it's the men that draw the eye

anonymous asked:

I'm sorry,,,but STOP. YURI ON ICE DOESN'T DESERVE ALL ITS AWARDS ITS A SHITTY SHOW FOR FANGIRLS TO NOSBLEED ABOUT HOT YAOIZ!!!!1! literally the only reason it won b/c of all of its fujoshis and ur just one of them,,,

I don’t know about you, buddy, but unless you know, this anime was basically given a low-ass budget, had to go through hell to get greenlit, and then got popular.
Part of the reason is the healthy, beautiful, and consensual same-sex relationship (which, by the way, is not yaoi), and other reasons include the beautifully orchestrated OST, the non-stereotyped representation of POC, how the show humanizes every character in the end of just 12 episodes, the gender-fluidity of the characters. and how mental health is treated with actual respect. 
If you’re one of those fans who are yelling about how it won ‘best animation’, here’s some insight on how hard it was to animate (part of the reason why so many companies turned the idea down). 

22 skating programs. That’s already thousands and thousands of frames.  Given the lack of downtime in between competitions (episode 6 on must have been hell), the animators had to constantly be drawing these programs. Combine that with Yuri on Ice’s low budget and lack of time- of course it’s going to look a bit distorted. Yet it still managed to make the skating scenes presentable, and and even enjoyable, to the point where many ice skaters are able to recreate the choreography. Honestly, as someone who’s tried to animate,I can say that the animators really deserve some respect.
Should they have won? Maybe not. Did they? Yes. Should you go yell at a fan because of it? No and honey, you need to chill

You make it sound as if it’s only young females that watch this show. Like, it’s not as if a multitude of professional ice skaters such as Johnny Weir, Evgenia Mendvedva, Denis Ten, Michael Martinez, Stephane Lambiel, Deniss Vasiljevs, and Evgeni Plushenko and so many others have tweeted about it, some even spamming their followers about this anime. South Park referenced Yuri on Ice. The amount of men in places such as Indonesia and Malaysia, with a bit of a warped vision about homosexuality, stating that the show had opened their eyes and made same sex love look not so taboo.
So, just fangirls now?

Maybe, the reason why Yuri on Ice won was because of its way of drawing non-anime fans into appreciating anime because of its realism. Because it had an OST that was more than memorable. Because the POC were represented so well (especially with characters like Phichit, Otabek, Leo, etc.) and were normalized, instead of treated like stereotypes. Because it humanized every single character, like JJ, Chris, and especially Yurio. Because it allowed characters to explore their gender-fluidity (Viktor’s past, and Yuuri performing Eros). Because it didn’t shy away from mental health, with Yuuri and JJ’s panic attacks, and how the people around them did nothing but give their full love and support. Because it refused to ever make anyone look like a complete enemy, every skater had their own dreams, goals and hardships. Because when we’re presented with Yuuri and Viktor’s romance, we don’t just see them as two boys who want to get into each others’ pants. We see them as two people, people who developed a relationship through consent and talking their feelings with one another, and in turn, are now on their way to being married. Because two women had a dream, and even with a low budget, high expectations and a smaller studio, made it happen and people all over the world are more than ready to share it. 

Yuri on Ice’s Bluray and DVDs already sold 50,878 copies in the first week, and 0.5% of animes actually reach that kind of result. The OST is the third best selling CD and first best selling in digital sales in its first week. We’ve already topped more bestselling anime soundtracks than Viktor Nikiforov has records. 

For an anime ‘directed at fujoshis’

Originally posted by gameraboy

COWBOY BEBOP SENTENCE STARTERS.

  • ❝ …Bang… ❞
  • ❝ This could be a trap. ❞
  • ❝ This is strictly business. ❞
  • ❝ Whatever happens, happens. ❞
  • ❝ Life is but a dream. ❞
  • ❝ You’re in a good mood today. ❞
  • ❝ Tell me what you’re doing here. ❞
  • ❝ Don’t try anything. ❞
  • ❝ Why don’t you shoot? ❞
  • ❝ Go on, pull the trigger. ❞
  • ❝ What’s wrong? Lose your nerve? ❞
  • ❝ You’re an original, aren’t you? ❞
  • ❝ Could you be a little quieter please? ❞
  • ❝ Great, a wannabe preacher with a gun… ❞
  • ❝ Guess you’ll have to chalk it up to bad luck. ❞
  • ❝ You’re gonna carry that weight. ❞
  • ❝ The one that’s insane is this world. ❞
  • ❝ Hey there, having a little trouble? ❞
  • ❝ Are you living in the real world? ❞ 
  • ❝ Even if you play by the rules, nothing gets solved. ❞
  • ❝ The more you know, the shorter your life will be. ❞
  • ❝ I’m just a humble bounty hunter, ma’am/sir. ❞
  • ❝ Pretending to be senile won’t get you out of this. ❞
  • ❝ I’m just watching a bad dream I never wake up from. ❞
  • ❝ Are you pleading for your life? ❞
  • ❝ You should see yourself right now. ❞
  • ❝ Do you have any idea what you look like? A ravenous beast. ❞
  • ❝ The same blood runs through both of us. ❞
  • ❝ I’ve bleed all that kind of blood away. ❞
  • ❝ Why are you still alive? ❞
  • ❝ Don’t give me that art of war crap. ❞
  • ❝ Time never stands still. ❞  
  • ❝ If you don’t work, you don’t eat. ❞
  • ❝ These Earthlings are weird. ❞ 
  • ❝ I’ll take care of this, you can go back. ❞
  • ❝ I love the kind of woman that can kick my ass. ❞
  • ❝ A star just fell from the sky. ❞
  • ❝ Cold climates don’t concern me. ❞
  • ❝ Your heart is colder than any planet. ❞
  • ❝ Remember, a snake cannot eat a dragon. ❞
  • ❝ We should’ve never taken such a risk. ❞
  • ❝ I’m fully aware of the danger. ❞
  • ❝ How long were you in there listening, [ name ]? ❞ 
  • ❝ And this time, I hope you have sweet dreams. ❞
  • ❝ I’ll meet you at the end of this world. ❞
  • ❝ Belonging is the very best thing there is. ❞
  • ❝ There is nothing more innocent and cruel than a child.❞
  • ❝ Man shouldn’t have to live on carbohydrates alone, complex or otherwise. ❞
  • ❝ I have no fear of death. It just means dreaming in silence. A dream that lasts for an eternity. ❞
  • ❝ Of the days that I have lived, only those I spent with you seemed real. ❞
  • ❝ My memory…finally came back…but nothing good came from it. ❞
  • ❝ There was no place for me to return to; this was the only place I could go. ❞
  • ❝ Why do you have to go? Where are you going?! ❞
  • ❝ What are you going to do, throw away your life like it was nothing?! ❞
  • ❝ What’s your price to keep this from leaking to the press? ❞
  • ❝ Either you give me the money or I put a bullet through your brain. ❞    
  • ❝ I’m not the type to be led around by a woman/man. ❞
  • ❝ You can’t tell the age of a woman by looking at her. ❞
  • ❝ You’re kidding yourself if you think every woman/man is like you. They’re not.❞
  • ❝ Why did you do all of this? For money? Some sort of revenge? Or perhaps just for fun?❞
  • ❝ Come on, hang in there, you hear me? ❞ 
  • ❝ When angels are forced out of heaven, they become devils. ❞
  • ❝ Tell me, if we had met earlier in life, would we have been friends? ❞
  • ❝ You know the first rule of combat? Shoot them before they shoot you. ❞
  • ❝ I’m not a criminal. Woah, that makes me sound more like a criminal, doesn’t it. ❞
  • ❝ You took all the money you stole from us and lost it in a gambling casino? ❞
  • ❝ This is real mystic and all, but uh, do you have anything to eat here? ❞
  • ❝ You know what they say, cowboy, easy come easy go. ❞ 
  • ❝ You told me once, to forget the past, cause it doesn’t matter, but you’re the one still tied to the past, [ name ]!  ❞
  • ❝ Don’t tell me things like that; you’ve never told me anything about yourself, so don’t tell me now! ❞
  • ❝ I felt like I was watching a dream I’d never wake up from. Before I knew it, the dream was all over. ❞
  • ❝ Do not fear death. Death is always at our side. When we show fear, it jumps at us faster than light, but if we do not show fear, it casts its eye upon us gently and then guides us into infinity…  ❞
  • ❝ Men only think about their past right before death, as if they were searching frantically for proof they were alive. ❞
  • ❝ No one can draw a clear line between sane and insane. You move that line as you see fit for yourself. No one else can.  ❞

since my move from liberal feminism to a more radical leaning feminism i feel like my world view has expanded like ten million percent. all liberal feminism ever seemed to focus on (at least from my experiences on tumblr and other social media) was the acceptance of new genders, and coming up for a word for every tiny facet of someone’s sexual orientation, and letting white ladies do porn bc its empowering, and retweeting “hoe tips” on how to flush out your vagina with soap so men don’t get offended by your smell, and respecting a man’s choice to choke out his sexual partner and pretend she is a small child bc it’s his kink and he is a part of the “queer” community, and drawing on winged eyeliner “sharp enough to stab a man,” and letting fat women wear lingerie so they too can be fuckable in the eyes of men.

i never learned about violence and discrimination against women from liberal feminism. never knew about sex selective abortion and infanticide. about FGM, or breast ironing, about menstruation stigma, about domestic abuse, about bride burning, child marriage, sexual slavery and forced prostitution. never learned about corrective rape or marital rape. or honor killings or acid attacks. or forced pregnancy or human trafficking. among other things. 

im sure you get where im going with this but radfems opened my eyes to a much more intersectional and less western-centric feminism. for as much as libfems like to throw around the term “intersectionality” you would think they’d talk a little more about real issues affecting women globally instead of “cis women have privilege over trans women” and “when i wear boy clothes im a boy and when i wear girl clothes im a girl” and “urban decay all nighter foundation doesnt get cakey when ur man blows a load on ur face #hoetips”

8

get to know me meme; 2/10 female characters: vanessa ives (penny dreadful)
“You’re not a woman of convention or you wouldn’t be here, but you like to pretend you are so people don’t notice you. But you sometimes like that as well and can dress to draw the eye. But then you think the men who look at you are fools, or worse, to be taken in by such an obvious outward show. So instead, you’re drawn to dark, complicated, impossible men, assuring your own unhappiness and isolation because, after all, you’re happiest alone. But not even then, because you can’t stop thinking about what you’ve lost, again for which you blame yourself. So the cycle goes on, the snake eating its own tail.”

anonymous asked:

Hi - I love it when you come up with creative everyday life situations for Tom. Let me tell you, you never fail to elicit a giggle :) Inspired by the anon who asked you about breakfast cam scribblings, I wanted to ask, what you imagine what Tom's nighttime routine is. I'd love to hear your thoughts and ideas. They're always so amusing! But only, of course, if you have time ;)

Hi there!

Thank you!  I have an over-active imagination and I was taught to share.  So.  Here we are.  :)

Righto, Nighttime Routine Tom…

I would guess that he doesn’t really have anything set that he repeats every night except for maybe stripping down to his birthday suit.  He doesn’t like to make plans, he doesn’t seem like the kind of person who needs repetition of a series of actions to make himself feel comfortable.  And at the sake of stereotyping, I think it’s safe to say that men don’t do much in the way of skin care or things of that nature before hitting the hay; so aside from brushing the gold mine in his mouth, I doubt he is spending a lot of time removing make up and cleansing and moisturizing and applying eye cream and on and on.  But who knows, maybe he does.  It’s kind of fun to imagine him sitting around with a mud mask and cucumbers on his eyes and a towel wrapped around his head so the hair treatment can work its magic.  I wish I could draw that!

If he’s been on set, maybe showering and just falling into bed with a bit of script review for the next day.  

Originally posted by ofallingstar

If he’s at home, some reading. (this is basically just an excuse for me to post a gif of those porny bookshelves of his…)

Originally posted by maryxglz

I have a bad habit, which I am working on breaking, of snacking in bed.  Maybe his sheets have biscuit crumbs here and there…

Originally posted by tomhiddleston-gifs

And now that I’m thinking about bedtime snacking with SAF, I’m gonna stop.  

Serizawa doesn’t realize soon enough that Reigen has come to stand beside him, where he is crouched over a small group of ribbon and stem trimmings. His voice comes unexpectedly close so he startles into looking up, in time to see Reigen’s hand falter a few inches off of his shoulder.

Reigen’s fingers look like they’re about to curl away for a fraction of a second, reminding Serizawa of a plant he once heard of that curls in on itself when touched. They nearly close into a fist before it unfurls at the last second and finally lands on his shoulder.

Reigen’s grip is steady, just like his grin. “We’re done,” he says, eyes glinting, grin no longer uncertain. “We did it, Serizawa.”

so yea i got EMOTIONS from reading the new ch of @matsuosomatsu‘s flower language and yea you should read it too, look it made me do a quick messy color doodle and feel so many good gay feelings about these men again

every day we just go, go (baby don’t go)

this one was prompted by @vesperlionheart as villain!hashirama and a villain/hero dynamic. hope you enjoy!


Victory coats his throat, thicker and sweeter than any mead in the world as the sails become apparent upon the horizon.

Finally.

Gorge rising, Hashirama collapses his telescope and nods briskly to his boatswain. The man snaps to and steps away to alert the crew.

“Are you well, Commodore?”

Hashirama’s eyes flash as he turns to his brother. Tobirama lowers his gaze in deference but he stands near him still. “It is high time to bring the wayward Uchiha scion to heel.” His lips twist, curling into a cruel sneer. “I will not rest until I have him hanging in the gallows. He has led his house to ruin.”

Tobirama pulls free his pistol and begins cleaning it, knowing what they are about to face. “One bad seed does not a bad family make.” He frowns, eyeing the trigger before fiddling with it. “The Uchiha family was rotting from within long before Madara. It is the only explanation for the way so many of them have taken upon piracy.”

Hashirama’s heart squeezes as he remembers days long since gone: playing at swords with sticks, skipping out on important social events to explore the briny caverns near his childhood home, even their hushed conversations in the barracks as they started training. Madara was the shining star of the academy; the jewel in the Queen’s crown.

And yet…

Keep reading

Lilith

Of Adam’s first wife, Lilith, it is told
     (The witch he loved before the gift of Eve,)
     That, ere the snake’s, her sweet tongue could deceive,
And her enchanted hair was the first gold.
And still she sits, young while the earth is old,
     And, subtly of herself contemplative,
     Draws men to watch the bright web she can weave,
Till heart and body and life are in its hold.

The rose and poppy are her flowers; for where
     Is he not found, O Lilith, whom shed scent
And soft-shed kisses and soft sleep shall snare?
     Lo! as that youth’s eyes burned at thine, so went
     Thy spell through him, and left his straight neck bent
And round his heart one strangling golden hair.
     —Dante Gabriel Rossetti

Thank You (to Lokis like You)

A quick thing I need to say in regards to the MCU and its Loki.

Thank you.

To Taiki Waititi, of course, brilliant madman that he is. Ragnarok looks like it’s going to be a fun ride. In a more general sense I need to thank the Marvel Cinematic Universe as a whole for taking a pretty huge step forward for Marvel and its comics by shedding a bright new spotlight on these heroes and villains and their antics, drawing in fresh eyes and fans who might never have given the series a second thought otherwise. I was one of the latter.

I had only some hazy idea of who those spandex clad folks were from the X-Men films and the X-Men Evolution cartoon. (I was enamored with every version of Nightcrawler for a spell, got the action figure and everything.) But while I still kept Professor X’s gifted youngsters in a corner of my heart, I never really threw myself into any of the Marvel universes. They were just another cool thing to smile over, maybe record an episode, maybe pick up a back issue or two once in a while. No big deal.

Then the other kids started showing up. A number of Hulks and Spider-Men. Captain America and Bucky. Iron Man and Nick Fury. Thor and Loki.

I saw them all with my father, half from personal interest—Nolanverse Batman and some re-watchings of Blade had psyched me up for more superheroes—and half from just having something to share with Dad. It was fun.

But the one he liked the least was the one that held my attention the most, even months after it left the theater.

Thor.

It wasn’t a masterpiece. It’d become obvious later in the franchise’s run that the MCU just didn’t see the need to put as much effort into it as they did with breadwinners like Stark and Rogers cavorting around with their human stories and conspiracies and intrigue. We all know that hours of additional footage were shaved off both Thor and Thor: the Dark World—supposedly for time reasons, though both films were rather stubby compared to their neighbors. As a result the movies offered to the public were missing key character moments only to be found when digging in the Blu-rays and the storylines seemed choppier for it.

Even so. I was interested.

Why? Because my oblivious ass had no idea these guys existed. Not as comic book characters, not as gods of Norse myth, nothing. This was all brand new territory, watered down as it was. I’d only had Greek myths in my head—because they are the Classic Mythology and therefore Most Important, say the public schools and community colleges—and these gods seemed more like deities I’d feel safer standing in a room with. For what little time and space they got, the Asgardians gave a glimpse of something unique. Yet even with this in mind, I might have set them on the same, ‘oh that’s nice,’ shelf as every other fandom if not for the dude with the horns.

Yes, Loki ‘Glassy-eyed, Shakespearian archetype, “TELL ME!!1!,” ‘Guys seriously we need to blur out the crotch give him a damn courtesy flap in the next costume,’ #DaddyIssues’ Odin/Laufeyson.

The character that Hiddleston put out there drew me most because, well, he was kind of a sore thumb. Here were all these big bombastic warrior gods and giants and comic book flotsam, there was him all dark and scheming, prepped and ready for a villainous cackling spell, and…

And he doesn’t cackle. Oh, he gets a proper ‘I’m so smart look at my plan coming to fruition fuck yeah’ smirk here and there, but there’s next to nothing of the original recipe asshole god I would come to know and hate-love in the comics. The Loki that Hiddleston put together in the MCU for that first film was interesting because he wasn’t just the clear cut, ‘Mwa ha ha,’ bad guy.

When he looks away as Odin lavishes praise on Thor in the coronation, when he shuts down as Heimdall cuts into him on the Bifrost, when he goes bug-eyed at the sight of his blue skin in the giant fight, when he tells the Warriors Three that he let it slip to a guard and thus to Odin where they were going so they wouldn’t be lost/killed, when he confronts Odin about his origins, when he murders Laufey in a display of fealty, when he goes into a psychological meltdown as Thor—Thor, who should be K.O.’d on Midgard after the Destroyer, after he froze Heimdall to keep him from mucking with the Bifrost, who should not be there, in his way, always in his way, suddenly lecturing him for trying to wipe out the frost giants after only three measly days on the mortal dirt ball when Thor himself went there to wage war and swing his hammer—when he cries out to Odin Allfather that he’d done all of it for him, for all of them, look, look where his loyalty lies, he is not a monster like them, not like the frost giants, he is of Asgard, he is an Odinson, Father, look Father, all of this was for you

“No, Loki.”

And then he goes quiet again. Perfectly quiet.

His grip loosens.

“Loki, no.”

He lets go.

Thor screams and Loki is quiet, quiet, dropping into the Void, expecting death—I think he expected it later when the Dark World came around too, but that’s another ramble—not caring either way.

Then he shows up in the after credits scene, clearly mangled and burnt by something, with the first hints of the warped bastard from the comics showing in the smile.

That was a hell of a thing to see in what was otherwise a very hasty B+ movie. I cared more about his story than any of the thunderbolts and lightning and pseudo-romance flying around. So I put the name Loki in Google.

And holy shit have I gone far since.

Here were the comics, a sprawling evolution for the Villain, the Child, the Magpie, and the Storyteller, the last’s tale still unfolding, marching out of the mold labeled God of Evil by pioneer writers (and by the first Christians to slap the mantle of the Devil on him).

Here were the mythos, a vision of laughter and guile, myriad shapes and ultimate despair, strange children and legendary world-ending wrath.

Here were all these people who knew of all these Lokis, all these stories, all the stories they made from those stories, these excellent fans and friends.

Since first seeing that live action Loki—a character very much pruned down from his roots, made subtler, sadder, more prone to use blades than magic—I have come to put the comics’ God of Stories and the Norsemen’s God of Mischief both on the shelf reserved for Favorite Troublemaking Fucker(s). But I would be doing a disservice to the character and the god if I did not give thanks to the version that first opened the door to the Trickster and everything they’ve gotten their sneaky fingers into.

So, thank you to the Loki of the MCU.

Thank you to Tom Hiddleston for making the character more than the sneering cookie cutter villain put down in the script. Thank you for coddling the sour green meanie as you have, for being as much a geek for him as your own fans, for making him too marketable to kill off for good, as has not been the case for so many other MCU baddies. Thank you for being the gateway jerk god to all the other iterations of the jerk god.

Thank you.

(Now if you could just talk to the directors about getting a wig that doesn’t look like it’s not been washed in three days…)

Selfless

Request:

Hi :-) So can i have a Daryl x reader where they are friends since before the apocalypse and they have feelings for each others but are too shy to say it ? And Daryl is jealous because she is getting closer of Shane and one day while looking for Sophia they argue and admit their feelings ? ( With smut if you want ) Thank you a lot I love your imagines !

A/N: ugh I wrote this and originally it fit the request really good but I accidentally deleted it. I about shot myself and I veered a little off in attempt to actually write it. I hope you like it anyways! (No smut but sometime in one of the upcoming ones) KM SO SORRY ITS LATE I PROMISE ILL WROTE THE OTHERS SOON

Song: bad_news by Bastille

-

“What the hell is your deal?” You asked Daryl harshly.

He scoffed and turned to you with piercing eyes. “Go back to Shane! Yer bangin’ him anyway!”

“You know just as well as I do that that isn’t true! What the fuck is your damn problem?” You were fuming at your best friend who was being completely unreasonable. He got close to you and spoke in your face, putting up his dominant front.

“Do I? I ain’t dealin’ with yer shit no more! You were my problem but not anymore!” He turned away from you and started to walk off when you spoke, so quiet he could barely hear it.

“What-what does that mean..?”

“Exactly what it sounds like.” And with that, he left you outside of your tent with your thoughts to go to the city and find his brother. You were aware of a tightening feeing creeping up in your throat and blurriness finding its way in front of your eyes.

You knew that he didn’t mean anything he just said to you and he’d come running back and saying sorry when he got back but that didn’t mean the words didn’t hurt.

Daryl met you in a restaurant, managing to rescue you from a perverted customer. You instantly attached to him and became extremely close and somewhere along the way, you fell in love. It was him who was at your door at 2 AM when screams and sounds of destruction were closing in. He held his crossbow and shoved a gun into your hand and dragged you to his bike and headed for the mountains along with his older brother. Daryl was protective and rough around the edges but you cherished every part of him, knowing he was the only thing you had left. You always thought the feelings were unreciprocated, one way.

Shane had just asked you for help and often confined in you about Lori after Rick showed up. You were always willing to listen, wanting to help everyone. You always give your food to the kids if they were still hungry or took a double watch if someone was tired. In all honesty, you didn’t dub your behavior as unusual; your father raised you to be selfless and giving, something he always was. Daryl hated Shane, more so after he put him in a headlock, giving him a severe headache the day after.

You couldn’t believe what Daryl said. Accusing you of sleeping with someone was absurd. You had boyfriends before Daryl came around but they were all jerks and cheaters, leaving you single for the better part of your college life.

You shook your head, trying to get what he said out of your thoughts as the sounds of an engine roared to life. The heavy weight of worry made its home deep in your heart, sinking to the bottom like a stone. Walkers crawled the big city streets and just the mere thought of the man you loved stepping a foot close to it created a wave of anxiety, images of his bloody body appearing in your mind. It wouldn’t be the first time he came home drenched in blood.

Sure, you were mad at him for saying what he did, but you forgave so easily especially when he comes to you with guilt glistening in his blue eyes. He was so insecure, always doubting himself, causing him to lash out and voice what he thinks others believe. He always apologized and ended up beating himself up about it; you just came to terms with the fact that he was like that because of his past. Daryl was always on the defense, protecting himself from things that weren’t meant to harm him. You were the first to see the scars on his back, not even his brother had seen them.

You could remember him yelling at you then storming out, leaving you in tears because it was the first time he’d ever done that. Hours later, tear stains along with smudged makeup painted your pillowcase when he returned. As soon as he saw your puffy eyes and trembling body beneath the covers, self loathing claimed his mind, you could see it. Daryl turned around and took his shirt over his head to show you why he was the way he was. You cried while he held you and vice versa. You were devastated to find out the truth but grateful he trusted you enough. That was the day you first started realizing how deep in you really were.

-

The campfire warmed your skin and brought smiles to the faces of those around it. It was Amy’s birthday, everyone telling stories and just enjoying the moment absent from terror. Carl and Sophia were beside you as they both reminded you of your long gone siblings.

Amy got up to leave, everyone’s eyes shooting to her. “I have to pee. Jeez, you try to be discreet around here.” The group chuckled, even bringing you out of your paranoid haze you’d been trapped in ever since you started to overthink. Daryl being hurt flashed before your eyes, him being bit, a walker. You couldn’t stay calm.

A scream pierced the air. Then another. Then everyone was screaming.

Amy was outside of the trailer, a walker biting into her neck. Her sister jumped up and ran to her bleeding body. While this was occurring, walkers appeared from the forest, biting people as they went. Screams rattled the night as well as gunshots.

You jumped up and pulled your gun from your back pocket, now in defense mode. You pushed the children behind you and took down every walker that got near you.

In the chaos, you managed to see Carl darting to his mother, catching the attention of a few walkers.

“Shit!” You yelled, pulling Sophia by the arm to the trailer. You shoved her inside and gave her a spare knife. She looked at you with fear heavy in her eyes and sobs coming from her mouth. “If anything tries to get you, use this!” You slammed the door shut and ran to the other child. He was still running from the walkers and despite how much you screamed for their attention, they were not giving up.

An idea sparked through your head, though you weren’t thinking of the consequences due to the adrenaline pumping in your blood. You grabbed your main knife from your belt and slid it across your forearm, hoping the smell would attract the undead.

You screamed at them once again and they veered their attention from Carl to you. He ran to his mother and she was yelling something at you but your ears were filled with the sound of your rapid heartbeat. Again, you decided to do something potentially stupid and ran to the middle of everything where adults were fighting and others were being bitten.

The knife once again slid over your arm, more crimson running down your fingertips. Walkers that weren’t occupied with feeding on the bitten were now after you.

You sprinted quickly to the woods, hoping to draw them away from the attacked campsite. Groans could be heard from behind you, getting closer and closer by the second. Your strength was running out; the cuts still spilling blood weren’t exactly shallow and it made your head spin.

Eventually you reached a point where you couldn’t run anymore. So you turned toward the fifteen or so walkers in front of you and raised your gun, shooting the ones closest to you until the ammo ran out.

Your knife was the only thing left. You stabbed one after the other, careful to dodge those lunging after you.

While you were pulling the knife out of one, another jumped on you, pushing you to the ground. You struggled against it, thinking of what Daryl taught you.

You held it back with all your strength as it tried to snap its teeth into your face. Just as it was about to sink into your flesh, it fell limp. An arrow was in its skull.

Gunshots rang beside you and you didn’t bother getting up, knowing your dwindling adrenaline wouldn’t aid you in the process. The body was lifted from you and you were met with blue eyes just as you closed yours.

-

As Daryl pulled in, walkers were eating people and attacking the living. Gunshots rang out and echoed into the night, drawing more and more of the dead to them.

He jumped from the car as well as the other men, bringing his crossbow up and taking out the closest to him. He takes them down one after the other, making his way towards the middle of the chaos.

“Daryl!” His head whipped to the voice. It was Lori who was behind Shane along with her son.

“It’s (Y/N)! She’s in the woods and a bunch of walkers followed her!” She was yelling overtop of the loud sounds of death and destruction but Daryl heard every single word.

He took off sprinting into the trees, searching frantically for you, the only one he cared about. He finally saw a crowd of walkers. You were in the middle fighting them off, blood covering you. A walker fell onto you and was trying to bite you and as soon as he was close enough, he took it out. Daryl quickly killed the other ones by means of stabbing and shooting, going over to you after they all fell.

You were covered in blood and your eyes were glazed over before your eyelids covered them. He picked you up and ran back to the camp where the gunshots ceased.

-

“What happened to her?” Daryl asked while you were unconscious in your tent. He had bandaged your arms while muttering apologies for everything he said even though you couldn’t hear him.

“She saved Carl,” Lori said, emotion thick in her voice. “Walkers were chasing him and she– she cut herself to drawl them away. Then she did it again in the middle of everything to get them away from all of us.” Tears were running down her face as she recalled the traumatic events only an hour prior to the current conversation.

He cursed under his breath. How could he have not guessed? You were naturally like that and he knew it.

Rick came over to him and put a hand on Daryl’s shoulder. “(Y/N)’s a brave girl. I owe her, we all do.”

-

A pounding in your skull woke you up. Opening your eyes almost made it worse.

You were in your tent, night still in the air. You sat up, almost falling back down because of the dizziness flooding your vision. Bandages were wrapped around your left arm, blood soaking through them.

Then, the zipper on the tent was undone as Daryl unzipped it. He was covered in blood, mirroring you, and looked exhausted.

“Daryl,” you breathed out. He came inside and closed the tent back up before pulling you into a tight embrace. He burrowed his face into your neck and breathed in. Tears found their way to your cheeks.

“Don’ do that again. Stop bein’ so damn selfless,” he threatened, half growling. He pulled away and took your arm. His thumb brushed over the bandages and he looked you in the eyes with a hard stare. “I can’ lose ya.”

You put your hand on his cheek and he leaned into the gentle touch, an unusual thing for him. Tears kept their steady flow down your face. You were happy but a larger part of you was devastated at the loss of everyone.

Daryl could see exactly what you were thinking. He always did. “C'mere.”

He took you into his embrace, just holding you and whispering into your ear. “I need ya…. I- I…”

“I love you too, Daryl.” You whispered back, knowing what he was trying to say. He squeezed you lightly and held you for the rest of the night, protecting you from the terrors outside.

I already know what’s wrong with you. You’re unhappy. You’re isolated. You think you’re the cause of this unhappiness and are unworthy of affection so you have few friends. Recently you lost something you think very important - your lover? Your faith? your family? Or all three. You blame yourself for this so its makes you neurotic and you don’t sleep, and don’t eat… anything healthy anyway. You used to take care of your appearance but you’ve lost interest in that so you avoid mirrors. Sunlight bothers you so you avoid that too, about which you feel guilty because you think it’s unhealthy even immoral not to like the sun. You’re not a woman of convention or you wouldn’t be here. But you like to pretend you are, so that people don’t notice you. But you sometimes like that as well and can dress to draw the eye. But then you think the men that look at you are fools, or worse, to be taken in by such an outward obvious show. So instead you’re drawn to dark, complicated, impossible men, assuring your own unhappiness and isolation because, after all, you are happiest alone. But not even then. Because you can’t stop thinking about what you’ve lost, again for which you blame yourself. So the cycle goes on… the snake eating its own tail.
—  Dr. Seward (Patti Lupone) assessing patient Vanessa Ives (Eva Green) in Season 3, Episode 1 of “Penny Dreadful”.

anonymous asked:

20. When’s the last time you smiled? (jamilton, to get your imagination going?)

“When’s the last time you smiled?”

The question caught him off guard. Alexander frowned over the rim of his bottle and tilted his head, silent as a moment as he regarded Thomas’ face. There was no malice, no hidden meaning behind the question. Just simple curiosity. He couldn’t even remember why they were drinking together. A case gone well? The whole office was in the bar, but Thomas and Alexander had ended up in their own booth, away from everyone else.

“Uh…with my first cup of coffee this morning.” Alexander replied, shaking himself from his thoughts. Thomas snorted and shook his head, taking another long drink before looking across to his supposed nemesis.

“No, I mean really smiled, Hamilton. Like, couldn’t stop it, best moment of your life kind of smile.” He clarified, resting his elbows on the table and propping his chin in his hands. Alexander huffed softly and shook his head, quiet again for several moments as he thought.

“When Pip was born.” He replied after a moment, refusing to actually look up at Thomas. True that had followed by one of the worst moments of his life, but Philip was the reason he still got up in the morning. Philip was the only reason he’d been able to move past Eliza’s death and keep going. If only so Philip could have a semblance of a normal life.

He didn’t realize he’d teared up until he heard Thomas’ sympathetic hum, and he quickly tried to blink away the tears. This didn’t work, and instead more began to flow, a chocked whine forcing its way from his throat.

“Sorry, I’m sorry.” He gasped out, swiping at his eyes and starting to turn away. He stilled as Thomas shifted closer, placing a surprisingly warm and comforting hand on his shoulder. No words were shared between the two, Alexander’s head still bowed as he struggled to calm himself. Eventually Thomas’ arms wound their way around his torso, drawing the smaller man closer to his chest.

They sat in silence, the rest of the bar completely oblivious to the moment taking place. Come the next day, neither of the men mentioned it, but there was a new found respect and understanding between them.


I…may have got a teeny bit overboard. And made it angsty. And maybe less Jamiltony (?) than you probably hoped but…here it is!

It was suggested to me to write something like this, based on a piece of fanart I did a while back, so I guess this is part one. I don’t expect it to be any good. Really, it’s just me venting.

This is part 1.

 —

 I can recall being out on the ocean only two other times in my life. The first was a whale watching tour off the coast of California. I had a miserable cold, but the whales were nice.

 The second was a cruise to Jamaica where I was cramped in quarters with my parents. Where my only comfort was the idea that the great Cthulhu might sink our boat. Where all I’d gained was a sunburn. I hated the ocean- the way it permeated my clothes with its salty fish smell and rolled like a thousand restless bodies under my feet. 

 Now I am somewhere new. I’ve been given a towel, but I shiver. I can no longer tell if it’s from the cold or nerves. I’ve read about these men- brothers who have conquered all and are reaping their reward. I lean against the wall of the boat and draw my knees close. 

 Soon they are on deck with me again, arms folded, jaws set, eyes full of concern. My chest is hot with shame and I can feel myself shrinking down under their watch. 

 "Alright, Kiddo,“ says the one on the left- Stanley Pines, Mr. Mystery, the man who somehow fixed the world. "Had a minute to cool off?”

 I’m not a child but it doesn’t matter. I nod solemnly.

 "Are you ready to tell us why you’re here?“ The other, Stanford Pines. The genius, the traveler, the one I am worried about because he feels that much more dangerous. Again, I nod. Stanley pulls up a rackety old lawn chair and I shrink again. 

My lip is quivering and I am yet more ashamed. It hurts to speak. 

 "Stuck,” is all I manage to say. They look at eachother quizzically.

 "Stuck?“ Asks Stanley. "Gotta be a little more specific.” I choke out another sob and he withdraws a little. Quieter, he continues. “Runnin’ from something?”

 I nod shakily, face buried in my knees and he hums softly. “I get that." 

"But why here?” Stanford asks. “This is hardly the place to be-” I am crying louder and he stops. I feel stupid but I can’t stop the tears.

 "How old’re you, kid?“ Stanley asks. I don’t want to answer. I am old enough to be on my own yet not so old as to know how. I don’t want to answer, so I don’t. I can let them believe I’m still a child for now and not nearly old enough to rent a car.

They grow silent, waiting like two ancient stones for me to stop crying. God, do I look stupid, I’ll bet. 

Soon I am tired out for a second time. I sit quietly with my head on my knees for some time before I finally have the ability to speak. 

"M-Mr. Pines,” I say, forgetting if I am talking to one, the other or both. “I’m so sorry.”

We’re Not Too Far Gone - Carl Grimes Imagine

Part 2

Part 3

requests: could you do a multi chapter fic where like the reader is like 14?? and like negan takes her from hilltop to raise her as his own but she doesnt like him so she runs away and she gets captured by like dwight and thats the part where glenn and michonne are also captured aswell and they get to the lineup and thats where negan notices her and ricks group are “ shookt ” and when carl tries to hunt down negan and fails he ends up meeting reader during the tour and they form a great friendship??

and about the “ negans daughter” thing can you make the reader really close w jesus and he gets really upset when negan takes her away?? thanks aha

pairings: father figure negan x reader, best friend/ guardian jesus x reader

a/n: i’ve written this about four times now so i hope my laptop doesn’t delete this one lol

word count: 1,575

tagged users: @deeindarkwonderland 


“You like it?” Negan asked, placing his hands on your shoulders. He stood behind you, leaning his head to whisper in your ear. You ignored him, finding that silence was your best defense mechanism against him. You were a mix of disgusted with how the women he lived with pranced around like sex dolls and in awe of how beautiful the room was. You hadn’t seen furniture like that in person ever, even before walkers roamed the earth. 

Negan took you from the Hilltop while he was on one of his weekly visits to take your supplies. One of his wives had been bugging him about wanting a kid, and you seemed to be perfect to him. “Take a seat, and I’ll bring out your new mother,” he ordered. You sat down on the nice couch, huffing at his mention of a ‘mother.’ 

Negan was full of shit if he actually thought you were ever going to call her that. The closest thing you had to a parent was Jesus, who took you in under his wing when your family died. He and you were both lone wolves before you met each other. He became your best friend and guardian. 

A woman followed Negan towards you, where her facial expression resembled anything but happiness. Negan smiled at her hopefully, begging for a response. The woman looked at you with disgust. “This is (Y/N),” Negan said gesturing for you to stand up. You crossed your arms leaning back into your seat. 

“She’s older than I thought she was going to be,” the woman complained. She acted as if you weren’t a few feet in front of her. 

“Same here,” you replied wittily, glaring at the woman. Her eyes widened with rage, and she looked back at Negan like she was waiting for him to do something. 

“I asked for a kid, not a bitchy teenager,” she blurted out, balling her hands into fists at her sides. 

“(Y/N),” Negan sighed, “Why don’t you go ahead and wait outside.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes dramatically to assure that she noticed, and walked out the doors. 

For the first time since you arrived at the sanctuary, you were alone. Negan always made sure either he, himself, or one of his Saviors was by your side at all times. You felt a rush of relief roll over you as you recognized your new freedom. You looked in each direction before quickly walking down the hall, trying your hardest to act like you had a purpose. 

You found a large steel staircase that you recognized and flew down it without a second thought, gripping the handrail for stability. On the ground floor, there were way too many people to count. Some were eating, others were talking, and a group of about twenty men sat around a table, discussing something seemingly important. 

You noticed a group of people leaving the Sanctuary, and began walking with them, trying your hardest to blend in. There didn’t seem to be a leader of the small crowd, and the conversations were only between two or three people, so you weren’t able to hear where they were going. You didn’t care, though. They were leaving, and that was all that was on your mind at the moment. 

You were walking down a road that you recognized from when Negan drove you to the Sanctuary in his truck when a small group of walkers–maybe three or four–caught your attention. A woman with red hair reached into her belt, but you stopped her. 

“Don’t worry about it,” you offered. “I got this. I’ll catch up with you guys.” She didn’t argue, and the group continued down the road. You pulled out your small knife from your belt and efficiently killed all the walkers, then ran a bit deeper into the forest to hide yourself. You ran as quickly as you could in the direction of the Hilltop. 

Your run slowed down to a quiet walk as you heard voices ahead of you. You had no idea how long you had been running, but you were almost positive you weren’t close enough to be home already. Maybe Jesus sent a group out? Or maybe Negan’s group caught up to you? Amidst the trees, you could see two people. An Asian man with floppy, black hair stood across from a slim, dark skinned woman with long, thick hair that fell down her back. 

“We just got stuck with each other,” he said. The woman looked at him sadly, and he looked away from her. “We were lucky.” He paused, shaking his head slightly and breathing in deeply. “We’d figure it all out together. I felt like we did… After everything, we did.” He shook his head again, staring at the fallen leaves on the ground. “The world’s not what we thought it is.” 

You wondered what this man was talking about–who he was talking about. 

“Hilltop, the Saviors… It’s bigger.” Your eyes widened, and you gasped a little. A whistle sounded from among the trees, and you ducked down, drawing your knife. The man positioned his gun in front of him, and the woman grabbed the handle of a long sword out of its sheath on her back. 

Within your immediate line of sight, you could see five men, all with their weapons aimed at the two people. As far as you were aware, they didn’t notice you. You recognized one of the men by the scar on his face, which you assumed was from being burned. These men were Saviors, and they weren’t gathered here coincidentally. They had probably been following you since you left the group on the main road. 

“Hi,” the man with the scarred face said monotonously, aiming his gun at the Asian man. He seemed to bite the inside of his lip as he readjusted his gun beneath his shoulder, lowering the weapon. They held their hands down at their sides in surrender, and they were easily taken to the ground by Negan’s men. 

The man’s and woman’s hands were tied behind their backs, and their mouths were tied shut with gags. They were forced onto the ground as the Saviors began to start a fire. You hadn’t even noticed how dark it was getting until your eyes ached in the presence of light. 

You hadn’t moved since you heard the first whistle. Your feet were planted still, for you were more scared than you had been in a while. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see a man in a black leather vest with a crossbow and a woman with a cap and a large gun creeping up behind the Saviors. You wondered if these people were with the two hostages, or if they were more of Negan’s men. 

Before you could stop yourself, you were creeping towards them. The woman noticed you first, aiming her gun at you. You shook your head frantically, holding your hands up. She nudged the man in the vest, nodding at you. You shook your head once again, trying to inaudibly tell them that you weren’t one of the Saviors. The man and woman creeped towards you, and away from the group. 

“Where are you from?” he asked bluntly. The woman still had her gun aimed at you, but you couldn’t blame her. You could never be too certain that someone wasn’t out to get you. 

“Hilltop,” you whispered, trying not to draw attention to the three of you. “Negan took me, and I got out.” They looked at each other with their eyebrows raised. “Where are you from?” 

“Alexandria,” the woman said. Your eyes lit up at the mention of the town they came from. Jesus always told you how amazing Alexandria was, and how he was going to take you there sometime. 

“Oh!” you said excitedly. “Do you know Jesus?” They looked at each other once more. They seemed to be gaining trust in you. 

“Yeah,” he said. “We know Jesus.” He dropped his weapon and stuck his hand out. “Daryl.”

You tossed your knife into your other hand and shook his. “(Y/N).” 

“I’m Rosita,” the woman said, still aiming her gun at you. You smiled uncomfortably at her. “How old are you, kid?”

“Does anyone really know anymore?” you asked smartly. “I’m probably fourteen or fifteen. I was little when all this started.” Daryl and Rosita nodded. “You know them?” you asked, gesturing at the two hostages. 

“Yeah,” Daryl replied. “Glenn and Michonne. You help us get them, and we’ll get you back to the Hilltop. Yeah?” You nodded in agreement. Even if these people were bad, you had nothing to lose. The three of you crept towards the glowing fire. 

The man who was tied down, Glenn, noticed you three, and your eyes darted back to Daryl. He held up his finger to his lips, telling him to stay quiet. Glenn, though, began to groan, gaining the attention of the Saviors.

“Hi, Daryl,” a man said. You turned your head slowly to see the man with the scarred face holding a gun to the back of Daryl’s head. Rosita put one of her hands up, holding onto her gun with her other hand. You quickly tucked your knife into your belt before raising both your hands up slowly. There was a man behind each of you. 

The sound of a gun firing echoed through the woods, and you dropped to your knees. 

Originally posted by norman-reedus

Little Bird

A.N - For the Fandom Bingo card spot 2-3; ‘wing fic’.

Everyone is born with wings. This is a simple fact of life, passed down through the generations. Rare are the children born without them, and rarer are the cases of those children living to adulthood, or even past their first birthday. 

Keep reading

The one when men show how to put things in order.

“What makes ye think ye can order me about?”

Jamie eyed his brother-in-law’s tense back for a moment, scowling. Suddenly, a muscle at the corner of his mouth twitched.

“Because I’m bigger than you are,” he said belligerently, still scowling.
Ian rounded on him, incredulity stamped on his face. Indecision played in his eyes for less than a second. His shoulders squared up and his chin lifted.

“I’m older than you,” he answered, with an identical scowl.

“I’m stronger.”

“No, you’re not!”

“Aye, I am!”

“No, I am!”

A vein of dead seriousness underlay the laughter in their voices; while this little confrontation might be passed off as all in fun, they were as intent on each other as they had ever been in youth or childhood, and the echoes of challenge rang in Jamie’s voice as he ripped loose his cuff and jerked back the sleeve of his shirt.

“Prove it,” he said. He cleared the chess table with a careless sweep of the hand, sat down and braced his elbow on the inlaid surface, fingers flexed for an offensive. Deep blue eyes glared up into Ian’s dark-brown ones, hot with the same anger.

Ian took half a second to appraise the situation, then jerked his head in a brief nod of acceptance, making his heavy sheaf of dark hair flop into his eyes.

With calm deliberation, he brushed it back, unfastened his cuff, and rolled his sleeve to the shoulder, turn by turn, never taking his eyes from his brother-in-law.

From where I stood, I could see Ian’s face, a little flushed under his tan, long, narrow chin set in determination. I couldn’t see Jamie’s face, but the determination was eloquently expressed by the line of back and shoulders.

The two men set their elbows carefully, maneuvering to find a good spot, rubbing back and forth with the point of the elbow to be sure the surface was not slippery.

With due ritual, Jamie spread his fingers, palm toward Ian. Ian carefully placed his own palm against it. The fingers matched, touching for a moment in a mirror image, then shifted, one to the right and one to the left, linked and clasping.

“Ready?” Jamie asked.

“Ready.” Ian’s voice was calm, but his eyes gleamed under the feathery brows.

The muscles tensed at once, all along the length of the two arms, springing into sharp definition as they shifted in their seats, seeking leverage.
Jenny caught my eye and rolled her eyes heavenward. Whatever she had been expecting of Jamie, it wasn’t this.

Both men were focused on the straining knot of fingers, to the exclusion of everything else. Both faces were deep red with exertion, sweat damping the hair on their temples, eyes bulging slightly with effort. Suddenly I saw Jamie’s gaze break from its concentration on the clenched fists as he saw Ian’s lips clamp tighter. Ian felt the shift, looked up, met Jamie’s eyes…and the two men burst into laughter.
The hands clung for a moment longer, locked in spasm, then fell apart.

“A draw, then,” said Jamie, pushing back a strand of sweat-damp hair. He shook his head good-naturedly at Ian.

“All right, man. If I could order ye, I wouldna do it. But I can ask, no? Will ye come with me?”

Ian dabbed at the side of his neck, where a runnel of sweat dampened his collar. His gaze roamed about the room, resting for a moment on Jenny. Her face was no paler than usual, but I could see the hasty pulse, beating just below the angle of her jaw. Ian stared at her intently as he rolled his sleeve down again, in careful turns. I could see a deep pink flush begin to rise from the neck of her gown.

Ian rubbed his jaw as though thinking, then turned toward Jamie and shook his head.

“No, my jo,” he said softly. “Ye need me here, and here I shall stay.” His eyes rested on Jenny, with Katherine held against her shoulder, and on small Maggie, clutching her mother’s skirt with grubby hands. And on me. Ian’s long mouth curled in a slight smile. “I shall stay here,” he repeated. “Guardin’ your weak side, man.”

- Dragonfly in Amber