Just a collection of Walking Dead Imagines written by Yours Truly. I take requests. Enjoy lovely :)
These are for boys and girls who love The Walking Dead, I make these myself so they are copyrighted.
Most of the first are Carl because this was ori...
PROMPT Two men wander into your refuge and somehow you're the bad guy... [Set in early season four. Requested by Hummingbird722 ]
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"Okay, George, I'm hoping you can help me with this one. Where did I put the watermelon?" Bright orbs gazed down at the brown stuffed monkey propped on the counter. You tilted your head at George, the stuffed monkey, and an estranged laugh left your mouth.
"Oh." You whispered, the breath knocking out of your chest. "I know. You're a stuffed monkey." The taste of deliria shook you for a second, causing you to believe that the crashing of the door was all in your head. Your head snapped to the front door, which was being slammed from the outside. "Oh shit!" You hissed louder than intended. With racking fear sizzling over you, you swiped the gun off of the counter and skidded across the marble floor to the front door. The front door rattled slightly once more, causing a gasp to escape your lips. Almost as if there were something pummeling against it.
"Oh, shit..." You cursed once more, eyes widened as you watched. Inside your mind, the clock ticked on how long it would take for the door to swing open. Was this stupid? Waiting with a loaded gun? It had been so long since you had seen another human...What? Was this excitement forming in your chest? Excitement or just horrible, horrible fear?
With the blink of an eye, the door flew open and a silhouette entered the house. They only made it an inch or two before freezing. He stared at the gun in your hands and his jaw clenched. He moved his head to the side, out of the way from his eyes. "Ya gon shoot me, or what?" He bellowed, his voice gruff. A breath escaped your lips from the sheer shock of hearing someone else's voice. Once you had gotten your shit together, you replied, with the intensity you'd hoped for playing out in your voice.
He looked shaggy, with long greasy strands of hair and an upturned face. He wore a black vest and unintentionally ripped jeans. However, most interesting of all was the subtle hint of fear displayed on his face, almost as if he were trying to pretend otherwise.
"Depends if you turn around, walk out that door and leave me on your merry way." You bit back, spite and amazement filling your voice all at once.
He chuckled, which caused alarm bells to ring in your head.
"See, that ain't gon' happen. Up the street, by the stream...S'all you can see. Enough of em' to tear you and me apart. Feel like living?" His voice was thick with a southern accent, making you on edge. Voices, people, sarcasm. All things you hadn't encountered in a very long while. He must have been talking about the stream up the street...and it must have been filled with the biters. You hadn't been that far up in a while.
"W-what?" The sky behind him had turned a pinky colour, and the moon was visibly peeking from behind an abundance of clouds.
"Ya heard me. S'the only shelter for miles. Ain't nowhere else. So ya gon lower that gun a' yours." He barks. You tilt your head, surprised to find yourself smiling.
