#oh glenn

[charmac]

Old man yells at cloud Glenn has re-risen

[haunted-obsidian-of-asgard]

"We need to get our shit together."

[same-name-supremacy]

Could you give us some Glenn facts, please! And in All stars, does he help beat the shit out of simon??

Ooo the goth guy!

He’s into the mall goth subgenre of goth

Glenn is fourth shortest guy on Total Drama

He’s very close with his little sister

Still doesn’t like Heath

He is a very good artist.

Glenn was dared to go on Total Drama Island

He was heartbroken when he lost his friendship with Corey.

Name refreshers here

[zvaigzdelasas]

russiagate fake, chinagate real

[charmac]

he found himself having a lot of opinions on 13 and 14 i said oh i'm sure...

I'm sure you can hear my muffled laugh at that... like. Oh we had no idea...

[powerbottomdennis]

Love the new onslaught of ppl calling jack griffin either a slut or their sopping little pathetic meow meow.

[glennlester]

the wedding, pt. II

Glenn opens his mouth to respond, but no sound comes out. And then Max is gone again, leading Chris away from their Hindenburg of a conversation. Glenn can do nothing but stare after them, thinking, At least I get to watch him walk away this time. When the two of them have finally disappeared back into the crowd, Glenn glances around, once again wondering if anyone is cognizant of what’s just been said in front of all their fancy little French cookies. But no one is watching. He is alone, holding the weight of his grief in his hands.

He thinks he might start screaming, so he has to get away. He walks out of the main reception hall and away from the crowd, leaning against the wall in the long hallway that leads to the restrooms and resting his hands on his knees, panting. I’m happy now, Glenn, he hears Max say in his head. I am finally getting what I deserve. His lungs feel like they’ve been punctured, and his chest is caving in. And you are getting yours. His breathing is so erratic that he’s dizzy from it, and the din of the laughter and the music from the reception is growing louder in his ears. If he blacks out, who knows when somebody would find him? And in what state? 

Glenn shuts his eyes, trying to block it all out, but it’s not working. He’s had panic attacks before, but this is different — and worse. There’s a ringing in his ears, and for a moment, he thinks he might actually be dying. Putting a shaky hand to his chest, he feels his heart pounding away just beneath the skin. And you are getting yours. It’s so hateful, isn’t it? He can hardly believe Max had the gaul to say it in the first place, and in a way, he’s almost proud. But it also makes him feel like there’s a sinkhole opening up in his chest, and he’s moments away from being devoured by it completely. 

You are getting yours, he thinks again, no longer fighting the flood of hateful thoughts filling his mind. You should fucking kill him. You should fucking kill Chris. You should fucking kill yourself. That last one is the most enticing. Max would be so ashamed, he’d never have a peaceful night’s sleep again for the rest of his life. Glenn could make sure of it. And he could haunt him, as a ghost and as a memory. In a twisted way, he could ensure they’d be bound to each other forever. 

A sob escapes his lips before he even realizes it’s coming, and his stomach begins to churn. Close to hyperventilating, he clamps a hand over his mouth and runs down the hall to the bathroom to throw up the cucumber sandwiches. When he’s finished, he sobs into the toilet bowl before leaning back against the wall and drawing his knees to his chest. He buries his face in them, trying to stifle his crying.

Somebody could walk in at any moment, he tells himself. Maybe it would be someone unassuming, like Alfie, who wouldn’t pry. Or it could be a stranger. Or Max. If it would be Max, part of Glenn wants to get down on his knees and beg for forgiveness, and beg him to come back. Part of him, he’s pretty sure, would try to strangle him. So he hopes Max doesn’t need to pee. 

Forcing a deep, shaky breath down into his lungs, he picks himself up off the floor and flushes the toilet before taking a seat. He breathes for a moment, like his therapist would tell him, and then pulls out his phone, scrolling his texts for her number. He debates for a moment before pressing ‘Call’ and bringing the phone to his ear. It rings once… twice… three times… four times… and on until it becomes apparent that she is not going to answer. He nearly sobs again but stops himself, canceling the call nonetheless. 

You are so pathetic, he thinks, and he’s coming dangerously close to admitting that he wants a drink. Maybe you could have just one. He’s learned to try to ignore tempting thoughts like that, but in this moment he thinks: What does it fucking matter anymore? Why is he fighting so hard to be sober when he’s miserable (and alone) either way? Sure, there’s the show, but the show is on life support. And he’d been a functional addict for years. Why stop now, when everything was crumbling?

He stands and puts his phone back in his pocket, exiting the stall and heading back down the hallway to the reception hall. He tries to walk normally so as not to draw suspicion from anyone who may be perplexed by his destination, but he doesn’t see anyone he knows among the throng.

Finally, he reaches the bar and flags down the bartender. “Hi, can I get four shots of Scotch whisky?” He hopes he doesn’t seem manic, but the bartender obliges, disappearing for a moment only to return with four tall shot glasses filled with sweet amber liquid. “Thanks,” he says, sliding him $50 across the bar top. He pauses before he takes the first shot: What happened to ‘don’t throw it away’? It was all a waste, he knows that. But he’s tired, and he wants a drink, so he downs it. Then he downs the other three in rapid succession. He feels it immediately, and it’s so good he wants to cry. He’s so much looser, so much less self-contained. He calls the bartender back to order a vodka soda before downing that in nearly one gulp as well.

Predictably, he has to piss just as quickly as he gets drunk, so he heads back to the bathroom, trying not to stumble down the hallway. He thinks he’s alone again until he rounds the corner and sees a familiar figure leaning down at the sink: Sean. 

“Oh, shit,” Sean says when he catches sight of him, straightening up quickly and turning as if to hide something. “Hey, Glenn, what’s up?”

Glenn watches him for a moment, and he’s a little dizzy, but he has to be cool. “Hey,” he says, walking towards the stalls. “Nothing, just… came to take a piss.” Nice one. But he’s not all that concerned with Sean’s opinion to begin with. He’s just about to enter a stall when —

“You doing okay?” Sean’s voice again. He turns back around to face him. “I mean, you just look kind of… upset.” 

Glenn tries to soften his grimace. “Nope, all good,” he assures him, taking a step a little closer to peer at whatever Sean is hiding behind him in the mirror. And he’s thrilled at what he discovers. “Whatcha got there?” he motions towards him innocently.

Sean seems more nervous now, but Glenn is about to pleasantly surprise him. “Um, it’s nothing —”

“Looks like a tray with cocaine on it,” Glenn observes, unceremoniously. 

“Okay, look,” Sean steps forward, opening his palms in a gesture of submission, “I don’t do it, like, ever, okay? I swear. I bought some for this fucking wedding because I thought maybe I could get lucky with one of the bridesmaids, but they’ve all been bitches so far.” He gives Glenn a sleazy smile that turns his stomach. “Look, you’re not gonna like… make a thing out of this, are you? I swear it’s like a one time thing,” he reassures him. Then, a light seems to go off in his brain. “Do you want some?”

It’s a hilarious question, to be honest. Did he want some. Sean has no idea that Glenn would break his neck for it if had to. Glenn looks back at the tray in the reflection, chewing his lip for a moment, before reconnecting his gaze with Sean’s. “How much do you have?”

“He called it an 8-ball.”

Glenn pulls out his wallet, removing all the cash inside. He’s not even sure how much it is. “Give it to me.” 

Sean blinks. “Like, all of it?”

“Yes.” He hands him the cash. Sean takes it and slowly begins to finger through the bills, counting until he seems satisfied.

“Okay, deal,” Sean agrees. “But you promise you’re not gonna say anything to anyone, right? This stays between us?”

For the first time that evening, Glenn gives a genuine smile. “It’s between us.” 

Sean hands him the tray and the rest of the baggie, pats him on the back, and exits. Glenn looks at himself in the mirror. “Well, I can’t not do it now,” he says out loud to his reflection. “I mean, I paid for it.” 

As he empties a bit more of the baggie onto the tray and begins to cut it with one of his credit cards, his mind wanders back to Max, the reason for all of this. I’m happy now, Glenn. I am finally getting what I deserve. Glenn leans down, cleaning the first two lines from the tray. He squeezes his eyes shut, coughing a bit from the post-nasal drip. The rush sends a shiver through his whole body, and he remembers why he nearly burned down his whole life for this feeling. And you are getting yours. 

He leans down and snorts the other two lines, deciding to save the rest for later. Then he looks up at his reflection in the mirror, and sees, for the first time that evening, just how disheveled he looks. He debates on going home, but decides that if he’s already on this path, he might as well follow through. He gives his hair a tussle, trying to straighten out his suit jacket, but he soon gives up. Then he gives his reflection the finger and turns to head back to the bar.

[deegaynolds]

the glennis silence is stressing me out now lol like I was cool if he wanted to be a troll for a little while but now I'm getting worried rip

i miss the days when he’d go on twitter rages about how he wasn’t coming back to the show in response to ppl speculating about him bc that was better than this radio silence. glooby dooby doo where r u