chain link watch

[Why I Love] - Chpt. 3

Wicked Game 

Negan x Addison 

A/N: Thank you for all the likes ^.^ this took me a while to finish lol here’s the next chapter it’s kind of long, I’m trying to build up to a certain idea. Let me know if you would like to be tagged. I appreciate all feedback/suggestions, I could always use inspiration. ヾ(^∇^)

Chapter 2 || Masterlist 

Originally posted by grungedaddykinks

“We’re low on ammo, sir” 

Negan stared blankly at the man who addressed him. “And you need me to tell you what to do about that?”. 

The guy shifted  his eyes from side to side, suddenly feeling stupid, “uhhh….” 

Negan rolled his eyes, “For fuck’s sake, go get some goddamn ammo”. He looked at Simon as the man walked off, the two of them continued making their way around the sanctuary side by side. “Fuck me, did common sense die with the rest of the fucking world?” 

“I think so” He answered, taking a bite of his apple. 

“Hell’s his name again?” 

“Jason, and you ought to be nice to him considering you fucked his wife”

Negan chuckled to himself, “Well, what the fuck am I supposed to do when I’m being seduced by a beautiful woman?” 

“Yeah, yeah” Simon looked out at the chain linked fence watching the men pour molten iron over the walkers. “So…how’s it going with the Alexandrian?” 

Keep reading

Carnival AU part 4

you guys seem to really like this one too!

When he was dropped off, he couldn’t quit smiling. The feeling of Will’s hand in his was so comforting, so warm and safe.

When he got inside, it was late enough that he didn’t run into anybody. He locked the door and tiptoed to his room, as he heard the door click shut. He fell asleep still smiling, feeling happier than he had in a long time.

The next morning his sisters woke him up, pestering to know any new details. But Nico wouldn’t tell. He didn’t want to explain the kiss. Or the way it felt to hold his hand on the way home. Or the way he had stuttered trying to ask him out.

“Nico come on!” Hazel whined. “What did you guys do?”

“I told you,” he said. “We went to an arcade and played games.” He shrugged.

“Didn’t anything new happen?’ Bianca asked. “I’m going to end up yelling at him for not making a move next time he picks you up.”

“Don’t scare him off!” Hazel said.

Nico just held back a smile. A timid knock came at the door and the three of them turned to look at their father. “Girls do you mind giving me a moment with your brother?” Nico gulped and his sisters shared a worried look. Nico nodded reassuringly at them and they left, though he was positive they would listen on the other side of the door. His father sat down on the edge of the bed and hunched over. “Where did you go yesterday?”

“An arcade, I told you,” he answered. He tried to be as honest as he could.

“Who else was there?”

Nico shrugged, his stomach tightening. “I mean, a lot of people, Dad. There were birthday celebrations and hangouts. It’s an arcade, a lot of people go.”

“Yeah, I know. My friend from work was there. You remember him? Nathaniel?”

“The creepy guy that looks dead?” Nico questioned.

His father usually laughed at that, but this time his face was grim. “He told me he saw you there.” The tightening worsened. Nico felt his temperature rise and he felt like he was going to be sick. “With that boy.”

“Yeah, he’s the one that picks me up,” Nico said much softer this time.

“Nico I need you to tell me. Not Nathaniel. You.” Nico pressed himself against the wall and felt the painful knot in his throat grow. He couldn’t breathe. “Who is that boy, Nico?”

He wanted to speak. He wanted to tell him. But he couldn’t find the words and the terror in his chest was cold and paralyzing. He made a strange noise that caused his father to glance at him. “Dad…. I’m sorry. I’m sorry- please just-.” He didn’t know what to say. What to plead for or expect.

“Nico, who is he?”

He hadn’t realized how badly he was shaking. Suddenly, the door opened and his sisters stood at the door. “Dad,” Bianca said, in her protective big sister voice. “Leave him alone.”

“I told you girls to go,” his father said. “This is between your brother and myself.”

“Look at him!” she shouted. “Look at how you’re making him feel!”

Nico jumped off the bed and ran out the door, picking up his shoes on the way. He ran out of the house and went wherever his feet carried him. Of course they carried him to the park. It was where he and his sisters went whenever something became too much for them. There was an old basketball court, fenced off and rusted that nobody went to anymore. Not since the new one was installed.

He sat there by the fence and leaned his head against the chain-linked fence. He watched children play and adults run and mothers gossip and teenage boys playing in the court on the other end.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed before he noticed him walking towards where he sat. Without another word, Will sat next to him and sighed. He looked at Nico for a moment before scooping him into his arms. Nico lost himself in his warmth and strength, sighing in defeat.

“How’d you find me?” he asked softly.

“I was calling you, but your sister answered. She told me what happened and told me where to find you.” He nudged Nico so he’d look at him. “What do you want to do?” he asked gently.

He knew what he was really asking. But he had happiness at the tip of his fingers, and he was not letting go. He clung to Will and shook his head. “I don’t want to go home.”

Will sighed and kissed his cheek. “Here. Call your sisters.”

Nico took the phone and dialed Bianca’s number. “Will? Did you find him? Is he okay?” she asked the moment she picked up.

The pain and worry in her voice made Nico feel horrible. “I’m fine, Bianca. I’m at the park. You knew I would be.”

“Oh Nico,” she said in relief. “Sweetheart, come home.” Nico blinked. She never called him pet names. “I know you’re scared but we talked to Dad. He wasn’t angry because you like guys. He was angry because you didn’t tell him. Please, come home.”

“A-are you sure?” he stammered, gripping Will’s arm.

“Yes,” she begged. “Just please come home.”

“I will,” he promised. He hung up and looked at Will. “My dad… he’s not mad. I mean he is, but not for the reason I thought.” He looked at Will with wide eyes. “I need to go back.”

“I’ll drive you,” he offered. “If anything happens I’ll be right here okay?” Nico nodded, feeling relief flood through his body, relaxing his muscles and slowing his heartbeat.  They drove back and Nico hesitated before getting out. Will took his hand and squeezed it. “Right here.”

Nico nodded and got out, his limbs turning to jelly as he opened the door. His father called his name and he froze. “Nico? Goddammit, Nico, you can’t just run off like that!” he snapped. He looked at his father and waited. “Is there something you want to tell me?” he prodded.

Nico took a breath and let it out shakily. Then another. Then, “Dad, I have a boyfriend,” he whispered, keeping his gaze away.

The silence seemed to drag on for an eternity. Then his father’s surprisingly gentle voice said, “Can I meet him?”

Going to the States


The school year has once again come to an end. Summer was starting and that meant the flood of pent up hormones and maturing bodies of teenagers. There would be teenagers in all parts of London. The city, the stores, and theaters would be infested with every teenager the country had counted for. Well all except two. Yes the mischievous twins known as Madeline and Ziggy were not going to be able to partake in the festivity that was summer. No, in fact their asses were stuck in the arm pit that was the United States. The twins were regretting they ever popped out of a woman who had dual citizenship.

The reason why they were punished to go on this “vacation” was because their mother had to visit an old friend or some shit. Now Ziggy and Madeline were wondering the streets of some suburban neighborhood after deciding being cooped up in a hotel room was just as dull. And boy was it a hell hole compared to the slums of London they had partied in. The two were leaning on an old chain link fence watching suburban kids play on the side walks and ride their bikes.

“This is pitiful. They call this middle class living? There’s just as many pot holes as there are pot heads.” Ziggy stated as he watched a pair of hopped up idiots mess with two small children.

“I can’t take it anymore! Why were we even dragged over here! We could have been fine back in Nottinghill! I haven’t had a cigarette in two days Ziggy! Two days!! my fucking hand is twitchin!” Madeline shouted. “I need a cig and I need it now..” she huffed. Ziggy tsk’d 

“You could always ask one of these burnouts for one.” He joked. And with that his twin sister was making her way to a brown haired boy. “Shit..” he sighed.

Madeline smiled and flipped her hair as she walked on over to the stranger.

“Ello there lad. You mind me sharing this space with you?” Madeline batted her eyes and smiled wide. “I’ve been dying for some company.”

I had an idea so I wrote a thing. Enjoy the Bethyl goodness!

Beth Greene stood at the prison gates staring out at the empty gravel road that lead away from their make shift home, watching as the sun slowly lowered over the horizon. The cool autumn air was filled with the sound of roaming walkers, their moans carrying in the light breeze. She clung to the inner fence, knuckles turning white from the force of her grip. They were late.

Daryl and Michonne had gone of what they said would be a simple run, promising to return by nightfall, that had been four days ago. In the old world running to the store for a jug of milk or loaf of bread was something nobody thought twice about. In this new world things were very different, runs were planned days, sometimes weeks in advance, lists carefully made of only the necessities and even then there was no guarantee that they would be found. People were armed to the teeth with multiple weapons and nobody was to go alone. Buildings were cleared before you could even begin the search, walkers were not the only threat in this world. Everything was carefully planned out down to the very last detail. Mistakes would get you killed.

Runs were done in groups of four to five people, sometimes more depending on the location. Daryl and Michonne were the exception to this rule. They played by their own rules and followed their own code. Nobody once questioned the fierce hunter and warrior who did so much to keep them safe and fed.

Beth had noticed Daryl when they first arrived on the farm. His gaze piercing right through her very soul as introductions were made, a scowl seemingly etched onto his hardened features. His stance was defensive and guarded, silently observing from afar. She was winded and covered in the thick sticky blood of the young boy Otis had carried in. Curious about the strange group, she’d followed her father out to greet them, he’d dismissed her immediately after introductions were made, clearly upset that she’d ventured out into the yard. As she retreated back into the farmhouse to check on the boy, who’s name she learned was Carl, raised voices drifted from the yard into the empty structure.

After a few days things returned to a relative sense of normality, Otis’ loss had hit them hard. He was a kind man and a hard worker, he’d become a part of the Greene family. Still life on the farm went on. The sun had just begun to rise, its first rays beginning to peak over the horizon, piercing through the thin mist that sat low along the earth. Beth walked through the lush grass, sparkling dew clinging tightly to its blades, with the intentions of feeding the horses and getting a head start on mucking the stables and the other chores that had began to pile up, that’s how she discovered the barn door askew.

Looters on a farm were nothing new before the disease hit, bandits lurking in the woods looking for a quick meal, local kids fulling a bet or simply looking for a cheap thrill, animals raiding the grain and hay and occasionally slaughtering one of the livestock. In the new world the threats were more sever, there was no law, no one to enforce any sort of moral code and no one to answer to, walkers were not the only threat that lingered in the dark. Trending lightly she unsheathed her buck knife from its worn leather case attached securely to her belt, ready to face whatever was waiting for her within.

Inside was dark, save for a single overhead light in the middle of the aisle. A lone figure stood securing the saddle straps to a horse, her horse. Sticking to the shadows she crept closer, lowering her knife as his familiar features came into view. “Morin’” she said stepping into the light, without missing a beat he swung his crossbow off his back and had it pointed at her head.

“Christ girl, didn’ anyone teach ya not ta wander off by yaself?” he said returning the wicked looking crossbow had been returned to his back. Daryl she recalled his name to be, snapped, finally stopping his task to glare at her. Beth had to admit that up close he was rather intimidating. He’d straightened his posture showing his full height, broad shoulders and tanned arms thick with muscle from what could only be years of hard labor.

“Could say the same about you”

“Mind ya own damn business girl”

Despite is rough exterior, Beth was far from frightened of this man. He was a predator for sure but something in his eyes told her that he wouldn’t hurt her, he was a protector, not a murderer. He lashed out to drive others away and was clearly used to getting away with it, and this simply wouldn’t fly with her.

“Ma horse is ma business” she spat, laying her Georgian accent on thick, “Butcha know what? Take her if it means that damn much ta ya.” A knowing smirk crept across her face as she turned on her heel. The next time she would seen him was after he’d been shot with his own arrow after Nellie had thrown him down a ravine, and climbed to safety only to be shot in the head by the tall blonde with a big mouth and terrible aim.

Winter on the road had been a long and brutal one. Her days were spent trending to her father and Queen Lori, whose stomach had triple in size, keeping the fire going in whatever place they had holed up in and trying to throw together a meager meal out of whatever it was they had managed to scavenge. This made her interactions with him limited, if at all. The long winter winter months blurred together in a frozen haze, not that she was looking to relive any of them. It wasn’t until the birth of Judith that she would speak to him again. Until the birth of Judith.

Judith came into the world, against all odds, in perfect health with an impressive set of lungs. The birth had been violent to say the least, with Carl having to put an end to his own mothers life. Lori had been fully conscious as Maggie sliced into her swollen belly to deliver the baby and there was no doubt she felt every second of the ordeal. The sight of a blood soaked Maggie stepping into the prison courtyard, the babe held tightly against her chest, had been his undoing. He lost himself deep in the bowels of the prison, leaving Beth to mother his infant daughter. A job she took without complaint.

While she was left to take on the role of mother, it was Daryl who played the role of father. While the baby had been delivered in perfect health, without formula she would not be able to survive longer then a few hours. Daryl had stepped up immediately, refusing to lose another person. With Maggie in tow he took off towards the nearest town in search of formula and other necessitates.

Beth had passed off the child to Daryl upon his return, to prepare a bottle for the little one. The little girl instantly taking to him, she stood in awe, silent tears running down her face, as she watched the interaction between Daryl and the baby he’d lovingly dubbed Lil’ Asskicker. He made a point of visiting the little girl he was so taken with every day, even if just for a few moments. With Judith having taken up permanent residence in her cell, Beth found herself seeing more and more of the stoic hunter.

At first their interactions were brief and awkward, consisting only of a few nods and polite words they felt obligated to exchange. As she grew more comfortable around him she would try to initiate conversation, sometimes she would talk to him about the baby or other small things, others they would sit there in a comfortable silence, on rare occasions he would chime in with a story or comment of his own. Over time she found that the silent redneck had found a special place in her heart.

When Daryl had first told her about the run she had insisted they take another person, fear and another emotion she couldn’t place running through her body. Promising her that he would return safely, he offered her one final glance he kicked his bike into gear and she watched as it rolled through the prison gates.

She had gone to Rick, who had made significant improvements since Lori’s death, immediately when they were late returning from the run. While he was concerned, he didn’t find it necessary to send a group out right away, reluctantly she agreed with Rick, knowing that she was over reacting. But as days passed her concern grew more and more, and apparently so did Rick’s, for when she approached him once again he agreed to send a group out at first light. This is how she found herself staring through the cool metal links of the chain link fence, watching and waiting for her hunter to return.

Before she had time to dwell on the fact that she had just called Daryl hers two bright shinning lights appeared in the distance, the setting sun leaving just enough light to reveal the dust that was kicked up as a vehicle barreled its way down the road. Her heart dropped in the pit of her stomach as the old blue Ford grew closer, its horn blaring the signal decided upon should they unexpectedly need to change cars. Something had happened.

Beth took off in full sprint as the truck sped through the now open gates and straight up to the main entrance, its brakes squealing as it came to a hault, Daryl’s bike secured in its bed.

Rick, along with most of the prisons inhabitants, had wandered out into the yard to investigate the commotion, meeting Michonne as she stepped out of the cab.

“There was a herd”

Beth felt her heart breaking as the words came pouring out a Michonne’s mouth, Rick’s face turned ashen as he spoke the name of the hunter she so desperately longed to see, “Daryl?”

“M'fine” an annoyed voice called from the still open door of the cab, the custom tinted windows making it nearly impossible to see that there was another person inside.

Michonne smirked, leaning against the heated metal of the hood, “The ballerina here slipped in some walker blood and managed to stab himself with his own knife.”

“Saved ya ass didn’ I?” he growled.

“Would have been back sooner but he refused to leave the bike behind” she chuckled. “He’ll need a few stitches but I reckon he’ll live” she said nodding to Herschel who had just hobbled out to join the group.

“It’s late and my eyes aren’t what they used to be, Bethy do you think you could take care of this for me?” He asked, all eyes now turning to the small blonde who had been lurking quietly in the shadows.

“Of course Daddy”

Being touched, babied, and injured where high on Daryl’s list of things that pissed him the hell off. Between his injuries, that had finally decided to stop hemorrhaging, Michonne’s smart ass comments, and the conversation going on around him as though be wasn’t even there, Daryl was seething.

As the passenger side of the old truck opened, Daryl expected to see a crowd of people surrounding him, to his surprise he found only the blue eyed blonde staring back at him. She didn’t speak as he made to step out of the truck, letting him take the lead and silently dictate her movements as they made the trek inside the prison and up to the perch that he had claimed as his own.

Fear shot through him as she quietly asked him to remove his shirt before retreating back down the stairs, presumably to retrieve the items she deemed necessary in caring for his wounds.

His fingers shook as he slowly worked the buttons of the worn, and now blood soaked, cotton flannel, unhooking the final one as she ascended the final stair.

“Can I?” she asked, eyeing the fabric not hanging loosely from his broad shoulders. Nodding, his head dropped in shame as her small hands worked the material down his arms, removing the final barrier that hid the patchwork quilt of scars his father had engraved on him.

He trembled as her cool fingers brushed against his heated skin, her touch gentle as she expertly tended to the evidence of his own stupidity. It wasn’t until he was sure she was engrossed in her task that he dared glance at her.

Her hair was pulled back, signature braid hanging over her shoulder. Stubborn strands of hair to short to be tucked back hung loosely in her face, dangling in front of those crystal blue eyes which furrowed as she worked, tongue hanging slightly out of her mouth.

He’d be lying if he said he’d really noticed her before the prison. On the farm he vaguely remembered hearing something about a suicide attempt but he’d been to focused on trying the find the little girl he’d failed to save to really pay attention, and on the road she’d been just another mouth to feed.

When AK was born he’d immediately fallen for the little girl, from the second he saw her, he vowed to do anything and everything to keep her happy and healthy. He visited with her often and consequently, with the baby taking up residence in Beth’s cell, found himself spending more time with the girl forced to mother the child that wasn’t hers while the father was off chasing ghosts.

At first their interactions were brief and awkward at best. He would linger in the doorway waiting to be invited in, and would stay only for a little while, not feeling comfortable in the enclosed space that wasn’t his. Beth never once asked why he was there or how long he was staying, she would simply offer him and inviting smile and nod before returning to whatever task she had been working on.

He quickly found his visits becoming longer, sometimes they would sit in comfortable silence, others he would listen as she sang to Judith or offered stories from her past life. On rare occasion he’d share a bit of information of his own, she never once pried for more, simply accepting what he’d offered and for that he was grateful.

Over time he would learn that, despite what others thought, she had been a hard working farm girl and had the scars to prove it. That she had been ignored most of her life, over shadowed by her older brother, Shawn, and Maggie. That two years prior to the end of the world Beth had been attacked one night while reading in a hayloft of the barn they would eventually use to store the reanimated corpses of their loved ones. His fists had clenched as she spoke of the farm hand who had trapped her, how she fought him off, how her brother was the only one she had even told of the encounter.

She shared how much she had loved her brother and told him of Shawn’s passing less than a week before it all began. His heart felt heavy with guilt as he learned how she’d never really grieved his loss and that when she saw her mother laying in a pool of her own blood after being shot in the head she’d simply lost it. The weight of everything coming crashing down on her.

Slowly he came to realize that his now regular visits to her cell where no longer to see Judith alone, but to spend time with Beth Greene.

Beth’s angelic voice, claiming she was finished, pulled him back from his thoughts. Presenting him with a clean shirt, she offered him a chaste kiss on the cheek before bidding him a goodnight and leaving him to his thought. Buttoning his shirt, he watched as she disappeared down the metal steps. He knew she’d seen his scars, but would not speak of them, it just wasn’t her way. She’d wait until he came to her, if he came to her, and would listen as he told his tail.

Laying back on the mattress he’d jacked from a random cell, he stared at the moonlight now seeping through the prisons windows. Perhaps one day he’d tell her the stories of each one. Perhaps he’d tell her how he’d stumbled over his own feet when he saw a walker with golden blonde hair and a face resembling hers. How his blood ran cold and his heart stopped. How he’d fallen on his knife when his brain stopped processing the scene in front of him, thinking for a few fearful seconds that she was gone.

Perhaps one day he’d tell her how she’d broken past every barrier and permanently engraved herself on his heart.



Behind-The-Scenes of CRIMINAL MINDS

I worked on a 2 Episodes of Season 9. One of them was episode 18: “Rabid.”

I played a Looky Loo at the park where a woman was found terrorizing the park goers. We were huddled in a group beyond a chain linked fence watching the scene take place in the drizzling rain. There were little kids in our group and one of the little girls took over my phone and started snapping pics like crazy. She probably took over 60 photos. These were some of the best.

The cast and crew knew she was taking pics. Kids can get away with almost anything on set. Matthew Gray Gubler and Shemar Moore were both hamming it up for the camera. Super nice guys.

Hope you enjoy!

I was stealing roses to hang and dry for you when I sliced open my knuckle on a chain link fence. I watched as the cement spotted red and decided that you aren’t worth flowers.

anonymous asked:


The crowd holds a collective breath, oxygen trapped in the chests of fans with smeared paint dripping down their faces and the lucky number seven attached to the back of their jerseys, as the red stitches of the ball glide off the tips of Harry’s fingers and soar into the catcher’s mitt. The gleam in his eyes ignites when he recovers into his normal stance, his hands held at his sides as a grin covers the expanse of his sweaty skin. All too soon does a flurry of green and gray uniforms swarm the mound, hands and legs tackling the curly haired boy into the dirt with cheers and whoops of victory. Confined in the dugout behind a ratty chain link fence, you watch as he is swung over the shoulders of his teammates and offered to the sky. 

Harry has just become the school’s first pitcher to throw five perfect games in a season. Judging by the way he saunters to the training room after the game, palm slightly bloody from the rough etching of the baseball, he knows it. 

The elbow of the athlete you are icing extends as a hand is offered in congratulations. Much to your dismay, the star baseball player gladly accepts it, murmuring his thanks in a low octave, dimples pushing into his tan. With your fingers icy and a glare to match, you turn to his direction and meet his look with a tilt of your head. When he drops onto the table a moment later, palm upturned and awaiting the sting of peroxide, you brush against him. 

Merely to goad, he asks with a smirk, “Did I play well?” 

A haphazard curl falls into the wicked twinkle of his eye. As you dab a cotton ball into the antibacterial and swipe it across the lines in his large hand, you avoid his gaze and the tantalizing sweep of his tongue across his pink mouth. 

“You played just as good as you did in your last seven games, Harry.” 

“I know that.” There is a pause, a gentle sigh reaching even the darkest corners of the room, and then a movement that causes his fingers to wrap around yours and halt your healing actions. “I just wanted to hear it from you.”

A bandage that had been balled into your fist falls into a heap of fabric on the cabinet next to him. Although neither of you speak for a few moments, his throat bobs and settles with every swallow of air he takes. It’s as if he’s daring himself to say something, yet the current of the tension in the atmosphere stops him from doing so. You are not looking at him, but he has learned every angle and slope of your face, and he watches in quiet endearment as your bottom lip quivers at the attention that burns into the side of your face. 

In a whisper, you respond, “You always want to hear something from me, but you never do the talking.” 

A line of confusion forms inbetween Harry’s eyebrows. After checking over your head to make notice of the third baseman’s closed eyelids, he leans in close and steals a kiss from your temple. Your skin immediately begins to tingle once he pulls back, the heat of his mouth washing over the mussed baby hairs placed at your forehead. You are an image of disarray and erratic breathing, the height of your chest rising to an extreme when you catch a whiff of deodorant mixed with perspiration. When he is on the pitcher’s mound, standing tall and powerful in the center of the infield, he is someone completely different. Now, sitting before you, he is simply the boy who you fell in love with when he was smaller and softer in high school, naïve of the success that came with his future. The vulnerability comes and stays with it. 

“I don’t know what you want from me,” you add carefully, teeth biting into the skin of your lip because you know he’s caught and stuck on the outline of it. “You have never said what it is you want out of this.” 

“I want you,” he murmurs, specks of blue flaring around the green in his eyes, “I want you, I want baseball - I want all of it.” 

The seconds following his confession has you feeling like a fan on your feet in the stands, hands cupped around your mouth and calling out adoration for number seven. Anticipation crushes into your bones, causing your ribs to collapse against your sides and have you spilling out and into him. He catches your stumble with fingers wrapped around your wrists, holding you carefully to him. 

“You’re everyone’s favorite player. I don’t know if I can compete with that.” 

Harry chuckles, the sound pushing against your ears and worming its way into your heart. “You’re mine,” he whispers, “My favorite person, you know that? It’s hard to not to think about you when I’m out there. It’s why I’m winning.” 

One of your hand pulls back from the embrace of his to rest over his beating heart. Your palm covers a portion of the number seven on the front of his jersey, heating him through his skin. Blood pumps vigorously through his veins, the pattern of his heartbeat skyrocketing, and your nose bumps gently into his. 

“Am I yours?” he asks. 

You echo, “You have always been number one in my heart.”