#the walking dead imaigne

[band--psycho]

Negan x Fem!Reader- Mr Protective

So I'm trying to get some of my dialogue prompt stories written - this one is with dialogue prompt 145!

I hope you all enjoy this! 💛

Warnings-Gun, gun violence, Negan being negan

“We’ll if it isn’t my favourite wife” 

Wife. 

The words cut through me like a knife.

I wasn’t his wife. And he certainly wasn’t my husband. The only reason we’re ‘married’ was because my father bargained me in trade for his own safety. 

My fathers now chained to the fence outside the front of the Sanctuary now, as a walker. 

Though that’s not why I wanted to kill Negan. 

No.

The community we were with were meant to remain safe; that was my only condition for marrying Negan, and he agreed, reluctantly so yes, but he agreed. 

Yesterday, whilst Negan was away, I overheard  a handful of Saviors discussing my old community, talking about how they’d killed the entire community on Negans order.  

Which is why, instead of greeting Negan with words; I simply raised my gun and aimed it at his head. 

“Y/n? What are you doing?” Negan asked, I could see the confusion flicker in his eyes before that signature cocky smile grew on his face. 

It was as though this was all some type of game to him. . 

“What does it look like I’m doing?” I snapped back; watching as the Saviors surrounding us pointed their guns at me.

Dying.

It should have scared me; anytime before this it would have. 

But now as I stood here, there wasn’t a flicker of fear inside me. 

“It looks to me like you’re pointing a damn gun at these good people,” laughter laced his face as he pointed Lucille at me before motioning to the crowd of people around us. 

Was he threatening me?

Was this another thing that was meant to scare me? To intimidate me into going back to being a well behaved ‘wife’?

I shook my head, keeping my hand steady,  “The only person I’m pointing a gun at is you.”

“Sir?” Simon questioned; his eyes locked on me. 

“Don’t,” Negan answered back; turning to look at Simon before meeting my eyes again. The harshness in his voice caught me off guard. 

I was one of his wives, he had five others, I wasn’t important, I was replaceable and yet here he was preventing his men from shooting me, knowing full well I could pull the trigger before anyone could have shot me.

The lightheartedness soon returned to Negans voice as he stepped closer to me,“It’s fine, Y/n here just has her big girl panties in a twist.”

His words made a chorus of low chuckle escape from the lips of people around us.   

“Gimme the gun, sweetheart,” 

It was an order. He was ordering me to give him the gun. And when I didn’t I swear I saw a hint of pride in his eyes as he pressed his forehead against the barrel of my gun. 

“You really gonna shoot me, baby girl?” His voice was quieter now; but still loud enough still so that everyone could hear him; his eyes once again met mine as if he was trying to read my mind, trying to guess my next move. 

“Yes,” I answered coldly with my finger on the trigger. 

I could shoot him now and it would be over, all of it would be over.

So why hadn’t I shot him yet?

Why was he still standing in front of me? 

“Y/n-” he didn’t get to finish his sentence before a gun shot was fired. 

For a brief second, I thought it was my gun, I thought I’d finally pulled the trigger. But Negans face remained intact.Though his eyes filled with some foreign emotion I’d never seen before but I knew that look from other people's eyes.

He was worried. 

I couldn't understand why.

That was until I felt a burning sensation in my side; a sensation that only grew. 

There was so much blood, it didn’t take long before it covered my entire hand.

I never believed it when people said that in the last moments of their life, they saw their life flash before their eyes. I still didn’t. Because when the pain from the shot became unbearable and I fell to my knees, I didn’t see my life flash before my eyes. 

I saw Negan, taking the gun from my hand. 

I thought he was going to shoot me….I think part of me hoped that he would. 

But he didn’t. 

He was aiming behind me. 

He was angry; I could tell that much by the redness of his face and rage in his eyes. He was saying something, I couldn’t make out what, everything I was hearing sounded distant. 

Everything except another gunshot which seemed to echo around me. 

Darkness was slowly encapsulating my vision; I could no longer see the Saviors around me.

That was until Negan knelt down in front of me; and wrapped his arms around me,  his mouth was moving but I had no idea what he was saying. 

His face was the last face I saw before the darkness finally consumed my vision.

Tagging:

@xacatalepsyx @impala1967dwinchester @thaliastregona @little-diable @book-dragon03 @munsinner @mrsnegan @jdmsgal @howlingmadlady @https-lorna @wheelerdixon @dilfsandtherapy @bestbitchsstuff @cherryheartssblog @darkdevasofdestruction @fangirlsfandomsss

[h-o-l-l-i]

Imagine...

Seeing Daryl with Judith and getting baby fever...

“Wha’ you lookin at?” Daryl’s voice was low, not to wake baby Judith.

Your eyes lingered on his toned, sweaty body, the sleeping babe in his strong arms. Your lips curled into a wide smile and you shook your head slightly, “Nothing.” you smiled.

“You smile like that when you’re lying’, Y/N.” he chuckled. “What? You wanna hol’ ‘er?” he questioned, cocking his eyebrow at you.

“I was just thinking maybe we could have one?” you sheepishly said, your hands wandering his body making his eyes darken with lust; a large smile stretched across his face.

[letterstoocean]

my ocean,

more of the story..... I know it is long, but perhaps imaigne i am next to you telling you the story.  perhaps...

Know Your Fears Let It Go

Mom was working a double shift and couldn't find a babysitter.  So I am hanging around the bar working on my bank shot.  I have this grand illusion of being on Real People as a 10 year old pool hustler.

Mom throws this twenty and a ten on the bar and gestures to the guy sitting in front of it, a guy she hardly knows, and says, "Can you watch him until my shift is over?"

The guy gives me a wink and a click of his teeth and then we are bouncing down this dirt road listening to Kenny Rogers, Merle Haggard, Journey, and Ted Nugent. This guy is all right, I think to myself.

As he drank from the Miller Lite that rested between his legs and as he shifts, he tells me what’s going on.  "It's Halloween and there's an all night party. Should be some kids there, we'll eat after we pick up wood for the fire.”  And he talked like this the entire time. Like his brain was going ten times faster than his mouth. So his mouth tried to keep up by just grabbing important fragments. And after awhile I catch myself talking just like him. But shit its okay because I'm relaxed and not stuck in the bar and it’s Halloween.

We get there and no one had arrived yet so we spent the day setting up tables, stacking wood, icing the kegs of beer.  I didn’t mind because the entire time this guy talks to me like I'm an adult.

He explains that the reason his lip was gashed open was that "some guy ripped him across the face with a beer bottle” and then he showed me the stitches beneath his hair where he was cut.

So I showed him my scar on my side "from where a guy shanked me on the playground for messing up his hair."

"Are you talking jive?" he said smiling.

"Trying," I said and he laughed and stacked my arms full of wood.

"What does shank mean?” he asked as he put the last piece of wood beneath my chin.

"Not sure.”

His laugh was a deep laugh.  He meant it  and I knew this guy was all right and I thought maybe mom could date him because he would be all right to be around with all the time.

And then a big man from across the yard yells for us to "to git our shit in here and eat!”

We sat at the table and the guy scooped out of this big pot some shrimp and crawdads and poured them in this bottomless bowl and then from another pot not as big but could still hold its own he poured this red sauce over the whole thing.  He climbed in the fridge-popped open this bottle of Guinness; does all of this so fast and never says a word to me.

So there in front of me was this huge bowl of food. Red and black and huge chunks of spice and that dark thick mass with a pearl white tap in the glass and I sat at the table too big for me and there was this guy digging into the shrimp sauce like an animal on Wild Kingdom and I thought what am I supposed to do now?

Bruce sat down with his beer, his bowl, and started talking to this guy in French.  They go on and on and I'm sitting there caught in this frenzy and then the big guy looked over at me.

He had a face of leather and stubble and he reminded me of that pig in Charlottes Web. Not Wilbur, but the big one at the fair; all squinty eyed and snorting and this man squinted at me "something wrong" and let me say I was scared. I looked over at Bruce for some help and grinning he raised his hands as if saying; “hey you’re on your own."

"Well," I said, "Sir, I'm not sure what to do."

The old man grunted or he laughed. I’m not sure which.  "Say grace if ya feel the need. Drink the beer, and eat. Suck the head out of the craw fish and if you want the shrimp peeled, peel them your fucking self.  Bruce where'd ya get this kid?"

Bruce laughed, "picked him up hitchhiking."

"Where ya from pint ass?"  Another red shrimp vanished into his mouth.

"Indiana, sir.”  I said feeling myself shrinking into the chair.

"Yankee.  No wonder the food scare ya. Damn Yankees don't even put salt or pepper on their food. All the same I poured it. You eat it.  How old are ya?"

"Ten” I said and grabbed one of the shrimp.  My hand was blood red and sticky. I did my best to peel the shell off the meat and then I closed my eyes and shoved the whole thing into my mouth.

The heat hit my throat. I gasped and reached for the black mass. I sucked it down and it was so thick it slid down slow and tasted what I think sweet choking darkness would taste like.

The heat kept coming. I coughed.  I Choked. Jesus, I never had this much going on at once in my mouth and the old man and Bruce laughed as they smacked the table their hands.

I panted trying to get the heat out of my mouth but that made it worse. I drank again but the fire wouldn’t go away. My eyes watered. My nose ran. My tongue, I knew was dissolving inside my mouth and they just kept on laughing. I raced to the sink and started drinking from the faucet but my god that made it just that much hotter.  Finally Bruce walked over to the cabinet and pulled out a jar of honey.

"Here ya go. Put this on your tongue. You'll be fine."

I shove my finger into the bottom of the jar and stuck it in my mouth.  There was relief for a moment.  I sat back down in my chair  sucking my finger.

"You see," the big guy says grabbing a crawdad popping it in his mouth and making this loud sucking sound. " Certain things you have to love. Food-women-music.  With all of them there is a certain amount of difficulty.  Some are hot. Some are smooth. Some are rough and may come close to killing ya......."  He tossed the empty shell in the trashcan, "but the trick to all of it, Is the first taste of any thing….don't think.  Just take a breath and let it out slowly. You’ll enjoy the taste, or you won't but take a second to decide. Not the first thought in your head. Now take your finger out ya mouth."

My mouth was still hot, but I took a deep breath and blew it out.  I wasn't sure I was going to survive.

Bruce tapped my glass, “don't tell ya mamma we are feeding ya Guinness.”

*

The sun went down.  The bonfire reached to the sky and adults and children alike were all dressed for the occasion and screaming, laughing or singing.  I tip -toed  int o the kitchen and poured some of the tea that was simmering in a big black cauldron on the stove into two coffee stained mugs and carried it out to the two girls dressed like valley girls who couldn’t stop giggling at me.  I told them to wait until I got my own and then we ran out into the cornfield.  

“I think there is alcohol in this because Bruce said it packed a heavy hit.”  We take a sip and it taste horrible.  So we down them quickly and I ran back for more.

***                                              

“You feel okay Indiana?”  Bruce was squatting beside me.  The campfire lit up half his face and caste shadows on the other half.  Voices kept coming in and out like they were falling or they were running away and then run back close to my ear.  Laughter, I could hear laughter but it was deep laughter and it came from everywhere.  Are they laughing at me?     One of the shadows on Bruce’s face opened its mouth.  I reached up and tried to grab the tongue that it was sticking out at me.

“I-I-I-I” My mouth won’t work.  I take a deep breath let it out and went back to looking in the fire.  

Bruce shook my shoulder. “Indiana? You okay?”

“I.  I’m okay.     I think.”  The shadows stopped.

“Well your two princesses are looking for you and they can’t stop laughing. One of em has the hiccups and can’t stop.  Try giving her a kiss to make them go away.  I heard that works.  I think they have gathered all the kids together for a game of hide and seek.”  Bruce picked me up, set me on my feet and smacked my back.  “Better go find them before some other little Don Juan does.”

Ooooooh girls.  I thought.  I really like girls.

***

Somewhere in the midst of the game I wound up in a field of wheat, tall grass or some Texas plant I didn’t know.  I could feel sweat pouring off of me like rain and I could hear the thunder of drums in my head.  

So as I sat in the field with drums pounding in my head, my hands began to melt. The laughter and the singing in my head grew louder and stood up to try and find the source.

There was a house at the other end of the field.  I wasn’t sure how far it was because things were still melting and then coming back only to melt again. All I could see was a light on in the second floor window.  As I got closer I could see some one was leaning on the window looking at me. I think.  I could only see their shadow.  

 The drums.  The drums became louder and my head started to bounce to the rhythm.  I started humming.

What is that music? Or is it screaming?  Is it turned up too loud?  Or is it marching? Wait, its footsteps?  Or is it some ones hands tapping on a table?  No, it’s marching.  

I got to the house and even with thing smelting and only the moon to give me light I could still tell that the place was ready to fall apart. But that didn’t stop the drums and the music from helping step on the porch and open the door.  

 Step after step I continued until I was in the house and the darkness.  The smell of dead animal, of shit, and something I couldn’t place filled my nose.  The drums stopped.  The singing stopped.  Like the darkness around me the silence filled everything.  The sweat that rolled down my back began to mix with the dust and my skin started to itch.  

How did that person get up the stairs?  

I blinked but I really couldn’t tell if my eyes were open or shut. I could see myself on the porch with the Pigman and Bruce again.  We were waiting for every one to arrive.  I sat in the chair with the hiccups and tried to focus on something, anything to keep from getting sick.  

Pigman would occasionally laugh and punch me in the arm.  The Guinness bottles began to pile up between them and the more they drank the more they spoke in French and left the English behind.  My eyes went everywhere.  I kept thinking that I wish I had my tablet and paper and then Pigman hit me in the arm again and I forgot about writing.

“Hey Indiana, look out there.”  He pointed to the horizon.  The sky was black and I could see  the rain falling like a mist from a waterfall.  “Keep your eyes open and you might see a tornado.”

Tornado!   Thunderstorms! I hated thunderstorms.  I was terrified of them.  At the mere hint of lightning or thunder I used to  run to grandma and grandpas bed.  

“Shouldn’t we hide or something.” I asked.

Pigman and Bruce both laughed.  “Don’t worry, chief. That storm is over two, three hundred miles away.  Won’t even come close to us.   Welcome to the Texas plains.  You can see two days ahead it’s so flat.”

So I sat on the porch and watched a storm that from the distance we were at looked like smoke drifting down from the sky.  On the landscape were three different tornadoes kicking and pulling up dust, dirt and everything else from the ground.  I sat and watched all of it like I would a movie.  

They slowed down like they were freezing and each one started to turn into the shape of a dark, naked woman with their arms reaching up into the clouds above. And they began to dance.

I opened my eyes or the vision vanished.  The moon shines through the boards covering the window and I could see some stairs in front of me.  My hands found the wall and I started to slowly take my time up the steps. I let my toes search every step to make sure there wasn’t one missing. Eventually I reached the top and put my hand on the ice cold doorknob.  Do I want to do this?  Is this really that smart?  

I heard the soft hum of a woman’s voice.  What is she humming? It reminds me of rain in the wind.  Her voice rising and falling each time getting a little higher;  A ball rolling down a mountain maybe.

I turn the doorknob, push the door open and cover my eyes from the bright light that hit me.   The sweet smell of vanilla, orange peels, cherries, hits my nose.  My eyes adjusted to the light and I stood in awe.

Hundreds of different candles were lit all over the room.  Some of them were very large with three or four wicks to them.  There were some others medium sized red ones in large iron holders in each corner of the room.  The floor was covered with candles that ran with wax.

The room was so hot I could hardly breathe.  I looked up from the floor to see who standing at the window. It was a wooden statue and as I stared at its back I knew I had seen it somewhere before. It was naked except for a dirty cloth wrapped around its waist.  Muscles rippled on its back that were covered with bloody cuts.  Long black hair fell to its shoulders.  Its arms were spread wide as it leaned against the window.  I moved closer, careful not to kick over any of the candles.  Originally something was nailed to its back and arms but the person that put it there had removed it but left the nails. I stepped around to the front of it looked into the face of Christ. His eyes rolled up to look at the ceiling.  

The red candle that hung above his head had dripped wax down on his face and chest making it look like he was crying blood.   I should have been scared.  I should have felt something but all I could do was stare.  What was going on and where was that music coming from?

I heard a loud bang, jumped back against the window and immediately felt the warmth around my crotch from pissing myself.   The door had slammed shut behind me, that was all.  

There was a full length mirror attached to the back of the door. I stood looking at myself and Christ in the candlelight and with the same red wax some one had written in big letters

Listen

                         Know your fears

Let It Go .....

I love you ocean,

river

[thewalkingimagines-blog]

Always Remembered

Author’s Note: I freaking made that gif can you believe that? I’m getting better at things. Trigger warning for death mention and depressing themes.

Date: November 3rd, 2015

It hurts. It hurts more than anything. Knowing that Patrick is actually gone makes you feel a painful emptiness- a void that  will, eventually, suck you in until you can’t feel anything at all. You’d prefer that- to not be able to feel. Instead, you can remember the touch of his fingers and the way his laugh sounded. You feel so angry that it was him and not you. You would’ve done anything to keep him alive. And now he’s gone.

You sit next to Carl. Patrick had died almost a week ago- the burial wasn’t long, but you stayed there when everyone else escaped back into the prison. You didn’t want to leave him. After the third night of you laying next to his grave, not eating, not sleeping, Rick pulled you inside. Now you made the cross that would stick out of his grave. It has to be perfect for him.

“You’re not taking his death very well, Y/N,” you don’t glance up to Carl, but his words shoot through you like a bullet. ‘His death’- Patrick is dead.

“I’m fine, Carl- just leave it alone,” A lie, if you have ever heard one come out of your mouth before. It physically hurts to think that you were never going to see his smile again. That he’d never get to hold you when you got scared at night. “Did you know he wanted to marry me?” you whisper after a moment.

You see Carl’s head shoot up to watch your crippling face. You haven’t let yourself cry over him yet- that would make it real. But now, sitting by his grave, making him a headstone that wouldn’t do it justice, the tears begin to stream down your face like waterfalls.

“He said he loved me everyday- he said we’d be just like Maggie and Glenn. We’d get married, and- he wanted to be with me forever, Carl. And now- now-”

“Hey, sh, it’s gonna be okay,”

You dropped the cross and collapsed into Carl, letting him try and comfort you out of hysterics. You had all been friends before it happened, and you’re glad at least he’s still here for you. God knows none of the adults will help you. ‘Suck it up’ they’d say. ‘At least you’re still alive’.

“I don’t want to live without him, Carl- it hurts so much,”

“That’s what it felt like when my mom died,” You glance up at his face through watery eyes, lip trembling at his words, but he gives a soft grin. “We’ve all lost someone. But we have to be there for each other- so we don’t fall apart.”

You take a deep breath and nod, wrapping him in a hug before wiping the last tears from your raw, red face. You have to be strong for Patrick- help look out for the group, for Carl. You thank Carl before going back to your work on the cross, etching “Always Remembered” above his name and kissing the wood before sticking it deep in the ground, hoping Patrick liked looking at it from wherever he is.

[thewalkingimagines-blog]

Anything For You

Author’s Note: I really liked Noah, I thought he was a good character. I wish he wouldn’t’ve died so soon ;-; Also, your English is perfect, don’t worry about it!!

Date: October 30th, 2015

It was your fault. Really, it was, because you had been dizzy that day from not eating the food you had been given, and you had clumsily fell into one of the rolling carts and knocked over a lot of bottles of medicine. The minimum of them broke, but in this day and age, the minimum was still too much. Noah had gotten there first, glancing from you to the bottles on the floor and then back up to you as he heard the footsteps coming down the hallway.

Dawn rushed into the room, taking in the scene with a scowl before looking between the two of you. “Who did this?”

And before you could let a word out, Noah said, “It was me,” and it was all over. Luckily you didn’t have to watch the officers beat the living shit out of your boyfriend, but seeing him afterward was just as bad. You helped him sit down on your hospital bed, pulling out a bottle of peroxide and the cotton pads you had snatched out of your pockets, drenching the cotton and gently tending to Noah’s wounds.

“You’re an idiot- why’d you do that?” You scolded him quietly, trying not to cry at the blood covering his swollen lip and eye. You could only imagine what his back would look like. He gave a small chuckle, but winced and fell silent when it hurt.

“Because you’re my girlfriend and it’s my job to protect you while we’re here,” You glanced up at Noah with sad eyes. You paused to softly place your hand on his grinning cheek.

“That’s sweet, but you can’t keep doing this. They’ll beat you to death, and then what am I supposed to do?” The thought alone makes a tear fall from your eye, but Noah wipes it away with a comforting grin, leaning in to kiss you soothingly on the forehead.

“We’ll get outta here before that happens, you’ll see,”