cloudsofgray

[cloudsofgray]

﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾

Splintered ch 2

This took way longer than I wanted it to, but here it is!

Also posted to ao3 if you prefer reading there:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/66247660

Tag list: @alexandritehethey

﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾

Red

All Shane could see was red.

Lying on the damp forest floor after what should of been the end. The end for one and the beginning for another. Sunlight peaking from the tops of trees was an insult. Buzzing flies and wind howling through branches like taunting laughter. No one to greet him when he woke but a throbbing, pinching pain from his face. A reminder of last night's reckoning.

He sat up with a pained grunt, taking in his surroundings—as well as one could with one good eye. The other being sealed shut from the river of blood and swelling that shrouded the right side of his face.

Not wasting any time, he got up and started walking, not wanting to be near the farm for another second.

Where he was planning to go he didn't know, logic wasn't a factor at that moment.

—The crack of a twig.

He swung around, hand instinctively reaching for his empty waistband.

He stilled, jaw tightening when he saw it.

A lone deer, large ears twitching, breath fogging the brisk air.

Familiar. That same quiet stillness right before everything shattered that one day.

A deer, a ripping gunshot, and a boy fighting for life on the forest floor.

No time to brace. Just the past ripping through the now.

He didn't think, he just turned. Heading back the way he came.

One boot after the other, tearing up ground with each stride, not even sure of his own intentions.

Not making it too far last night before collapsing, he soon stumbles accross yesterday's mess.

A mangled heap of walkers and leaves laid over the disturbed ground.

Shane stared at them, breath catching. The rot in the air was thick, fresh.

And just like that, it came rushing back.

The forest. Ricks voice. Pounding hearts. Anger brewing—spilling over the edge until reason ran dry.

The first punch.

The crack of knuckles on jaw. The sound it made. The way the world narrowed. The way he stopped caring.

Then the shove.

The fall.

The walkers.

His name, shouted, once in panic.

And then nothing.

Scanning the area, something caught his eye, a glint in the leaves. Dropping to his knees to inspect, he discovered his gun—T-dog's gun. Still there after all that happened last night. Picking up the glock 17, he pops open the mag to see how many bullets were left before shoving it into his waistband.

After an uneventful walk, he neared the tree line. Stepping out he could see the barn. What's left of it, that is. Ash and charred planks where all that remained—the rv in just as bad of shape. Walkers all around, this time truly dead.

Cautiously moving towards the house, he started to see scattered belongings, signs of panic, and many more bodies.

Everything quiet.

Nothing but death.

Shell casings littered the ground in front of the porch.

He stumbled up the stairs, desperate to find some comfort behind a closed door.

Just as he was making his way up, steps creaking, he heard something.

-A pained exhale, weak but audible, coming from the right of the house.

Retreating back down the stairs, he made his way around, hand on his gun

Nearing the sound, a sour, metallic odour invaded his nose.

Then he saw it—he saw her.

Torn to shreds, completely unrecognizable if it weren't for her golden locks, strewn across the ground where she lay.

Maybe Beth.... or Patricia.

Too disfigured to tell, yet somehow the virus persisted.

Snapping teeth, and furrowed brows were all that moved.

He stared.

Just for a second.

Long enough for a twisting feeling to well up in his gut, threatening to break through.

It wasn't Carl. Wasn't Lori. That's all that mattered.

Back to the house.

The door groaned as it was pushed open, and then closed behind him.

He made his way through, looking for any sign they got out—that they were ok.

Couch cushions sprawled on the living room floor; clothes dropped in panic; cupboards hung open and bare, their cans sparsely fallen to the white floor below.

Proof that they had a shred of time to prepare.

To see what was coming.

Walking upstairs, each step creaked beneath his weight, now loud in a home that used to be so full of voices.

A nod to the fact he was alone.

He kept trying to feel something. Anything.

Rage, relief, guilt. But everything inside him felt stuck.

Jammed into a confined space, like a round that won't fire.

Everyone was gone.

Not knowing where they were, if they made it, just that they weren't here.

That hurt.

Maybe more than he thought it would.

Not because they were gone.

Because they left him behind.

Empty bedrooms.

Each door was like a picture frame.

Frozen snapshots of what was.

A shirt draped over a chair, an unmade bed.

Depending on how he stood—what angle he peered from—what he saw changed.

A step to the left and there was a clean floor, a corner of a bed. Two steps right, and there were scattered items, an open dresser of clothes that couldn't be carried.

Warmth turned to absence.

Stepping in he was greeted by a vanity.

Neat and put together, unlike its surroundings.

To the right, the bathroom stood ajar.

He pushed it open.

The mirror above the porcelain white sink was nearly gone—jagged shards still stuck to the frame in uneven pieces, like teeth.

He stepped closer, catching his reflection in a dozen splintered fragments.

Not the man he was. Not the man he wanted to be.

Just what was left when both were gone.

One shard.

Bigger than the rest—a triangle to the left of the mirror—held the illusion of normalcy.

The left side of his face, relatively untouched. Sunken, tired and dirty, but him.

A slight turn of his head and the other side was revealed. Split skin, eye swollen shut, the angry, deep gash from Rick's blade. Crusted and raw.

Two versions of him, side by side.

One he knew.

One he was just beginning to recognize.

[cloudsofgray]

Finally done chapter 2!!! It took way longer than i wanted it to, but i love it.

It'll be my next post if you wanna give it a read. It's also going on ao3 if you prefer reading there. :)

[cloudsofgray]

Im back in the notes app yall! Splintered chapter 2 is in the works.

So thankfull for the support the first chapter got. Here and on ao3. It may be small but i seriously appreciate every single like or comment.

Im so happy i started writing.

[cloudsofgray]

Just got my ao3 invitation the other night!

cloudsof_gray over there if you wanna check it out

Have both fics posted there already. :)

[cloudsofgray]

﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾

Splintered ch 1

Shane walsh alternative ending

So, Shane actually lives in this one. Major plot twist! Set in season 2 ep 12. I borrowed some dialogue from the show but threw in my own stuff too. Honestly, writing this chapter took way longer than I thought because I basically had to choreograph a whole fight scene. Who knew writing about people hitting eachother was so hard? But i'm so proud of how it turned out.

This is just the start. I’m hoping to turn it into a series focusing on Shane and everything that happens after this. Buckle up! heres an ao3 link if you prefer to read there

https://archiveofourown.org/works/66247660

﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾⫘﴿﴾

Woods— Evening

"Randall's not the only threat out there. Keep an eye out for each other."

With that final ask, the group splits off into pairs—Daryl and Glenn heading right, Rick and Shane going left.

The two of them walk through the dim woods, only sound between them being the chirping of crickets and the crunching of leaves under boots. After a stretch of silence, Rick spoke.

"Looks like it's busted pretty bad." he said, nodding towards Shane's mangled nose.

"It's fine, man. Don't worry 'bout me." Shane replied, avoiding Rick's eyes.

Without letting the moment linger, he moves ahead, leading the way deeper into the trees.

Questions looped in Rick's mind.

How did Randall slip his cuffs?

How in his condition, did he get the jump on Shane?

What was Shane doing over there in the first place?

Why would Randall risk a fight for a gun when he could've just ran?

His stomach turned as they walked. Not wanting to believe his friend—his brother would lie about that.

They were nearing the last stretch of brush. Through thinning trees, a grassy field could be seen. Before they could reach it Shane stops.

"Does this way feel right?" Rick asked, brows furrowed.

Shane didn't answer right away. Shoulders stiff, back tense.

Without turning around, he spoke. Low and flat.

"You don't trust me."

Ricks stomach lurched.

"What are you talkin' about?" he asked carefully.

"The kid." Shane said, finally turning to face him. It was dark but Rick could still see the growing swelling on his nose, the look in his eyes. "You think i'm a liar, that I planted him out here."

Rick didn't answer.

Shane took a step closer, voice slightly rising. "Go on, say it. Ever since that day in Merit County you've been lookin' at me like i'm some kinda threat.

"That isn't true."

"The hell it ain't!" Shane snapped, coming closer, reaching for the gun in his belt. "You think I don't notice the way you act when i'm around?" he takes a breath. "Around Lori. Around Carl, like I ain't already put my life on the line for every single person in that house." he gestures.

Tension builds and Rick hovers over his knife as they slowly start to circle. Just in case.

"Shane." he said slowly, trying to reason. "We can talk this through. But not here, not like this."

"Talk. Thats all you ever have Rick, words. You think l'm the problem? Truth is i've been the one keeping everyone alive while you play sheriff." Shane's breaths becoming more frequent. "I did what I had to do. And yeah, i handled it my way, but you? You're always two steps behind until its too damn late."

Rick heart starts to pound against his chest as he's starting to realize this is bigger than just Randall.

More aggravated, Shane continues. "I'm a better father than you Rick. Im better for Lori than you, man. It's cause im a better man than you, Rick. Cause I can be here and i'll fight for it. But you, you come back here and you just destroy everything!"

The sting of his words are a slap in the face to Rick, but he stays silent.

"You got a broken woman. You got a weak boy. You ain't got the first clue on how to fix it.

After a brief pause, Rick finally speaks. "Watch my hand, nice and easy." he says as he reaches for his gun, Shane gripping his tighter. Rick holds it out—not as a a threat, but as plea to stop this.

"Listen to me Shane,

There is still a way back from this. We're gonna lay down our guns—"

Suddenly there's a snarl. Too close.

Something slams into Shane from behind.

A walker.

The impact sends him stumbling forward, gun slipping from his grasp, landing somewhere in the mess of leaves and twigs.

He whips around just quick enough to catch the ugly creature by the upper arms, both falling backwards, wind stolen from Shane's lungs from the impact.

The walker's teeth gnashing, desperately trying to grab him—to rip him apart.

He looks around for something, anything to grab. Finding a rock he brings it to the walkers rotting skull in one swift motion. Then again, and again, and again.

Fragments of bone, dark blood, and rot drench his face, neck, and chest, clinging thick like tar.

He doesn't stop.

Not until the walker is a pulped mess—unrecognizable, long dead.

Only then pushing it off, and flipping to his knees, breaths coming out fast and laboured.

Rick slowly moves towards him.

"Shane we need to go." his voice more desperate.

But for a different reason.

More leaves rustling and twigs snapping. More walkers started to wonder in, drawn by the commotion.

With Shane still on the ground, he goes to put a hand on his shoulder, but is quickly grabbed.

Shane's hand clamps around Rick's wrist and yanks hard. Before Rick can react he's thrown off balance, landing harshly on his chest and shoulder, face in the dirt.

Rick lets out a strangled grunt. He barely has time to blink before Shane is on him—one knee pressed into his abdomen, fists violently swinging.

A punch connects with his jaw, then with his eye. Rick manages to block the next one, but Shane wont let up.

Hes not fighting to prove something, hes fighting to end this.

Rick gets in a punch to his face, then knees him in the stomach—enough to give him a chance to scramble away.

Just as he manages to crawl, one... two... three more walkers come crashing through the trees.

Soon again Shane is back on him.

Grabbing him into a choke hold.

Rick struggles against it, grabbing and clawing, trying to get to his face.

Shane's forearm locks under Rick's chin, crushing his windpipe. Kicking and gasping, hes drug across the forest floor, not being able to steady his feet to take some pressure off his throat. Shane's face is tight with rage, his breath hot against Rick's ear.

"We don't get to come back from this," he growls.

"You don't get to walk away again."

Rick's vision starts to tunnel.

Then—snarling.

The walkers are almost on them.

Shane hesitates

Then he lets go. Not out of mercy.

Out of rage.

He shoves Rick, right towards the walkers.

He stumbles, coughing, head spinning as he hits the dirt. One walker lunges. He ducks and pushes it to the ground with a guttural yell.

Another comes from the side.

Unsheathing and swinging his knife, he slices through its temple.

Then—thundering footsteps from behind.

Shane.

Whether to come help, or to hurt, Rick didn't know.

Instincts took over.

He spins, blade slashing.

The knife tears through Shane's face, jaw to brow, deep and jagged.

Shane stumbles backwards with a roar, blood streaming down face, staining his shirt and ground beneath him.

Rick stands there, gasping for air, throat raw, face bruised, eyes locked with his former bestfriend.

More and more walkers pour in, snapping branches, crashing through brush like a wave.

Rick backs away weapon raised.

Shane gripping his face, lets out a defeated growl through gritted teeth, backing away.

Forced apart, separated by the dead.

Rick sees Shane one last time, his silhouette flickering between the crowd of bodies.

Just like that—

Gone.

Swallowed up by the darkness of the forest.

They don't get to finish.

In the end its not words or fists that decide anything.

It's the dead that get the final say.

[cloudsofgray]

Writing combat is hard.

[cloudsofgray]

Sooo Im currently rewatching twd from the start and got a little inspired.

So i decided to start a fic around the idea of a certain someone but if they didn't die.

I don't think its turning out half bad either. Im having fun trying to mash canon dialog and new stuff to suit the story.

I should have the first chapter out pretty soon. 👀

[cloudsofgray]

~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~

"Lets do something"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Daryl x reader | unspecified gender

Cw: none.

Genre: fluff

Summary: You're bored at the prison and are going to make it Daryls problem. Teasing, goofing around, and platonic best-friend vibes.

~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~

It was late afternoon when you decided you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Pleaseee Daryl,” you groaned, sitting on the concrete step outside the cellblock. “If I have to shovel anymore poop, or sort another can, I’m gonna start chewing on the fence.”

He didn’t even look up from sharpening his knife. “You ain’t even that good at sorting corn.”

“Exactly!”

You throw a small rock at him, and watch it bounce off his boot. “You’ve got nowhere to be, I’ve got a death wish—Match made in heaven. C’mon let’s go do something.”

He lets out a quick breath through his nose, and continues with his sharpening.

“Ain’t no run scheduled.”

You lean back uncomfortably onto the steps, clutching your chest. “Oh no,” you wheezed. “It’s happening… I’m dying of boredom.” You cough. “I can feel my organs shutting down.” You collapse fully onto the stairs, free arm falling limp.

“You done?”

“Only the release of death can free me now.”

He finally looks over at you, biting the inside of his cheek like he was trying not to smile.

“You’re a damn pain in my ass, you know that?”

Your head shoots up, hand still on your chest, fake offended. “The persecution I endure… it’s biblical.”

Daryl steps around you.

“You’re unbelievable.”

You scramble to your feet, following behind with the biggest smile.

“Yup!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun dips lower in the sky, scattering morsels of light across the humid forest floor. Buzzing cicadas and crunching oak twigs occupy your senses.

Nearing the edge of the tree line, your gaze drifts downward. Through the branches, you spot yellow flowers sprouting through the roads cracked pavement. Distracted, you didn’t notice Daryl slowing to a stop.

“Hey.”

He says softly, catching your attention.

You blink, looking towards the hunter.

He doesn’t say anything else—just lifts his chin towards the gap in the tree line.

Looking to your right, you spot it through the branches.

A garden.

Half hidden by a little house, tucked behind a rusting fence, encased in weeds and passionflower—but alive. Beans and squash tangled together, green and red tomatoes shining beneath draping leaves. You couldn’t believe it. You both start to walk over.

“Huh.” You say, pausing. “Guess you should listen to me more often.”

Daryl huffs. “I’m the one who spotted it.”

You flash him a smile. Crouching down to inspect the plants, fingers brushing through vines. “No one to look after them, yet here they are. Guess life finds a way.”

[cloudsofgray]

Guys!! I actually wrote a chapter! From someone who used to struggle to read even a single page, this is a big deal.

It’s my first real story (not counting middle school English lol), so I’m kinda nervous.

This is the intro to what I hope becomes a series, set in an apocalypse/end-of-the-world scenario.

I’d love any ideas for the next chapter—I’m still figuring out where to take the character.

Thanks so much for reading! 💗💗💗

Unending

Chapter 1: Tomb

You had always wondered how the world would end.

Morbid, sure, but it was an interesting concept.

The world as you knew it ending in a flash —

Or slowly and steadily transforming, like a neglected bedroom:

clutter piling up little by little, dust settling thick in the corners, the air growing heavy —

until it’s too much to manage, and suddenly, it’s not a bedroom anymore.

It’s a tomb.

Tomb

You knew that feeling all too well.

Growing up in that cramped shithole you reluctantly called home, it was hard not to feel a little suffocated — like the whole place was waiting to be buried, and you were just in the way.

It wasn’t always like that.

A house is just a house, after all. It’s the people that make it feel whole — and you had people.

Good things never seemed to last with you though, and soon it was just a house.

Your father wasn’t too interested in sticking around.

He had built something decent, maybe even good, but it wasn’t enough.

Too quiet. Too still. Too ordinary.

He wanted more, or maybe just wanted to feel like he was more.

So he left.

Chased after someone new.

Someone who hadn’t seen him at his worst yet.

Your mother found out first.

She didn’t say much — not at first, anyway. Just got quieter.

Cooked less. Stopped looking forward to dinner at the table.

You figured it out soon after.

Little things. Unusual phone calls, hushed conversations between them,

the way he looked at the door like he couldn’t wait to be on the other side.

He wasn’t a monster. Just forever restless.

The kind of man who couldn’t sit still in something stable without looking for a crack to crawl through.

Self-destruction came easy to him.

This man.

This dog.

And when it started to hurt, he didn’t just chew at the wound —

he bit anyone who got too close.

Like it was your fault he was bleeding.

You always thought the phrase “everything happens for a reason” was stupid.

Of course it does. Cause and effect isn’t exactly profound.

It felt like a cop-out — lazy comfort wrapped in pretend wisdom.

There wasn’t a reason good enough for why he did it, and no lesson to make it easier to sit with.

He knew.

He didn’t stay long enough to explain.

And then there was you in your room.

Only silence.

A stillness that felt impossibly heavy — stagnant air you couldn’t breathe out.

It wasn’t grief. Not exactly.

Minutes.

Hours.

Days.

All packed together tight, like dirt. Not enough space to move.

And not enough light to see what you were doing.

Just the slow, suffocating feeling of being left behind.

So you were prepared in a way.

When the world started to rot, it wasn't too foreign — because lately,

your world had already felt like it ended.

[cloudsofgray]

Ahhhhhh. Im having to much fun.

Im working on my very first series set on an apocalyptic/ end of world cenario.

I was originally wanting to just write this in the walking dead universe, and as an x reader but idk. Maybe i should just go the route of making it an original story. Maybe even differerent monsters.

Im almost done the first chaper/ intro to the character and im actually loving it.

Ill post it very soon

Maybe later tonight. 👀

Please leave suggestion though when i do post. I need all the help i can get. Lol

[cloudsofgray]

Yesss. Idk if im even using it correctly, but it feels right lol

"If you use em dash in your works, it makes them look AI generated. No real human uses em dash."

Imaging thinking actual human writers are Not Real because they use... professional writing in their works.

Imagine thinking millions of people who have been using em dash way before AI becomes a thing are all robots.

REBLOG IF YOU'RE A HUMAN AND YOU USE EM DASH

[cloudsofgray]

it may take me a month to put out a chapter but at least im not using ai to write it.

it may take me a month to put out a chapter but at least im not using ai to write it.

it may take me a month to put out a chapter but at least im not using ai to write it.

it may take me a month to put out a chapter but at least im not using ai to write it.

it may take me a month to put out a chapter but at least im not using ai to write it.

IT MAY TAKE ME A MONTH TO PUT OUT A CHAPTER BUT AT LEAST IM NOT USING AI TO WRITE IT

[cloudsofgray]

Hello lm hamdi ,I humbly ask for your support by reblogging this post on your account to help me and my family. As newcomers to Tumblr and GoFundMe, we are in desperate need of your kindness and support. 🙏🇵🇸🍉😔Please donate 🙏🏼Let's reach the goal as soon as possible .

💗

[cloudsofgray]

I can't believe i didn't take up writing sooner.

A hobby i can do that doesn't take a pile of supplies and costs nothing?

I think i have a spending problem.

[cloudsofgray]

Its only been a few hours and i can already feel the hyperfixation sinking its talons into my prefrontal cortex.

[cloudsofgray]

Does blackbird by the beatles make anyone else sob uncontrollably or is that just me?

[cloudsofgray]

🌟 Hey Tumblr! 🌟

Welcome to my brand-new writing account! I’m just starting out as a fanfiction writer and im super excited (and a little nervous) to dive in. I’m a total beginner as far as writing goes,(fanfics or otherwise), so this space is all about learning, experimenting, and growing as a writer. And hopefully connecting with some cool people along the way!

What I’ll be doing here:

• Writing fanfics, short stories, and maybe some fun headcanons or character moments

• Exploring different fandoms (the more chaotic the better tbh)

• Taking requests, so if there’s a character, ship, or trope you wanna see, send it my way! (X reader as well 😉)

• Accepting writing prompts and even random ideas

• Asking for recs! Give me stuff to watch, read, or play. I want to expand my fandom list

• Sharing my progress, struggles, and (hopefully) improvements

💬 Also, if you’re a writer (or even if you’re not), feel free to send me writing tips, tricks, or resources. I’d love the help!