#twd glenn

[reedusdaily]

[yoursecretadmires]

I WANT TO WRITE MY OWN FANFIC........... BUT I DONT HAVE ANY TALENT TO WRITE MY OWN FANFIC...... AND I DONT HAVE AN IDEA TO WRITE A FANFIC... I JUST A USELESSSSSSS GIRL.....

[darylslittlebitch]

meeting twd characters for the first time (x fem!reader)

characters: daryl, rick, negan, glenn, carl, maggie and michonne.

writer's note: twd fandom just doesn’t age, man. no matter how many years pass, it still hits different every damn time. a few days ago, i started rewatching the series for the eleventh time (yeah, i’ve got issues, i know), and i was craving some good imagines… but guess what? i found nothing with all my faves together. so, you know what? i took matters into my own hands. if no one’s gonna feed me, i’ll fill tumblr myself with imagines of the walking dead. consider this my way of keeping the hype alive. now, go survive the apocalypse, you filthy survivors. request are open! ;)

daryl

The forest seemed to close in around you. You ran aimlessly, your lungs burning and your legs trembling, but you couldn't stop. The guttural sounds of the walkers dragged behind you, each growl getting closer, each dry footstep on the leaves proving there was no escape.

"I can't… I can't…" you thought, feeling your strength abandon you.

Your chest rose and fell frantically, and the branches scratched your skin. Warm blood dripped from a cut on your arm, but you had no time to worry about it. You were alone, defenseless, and had no idea what to do. You had always depended on others—your father, your brother, anyone willing to protect you. But now… now there was no one.

A louder growl, way too close, made you stumble and fall to your knees. The impact shook your entire body, pain shooting through every exhausted muscle.

"No…" you sobbed, feeling tears spill over. "Please, no…"

When you lifted your gaze, you saw it. The nearest walker, just a few feet away, its jaw hanging loose, rotten flesh peeling off in chunks. Its empty eyes stared straight at you, hungry, and its bony fingers reached forward.

"I'm going to die here…"

You curled into yourself, squeezing your eyes shut. There was nothing left to do.

Then, you heard a sharp whistle. Something pierced through the walker's skull, dropping it instantly like a sack of putrid meat.

You opened your eyes just in time to see someone emerging from the trees—a lean man, long unkempt hair, a crossbow still raised, and a serious expression on his face.

"You alright?" he asked, his voice rough and firm.

You blinked, trying to process what had just happened. "W-what?"

"Don't just sit there," he grunted, quickly approaching and grabbing your arm to pull you up. His grip was firm but not harsh. "More of those sons of bitches are around."

You tried to walk, but your legs wouldn’t cooperate. "I can't…" you murmured, panic tightening around your chest.

"Yeah, you can," he insisted, practically dragging you along. "I ain't carrying you."

You barely managed to move, but he never let go. He guided you through the trees with quick, sure steps, like he knew every inch of the forest. You could hear the growls fading behind you little by little until, finally, silence settled.

"It’s over," he muttered, finally letting go. You collapsed to the ground, your heart pounding violently in your chest.

"W-what was that?" you stammered, struggling to catch your breath.

"The end of the world," he answered bluntly, shrugging.

"Thank you…" you whispered.

He nodded, as if there was no need to say anything else. Then, after a long silence, he added, "You got somewhere to stay?"

You shook your head, feeling a sharp sting of shame.

The man let out a heavy sigh, running a hand down his face, as if deciding whether you were worth the trouble.

"Alright," he finally said. "I can take you to my people… if you promise not to screw it up."

It didn’t sound like the kindest offer, but it was the best thing you’d heard in days.

"I promise," you said quickly.

He looked you up and down, as if trying to figure out just how useless you might be. But instead of saying anything, he simply extended his hand.

"I'm Daryl."

You took his hand, still shaking. It was rough, covered in scars, with the firmness of someone who had spent his life surviving.

"Thank you, Daryl…"

He nodded again and, before turning to lead you through the woods once more, he murmured:

"Don’t wander off again."

rick

The sun was beginning to set when you saw him for the first time.

A man, looking exhausted but alert, was walking down the road with a backpack on his shoulders and a revolver ready to fire. He moved with the confidence of someone who knew what he was doing, attentive to every shadow and every sound. You followed him from a distance, crouching among the bushes lining the road. You didn’t know who he was, but something about him told you he carried valuable things.

For the past few weeks, you had eaten only the scraps you found lying around, and you couldn’t keep going like this. Desperation had pushed you to do things you never thought you’d do… and this was one of them.

When the man stopped in front of an abandoned car, he pulled out a small bag of canned food and stuffed it into his backpack. He couldn’t have much more, but it would be enough to keep you alive for a few days.

You waited until he stepped away from the car and then slipped silently behind him.

“Drop the backpack,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

The man turned slowly, raising his hands just a few inches. His blue eyes, cold as steel, locked onto yours.

“Don’t do this,” he warned calmly.

“I said drop the backpack.” You kept the knife steady, though your hand was sweating.

“You don’t want this,” he insisted. “You don’t look like a killer.”

His words made you grip the knife’s handle tighter. What does this guy know about me?

“Drop it,” you demanded, firmer this time.

With an expression of pure resignation, he let the backpack fall to the ground.

“The gun too,” you added.

His jaw tensed, but he obeyed, placing his revolver on the ground with a soft clank.

You quickly crouched to grab both things, never taking your eyes off him. You were just starting to rise when you heard it—

Gunshots.

First one. Then several, getting closer and closer. You froze, staring at the horizon.

A car was speeding toward you, weaving between the remains of abandoned vehicles. You saw at least three silhouettes inside, one of them leaning out the window with a rifle in hand.

“Shit!”

The shot passed so close you could feel the wind whistling past your ear. Fear paralyzed you—you didn’t know whether to run or drop to the ground. But before you could do anything, you felt a brutal impact on the back of your knee.

You screamed and collapsed to the ground.

“What the hell—?!”

Then you understood: Rick had knocked you down just in time to keep the bullet from hitting you.

He was already on the ground and without thinking, you reached into your jacket, pulled out the gun you had stolen from him just seconds ago, and tossed it back to him.

Rick caught it mid-air, turned in an instant, and fired twice at the car. The driver lost control, and the vehicle crashed into one of the abandoned cars on the road.

“Move!” Rick growled, grabbing your arm and dragging you with him.

You both approached the crashed car with weapons ready. One of the guys inside tried to stumble out, but Rick didn’t hesitate—he shot him in the head without a second thought.

Another man, bulkier, reached for a pistol that had fallen to the ground, but you saw him first. Without thinking, you fired. The bullet hit him in the shoulder, and he dropped to his knees.

Rick finished him off without a second glance.

The silence that followed was overwhelming.

You breathed heavily, your chest rising and falling frantically. Everything had happened too fast, and adrenaline still burned through your veins.

Rick, wasting no time, climbed into the crashed car. The door creaked as he opened it, quickly scanning the interior.

“The keys are still in it,” he murmured. Then he turned to you. “Get in.”

“I can’t go with you,” you said, trying to sound firm.

Rick got out of the car, walked over to you, and looked you straight in the eyes.

“Do you know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t given me my gun back?” he asked quietly. “You’d be dead.”

You couldn’t answer. You knew he was right.

“Get in the car,” he ordered, this time more serious. “I’m not in the mood to argue.”

You were surprised at how quickly your legs moved to obey.

You both got in, and the engine roared to life. As the car moved forward, you felt Rick’s gaze on you.

“Why did you give me my gun back?” he finally asked.

You shrugged, unsure how to explain it. “I guess… I trusted you.”

Rick scoffed, as if that was the most absurd thing he’d ever heard.

“Don’t make that mistake again,” he warned. But despite the harshness of his words, there was something in his eyes… something that made you feel like you wouldn’t regret trusting him.

negan

Night had fallen hours ago, but you kept moving through the shadows, your heart pounding against your chest like a frantic drum.

You had been running since you escaped the small group of scavengers who had tried to trap you on the road. Three men—filthy, armed, and too confident that you wouldn’t get away. But they hadn’t counted on you being fast… though now, they were hunting you like an animal.

“I can’t keep this up…” you thought, gasping for air as your legs threatened to give out. But giving up was not an option.

You hid behind an overturned bus, pressing a hand against your chest in a desperate attempt to calm your breathing. That’s when you saw it: a small camp, lit by torches. Armed men stood at the entrance, chatting with an air of confidence that was almost insulting.

“They don’t exactly look friendly…” you thought, but what other choice did you have?

You stumbled out of your hiding spot, your steps unsteady on the gravel.

“Stop right there!” one of the guards shouted, immediately raising his weapon.

“Please!” You lifted both hands, trying not to seem like a threat. “I just… need help.”

The man hesitated for a second, but just as he seemed about to say something, a voice rose from inside the camp:

“What the hell is going on here?”

The voice was deep, rough, carrying a casual indifference that didn’t match the tension in the air.

The man who stepped out of the camp looked like he belonged to another world. Tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a leather jacket that gleamed under the firelight. His beard was perfectly trimmed, and his smile… that lopsided, cocky, arrogant smile froze you in place.

“And what are you?” he asked, stopping in front of you with his hands on his hips. “A gift? Or a goddamn spy?”

“I’m neither,” you answered, your voice still unsteady. “I’m just… running away.”

Negan let out a low, genuine but mocking laugh.

“Running away?” he repeated, tilting his head. “Well, sweetheart, you came to the right place… because no one messes with me or mine.”

“Please,” you insisted. “I just… need a place to stay for the night.”

Negan stepped closer, invading your personal space as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He smelled of leather, gunpowder, and something else… something thick, masculine, that made you swallow hard.

“And what do I get out of letting you in?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous. “Because in this world, princess, nothing is free.”

“I…” You hesitated, realizing you were stepping into a game he controlled completely. “I can work. I can… clean, cook, whatever you need.”

Negan let out another chuckle, softer this time.

“You think I need a cook?” His smirk widened as his eyes roamed over you, evaluating you like a puzzle he was trying to solve.

“How about…” he leaned in even closer, his face dangerously near yours, “you give me my gun?”

You frowned, confused.

“Your what…?”

But before you could react, his hand slid to your side, yanking away the pistol you had stolen from the scavengers.

“This one?” he murmured, lifting it in front of your eyes.

You froze.

“You know,” he said, spinning the gun skillfully between his fingers, “I like people with guts… but I also like them to know their damn place.”

He took a step back, still smirking.

“Tell me, princess…” he pointed the gun at you, though now it belonged to him again. “Are your little friends still on your tail?”

The sound of footsteps and voices in the distance answered for you.

Negan clicked his tongue in fake disappointment.

“What a mess…” he muttered, and then, in a swift move, grabbed your arm.

“What the hell are you doing?!” you exclaimed, trying to break free.

“I’m saving your ass,” he replied as if it were obvious. “Now stay behind me… and if you move without me telling you to, sweetheart, I swear I’ll tie you to a goddamn chair.”

You followed him, unable to process how quickly things had turned.

By the time the men chasing you arrived, Negan was already waiting for them.

“Well, well…” he drawled, casually resting the pistol on his shoulder. “Looking for someone? Because if so, I’m afraid this little lady already belongs to me.”

“Give us what she stole,” one of the men growled, aiming a shotgun.

Negan chuckled softly.

“Really? You’re pointing that thing at me?” Negan tilted his head, his smirk turning even more dangerous. “Look, buddy… if you’re gonna have the balls to threaten me, you’d better know how to shoot.”

And before the guy could react, Negan raised his gun and shot him in the leg.

“Shit!” the man yelled, collapsing to his knees.

The other two didn’t wait to fire, but Negan’s men were already prepared. Everything happened so fast that you barely had time to react before the camp fell silent again.

Negan turned back to you, that satisfied smirk still on his face.

“Guess you owe me one,” he said, tucking his pistol back into his belt.

“Guess I do…” you admitted, still breathless.

“Well, princess…” He stepped closer again, this time leaning in until his warm breath brushed your face. “I hope you’re good at cleaning up blood… because you just got yourself a job.”

And with that cocky, lethal smile, you knew you had just gotten involved with someone who could either save you… or destroy you.

glenn

The gun’s barrel pressed heavily against your temple, your finger trembling on the trigger.

There was no reason to keep going. You had run, fought, screamed until your voice was gone. But the world had already taken everything from you. Your family, your friends, the promises of a future that would never come. All that was left was you—a ghost clinging to a thread of existence that had long stopped mattering.

The wind blew gently through the trees, stirring the dead leaves around you. You were alone. Or so you thought.

"Hey!"

The voice made your shoulders tense. Your eyes lifted, and there he was, standing a few meters away. A young man, his face filled with concern, his lips slightly parted as if he were trying to decide what to say. His hands were raised in a gesture of peace.

"Wait. Don’t do it."

You blinked, surprised. You hadn’t expected anyone to appear—especially not someone who seemed… genuinely worried.

"Go away." Your voice was rough, broken.

He shook his head, taking a cautious step toward you.

"I can’t do that."

You gritted your teeth, your knuckles white as you held the gun.

"Why do you care?"

The man exhaled slowly, as if choosing his words carefully.

"I don’t know you. I don’t know what you’ve been through. But I know what it’s like to feel alone. I know what it’s like to think there are no more options." His dark eyes held a burning intensity. "And I also know that even when it seems like there’s nothing beyond this moment, there’s always something. Something worth staying for."

Your throat tightened.

"My family is dead," you whispered. "I watched them die. I couldn’t save them. I can’t save myself."

Glenn swallowed hard. He looked nervous, but he didn’t look away.

"I lost my family too." His voice dropped, raw and honest. "Not in the same way, but… they’re gone. And every day, I wonder if it would make a difference if I disappeared too."

Your breath shook.

"And?"

"And… I found out that it does. That even when you think no one cares, someone does. That even when you feel like you can’t go on, there’s something—someone—who needs you to stay."

The metal against your skin felt heavier.

Glenn took another step forward.

"Don’t let this world decide for you," he said softly but firmly. "Don’t let it win."

Your hand trembled, the gun lowering just slightly.

"I… I don’t know how to keep going."

Glenn nodded slowly.

"Then let me help you."

And with infinite patience, he extended his hand to you.

For a moment, you hesitated. But then the tears came—hot and heavy—and you let go of the gun. Glenn took it carefully, as if it were something fragile.

And then you collapsed.

You couldn’t remember the last time someone had held you like this—with strong, warm arms, with a presence that didn’t demand anything in return. Glenn didn’t say anything as you sobbed against his chest, as your fingers clung desperately to his shirt. He just held you, letting you release all the pain you had carried for so long.

After a while, when your breathing steadied, Glenn whispered:

"Come on. There’s a safe place. I won’t promise it’s perfect, but… you’ll be with people who’ll help you keep going."

You didn’t know what the future held. But in that moment, as Glenn offered you his support without expecting anything in return, you felt that maybe—just maybe—you could learn to live again.

carl

The cold seeped into your bones, even through your tattered jacket. The night air was thick, heavy, as if every breeze carried the stench of death. You didn’t know how many walkers had been following you, but you could hear them. Their guttural growls and dragging footsteps kept you on edge.

You had to leave your backpack behind when you realized they were catching up. Now, all you had left was the knife you gripped with trembling fingers.

“Please…” you whispered to yourself, not even sure what you were asking for. Maybe for someone to find you. Maybe for all of this to just be a bad dream.

And then you saw him.

A few meters ahead, a figure moved swiftly between the trees. You weren’t sure whether to feel relieved or even more afraid. Dangerous people were everywhere in this world… but if you had any chance of getting out alive, you had to take the risk.

“Hey!” you called out softly, afraid of both the walkers and the possibility that this person might decide to kill you instead of help you.

The boy turned, already pulling out a gun and aiming it at you. He froze for a second, evaluating you.

He wore an eyepatch over his right eye and a sheriff’s hat that was too big for him, but what stood out the most was the firmness in his expression. His clear eyes studied you with a mix of distrust and determination.

“Are you alone?” he asked.

“Yes,” you said without thinking, too desperate to lie.

The growls grew louder. The boy glanced at the path you had come from and frowned.

“Come with me,” he said suddenly, turning without waiting for an answer.

“W-what?”

“I said come on!” he insisted, and this time, you didn’t hesitate.

You ran together through the forest, jumping over roots and dodging branches as the walkers' shadows moved between the trees.

You reached an abandoned cabin. Carl—because that’s what he had introduced himself as in the midst of the chaos—gestured for you to crouch behind an overturned table.

“Stay here,” he whispered.

“What are you going to do?” you asked, panic gripping your throat.

Carl pulled a knife from his belt and drove it into the palm of his hand without even flinching.

“What the hell…?”

“Shut up,” he interrupted, rubbing the fresh blood against the doorframe. “They follow the scent… I’ll lead them away.”

Before you could respond, Carl slipped out through the back of the cabin. His silhouette disappeared into the trees, leaving you alone in the darkness.

The growls got closer.

You could see them through the window—at least five walkers stumbling toward the front door. You didn’t breathe, didn’t move, didn’t even dare to blink.

But the blood Carl had left behind did its job. One by one, the walkers passed by, following the trail he had created.

When the last one disappeared, your body suddenly felt twice as heavy.

Carl returned minutes later, his shirt soaked in blood—mostly not his own—and his breathing ragged.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Am I okay?” you let out a disbelieving laugh. “You just cut your hand open!”

Carl glanced at his palm indifferently. “It was nothing.”

“Nothing?” You moved closer to examine the wound, taking his hand before he could resist. “God… this looks awful.”

“It’s just a cut,” he insisted, though his fingers remained still in yours.

“No, it’s reckless,” you scolded him gently, tearing a piece of fabric from your frayed sleeve and wrapping it around his palm.

He stayed silent as you worked. When you finished tying the bandage, you looked up and realized he was staring at you.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you murmured. “You could have… you could have died.”

“I wasn’t going to let them get you,” he replied as if it were obvious.

“Why?” you asked without thinking.

Carl swallowed hard and shrugged. “I guess… because I don’t want good people to die.”

The silence that followed was awkward… but not in a bad way. It was as if both of you were suddenly too aware of each other, of the fact that, for the first time in a long time, someone had done something selfless for the other.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

Carl lowered his gaze, but you saw the faintest smile under the brim of his hat.

“You’re welcome.”

maggie

The abandoned church stands before you, its structure worn down by time and neglect. The wooden doors creak as you push them open, releasing the scent of dust and dampness. There are no pews left standing, only rubble and fragments of broken stained glass that catch the fading sunlight in muted flashes of color.

You walk toward the altar, where the lifeless bodies you had been forced to kill now lay motionless. Walkers. Or what once had been people. You kneel before them, letting the weight of reality settle onto your shoulders.

Closing your eyes, you clasp your hands together.

"Lord, receive these souls with mercy. Though the world turned them into shadows of what they once were, I know that, at some point, they were sons, daughters, fathers, mothers, friends. Forgive them, if there was ever anything to forgive. Take them home."

The silence is heavy but not uncomfortable. You know you are not alone.

"If you want me to pray for you too, you can come closer. I know you've been there this whole time."

You hear a quiet sigh before footsteps echo against the stone floor. You open your eyes and turn your head. A woman approaches cautiously, her rifle secured in her hand. Her expression is serious, but there’s something in her gaze that betrays her curiosity.

"How did you know?" she asks.

You smile calmly.

"You don’t need to see someone to know when they carry a burden in their soul."

She stops a few meters away, her eyes fixed on the lifeless bodies with a deep frown.

"Why do you pray for them?" she finally asks. "They’re not worth it anymore."

You look at the corpses with the same serenity you’ve had from the start.

"Because they were once people," you reply. "Don’t you think they still deserve that much?"

She watches you with a mix of disbelief and confusion.

"It’s hard to think that way after everything they’ve done to us. After everything they’ve done to my people."

You nod slowly.

"I understand. But I can’t forget that before they became monsters, they were just like you and me. How do we know if one of them wasn’t a good person? Maybe a husband, a mother, someone who fought until the very end… And one day, the world betrayed them."

She crosses her arms, thoughtful.

"Do you still believe in God?"

You smile.

"It’s the only thing that’s kept me alive."

Her frown deepens slightly.

"I don’t know how you can still believe."

You sigh softly, never losing your composure.

"Because if I stop, then everything is truly lost."

For a moment, the church is silent. You can tell that your words have affected her, even if she doesn’t say it out loud.

"It’s been a long time since I heard someone talk like that," she admits after a while.

You look at her kindly.

"If you’d like, I can pray for you."

She lets out a brief, almost incredulous laugh—but it isn’t mocking.

"Maybe later."

You nod.

And in that moment, you see something change in her eyes. Maybe not faith, but a spark of hope. Small, but real.

michonne

The air smells of fire and blood. The abandoned town around you is a graveyard of ashes and bodies that no longer have names. Walkers roam through the ruins, dragging their feet over the scorched earth. You wander too, but not without direction.

You have a goal.

The weapon in your hand trembles with exhaustion. You can barely hold it. Days have passed without food, without sleep, with no company but the weight of your own thoughts. You don’t know how much longer you can go on.

A sound makes you freeze.

Footsteps.

Not from walkers.

You turn—and see her.

A woman moves with calculated precision, two walkers chained behind her like macabre shadows. Her braided hair falls over her back, and her steady hand grips the hilt of a katana.

You don’t know her, but her presence says everything. She is not someone to take lightly.

Your fingers tighten around your weapon. This isn’t the first time you’ve encountered someone in this dead world, and so far, the odds have never been in your favor.

She stops, measuring your every move with sharp eyes.

"Don't try anything stupid," she says firmly.

You don’t intend to. But you don’t trust her either.

"Who are you?" you ask, keeping your distance.

She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she tilts her head slightly, evaluating you as if deciding whether or not you’re worth her time.

"Someone who just wants to pass through," she finally replies. "And someone who’s looking at a person about to collapse."

You clench your jaw. You don’t want to admit it, but she’s right.

Michonne watches the tremor in your hand, the way you barely stay on your feet.

"How long has it been since you last ate?" she asks.

You don’t answer. You don’t want her pity.

She sighs, and before you can react, she pulls a small pouch from her belt and tosses it toward you. Instinctively, you catch it. Food. Something dry and simple, but food nonetheless.

You look at her warily.

"Why?"

Michonne crosses her arms.

"Because I don’t want to have to kill you when you pass out and the walkers get to you."

Her brutal honesty catches you off guard. There’s no kindness in her voice, but no cruelty either. Just the truth.

You sigh and lower your weapon slightly.

"And what do you want in return?"

She shrugs.

"Nothing. But if you want to stay alive, you'd better learn how to move in this world."

You have so many questions, you don’t even know where to start.

Michonne turns and begins to walk away. For a moment, you think that’s the end of it.

But then, without looking back, she says:

"If you have nowhere to go, you can come with me."

You hesitate.

You’re still distrustful. But your options are scarce.

And something in her voice, in her presence, tells you this isn’t an offer she makes lightly.

You take a step forward. Then another.

Michonne says nothing else.

But as you start walking by her side, for the first time in a long while, you don’t feel completely alone.

[amorchai]

𝐆𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐍 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏.

pairing(s): glenn rhee x female!reader

words: 804

warnings/tags: established relationship, female!reader.

it had been three days and counting, glenn watching as each turn of daylight grows into night. spent by the side of his chosen family but missing one person in particular. alexandria needed more food and water, there was enough of a supply to keep them going but they were aware they needed to be more comfortable.

he was alongside rick, michonne, and daryl, which left you at home. he knew you could survive, and the others of the community were more than capable, but the people he trusted the most to keep you safe were on this run with him and it only made him yearn to be beside you even more. to know you’re out of harm’s way.

while the hunt was for food and more so water, they were able to gather medical supplies and a few more worthwhile weapons. michonne shook her head with a small smile the moment she left the lonely pharmacy, daryl and rick behind her. they watched as glenn stood outside, the sunset long gone as the darkness started to grow, walkie talkie in hand.

“y/n? are you there?” he asks for the fifth time, desperate and anxious yet there was no answer. they were almost home, only a few miles back from their journey so he believed he should be well within range.

michonne pats his shoulder as they walk past, glenn dropping the device back into his pocket begrudgingly, “you’ll be seeing her soon.” he nods hopefully, following their footsteps when rick responds, “i’d say if we keep up with pace we should be back in just under an hour.”

even though glenn’s eyes stun in tiredness, legs aching from no rest, he walked as fast as his feet allowed. the idea of you being so near yet so far. and he almost starts to run when the familiar walls appear in their vision. “glenn,” rick warns, urging them to stick together in the depth of the night.

once the gates open for them, glenn pushes his bags off his shoulders, leaving them on the gravel while starting, “i’ll be right back.” rick just chuckles, nodding as they all allow him to continue, knowing there wouldn’t be an opportunity to stop him.

he breaks out in a run as he moves towards the lowly lit house, a warm glow settling his stomach as well as the wallpaper when he enters. however, it’s silent, the only thing that can be heard is glenn’s footsteps trudging up the steps to your shared bedroom.

there you lay, heavy breaths making your chest rise and fall. usually unable to sleep while glenn is gone, he detects you probably passed out for well-deserved sleep after awaiting his return.

glenn shouldn’t wake you, just glad you are resting, but when they were only meant to be away for one day he knew you would have been worrying. so, he sits on your side of the bed, gentle hand reaching up to caress your cheek.

you stir after a few more movements, the warmth of his thumb on your undereye making your lashes flicker as you open them to the dark room. eyes immediately settle on glenn’s watching gaze and it’s an instant wake up call.

“glenn?” your tired voice asks, hands reaching for his buttoned shirt with a tug as you pull yourself up to a sitting position, “hi, honey.” there’s a sigh of relief and build-up of tears as you immediately shuffle into a hug he is more than happy to welcome.

your hands grasp the back of his shirt, clinging onto him while one of his hands cups your shoulder, the other keeping your head tugged into his neck. “told you i would be back, didn’t i?” glenn teases kindly, kisses repeated against your temple.

“after one day,” you note, pulling back so you could get a proper look at him within the dark space only alit with the moon cascading in the window. there’s blood on his chin and jaw, no signs of scratching or bites, light goatee darker but face never more beautiful.

“i know, we were held back by a herd, had to camp out in a store.” his smile is sweet, gazing along your features alongside his thumb, “want to talk about it?” you ask but he shakes his head before pecking your lips.

glenn murmurs against your lips, “tomorrow. i promise.”

you nod once he pulls back to press more kisses against your cheek, glenn missing the feel of your skin beneath his lips. “were you okay?” he asks once he finds it in himself to pull back for a moment.

“missed you.” he nods at your reply, giving you one last smile and kiss before standing, “give me five minutes to take the stuff to the pantry, then i’m all yours, baby.”

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[b1xi]

𝙉𝙤𝙩 𝙖 𝙡𝙤𝙩, 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧

Glenn rhee x reader

Word count:3752

Warninig: fluff, dead, blood

Pt2 , Pt3

You ran as fast as your legs would allow, stumbling up the stairs while trying not to fall. Behind you, the growls and gasps of the creatures—those who were once your neighbors—roared loudly, almost deafeningly. The upper floors offered no solace; the walls were splattered with blood, silent witnesses to a recent massacre. The air was thick, heavy with death and despair, and each step brought you closer to the unknown, to a possible trap or, perhaps, an unlikely salvation.

By the time you reached the fifth floor, the situation had become even more macabre. Two of those monsters, turned into insatiable predators, were devouring the mangled body of someone you had likely known in life. Horror gripped you; a scream formed in your throat, but you stifled it by covering your mouth with a trembling hand. You knew that the slightest noise could condemn you. There was no time for mourning or compassion. There was only one mission: survival.

Desperately, you looked around for an escape. The growls were getting closer. With no other options, you slipped into an apartment with an ajar door. Once inside, you moved cautiously, your hands gripping the small knife you carried, a pitiful defense but at least something to make you feel somewhat protected.

The living room showed no obvious signs of violence, except for some bloodstains that extended into the bathroom. You took a deep breath and headed for the kitchen, your heart pounding in your chest, searching for anything that might be useful. After a few minutes, you had gathered a small stash: cans of food, soda crackers, snacks, and water. It wasn't much, but it could make the difference between life and death. As you rummaged through the drawers for something more useful, a particular sound startled you.

The sharp cry of a baby broke the silence, coming from one of the rooms at the back. You stood still for a moment, trying to convince yourself that you had imagined it, but the crying persisted. You knew ignoring it wasn't an option. With hesitant steps, you moved towards the source of the sound, stopping in front of a door decorated with a small heart-shaped sign bearing the name "Alice." You pushed the door gently, revealing a pink-painted nursery, filled with drawings and toys scattered on the floor.

In the center of the room stood a white crib, and there, wrapped in blankets, a baby cried inconsolably. Her little face was reddened from the effort of crying, seeking attention, company... protection.

"Damn it," you whispered, this time with more resignation than fear. You looked around, hoping that at any moment someone—perhaps the baby's mother—would come running through the door. But no one came. Anxiety gripped your chest. You knew leaving little Alice there was a certain death sentence. The baby's cries already resonated as an open call to the monsters prowling the building.

With no other options, you took the baby in your arms. Her crying was desperate and incessant, and each passing second made you imagine that the things outside were drawing closer, attracted by the noise. As you rocked her gently back and forth, her sobs began to calm. Her tiny hands clung tightly to your shirt, and gradually, the crying turned into soft whimpers until, finally, it ceased. You sighed with relief, but the tension didn't fully dissipate. Every second was crucial.

You left the room with stealthy steps, Alice wrapped in your arms. The silence of the apartment was oppressive, and the feeling of being watched never left you. Keeping your gaze upwards, you walked down the hallway, vainly searching for any sign of life in the other rooms. But there was nothing. The place seemed deserted.

The bathroom, however, caught your attention. The door was locked, but through the gap beneath it, a faint beam of light filtered in. Something or someone was on the other side. You approached cautiously and pressed your ear against the wood, and horror overwhelmed you. A low, menacing growl resonated from inside, followed by a rasping sound: claws scratching the door.

You instinctively recoiled, fear freezing your blood. Whatever was trapped inside was not human. There was no doubt. Those creatures had reached this place, and surely whoever was locked in there would find a way out soon.

You quickly considered your options, aware that you couldn’t stay. The building was no longer safe, and probably neither was the city. Chaos was spreading like an uncontrollable fire. There was no alternative but to flee before nightfall made the streets even more dangerous. The creatures became more active at dusk, and the cover of darkness would only increase their numbers.

With trembling hands, you found a larger bag and filled it with essentials: supplies, some clean clothes, and everything you might need to care for your new companion, Alice. You fashioned an improvised sling and secured her gently against your chest. Her calm breathing contrasted with your own racing heart.

Leaving the building was easier than you had imagined. The creatures were scattered, hunting on other floors or in the streets. Moving with stealth and determination, you made your way to your car, parked not far from the main entrance. With Alice secured to your chest, you quickly got in and started the engine.

Three weeks had passed since you left the city. Those days felt like an endless nightmare. The first two weeks had been particularly exhausting: the roads were blocked with abandoned cars and wandering corpses, and you had no choice but to continue on foot. You walked through forests, taking shortcuts when you could, though it only heightened your paranoia. The constant crunching of leaves under your feet, the distant sounds of the infected, and the ever-present danger of being surprised kept you on high alert.

Dealing with Alice was another challenge. The baby cried incessantly, her relentless hunger forcing you to stop more often than you would have liked. Sometimes, you could only pray to find a safe place to rest. Sleeping was not an easy option; every nighttime noise, every shadow moving in the dark, was a potential threat.

As you pressed on, the physical and mental exhaustion began to take its toll. You wondered how much longer you could keep going. Alice needed more than you could offer alone. However, as if some higher power had heard your silent pleas, things changed the day you encountered the group.

It happened while you were exploring an abandoned house, desperate for food or diapers for Alice. Hunger and exhaustion were becoming unbearable, and each step felt like a burden. Entering a dusty room, the air thick with humidity and mildew, you were struck by the emptiness. The weight of reality hit you hard: there was nothing. You leaned against the wall for a moment, struggling against despair.

That’s when you saw him: a rugged man with a face hardened by life, holding a crossbow with an unsettling firmness. You had no idea how long he had been there, watching you. Instinctively, you stepped back, raising your hands in a gesture of surrender. The cold steel of his gaze pierced through you, and fear took hold. You were cornered, unsure if this encounter would mean the end.

The man did not lower his weapon but took a step closer, studying your every move. “Are you from the city?” he asked in a deep, authoritative voice. His tone made it clear that he was used to taking control of situations. His eyes quickly scanned the space behind you, as if expecting someone else to emerge from behind you. But he saw nothing.

The lump in your throat made it hard to speak, and for a moment, you thought your legs might give way. You could only nod, hoping it would be enough to placate him. The man kept his gaze fixed on you, evaluating, measuring every detail.

“Are you alone, or is there someone else with you?” he asked again, not softening his tone. Before you could answer, a second man appeared in the room. He was younger, with Asian features, and seemed to be with the first, as the latter showed no surprise upon seeing him. The younger man carried another weapon, though his posture

“There’s no one with me,” you managed to say, your voice trembling as you tried to stay calm. But at that moment, you felt Alice shift in the carrier, as if she was about to wake up. The faint movement of the baby immediately caught both men’s attention.

The younger Asian man slowly lowered his weapon, his expression softening as he assessed the situation. There was something in his gaze, perhaps empathy, or maybe just exhaustion. The crossbow man, however, did not immediately change his expression. His eyes dropped to the small bundle against your chest, and for a moment, the tension in the room became unbearable.

“Is that… a baby?” the young man murmured, incredulous. It seemed he hadn’t seen something so small and delicate in a long time.

You nodded once more, unconsciously tightening your hold on Alice, trying to protect her as best as you could. “Yes… it’s just her and me,” you replied with more confidence than you actually felt.

“What’s your name?” asked the young Asian man, his voice softer than the armed man’s.

“My name is Y/N, and she is Alice,” you answered, feeling a slight calm beginning to settle inside you. You gently stroked Alice’s back, trying to keep her calm. Still, you couldn’t ignore the discomfort caused by the young man’s continuous gaze.

“I’m Glenn, and this is Daryl,” Glenn introduced himself, taking a step toward you and extending a friendly hand. Although you appreciated the gesture, you opted to keep your distance, your survival instinct still on high alert. Glenn noticed your hesitation and lowered his hand, not offended but maintaining his friendly tone.

Daryl, however, had not entirely lowered his guard. His crossbow was still ready, though now aimed at the ground. The tension in his jaw and the coldness in his eyes kept you on edge. The air felt dense, heavy, as if something could go wrong at any moment.

Glenn placed a firm but calm hand on Daryl’s shoulder, trying to ease the situation. “Calm down, she’s not a threat. Look at her, she’s alone with a baby. Let her breathe.” His conciliatory tone managed to soften Daryl’s stance a bit.

Daryl exhaled slowly and finally lowered the crossbow completely, though not without issuing one last warning. “Alright. But I recommend you get out of here before nightfall. It’s not safe to be out in the woods at this hour, especially with a child.” His tone made it clear that he was giving advice rather than making a threat.

You nodded quickly, aware that you didn’t have many options left. The sun was beginning to set, and although you had survived until now, you knew you couldn’t keep going alone for much longer. The city had been hell, and now the forest was proving to be just as dangerous.

“Listen, Y/N,” Glenn interrupted, his voice much softer, almost a whisper. “We have a camp not too far from here. It’s not much, but it’s well-protected, and we have supplies.” His eyes, which had been cautious before, now reflected something more. Empathy, perhaps. “You don’t have to keep wandering alone. You could stay with us. Alice would be safer there.”

His words resonated in your mind. The offer seemed too good to be true, but desperation was beginning to take over. You glanced at Alice, feeling her small, warm, and vulnerable body against yours, and realized you could no longer afford to keep testing your luck. The walkers outside would show no mercy, and you knew you’d soon run out of strength.

“I don’t want to cause any trouble,” you said, unsure. Although Glenn’s offer seemed sincere, something inside you still doubted. You had seen the worst of people in recent days, and distrust had become second nature.

“You won’t be a problem,” Glenn replied with a kind smile. “There are more people at the camp, and we’re all in this together. We can’t promise you an easy life, but we can offer you safety and some peace. At least, for a while.”

You looked at Daryl, searching for any sign that the proposal was genuine, but his expression remained impassive, as hard as a rock. However, by not objecting to Glenn’s offer, he seemed to be giving his tacit consent.

Finally, you nodded, letting a little relief seep into your thoughts. “Alright. I’ll go with you.”

After what felt like hours of walking, you finally descended a hill and before you was a scene that, in another time, would have been a mundane sight: an improvised camp with cars and a trailer. However, now, amidst the chaos, it represented a refuge, a possibility of rest, and perhaps, safety.

Glenn turned to you, noticing your exhaustion. “We’re almost there. It’s better than being out there, believe me.” He smiled, a mix of relief and concern in his gaze. Daryl, for his part, kept his distance, still vigilant with his crossbow ready, though he had stopped aiming it directly at you. He seemed to trust Glenn more than the situation.

As you emerged from the dense forest, the camp Glenn had mentioned became visible through the trees. With each step, your legs felt heavier, and the sweltering heat made sweat trickle down your forehead and body. Glenn briefly stopped to check that you were still following, offering a supportive smile, while Daryl, in his own way, stayed alert, his crossbow always at the ready.

Finally, you reached a small clearing in the forest and turned left. That’s when you saw it: the camp. Just as Glenn had said, there was a trailer blocking a slope, and next to it, a smoldering campfire. Near the campfire, a picnic table and several chairs formed an improvised circle. A bit farther away, several tents were grouped around a small path cutting through the vegetation. The place looked humble but safe.

You had taken only a few steps when a burly man with an expression of both alertness and distrust approached quickly. “What’s going on, Glenn?” he asked in a deep, firm voice. He was Shane, who seemed to be leading the group at that moment.

Glenn raised a hand to calm him. “Everything’s fine, Shane. She’s from the city. She’s alone… and has a baby.”

Shane cast a quick glance at Alice, his expression softening slightly before turning back to you. “Alone, you say?”

“Yes, we checked,” Daryl interjected, finally lowering the crossbow but not taking his analytical gaze off you.

“Well, it’s better to talk to the rest,” Shane said in a less aggressive but still firm tone. “Lori and Carol are with the kids; maybe they can help with the baby.”

You observed several people engaged in various activities. Two blonde women, one clearly older than the other, were sitting and cleaning what you assumed were freshly caught fish. Further along, a dark-skinned woman was resting next to a burly man with a serious expression, who was relaxing in one of the chairs near the campfire. On top of the trailer, an older man with a fishing hat kept a calm watch from his position, holding a rifle firmly, as if he might need it at any moment. To your right, you noticed a Latino man and another taller man wearing a cap, checking a couple of cars.

Glenn, who stayed by your side, gave you a reassuring glance before speaking. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to the group.” He took a few steps forward, guiding you toward a pair of women sitting at an old picnic table.

“Hi, girls,” Glenn greeted with his usual friendly tone. “I want to introduce you to Y/N.” He made a hand gesture indicating for you to come closer.

The tall woman with brown hair, holding her son on her lap, looked up with a warm smile. “Hello,” she said as she stood up kindly. “I’m Lori, and this is my son, Carl.” She extended a friendly hand towards you, her smile genuine, as if trying to offer you some of the peace you were missing at that moment. You shook her hand in return.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

Glenn then turned to the woman next to her, who had a more reserved appearance but a calm presence. “And these are Carol and her daughter, Sophia,” Glenn continued, pointing to the little blonde girl playing with a rag doll.

Carol looked up with a discreet but warm smile. “Nice to meet you, Y/N,” she said softly, while Sophia looked at you with shyness, hugging her doll a bit tighter.

Lori noticed the small sleeping bundle in your arms, and her face softened even more. “Is that… your baby?” she asked delicately, as if trying not to invade your personal space.

The question gave you a pang in your chest, and you felt a brief wave of sadness. You shook your head slowly, looking at Alice with tenderness. “No… I’m not her mother.” The words came out in a whisper laden with sorrow, reminding you of how much Alice had lost in such a short time. “Her parents… are gone.”

Lori didn’t press further or ask more questions, understanding the pain implicit in your answer. She simply nodded with a slight smile that aimed to be comforting. “She’s very cute,” she commented gently. “You’re lucky to have her with you.”

After a brief silence, Glenn took charge of the situation again, now that everyone had been introduced. “Well, let’s see if we can find a place for you.” He gestured for you to follow him, leading you to the area where the tents were set up.

Walking together along the path between the tents, Glenn gave you a smile. “You know, we don’t usually get many visitors. I think Daryl thought you were here to steal our fish,” he joked, raising an eyebrow with a small laugh.

You returned the smile, grateful for the attempt to ease the tension. “Well, if I ever get to that point, you’ll know I’m desperate.”

Glenn chuckled and nodded. “You’re right, I wouldn’t mind if it’s for survival. Although, in that case, I’d offer you one myself. I work hard to keep us stocked,” he said with a wink.

As you arrived at a small cleared area, Glenn stopped in front of his tent. “We don’t have a tent for you yet, but you can use mine until we sort something out. Don’t worry, I can sleep in the trailer, there’s enough space,” he offered without hesitation.

You gave him an incredulous look, grateful but also a bit embarrassed. “Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.”

Glenn made a casual gesture with his hand. “Don’t worry, I’ve slept in worse places than the backseat of a car. Besides, how often in life can you say you were a gentleman and offered your tent to a lady?”

You smiled, feeling a bit more relaxed with his sense of humor. “Well, I guess I’m lucky to have met a gentleman in these times.”

Glenn returned the smile, apparently pleased that his joke helped you feel more comfortable. “You know, if you need anything else, don’t hesitate to ask. We’re a small community, but we take care of each other. And now that you and Alice are here, that includes you two as well.”

You felt deeply grateful for his kindness, something that already felt rare in such a shattered world. “Thank you, Glenn. It really means a lot.”

You entered the tent, grateful for the brief moment of tranquility. You knelt on the ground, observing what was in the small space: a sleeping bag, a backpack, and a couple of neatly folded clothes on one side. It was simple but cozy, and at that moment, you realized how exhausted you were. You sighed as you unfastened the harness holding Alice and gently placed her on the floor so she could move and stretch.

The baby, always restless, took advantage of her freedom and began to crawl around the small space. Despite the circumstances, seeing her curiosity about the world brought a small smile to your face. “You really need a good bath,” you commented softly, as if the little girl could understand your words. Alice, of course, simply looked at you with those lively eyes, emitting a babble as she smiled, completely oblivious to the harshness of the outside world.

With a clumsy but determined movement, Alice crawled back to you, raising her little arms as if wanting to be picked up. “Again?” you murmured, lifting the little one and holding her against your chest. “I’ve spoiled you too much, haven’t I?” you said with a slight laugh, as Alice rested her head on your shoulder, her small body immediately relaxing in your arms.

You gently stroked her back, feeling her breathing calm and steady. The need to protect her enveloped you strongly, like a silent promise you had made without even realizing it. This new place, this camp full of strangers, represented a risk, yes, but also an opportunity. An opportunity to find a respite, at least for a while, so that both of you could regain your strength.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad after all. Despite the initial distrust and the evident dangers of the outside world, these people seemed, at least, more human than what you had encountered before. Glenn had been kind, and the others had shown no signs of rejection. There was a certain sense of community in the camp, a spark of hope that seemed hard to find in these times.

[blackdagger456]

Invincible Season 3 Spoilers:The Arrival Of Conquest

Who’s Ready For Glenn Vs Negan Round 2!?

[empanadasdepinos]

bring my boy back RIGHT NOW.

[wimsypisces]

i need to rewatch twd just to feel something

[kaayyyys]

The walking dead (men) hurt comfort

Negan smith

(someone hurts you)

He wouldn't immediately run over, not at first.

He’d stare, processing the information like a computer rebooting, from shock.

Then it would overprotective mode

"Who the hell thought they could touch what's mine?!" He'd probably go on a rant.

Threats, oh, the threats. Creative threats involving Lucille and hurting the person involved . He would drag the person who hurt you to a cell and force them to apologize on their knees.

Once his initial rage subsides, he’d be surprisingly gentle with you.

"Alright, sweetheart, let me see."

He'd carefully check you over, even if it's just a scratch.

And he'd insist on carrying you around, no matter how much you protest. "Don't be a hero, darlin'. You're hurt. Let me pamper you."

He would become insufferable. Constantly fussing, banning you from anything remotely dangerous and generally treating you like you're made of glass while still running the Saviors with an iron fist (your his soft spot) .

He might even try to make a joke to lighten the mood, but it would be the most inappropriate thing he could say.

Like, "Well, at least now you know how much I care, right? Worth the bullet wound, yeah?"

Late at night, after everyone else is asleep, he'd hold you close. His voice would be quiet, the usual swagger gone. "You scared me, (Y/N). More than I thought possible."

He'd probably admit, in his own twisted way, that you're the one thing he can't control and that scares him the most.

Rick Grimes

You stumble, twisting your ankle while scavenging.

It's a sprain, nothing major, but you let out a yelp. Cue Rick, whose head snaps up faster than a walker spotting fresh meat. His eyes widen, his gun practically leaps into his hand, and he's yelling, "[Y/N]! What happened?! Are you bit?!".

He's already scanning the area for threats, completely missing the fact you're just holding your ankle and grimacing.

Once he realizes it's just a sprain, the panic shifts to smothering concern.

He's suddenly all gentle hands and furrowed brows, insisting on carrying you back to Alexandria like you're a delicate porcelain doll. "Don't move, darlin'. You're hurt. Let me take care of you." Even though you've taken down herds of walkers single-handedly before.

Rick, your grumpy officer, suddenly will believe that he's a qualified physician. Constantly interrogates you about the pain, the swelling and the exact angle of the twist. He insists on elevating your foot, applying a cold compress, and finding a way of making a makeshift splint out of scavenged cloth and popsicle sticks.

Daryl would definitely be making fun and laughing in the background.

While tending to your ankle, Rick launches into a whole lecture about being more careful.

"You gotta watch where you're going, [Y/N]! It's a dangerous world out there. I can't lose you."

Even though hes the man who regularly charges headfirst into hordes of walkers.You can't help but giggle a little at him, earning you a stern but loving look.

For the rest of the day, you're treated like royalty. Rick fusses over you, bringing you food, water, and extra blankets. He even reads to you probably just survival manuals because there's no books but it's the thought that counts. He's just incredibly relieved you're okay, and he wants to show it in every way he knows how. He insists on sleeping on the floor next to your bed "to keep watch".

Later, after his initial stress has died down, you catch Rick watching you with a soft, relieved expression.

You limp over to him and wrap your arms around him. "Thank you, Rick," you whisper. "For always taking care of me."

He hugs you tight, burying his face in your hair. "Always," he murmurs back. And you know, despite the over-the-top reaction, you wouldn't have it any other way. His love is a little chaotic, a little intense, but it's yours, and it's everything.

Daryl Dixon

Panic? Nah. Daryl's seen worse than most folks'. His eyes, usually narrowed in a stoic squint, widen for a millisecond as he hears you get hurt .

Forget flowery tenderness. He's immediately checking for the source causing the blood, ripping fabric for a make-shift bandage with the efficiency of a seasoned medic, completely ignoring your protests.

He's not a loving man but he shows affection with his continuous insults at you. But his insults are laced with worry, like "Damn it, (Y/N), I leave you alone for five minutes..."

(Y/N): "It's just a graze, Daryl, really"

'Grazes don't bleed like that, ya stubborn woman.'

Proceeds to clean the wound with the intensity of a brain surgeon, muttering about bacteria and infection.

He'll probably spit on his handkerchief. Ironic because he's always saying he don't care about health.

After he becomes your shadow. He doesn't't say much, but he's always there. Watchful, like a hawk perched on your shoulder, ready to swoop down on any threat.

He'll show affection as he sneaks you extra rations. Maybe even offers you his share of squirrels (a high honor indeed)

You might catch him staring at you when he thinks you don't notice, a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes.

A week later, when you're completely healed, and he knows it. You're getting ready to go scavenging, when he grabs your arm. "Thought I told you yer stayin' put." He says looking annoyed, but you catch the little smirk playing on his lips. He's enjoying this way too much.

Glenn Rhee

Glenn would be a whirlwind of apologies, even if it wasn't his fault.

"(Y/N)! I'm so sorry this happened! Are you okay? Did I protect you enough? Maybe I need to start wearing more padding!".

He'd forget all his zombie-killing instincts for a moment, replaced by pure worry. Think of it this way, If you got a mosquito bite, Glenn would be ready to burn down the entire forest.

He'd switch into "Glenn the Delivery Boy" mode instantly, tending to your wound with surprising gentleness. He'd pull out his limited medical supplies and he would use his shirt to cover the wound.

He'd be so focused on cleaning and bandaging that he'd trip over his own feet at least once, muttering about needing more practice even though he does this often.

He'd be glued to your side, like the most cuddly, protective person ever in history.

Sleep? Forget it. He needs to make sure you're breathing, not cold, not hungry, and definitely not about to be pounced on by a walker while you sleep.

He'd try to find you the best food he could manage, even if it was just a slightly-less-stale cracker. (I know it's not much)

After fussing over you and making sure your perfectly comfortable and safe, he'd start to calm down... right as another, even bigger threat appears.

He would look at you with a sheepish grin, then back to the horde. "Well (Y/N), you stay here while I take care of this. And don't worry about me!"

[yoursecretadmires]

When I read to much fanfic (X Reader). Now I can't rewatch the same tv series without imagine the reader in that shows

[rememberwhouare]

THE WALKING DEAD x S5 | Memories

Together.

[taylormarieee]

~My First Kinktober!~

~I'm so excited because this is my first Kinktober! Im a couple of months new to tumblr so I wanted to make an impact by doing and participating in this so I hope you all enjoy just as much as I will!

Edit: So I changed this whole thing because sadly I was not prepared for Kinktober and it was not my best so, Maybe Next year!

Credit to- @cafekitsune for the pumpkin dividers

~Week 1~

✨-Dacryphilia -Rick Grimes ✨-BlowJob -Shane Walsh ✨-Handjob -Glenn Rhee ✨-Thigh Riding -Rick Grimes ✨-Oral -Carl Grimes ✨-Daddy Kink -Miguel O'Hara ~Week 2~ ✨-In Public -Rick Grimes ✨-Knife Kink -Daryl Dixon ✨-Fingering -Carl Grimes

✨-Size Difference

-Miguel O'Hara

[havin-fun-imagining-twd]

D-O-N-E

feliz spring forward y'all!

What -- The day won't end and you're so done. D-o-n-e.

Who -- The series is slow-burning, canon-compliant Daryl x Reader with a focus on the found-family theme in the show. In this chapter, you're joined by all the Grimes, your big brother Shane, Glenn, Maggie, T-Dog, and Carol. Dale doesn't get a chance to speak with you.

When -- Following earlier events of the day in Trust Nelly's Instincts. It is now the late afternoon and evening of S02 episode "Secrets," after the pharmacy run. The chapter picks up in the aftermath of Lori taking and then vomiting certain pills...

Perspective -- 2nd person

Pronouns - none

TWs - mild language at the end, bad screenshots.

Masterlist to the rest of the Slowpoke Series :D

D-O-N-E

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

With Lori

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

You hadn’t understood why Maggie was so furious by the time the three of you returned from the pharmacy trip, other than to conclude it was a sort of trauma response.

And you’d been so grateful to Nelly the horse for possibly saving both Maggie’s life and your own, which is why you offered to take care of the horses when you three returned. The saddles you’d only be carrying for a limited time and your shoulder was doing great, so carrying them wasn’t a concern. Alone time was welcome, you could pray, cry, whatever, in solitude.

So, you missed when Maggie apparently yelled at Lori and threw some of the stuff from the pharmacy on the ground at her feet. Including the pills.

Right now, you’re with Lori next to the long, worn path that leads to and from all the different pastures and fields. It’s golden hour.

Thank God today is almost over.

“I don’t want to lose it.”

“That’s why you threw the pills up,” you soothe, rubbing your hand back and forth across her shoulders. “And you knew full well the ones you took weren’t the right ones. They don’t cause the lining to break down or cause contractions.”

At least, you think they don't? You need to read more, but you know this much: the ones Maggie brought were not the right type of pill for a pregnancy at this stage. Another saving grace today.

“When you’re as far along as you are, it shouldn’t hurt them or you. They've been implanted for weeks.”

Lori knows a lot about this stuff, far more than you to the extent that you're out of your depth. But right now she needs reminding that what she took shouldn’t effect anything this late — and obviously wouldn’t do anything when vomited out.

But because she’s no stranger to miscarriage, there’s far more baggage here.

“Honey. I took five times the dose of a pill that stops the brain from signalling ovulation. Did they even know what that might do?” she spits, angry at herself and scared. “Studies show high or repeat doses affect the strength of the uterine li…”

You shut your eyes, her words fading as you recall the shock of Maggie telling you what she and Glenn secretly brought back for Lori. Then, the relief of seeing all the empty boxes in her tent knowing that those were different.

What Lori just mentioned is something new to you, but still, the fact remains: “Pills don’t do much when you throw ’em up.”

She sits with her eyes closed, unmoving. Then, she curls in on herself and buries her face in her hands. “What if some of them still absorbed?”

“Lore, I found two things there, you say, not entertaining her question. “It’s, um, well, the first is the rhogam stuff. The other one, remember the stuff your new doc had prescribed for the losses?” You did a college paper on it, in fact.

Repeated miscarriages over the years. In two of her previous doctors’ own dismissive words, “At least we know you can get pregnant!”

The new doc she’d started seeing finally prescribed her a relatively uncommon treatment to help stop it from happening again, if she ever got pregnant again. It only happened once, and as expected for the first trial, she had another loss. Then, her and Rick's marital problems arose worse and openness to new members seemed to have been taken off the table.

“You found them?” Lori perks up and learning what you brought back. She thinks for a moment, then lets out a heavy sob. Her childhood accent slips out when she whimpers, “But it didn’t work. It didn’t work at all. Nothin' ever worked.”

“Which was expected for the first trial. Maybe this time…”

“I should be used to it, I should be. I-I am. But if it happens again, this time, it will be entirely my fault. And if anything,” Lori is shaking her head rapidly from side to side. “If anything happened to either of you on that trip, it would’ve been entirely my fault. And it almost did! You and Mag—”

“—We needed to go back anyway. They didn’t get the full list last time,” you interrupt. If you hadn’t, she’d have kept spinning down.

There’s movement in the pasture across the path.

Softly, you tell her, “Ricky's on his way.”

She groans as if in pain.

“Lore?”

“I was so afraid of hurting him. Now I’ve gone and done this.” Her face is accepting, solemn. Drained. You get the feeling that she’s readying herself for the worst.

“But he don’t know ab—”

“—You knew from the empty boxes I left torn when I ran to throw the pills up,” she hushes. “You think he missed them? Unless you meant that he doesn’t know about Shane.”

You don’t know what to say, and so go mute.

“And do you think this would be something to keep a secret from him?”

“…No,” you whisper back with shame at having implied it. “A-Are you gonna tell him about both?”

“I must. He deserves to know all of it, no lies, no secrets.”

Rick is almost at the dirt path.

“Honey,” Lori asks, touching your arm. “Please burn the boxes before Carl sees them?”

“Oh my gosh,” you blurt out. “I’ll go right quick! And d-do you want me to come back, for support, or?”

She shakes her head no but nearly begins to cry again.

Then, she switches to nodding her head for you to yes, please come back.

“I will.”

You stand. Walk toward Rick.

He’s had better days, too, by the look of him. “Y/N, is she…?”

“She loves you more than words and needs you right now.” You note the blue boxes in his hand. “She did ask me to burn those. May I?”

He gives them to you and quietly, quietly confirms to himself, “You knew.”

“Yes. I've known she's pregnant.” You won’t say any more and don't want to, because 'congratulations!' is not the thing to say at the moment. That'll be for another time.

This day won’t end. It really needs to end.

D-o-n-e.

As you take the longer route down the dirt path instead of cutting across the overgrown pastures, you stew over every bad detail of today and none of the good ones.

You really should start focusing on the good details but it’s so much easier to not. Why can it be so much easier to see the bad?

Carl thinking he had to steal and carry a gun.

Mr. Greene confronting you about the barn.

Learning that Glenn blabbed to Mr. Horvath about the walkers.

The hostility between Glenn, Maggie and yourself during the pharmacy run.

A dead man nearly ending Maggie and you.

The furious disappointment at witnessing your brother and Andrea interact after getting out of the car, observing in their behavior that they’d done something sexual.

The flush of horror at Maggie confessing to you about how the prescription she and Glenn were keeping secret was ‘abortion pills.’

How Shane is going to know soon, about the baby. Getting it into his head that they are Rick’s and not his will, um, well it shouldn’t be a problem given your raising, but…

In an act of surrender, you stare up at the sky, breathe out loudly, and mime dusting your hands off. You're done, you can't handle all this, and you shouldn't have to. D-o-n-e.

You feel you eyes moisten, your muscles tense, then get that post-cry rush of relaxation in your limbs.

Better things pop into your mind, like how Maggie understands about walkers now. And how you’re really, really glad Maggie got the wrong stuff at the drug store today. Lori is, too.

The sky is orange-gold by the time you reach the campsite. The fire is crackling, and Carol is away from the cookware, so there’s some privacy. Enough for you to discard the small boxes, at least.

“What did you just throw in the fire, Y/N?”

Scratch that, you didn’t notice Carl was here.

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

With Carl

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

Of everyone in camp, it was the one you were supposed to hide the stupid boxes from, shit.

“Secrets,” you sing-song.

“What kind of secrets?”

“The secret kind.” Which is unsatisfactory for him and you intoned it a bit rudely, so, you explain. “Pill boxes take up space. The blister packs were removed.” Which is not untruthful.

“I didn’t know they made pills for blisters.”

The innocence of the statement softens your hard lines. “The plastic thingies pills come in that you pop 'em out of are called blister packs.”

He peers at you. “Y/N, was someone mean to you? You don’t seem okay.”

“I’m not, little man,” you exhale. “A lot of unexpected things went wrong today.”

“Was that what Maggie was upset about? I heard her yelling.”

You had intended to go back to Lori straightaway, but the idea of sitting down wins. T-Dog’s camp chair feels so welcoming as you sink into it. “Yeah, we had a close call. Her especially.”

His response is to hug you. No better response, really.

“I, um,” you try to word it. “Uncle Shane doesn’t know yet. Let me be the one to tell him, okay?”

“Okay,” he promises. He hasn’t let go of the hug yet. You won’t be the one to do so.

A good few minutes pass before he relaxes his hold and sits next to you. You’d be of mind to stay here all night, but, the day’s not over yet and you’ve got jobs to do.

Maggie asked to speak later, she wants to talk things over. And you’ve always debriefed with Glenn after a run. It won’t be fun, because you’re fixing to drive home how the pill he’d intended to find leads to over 1/3 of the women who report taking it to require emergent medical treatment. He’d have needed to be responsible and have prepared for that possibility.

Oh, and Shane. The stupid, stupid boy. It was clear he’d wanted to say something to you after seeing your face when he and Andy got back, but that’s when you peaced-out, ran into Maggie, then ended up seeing the empty boxes in Lori’s tent.

“Your ma wasn’t feeling too well. I know your dad went and checked on her, but I promised I’d go back,” you explain to Carl, standing from the chair.

“Did she feel like she was gonna throw up again?”

“She did throw up again.”

“Aw, man. Should I bring her something to drink?”

“Have a drink ready for her when she comes back. A nice fluffy pillow, too, maybe switch out her pillowcase for a clean one?”

He nods and makes as if to go, but stops. Turns. “Y/N, I just wanted Mom to feel safe.”

“What do you mean?”

“This morning. Mom’s been so tired and feeling sick a lot because I know she’s super worried about something bad happening to me again. I took the gun thinking it would help." Carl looks at the dirt and toes at a very small pebble. "Like I could defend her, so she wouldn’t have to look after me all the time. And I figured I needed to take it first and prove…” he trails off and stares into space. “I didn’t mean to worry her worse and I didn’t realize what I did was stealing! And I know I upset her enough this morning when I figured the chicks’ mother had been eaten. Mom looked so worried—”

—While he goes on, you’ve already wrapped your arms around him again and smooched one too many kisses to his head.

How are you going to tell him that both you and Shane are leaving? You’d rather walk barefoot over broken glass than have to leave this kid.

After answering Carl that yes, herbal tea is a great idea for his mom, you make yourself get back to work despite how done you are with today.

When you start the trek back to where Lori and Rick were, the shadows have already grown taller. The sky begins its change from golden to pale as the sun lowers.

It stuns you when you’ve all the sudden arrived back to where Lori and Rick are, because you have no recollection of the walk there. That means you weren’t paying attention at all during the walk, which was risky. Well, what you mean is: it’s been so long since that has been a possibility, to ignore your surroundings, so it feels wrong.

They’re standing close together and saying nothing, but her hand is in his. You draw the conclusion that you aren’t needed anymore. It’s a good thing.

You wave once so she sees you, and turn around to go back to the house.

Time to see Maggie.

One step closer to being done.

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

With Maggie

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

“So. Pregnant.”

“Yup.”

“Is she still?” she snides.

“Yes. She retched up the pills almost immediately.” Your particular shade of nagginess has you consider bringing up how accounting for a 1 in 3 chance emergency would have been necessary if the pills were the real ones. Surely, she knows!

You’re so done. D-o-n-e. Simplicity will do just fine. “Wrong type of pill anyway, pregnancy shouldn’t be affected this far along.”

D-o-n-e.

“All those doses would do something. I hear taking too many can do it.” She is sitting uncharacteristically hunched over. And behaving differently, too. This brand of nastiness isn’t normal for the Maggie you’ve come to know.

Biting your tongue, you cannot neglect the fact that today was Maggie's first close call. She’s reeling from it and processing stuff.

Her call was so close that you’re still in disbelief as to how she kept that guy from biting her. As unpleasant as you may find her current mood, you have a sense of solidarity with her far greater than before.

In the end, all you do is shrug in response. “Pills don’t usually work when you vomit 'em.”

“I’m glad she had a change of heart and we went through all that for nothin’.”

Yup, still processing stuff.

You wouldn’t describe the way you respond as gentle, although it is. It’s more tired than anything. “We still needed to go on another pharmacy run.”

It’s odd: you aren’t seeing red, you aren’t licking your teeth, you aren’t even huffing.

If you had to describe it, you’d say that’s it’s as if your emotions have gone on power-saver, similar in that aspect to how a depressive episode can be. It crosses your mind that it’s likely a trauma thing due to this afternoon’s events. Maggie is presenting in one way, you another.

Eh, isn't everyone in some sort of permanent trauma cycle these days? Either way, somebody stick a fork in you; you’re done.

“Am I being a bitch, Y/N?”

You shrug again. “A little bit.”

“A lot bit,” she mutters. “I’m just so — it’s like I don’t know how I feel right now.”

“That can happen after a close call like we had. Was this your first one?”

“I don’t like the sound of ‘first one.’ It implies there’ll be more.”

“There likely will be.” Aren’t you a joy to be around. In your defense, you said it kindly.

There’s a knot in the wood on the porch floor that Maggie keeps running her thumb over. Softly, she shares, “Y/N? I told Glenn I loved him.”

????

That wasn’t on your bingo sheet.

If only the emotional thing was working normally — this is exciting news! Granted, it's also weird news given how pissed she’s been today and at Glenn specifically, but exciting nonetheless. Civilization ending has made everything a little weird, right?

“And I kissed him again.”

“Naturally.”

“How was it that you first described him?” Maggie next asks, still tracing her thumb along the knot in the wooden plank. “Something about a snowstorm?”

The corners of your mouth tug up in recollection. “‘A ray of sunshine in a snowstorm.’”

Maggie nods, her gaze serious but fixed on nothing. “He’s smart, and good, and strong. He’s a leader, but he’s humble.”

“Writing them vows already, Margaret?” you quietly tease.

Wait, is she crying?

“Y/N, I feel like I’ve been so blind, so clueless!” It’s good she’s crying it out. She’ll sleep better. “About the dead, about you all. Today, you and me nearly got bitten or killed! Bein’ that close to one, seeing how it wasn’t — oh, Y/N, they aren’t just sick.”

No resentment, no condemnation, just calm agreement. “They aren’t.”

“How could your people have sent him down the well, if they all know what they are, what they can do?”

The vivid memory kick-starts your emotions only enough that your nose twitches in anger, but the moment passes before you feel much. “I was spitting mad at them, too.”

“The thought of what could’ve happened, then or today…” Margaret trails off, so you look to see her shaking her head. “I don’t want my dad to kick your group out.”

Thank you, God. “Me, neither.”

She turns her body toward you and reaches for your hand. “Y/N, will you be there, when I try to talk to him?”

“I can.”

“Daddy likes you. I think you remind him of Beth and me.”

…Say what? “I wouldn’t go quite as far as that,” you tactfully counter with a polite smile.

“Trust me, he does. He’s talked about you to Patricia. Now, I know I asked for your trust about the barn, but—” Her breath hitches. “You kept that trust, I just realized. It was Glenn who told the older man in your group.”

“As Dale would say, ‘the boy has no guile.’” You mimic his accent and manner of speech fairly well! “That’s the highest praise comin’ from him.”

She breathes out heavily and leans back on her hands. You mirror it.

It was a solid debrief. You’d been worried, but you can rest easy on this aspect of today, at least.

Onto the next, you reckon.

Who will it be, Glenn or Shane? Or Dale. Or Rick, you can’t imagine him not wanting to ask you a question or two following this afternoon’s revelation.

The real question is where you’re gonna dig up the energy. You’re d-o-n-e.

Maybe now is when you decide to run away and hide in the Greene’s attic. Ha, or the barn loft, right? Ain’t nobody will look for you there.

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

With Shane

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

In the final minutes of the day's sunshine, your brother appears to have been waiting for you with your hoodie and the wrap for your arm. “Hey. You doing good?”

“Yeah. Tired, real tired.” You accept the hoodie and pull it on, leaving it unzipped.

“Can we talk about earlier right quick?”

The man is gonna have to specify. “When do you mean?” you check, shoving your hands into the pockets and making your way to a spot that looks private and comfortable enough.

“When Andrea and me got back.”

Ah. Right.

Under your breath, you mindlessly correct it to “Andrea and I,” for some reason.

Shane either finds it amusing or is being nice. “You know I love it when you’re a pain the ass, weirdo?”

“I am quite skilled at it.”

He’s smiling but it’s clear he wants to be serious for a minute.

“Alrighty, loser,” you tell him, feeling…nothing. Zen as a statue. “I’m sufficiently buttered up. What about when you and she got back?” The spot you two have chosen is acceptably private. The tree roots aren’t very comfortable, but you manage to find a position that cradles your legs.

Without words, Shane gestures with the wrap to signify he’s going to tie it back on.

“I know that you saw how we, that the way we were actin’, uh,” he struggles with what to say. He pulls the fabric around once, twice. “Dale ain’t talked to you today, right?” He finishes tying the ends of the support wrap. “That too tight?”

“It feels okay. And no, he ain’t talked to me. Why?” You already have an idea of what happened, so it’s silly to beat around the bush. “Did something happen between Andy and you?” you simplify for him.

“Y-Yeah. Yeah, that’s it.”

Hearing it confirmed doesn’t stop the intense disappointment. Even if Lori is pregnant from Rick, which of course she may be, there's still the question. And here Shane is, doing who-knows...

Your inner kettle heats up, but that’s as far as it gets. The stove is broken.

The thing that is sticking out to you, however, was the hesitation in his answer. There’s something he’s holding back. Another secret.

Not that you can judge, not with the two massive secrets you’re withholding from him.

“Dale was pissed about us making googly eyes,” your brother brushes off.

It’s fascinating to feel so passive. You have the oddest sensation as if you’re much, much older, while Shane is much, much younger. Even your tone is oddly mature and reflective. “Dale wouldn’t get mad at y’all making googly eyes, he’d be mad at y’all making babies.”

Shane just throws his hand up and looks away. A smug yet angry smile with a hint of shame. His hand rubs against his buzzcut several times. “It was a heat of the moment decision between two adults.”

Slight nausea comes upon you. 'Heat of the moment' decisions can have lifetime consequences even when there's no new life involved.

You put to him a question that’s been on your mind. “I want to check about them things you said to Lori in the hallway that night.” The night when he flirted with a married, horrified woman. The words, the intonations, every detail is seared into your memory. ‘The only thing I care about now in this world is Y/N, you and Carl. So I, apologize if I appear to be insensitive to the needs of others, but see, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep the three of you safe.’

He becomes more defensive. “Of course the prude would bring that up. Y/N, you know I’m tryin’. What Andrea and I did today might should be a relief.”

A strange sense of foreboding curves around your throat. A slight twinge of fear.

Then, a stronger, stranger notion of pity. You really do feel so old right now, and that he is so, so young. You smile sadly, hoarse when you murmur, “Y-you can be a real stupid boy sometimes, Shaney.”

Curiously, you seeing him lick his teeth in anger just makes you swell with nostalgia. It’s a family trait.

“I’ve made far stupider decisions,” he states.

You lean against him, your brother’s arm tensing initially, but letting go somewhat as you settle. “Did you hear about the pharmacy run today?”

He must be confused at your unusual reactions and responses. After fully relaxing his body, he lightly musses your hair. “Tell me all about it, weirdo. Anythin’ fun?”

“There was a close call,” you begin. "Glenn saved the day."

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

With Glenn

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

Talking it out with Glenn is easy. Usually is; Glenn and you are pretty willing to admit wrongs and learn. And beginning by talking about the happy development with Maggie lead to good feelings all around. Even the part about the pills went smoothly.

“No more secrets between us, okay? I hate that I kept it from you.”

“But I get why you did.” You look at the stars and pull the hood strings tighter. It’s getting nippy. “As for your inability to handle a secret —”

“—Dude.”

You stick out your tongue to drive home that you were only joking. He seemed like he needed to laugh at himself. “For real, though, Shane asked me what the heck you sayin’ Mr. H was teaching you ‘to clean the spark plugs,’ meant. I had no idea what to say except I didn’t know nothing about mechanics.” You do wonder, “Do spark plugs get cleaned?”

“No, but I could literally feel the secret trying to jump out of my throat. ‘Cleaning spark plugs’ was the best I could make up on the spot.”

“No more secrets between us, within reason. I’ll go first.” You close your eyes. “I’m planning to leave with Shane in a week or two.”

There. It’s out.

Glenn was chewing a pretzel stick, but appears to have stopped mid-motion. “Dude — what?”

“We’ll scope out Fort Benning while, while y’all stay safe here.”

“Alone? When in the heck was this decided?”

“Only since we saw the barn, not long.”

He takes a moment. “But you’re coming back?”

Despite feeling at ease, you stutter, “I-I certainly intend to.”

“But what if you die?” he is blunt enough to put to you. “Y/N, after today, I mean — the worst almost happened here, of all places. No where else we’ve found is like this place and still one almost bit you and Maggie!”

“That’s most like why we were so unprepared. Glenn, I genuinely smelled the dead guy and wrote it off as rot in the walls. If Nelly weren’t going berserk…”

The two of you exhale in sync, loudly.

You lay down against the rock you're sitting on, staring at the stars, and remembering how you sat here with Daryl about a week and a half ago and attempted your first (and last) cigarette.

“Well, other than the barn, we barely see walkers anymore.” Glenn probably regrets just having tossed his pretzel stick onto the grass below.

“It’s wonderful here, ain’t it? Feels so like things used to be.”

“It is.”

“And things are fixing to improve when it comes to the barn, so that’s good,” you hope.

He sighs heavily again. “Yeah.”

The Milky Way is starting to become visible. “Do you regret tossin’ your pretzel just now?” you check.

“Yeah. I was mad and — yeah.”

“Do you have another in your pocket?”

“Why would I put pretzels in my pocket?”

“I got more pretzels in my pocket.”

“You what?”

For show, you take one out and pop it into your mouth like it’s a cigar. “I’ll offer you one, unless pocket pretzels are beneath you.”

“So beneath me that I threw mine literally on the grass down there,” he mutters, half-serious, half-joking.

You hand him one. He thanks you and promptly munches down.

“I don’t feel good about you going.”

“Me neither,” you speak plainly. Everything feels simple and inconsequential right now. “But it’s gotta be done.”

“Why?”

“Things will go better if Shane ain’t here while things are uncertain. And Fort Benning was the destination we had in mind anyway,” you quip as if this were a simple matter. You sort of sound like a therapist or a caseworker. “Best see if it’s an option or not.”

“Would it really be that bad if he found out about the barn?”

“I would not risk that. If it comes down to what he sees as protectin’ me or Carl, he will do what it takes even if it shreds his soul. You saw him at the CDC, man.”

His strong huff signals his frustration. “Daryl went crazy down there, too. Who’s gonna be here to stop him from taking matters into his own hands if you go?”

Hm, you hadn’t considered what Daryl’s reaction to the barn might entail. Perhaps because he’s not actually threatening to anyone here.

“You’d be the one who could tone him down,” Glenn goes on.

“Oh, yes?” you fill in with mild amusement.

“Oh yes.”

“I must remind you that Daryl can’t put up much of a fight right now.”

Done and zen as you may be, Glenn keeps pushing about you leaving. “Dale will be so upset. Even though I’m obviously his favorite,” he adds, probably to make things feel lighter.

“And we both know Andrea is his tip top favorite. So, his third favorite leaves awhile, no biggie. I’ll be back.” That’s when you remember. “Oh my. I forgot how Andy might come, I’m sorry.”

Glenn turns so upset that he begins to shout.

“What the hell, dude? This is —” He doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands other than manhandle the pretzel stick. “What else have you been keeping secret like this, Y/N?”

He’s had a long day, too. This whole middle-school sharing circle you’ve got going may have been better left to another time when you both aren’t so thoroughly done that you’re overcooked. “Perhaps that’s enough for now?” you suggest.

“Oh my gosh, that means there is more!” He flops himself backward and lays the way you are, throwing his arms above his head.

How else would you respond than by chuckling like a wizened old hillbilly? You have to say, this is a sweet deal, having emotional reactions on standby instead of feeling them at full power.

It’s nice to find humor in stressful things, as if you’d lived through 2 wars and now sell wildflowers and shine on the roadside. “Not every secret is bad, sometimes just ain’t our business. I keep secrets because I’d want mine kept. I want to be trustworthy,” you point out with a small grin. “If you feel the urge to tell anyone about us leaving, Lori already knows. She’s safe to go to.”

“Thank you,” he groans. He’s quiet a few moments. “Do you trust me?”

“With my life.”

The stars are coming out. More and more they’re able to be seen as the final hues of purple on the horizon deepen to black.

“Even though I suck at secrets?” Glenn checks.

“Yes. I trust you with my life just like you trust me with yours,” you remind him. The position you’re in is uncomfortable, so you adjust. “Besides, it seems you only got issues with secrets that have weight to ’em. Bad secrets. You’re an honest soul, where’s the fault there?”

“The fault is in not keeping my freaking mouth shut when things aren’t my business.”

“As if you ain’t talking to a hothead who can’t keep it shut, neither?” you lilt, still smiling to yourself, carefree and d-o-n-e. Ooh, that last part rhymes!

“That’s different.”

You nudge him. “Let’s trade, then. You can be the firebrand, I’ll be the lovable one.”

“So, I get that you’re, like, self conscious about everything you do,” he mumbles. “But really, you aren’t that big a hothead. And I think that you leaving will make things worse.”

It takes you moment. “Glenn.” You flip onto your side. It makes your shoulder pinch a little and the bruise on your sternum complain, but not too much. “Way to smack me upside the head with the kindest possible words you could.”

“Dude, I’m not okay with this,” he groans into his hands. “I don’t want you to leave, you’re literally my best friend. Like, even if you weren’t, you’re cool to have around. Even Maggie’s dad seems to like you.”

You have to giggle at that part. “You have Maggie’s declaration of love, I have her daddy’s begrudged acceptance as a new farmyard nuisance.” Mm, it feels good to laugh. “Glenn, are you by any chance tryin’ to butter me up, too?”

He shakes his head. “I’m not making this up. But, like, if guilting you into staying works, it works. Wait, who else was buttering you up?”

“Shane.”

Did he just tut? “What’d he do, now?” Glenn probably didn’t mean to sound so disgusted, either.

“He didn’t do nothing.”

“Except a few days ago when he did.”

If your emotional range were at a normal level, you’d have gotten huffy. But, seeing as you don’t have that, you don’t react at all.

Now, the incident with Shane about which Glenn is referring was very out of place. True, you’d been seeing someone you didn’t recognize in your brother more and more in his actions for months at that point. What he did almost felt like a long time coming, if you’re being perfectly frank. Yet, it was still not him. It was still very out of place. And since then, for the past couple days, Shane has been fully back.

“What you saw was not like him,” you emphasize. Doubts ripple your thoughts but you merely view them with consideration, not dread. Everything is as chill as can be right now to you.

“To be honest, I don’t care.” Glenn is somewhat less chill. “He blew up like that, end of story.”

“It was a lapse. Small, too.” How nice it is to remain tranquil like this. If the walkers busted down the barn doors, you’d merely sigh and calmly find a weapon.

“I’m gonna say it again. Things like that start small.”

You understand and appreciate his warning, truly. You’d be cautious of the same if you were in Glenn’s place. ���Will you allow for mistakes and change in others?”

“Y/N, I’m just so — I don’t know what I’m even feeling about this right now, okay? But it’s bad, it’s not good, and I hate that you’re gonna go and this day has been insane!”

“Then let’s take a breather.” So zen, so immovable, so d-o-n-e… “Picture you got a teakettle what’s starting to whistle. What do you do?”

“Um, uh — turn off the heat and pour the water, I guess — why are you asking this?” he wonders, audibly confused and irritated.

“It’s a helpful image to cool your thoughts.”

“Yeah, so, the way you’ve been talking this whole conversation is like you’re Mr. Miyagi or like, Galadriel. Why do you sound like that?”

You crack up. “I dunno. I started to feel like this after what went on with Lori earlier. It’s like hearing underwater, but instead of sound, it’s emotions.”

“So…you mean your emotions aren’t working right? That seems…” He decides on a word. “Bad. Like, trauma stuff.”

“Whatever it is, it’s a break. I’ll take it. Today, I’m done.”

“It does sound kinda nice,” he admits. “Dude, I’m so done, too.”

“D-o-n-e.”

“D-o-n-e.”

If you aren’t mistaken, there’s an owl hooting nearby.

“You went through the wringer today, too, Glenn.” He may not have had the close call this time, but he saved you and Maggie from yours. Glenn gets it, he’s no stranger to being almost bitten. “Did it happen to you when they lowered you down that well? I think I remember you seemin’ off.”

“I remember having nightmares the whole night. And th—actually, yeah,” Glenn recalls. “I sort of felt super, like, light? Just, like, out-of-it.”

“And after the CDC,” you muse. “It was as if we was all diluted a bit.”

“Ugh.” Glenn runs his hands through his hair. “It took days until things felt okay again after that. Though, like,” he adjusts his position and rests his hands on his stomach. “The pop from the explosion messed up my balance a little, so that played a part. And the ringing in the ears wasn’t fun.”

“Mm.” What a hell of a day that had been. Dale still doesn’t have full hearing in one of his ears yet.

As you look at the stars beginning to come out, you think to yourself how, after that hell of a day, you distinctly remember having been filled with a deep, strong sense of clarity. Of purpose. It really helped temper the heartbreak.

“It makes sense to me that, after things like close calls,” you slowly describe, “things might can get put into perspective. Like a needed grace for gettin’ through times like that.”

“Yes, sensei.”

Tranquil as can be, you press thumbs to pointer fingers in a meditation pose and try to make your voice sound huskier and wiser. “You’re a buttface, young nutcracker.”

Glenn snorts so hard he basically does a sit-up.

That’s interesting, why is he laughing so hard? Is he that overtired?

Eventually, you hear him wheeze, “Grasshopper! It’s ‘young grasshopper!’”

Ah, that would do it. ‘Nutcracker’ did seem a mite irregular. Oops.

Well, it’s good that he’s entertained, he needed a good laugh.

“So the student becomes the master, my young padawan,” you might as well add.

“Padawan is Star Wars.”

“I know.” Smiling, you suggest, “Let’s call it a night?”

“Heck yeah, sensei, let’s call it a night.”

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

With the Grimes

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

As Glenn and you are walk back from the big rocks, Teddy and Carol appear to be making their way to them. You have an inkling it’s for a smoke break.

T-Dog doesn’t smoke much, but you’ve seen him doing so on occasion (and all but twice it’s been with Daryl). Carol you caught smoking just once. You hope Daryl didn’t get T-Dog back into it, but the fact that those two have become friends is a huge development which no one saw coming. If cigarettes played a part in him unlearning his racism, so be it, it’s a win.

Teddy, Carol, Rick, and Jimmy did their extended search today. You can only imagine how much Carol must need to debrief. Her grieving is being stretched and dangled before her. Hell, if she wants a cigarette, give the woman a cigarette.

“What are you spacing out about?”

Blinking out of your thoughts, you answer Carl. “Mrs. Peletier and Sophia.”

You’re at the campfire with all the Grimes. As tempting as sneaking off to some unfindable place like the barn loft is, you’d never get the smell of walkers out of your nose if you did, among other awful possibilities.

“If you start to have nightmares, you can wake me up, okay? I’ll keep my walkie on.” Carl taps a pocket on his cargoes which is housing the pink walkie-talkie that Sophia had used. “Want me to check whatever part it almost bit?”

You lean over to touch your forehead to his, then unzip your hoodie, tug your sleeve up, and show him your perfectly unscathed forearm. He does a thoughtful exam in the firelight, even scooting off to get his flashlight to aid in the inspection. You know there’s nothing there, but it’s also about his peace of mind.

Lori and Carl soon head to bed, leaving you and Rick.

"Glenn told me about the pharmacy, the walker."

"He probably minimized the part where he full-stop saved us both, Maggie and I. If someone find canned bacon again, he's earned at least half the can."

His eyes glisten. With the arm closest to you, he reaches to cup the back of your neck and tells you how relieved he is that nothing worse happened and that you're okay.

Then, he inclines his head and begins to say, “I wan—” but Shane comes and sits beside you, two spoons and the rest of the jar of peanut butter in hand. One spoon is for you, and he and Rick pick up the conversation.

You can’t help but think this is the calm before the storm.

But, perhaps things will go smoothly when Lori’s news becomes public knowledge. Perhaps it’ll make going away easier — going to scope out a new place as permanent and safe, like Shane hopes Fort Benning will be. After all, the Shane you know would want to do what’s in his power to help his best friend keep Lori safe.

“Shane, is that the salt shaker?” Carol asks. She’s back from wherever she and T-Dog went. Her eyes look wet and red.

T-Dog doesn’t look too cheerful himself, but cracks up nonetheless. “The pepper shaker. Y’all ain’t seen how those two do that?” That man’s grin could melt ice, you swear. “Y/N once had the audacity to claim it ‘elevates pb&j.’”

“Hell yeah it do.” Shane tips the shaker downward to sprinkle it into the remnants of the peanut butter jar.

With zero embarrassment, you agree, “It real yummy. Wanna try some before it’s gone?”

This snack is not that unusual, right?

…Right?

“Don’t risk it Carol. I once heard them two Walshes mention craving they mother’s pineapple casserole.That tells you a lot.”

Rick leaps in to defend it, albeit with humor. “Don’t go knocking ’til you’ve tried it.”

“Pineapple casserole wasn’t even at one church potluck, Teddy? Are you even from the south?” you tease, still zen as can be. ~Om~

Carol’s smile is small but not forced. “Did she make it with a Ritz crust?” she asks you kindly.

“Mama liked to use corn flakes.” You begin to twiddle with the wrap around your arm. “She'd do it up with seasonings.”

“And Dog, you would not believe how good it goes with ham and bacon,” Shane insists, scraping the sides of the jar to get as many dregs onto his spoon as he can.

T-Dog has only one thing to say: “At times like this, I find the blessing in the collapse of civilization.”

This presents to you as the perfect spot to call it a night for yourself. Seems like someone is D-O-N-E!

Beaming at the prospect of kicking this day goodbye (no, not ‘kissing.’ Kicking.), you bid those still around the fire goodnight, throw a peace sign to Andrea where she’s coming back from a walk, and then fully intend to go to your tent.

From your left, you hear someone step out of the RV.

“Kiddo, are you heading to bed?

You turn to answer Dale. “Yeah…”

…It seems you’re not d-o-n-e, judging by how Dale is looking at you. Is it serious what he wants to talk about? His expression indicates that he’s clearly concerned about something. Probably to do with the barn. Damn that barn.

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

With Dale

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

“Y/N, before you call it a night, can we talk a minute?” Shane calls before Dale says anything.

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

With Shane again

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

“Shane, I’m so done with today that I’m overcooked,” you grumble once you’re far enough away to feel comfortable doing so. “What’s up? I think Mr. H was about to ask me something before you whisked me off, now I feel impolite.”

“When Dale and I spoke, I said some things he might take the wrong way.”

So it was intentional, whisking you away before Dale had the chance. Oh, Shaney, what did you say?

“You know I love Rick.”

Curious thing to bring up. “He’s our brother.”

“I’d never hurt him.”

“And when you said what you said to Lori, it was a lapse. I know you.”

“Y/N, I love that man. He is my brother. Dale is under the impression that I — Y/N, I’m askin’ you to trust me on this.”

Everyone wants that today, it seems.

“Dale is under the impression that he saw me aim my gun at Rick.”

Through your absence of emotion shoots a cold chill up your spine. You walk a few paces without responding. “When does he think he saw that happen?”

“Must’ve been, uh,” he fumbles, agitated. “I’d say sometime when we was lookin’ for Sophia, I guess.”

He’s lying again.

You know him when he’s lying. This is one of those times. Like when he lied about Otis during the funeral. Why he lied was clear, he wanted to put the family at ease and give them peace. This time, he must be trying to do the same for you?

As if you were merely an observer with no stakes or heart in the game, you remain placid. “When was Dale with y’all? He was never with the two of you for a search.”

“Listen, I don’t know, maybe it was back at the quarry before any of that,” he cuts in. “All I know is he’s gonna try and use that.”

Shane talking too fast and bringing up that the incident may have been as as far back as the quarry means that it was indeed as far back as the quarry. Rick would have recently returned, he’d only been there two or three days before it was overrun…and Shane would still have been in love with Lori.

You think back and conclude it would have been the very small window of time when the Rick and Shane would have been scouting in the woods, after that solitary walker had wandered into the camp bounds. The kids came across it when it was eating the deer Daryl had hunted.

For clarification, you quote, “‘Use’ it?”

“He doesn’t trust me or like me, never really has. Wants me gone. Hell, he told me to go. You, on the other hand, he acts like you’re the apple of his eye.”

In another circumstance that didn’t involve your brother being disliked, it would warm you to hear that a man like Dale thinks of you paternally. Not this circumstance. “Even Mr. Horvath can be a downright idiot if he don’t see you how I do,” you say in earnest.

“Y/N, I —” In his way, Shane rubs his hand on his head back and forth against the peach fuzz he has left after buzzing his hair off. And he looks all around without picking a spot, both sure signs he’s riled in some way, grasping for an answer.

If you could feel much of anything, you’d be feeling…you aren’t sure. But something in you knows what’s coming. You know what he’s about to tell you and you wish it weren’t so.

He confesses it: “Y/N, I did aim at him. I held him there.”

The nausea sweeps back in. It’s not too strong, kudos to your current mental state for keeping things on power-saver. Another grace to get through this day that won’t end.

“He also thinks that when Otis and—”

“—Did you fire?” You want to nip in the bud whatever his survivor’s guilt is gonna claim about what happened that night with Otis. You’re done. So done. “At Ricky, did you fire?” you repeat.

Not expecting a follow-up question with such an obvious answer, he flounders. His eyes shine in what little moonlight there is. He won’t look at you directly.

“Well then,” you continue. “Seems you had a bad thought, fought it, and dismissed it. Basic Morality 101, you overcame the bad thought. And let me guess; he brought it up, you got defensive and said some stuff what sounded tough and scary.” Seriously, you’re fucking done. “We’re both leavin’ in a week or so, anyway, so after you apologize, Mr. H will have ample time to wise up and think better on you before we come back.”

Are you feeling anger again? Is this your emotions kicking back on?

And why ain’t your brother saying nothing?

“I’m tired, Shane. I-I'm done.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, as if this whole revelation were some big tragedy.

Yes, you are starting to get angry again. Lord above, you’re done!

“For what? Doin’ the right thing?” D-O-N-E. “No harm, no foul, Shane. Screw Mr. H if he’s too stupid to understand that the struggle ain’t sinful, the consent is.”

You watch as he squeezes the bridge of his nose at the spot between his eyes.

No, you do not have the patience to wait for him to say anything in return.

“Walk back with me, please, unless you’re fixing to stay out here and get ticks all over.”

And, no, you do not wait for him to join, either. You take off and don’t care overmuch if he’s following. You need to have a little chat with Dale, so whatever remaining time is left until your feelings jump-start fully again, you’ll need.

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

With Dale Still with Shane

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

“—Y/N, don’t talk to him tonight. Wait on things.”

Oh, your brother has finally decided to use his words? “Can it.”

D. O. N. E.

“Come on now, kettle off the burner, kid,” he calls.

“I said can it!”

"I don't know why you're so upset, Y/N, but I d—"

"—It's been a long day." You have not broken pace in your storm toward the RV. "Almost fucking died, for one." And you can't tell Shane any more of it, minus the part he knows about the walker.

There are too many secrets and you don't know what to do other than demand to know why Dale hates Shane so much. Shane is your family, your heart!

“Y/N,” Shane next warns. “As much as I’d love to see you chew the old man out, you won’t like yourself if you do. You know that, you ain’t stupid.”

Those words break your pace. You slow. Turn.

Your throat tightens and you swallow.

Before, you’d felt as if you were the older one, much more older. Now, you’ve swapped. You feel helpless and small and stupid. The lack of strong emotions is somehow making it worse. “H-how am I gonna sleep if I don’t? Shane, I-I need to sleep, I need this day to be done. I'm done.”

“But you won’t sleep a wink if you go to him now, upset and angry. Wait 'til the morning.”

He’s right.

The thoughts race, race, race. Too many hidden things.

The baby. The barn. Shane giving you a bruise because he blew up. This new secret that he held a gun at his best friend, his brother.

What can you do with all this? You’re so fucking done!

God. Fucking take all this! I can't!, you inwardly shout, frustrated, angry, scared yet not able to feel much more than exhausted. Until you can't quite seem to breathe enough.

"Y/N, hey, shh. Whoa there, it's all good. Don't panic," you hear him saying.

His arms fold around you in an embrace that you don't resist one bit. You want him to be the one to somehow fix it all. He has been such a cause of fear and stress, so all you want is for him to fix it all and prove your fears false.

The way he releases the hug so he can apply firm pressure to your torso is something your mother used to do. A sensory calming trick.

It does the job. Soon, you've eased. Your breathing gets back to normal. The exhaustion returns as the panic fades. A feeling of wanting to hide your face. "I'm so tired, Shane. I want to be done."

You look at his creased brow, his set jaw. The hardness melting when he sees that you've calmed. It's Shane, not the stranger you'd been seeing in him.

How is it possible to love someone so completely despite them being the cornerstone of all your fears? Or, is that normal? Are you an idiot? Or are you just overtired...

“Let’s get those earbuds in, play you some music, alright?” Your big brother curls his arm around your shoulders and gently guides you back to the tents. "The day's done, so you're done," he soothes. “D-o-n-e.”

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

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[reveryfics]

Supply Run

Glenn Rhee x Male Reader

Summary: A typical supply run leads to a puzzling circumstance

A/N: Requests open. Reader is mute

TW: Slight Violence - Blood

The splintered wood groaned as you wrenched at the beam, the rusty nails screaming in protest. You hauled, your muscles burning, the sweat slicking your palms. Each pull was a desperate gamble, the fear of attracting unwanted attention a cold knot in your stomach. Finally, with a violent, jarring rip, the beam tore free. You staggered, nearly losing your balance, the rough wood digging into your skin. You shoved the beam aside, the clatter echoing too loudly in the unnerving silence. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the stillness.

You jammed the flashlight between your teeth, the cool metal a small comfort in the growing darkness. The jagged edge of the broken window frame threatened to snag your clothes, another potential noise, another potential disaster. You squeezed through, the glass crunching beneath your boots, and the stale, musty air of the abandoned store filled your lungs. Panic tightened its icy grip. Every creak, every rustle, sounded like a horde of the dead descending.

Your fingers tightened around the Bowie knife, the cold steel a desperate extension of your trembling hand. You moved through the aisles, a ghost in the dim light, your eyes darting, searching. The few walkers inside were dispatched with brutal efficiency, each sickening thud a stark reminder of the world outside. You worked with a frantic urgency, shoving canned food and first aid supplies into your pack. The weight of the supplies was a small reassurance, but the fear gnawed at you, a constant, gnawing dread.

Then, the unmistakable metallic click, the hammer cocking, sliced through the tense silence. Your blood ran cold. You froze, every muscle rigid, the air thick with dread.

"Drop the bag, and your weapon," a gruff, southern voice commanded. The words echoed in the cavernous space, each syllable a death knell. Your stomach churned, a nauseating wave of despair washing over you. All those miles, all those close calls, and now, it was ending here, in this dusty, forgotten store. You knew, deep down, that there was no way to explain, no way to plead your case. They wouldn't understand. They couldn't.

Despite the crushing weight of hopelessness, you slowly, deliberately, lowered your pack to the floor. The metallic clang of the knife hitting the concrete was deafening. You raised your hands, your palms clammy, your fingers trembling. You turned, your movements slow, deliberate, a silent plea for mercy.

Three figures stood before you, their faces etched with suspicion and distrust. The older man's eyes held a chilling emptiness, a coldness that made your skin crawl. The younger kid, his face unreadable, shifted nervously. The Asian man's eyes flickered with a hint of unease, a flicker of something you couldn't quite place.

You were bombarded with questions, a rapid-fire barrage of words you couldn't process. Your mind was a whirlwind of panic, the gun barrel a dark, looming threat. You didn't even register the words until the cold steel pressed against your forehead.

"Did you hear a damn thing I said?" the man demanded, his voice laced with menace.

You shook your head, your body trembling uncontrollably, your eyes wide with terror. You tried to move your hands, to sign, to communicate, to beg for understanding, but the gun pressed harder, a brutal, unyielding force.

Each question was met with a silent shake of your head, each denial fueling the man's rage. You could feel the tension building, the air crackling with impending violence. Every moment stretched into an eternity, the seconds ticking by like the countdown to your execution.

He could pull the trigger, end it all in an instant. The thought was both terrifying and strangely tempting, a release from the constant fear. Maybe that's why the tears started, a desperate, silent release. Or maybe it was the sheer, suffocating frustration of being trapped, misunderstood, condemned without a word.

Just as his finger tightened on the trigger, the Asian man stepped forward, his voice a soft, desperate plea. "Rick, I think he's mute," he whispered, his eyes fixed on your frantic attempts at signing, your silent, desperate gestures.

The gun dropped slightly, the tension momentarily easing. You collapsed to your knees, your body shaking with violent tremors, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The world spun, the floor tilting beneath you, and then, a searing pain exploded in your nose.

You raised a trembling hand, your fingers slick with blood, and looked up. Rick's fist was a blur, a brutal, sickening impact.

"Rick!" the Asian man shouted, his voice filled with horror. He watched as Rick grabbed your pack, his movements cold and efficient. "You can't just leave him here!"

"Yes, we can, Glenn. Now let's go," Rick growled, his voice devoid of emotion.

Glenn watched them walk away, his gaze shifting between them and your crumpled form. He hesitated, his face a mask of conflict, then, with a sigh, he hoisted you over his shoulder.

The world flickered back into focus, a blurry tableau of rough fabric and swaying movement. Your head throbbed, a dull, persistent ache, and the metallic tang of blood filled your nostrils. You blinked, trying to clear the fog from your mind, and saw Glenn’s face, his expression a mix of concern and apology. He gently lowered you to a makeshift cot, the rough canvas scratching against your skin.

He began to sign, his hands moving with practiced fluidity. “I’m so sorry,” he signed, his brow furrowed. “Rick… he doesn’t always… I tried to stop him. I know it doesn’t excuse what happened. You're in Alexandria. I hope… I hope we can make this right.”

You stared at him, your eyes burning with a mixture of pain and anger. Your hands flew, your signs sharp and furious. “You stood there! You watched! He almost killed me! You waited until the last second!”

Glenn’s face fell, his expression contrite. He nodded slowly, his hands signing, “I know. I was… I was scared. But I’m trying to help you now.”

Despite the burning resentment, you felt a flicker of something akin to forgiveness. You signed, “Fine. But don’t let it happen again.”

After a moment of silence, Glenn signed, “We should get you cleaned up. I can take you to where I’m staying. You’ll need to change before we meet Deanna.”

As you walked, Glenn continued to sign, explaining the situation, the community, the people. You signed back, your hands moving with a fluid grace that belied the pain in your face. “I’ve been alone since the beginning,” you signed. “Maybe… maybe this won’t be so bad.”

He nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "I think you'll like it."

Suddenly, Rick stepped into your path, his eyes narrowed, his expression hard. “I don’t trust him,” he said, his voice laced with suspicion. “We don’t know who he is.”

You stopped, your anger flaring. Without a word, you lunged forward, your fist connecting with Rick’s jaw with a sickening thud. He staggered backward, his eyes wide with shock, and you followed through, driving him to the ground. You straddled him, your eyes burning with a cold fury.

Your hands flew, signing with a vicious intensity, “Suck my cock, you cop bitch.” You punctuated your statement with a spit that landed inches from his face.

Glenn grabbed your arm, pulling you away. “Hey, hey! That’s enough!” he said, his voice a mix of exasperation and amusement. He pushed you gently forward, urging you to continue walking. “Come on, let’s go.”

As you walked away, Glenn chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. “You’ll fit in great,” he said, his eyes twinkling.

[terranovathemust]

Who would you choose among these four, as the protagonist for a spin-off of TWDG?

[empanadasdepinos]

more sketches cs i love these weirdos too much