-ups and telling them you were fighting.

Also, you think you need a nap.

“Allow me to finish scolding these two, sweetheart,” Hershel says to his daughter, coughs twice, then clears his throat.

Looks at you. Here we go… “And Y/N, Glenn was entirely correct in understanding that I do require a break. Doing too much of a good thing can and often does backfire, your shoulder therapy, for example. I know you know this and are working on remembering it.”

He blows lightly on his drink and goes to sip but it’s still too hot. Kinda like how your face feels. “Thus, I am going to sit here, take my time enjoying this very beneficial tea — which will further help my congestion break up — and then, once I’ve finished, I will utilize the new peak-flow meter to do the breathing exercises.”

The door opens again and more cool air whooshes in.

It’s Beth, who almost shuts the door, but first turns around and calls to the group “He’s all done, we can go in!”

After this, yes, she is just as sharp as her sister when she sees you and Glenn.

And you knowwww she doesn’t mean to embarrass the living daylights out of you and him, but as everyone but Rick and Daryl pour into the little building, she innocently guesses: “Daddy, did you scold them about babyin’ you again, going too hard, or about name-callin’ each other this time? Glenn and Y/N look like they just got grounded.”

Was that T-Dog who just snorted?

Hershel seems amused, so you suppose that’s good. “I think it’s remarkable that I have that effect on them. Margaret and Shawn tended to be unperturbed.”

“Mostly Maggie,” his youngest daughter agrees.

“Beth!”

The attention mercifully is now directed at the sisters, so you unplug the mp3 from the crank-radio charging port (poop, only ¼ charged), throw on your new camo scarf and hat, and slip outside.

Carl whispers to you, “You’re taking good care of him.”

You love that kid so much, it hurts.

You give him a peck on his forehead, and before you’re even out the door, you’ve started to fiddle with Shane’s ‘22’ pendant around your neck.

A nap won’t work right now, you’re thinking too much, so you head over to the water to take a quick walk around the small reservoir to shake it off.

When you and Glenn fight, it gets to you. Especially when he’s of the mind that you’re being too hard on Mr. Greene. It frightens you. What if you’re losing your capacity for mercy and compassion like Shane was losing his?

Well, the ground might not be frozen yet, but it sure is nippy out. You snuggle deeper into Daryl’s poncho while you still get to wear it, and try to wish away the stupid, annoying crush you’ve got on your that mangy hick. Why did he always have to be working on bettering himself and smell so darn good to you is all you’re asking.

From behind, you hear rushed footsteps.

Mid-way through unsheathing your knife and whipping around, you hear, “Hey Y/N.”

You swivel fully, sheathing the knife. “Hiya Glenn.”

“You okay?”

“I’m chill. You okay?”

“I figured we could go on a quick jog.” As he finishes putting his gloves on, he lowers his eyebrows at something on you. “You’ve got the necklace out, are you sure you’re cool?” he hints.

You pause, then sigh. Fiddling with Shane’s old necklace has become something of an unintentional billboard for how you’re feeling. Like how a baby rubbing their eyes a lot is their unintentional signal that they need sleep. Glenn’s worried he’s hurt your feelings or whatever.

“Wanna jog around with me?” he asks.

“Let’s do it. We’ll need go up into the wooded area to get around the far left edge, by the shed and the old boat.”

“There’s a boat? Oh heck yeah, I wanna check that out, c’mon!”

And so, an impromptu run begins (ew). Unusual outfits for it, ordinarily you and him will at least change into sneakers.

He’s thinking the same thing, so you discover, once he cracks up. “Dude, can you imagine seeing people jogging in outfits like this in the before-times?”

You laugh, but it blends in with how heavy you’re already breathing. “How many laps you plannin’ on doing? I’m wasted on cross country.” (Yes, you said that part in the Gimli voice. You couldn’t help it).

But he finishes the quote! “We dwarves are natural sprinters!”

“Very dangerous over short distances.” (Okay, you’re done, you promise.)

Cracking up, he tells you “Just one lap. Wanted to apologize for earlier.”

“So you’re makin’ me exercise?” you play-whine. Move those arms, inhale, exhale, keep that posture upright. Ugh, running is the worst.

Glenn clears his throat. “Wanted to give you a chance to beat me, natural sprinter.”

“Huh?”

“In the race.”

And just like that, he takes off sprinting like—OH, that sneak!

Go, go, go, go!

“Cheaters never prosper, buttface!” you squeal after him.

“But they win!”

.......................................

about 18 seconds later

.......................................

The race ended faster than intended when he ran into half of a spiderweb, and you, while razzing him, ran into the other.

After some wild shaking like y’all were getting electrocuted, as well as repeatedly shouting that you were both fine to the group’s calls of alarm (“Ain’t walkers, we ran into a spiderweb!”) you’re now taking turns brushing each other off and trying not to yelp too loudly whenever you swear there’s one crawling under your clothes.

Speaking of, you grab your scarf, hat, zip-up hoodie, and Daryl’s poncho from where they were unceremoniously strewn about and give them a final shake so you can bundle back up.

“Let’s call it a tie?” Glenn shivers, putting his own coat and gloves back on.

“A tie. And worst-case scenario, we get spider powers.”

“Or gangrene.”

“Glenn,” you giggle. The fear of having spiders nesting in your hair notwithstanding, you’re feeling much better than before. A quick walk to ‘shake things off’ took a very literal turn, you must say.

“Dude, can you, um,” he starts, then stops. Scratches his neck. “Sit with me for a while?”

“Of course.”

In the hopes of avoiding any more spiders, you both hop to a fairly large rock that’s about two feet out on the water from the treeline. It’s a nice spot even thought your butts are gonna freeze on it.

“Y/N? Sorry for picking a fight again.”

“Friends and family fight,” you’re quick to say. “Besides, Mr. Greene is worth it.”

“But I overreacted again, I know I did.” He’s got a stick in his hand, which he’s snapping off tiny piece by tiny piece. “I think T-Dog was right, the day is getting to me, I guess.”

“That thing about the first holiday ‘without?’”

“Yeah.”

A soft, cold breeze rushes through the air and whips up old, dried leaves. Yeah, T-Dog was concerned that the first Christmas without normalcy and loved ones might hit people hard. And because you wear Dale’s watch, Rick wears his, and Hershel has his calendar book, the time and date is something about which your group keeps track. So far, at least.

Speaking of Rick, you notice Daryl and him out on the far side of the small lake. Rick is facing away, to your relief. You just — you don’t want to think about or look at him right now, and you don’t want him to see you, either.

Which isn’t a good sign, you know, because it means you’re sinking into a bad headspace again. Ugh.

...I don’t hate Rick, I don’t hate Rick, I love Rick, he loves me, he is family, he’s not a bad man, you repeat in your head.

Rick still isn’t facing your direction, but Daryl almost is, still filling out Shane’s old coat so nicely.

You give a small wave, and your stomach makes a delicious but very annoying flutter when his hand goes up in return. Is he smiling? you wonder.

The moment passes, and you’re back to fidgeting with the ‘22’ pendant.

“Your baby sister always danced in The Nutcracker this time of year, right, Glenn?” you say to your friend.

That’s when you hear sniffling, and look to see him crying very quietly. Glenn used to go hide to cry. It’s good that he’s comfortable getting his stuff out more openly now.

The group’s protocol is mainly that when somebody needs a cry, let them get it out without making a big deal.

“I couldn’t stand going to see that dumb ballet, oh my God,” he groans, trying but not really succeeding in not blubbering when he tries speaking. “The plot of that show is just so weird!”

“It is strange.”

He’s gonna need to blow his nose soon. “Last year, I —” he pauses to make a big sniff, “— I had just got back to Michigan, and I snuck in a pocket radio, I —” Again, he cuts off.

He swallows, tugs his hat down, and admits as if he were confessing to murder, “I listened to the Wolverine post-game with earbuds during the show, I w-was such an asshole!”

“Don’t name-call my best friend,” you murmur.

“And Bri, she snuck in a three pound bag of M&Ms, so we —” he pauses to cry heavier remembering his middle sister. He blows his nose. That he took to carrying a handkerchief like Hershel does is convenient at the moment. “We had a contest to see how many w-we could fit in our mouths.” He laughs for a second as he remembers it, then stares down at his feet dangling off the rock. His tears seem to have slowed.

After a several moments pass and his breaths even out, you ask “How many did you fit?”

“51.”

“And Briana?”

Rubbing his face, he sighs, “49. And Umma got to —” a quick inhaled shudder as he talks about his mom, “— She noticed the candy and made it to like 30 before my baby sister finally got onstage. She l-loved watching her dance, we all stopped what we were doing to watch her.” His tears are back to streaming. “She’d gotten so skilled, Y/N.”

“What was your Dad up to in all this?”

Glenn starts to smile again through his tears. “He would watch ballet like it was a basketball game, so he was eating the M&Ms like popcorn with his eyes glued to the stage. He’d do this whenever one of the students aced a move.” Your friend demonstrates a subtle victory pump with his fist.

He snaps the stick in his hand into smaller and smaller pieces.

Once he’s breathing normally again, you offer, “My eldest sister put The Nutcracker on her mp3. Wanna borrow it for a while?”

First, he blows his nose again with what space on the handkerchief is left, then nods in agreement. “She put everything on there, didn’t she?”

She really did, though. You pull the music player out of your pocket and head to the T section to find ‘Tchaikovsky.’

“My baby sister was in so many of the dances last year. Ever since she was old enough, she was put in the Chinese dance, obviously,” he grumbles with a slight eye roll. “So last year, she’d practiced and auditioned for the dude’s role. You know, the guy with the hat who comes out of a box and does all the jumping up and down?” Wiping away more tears, he smiles through it and declares, “She kicked ass.”

“Heck yeah, she did.”

“And th-this—” his voice hitches, rises, and he’s back to heavy crying. “This is the first Christmas without, a-and—”

Oh man, he’s holding it back best he can, but it’s rough.

“— I can’t go see that weird, boring show with them anymore! I-I’d pay attention to every dumb plié and be so,” more sobs, “so f-fucking happy to just be with them again, I just wanna see them again! I don’t h-have any photos or-or—” another sob interrupts and he stops trying to speak.

Even with the sobs, still, he’s somehow a very quiet crier.

He lets it all out. You wait with him.

The tink, tink, tink of the pendant rubbing against the chain as you pull and tug, pull and tug your necklace mixes in with the soft sounds of the breeze, what few birds are still chirping, and the occasional hint of conversation from way over around the fire.

After maybe three or so minutes, Glenn’s calm. He tosses the mini bits of broken stick that he snapped into oblivion into the water. “I wanna chuck rocks in here like we did at the douche car.”

“Me, too.”

“Let’s do that in a while, I think I’ll need to sleep for a bit. I’m just thinking too much right now to want to do that.”

True that, too much thinking before bed doesn’t often result in peaceful dreams.

He seems up for a dumb joke, and he’ll get the reference, so when he goes to toss more of his itty bitty stick nubs, you grab a hold of his wrist and hush in your (it’s not good) best Aragorn impression. “Dew not dis-terb the woh-terr.”

It has the intended effect, his neck relaxes and he grins. “When we find a place with a generator, we’re wasting all the power on the TV so we can watch the extended editions. I don’t care what the dick-tator or anybody else says, we find that house with a gennie, we’re watching Lord of the Rings.”

“Maggie almost grabbed the One Ring replica at the GameStop for you for Christmas, actually, but she settled on the Portal book.”

“And after we’ve watched all like, 12 hours of the movies and the special features, we’re gonna find a PS3 watch you play that cowboy game.”

“Yes! I just wanna rescue that guy’s family and ride my horse.”

While you were there with Maggie, you’d grabbed a copy of this new game you’d been excited for, it had just come out like one week before the world started going downhill. You’d barely gotten passed the first few missions when SHTF. (You two also grabbed a copy of the actual Portal game, but that’s being saved for Glenn’s birthday, so shh!)

Imagining finding an empty place with a generator is a silly way to keep positive, but sometimes silly is best for keeping positive, right?

Glenn’s looking like he’s on the up. Tired, but he seems like he’s gotten most of his tears out. You hand him the earbuds, then show him The Nutcracker score so he can choose which of the 24 songs he wants to remember his family with.

“Want me to get Mags?”

“Yeah. Wait, no, I just need some time alone for a while, I think. When I get some sleep, I’ll see if she’s cool with me holding her.” He cleans off and positions the earbuds. “Thanks for doing this, dude. And hey, I won’t drop it in the water,” he promises, wiping his eyes again. Then they grow big.

He bumps your arm with his knuckles. He gestures to the lake and to the rowboat by the run-down shed next.

Then, he says two terrifying words you hoped you wouldn’t hear again:

“Chicken swim.”

................................

> Part 2 here <

> Masterlist link here <

and our teeny tiny taglist :D

@spenciepoo338 @its-freaking-bats @whistlesalot @buffy-the-assbutt-slayer @dreamingaboutthewonderland @kwazii-kat

(inbox is open if you would like on or off the taglist, slowpokes. Please don’t feel bad or nervous if you don’t want to be tagged anymore, just let me know, we’re all friends here!)

51 notes · View notes