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After years of musing with the idea, I finally decided to try and make an MV! It’s my first time doing anything of the sort (and I barely gave myself enough time), but overall it was a fun experience!

Understandably, it’s not as awesome as some of the others out there already, but I too wanted to tell a story in my own way.

(more talking under the cut)

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If We Don’t Make It...

@whispersandwhiskerburn - Angel, I made it!! :D 

This fic is for Angel’s 2K Follower Celebration - congratulations again, girl!

My song prompt was “Broken” by Lifehouse, and the dialogue prompt was “If we don’t make it out of this, I need you to know…”

Here’s a little taste of the lyrics:

The broken locks were a warning
You got inside my head
Tried my best to be guarded
I’m an open book instead
I still see your reflection
Inside my eyes
That are looking for a purpose
They’re still looking for life


Sometimes darkness can be so absolute.

You lie there for a second, listening. Then you try and shift your body, feel that everything is still there and mobile, not trapped under debris or broken or bleeding profusely. “Dean?” you whisper, then try to move. God, it hurts. All of it. You feel like a football team used you as a tackle dummy. “Dean?” you say a little louder, then force yourself to sit up, moaning softly. You hear a rustle nearby, and you freeze, not sure if it’s him.

A clutch of panic freezes your lungs for a moment, your heart pounding almost painfully in your chest. It couldn’t be the wendigo, Dean shot that thing right in its gut, and you saw it burst into flames before it reared up, hitting the rotten timbers of the ceiling and sending them crashing down on you both. The opening you had entered through is now sealed off with tons of dirt and debris, but at the moment, you just want to find Dean.

A groan and the sound of movement shifts your attention directly to your left. “Dean! Are you okay?”

A quiet ‘fuck!’ reaches your ears, and then, “I’m fine. Are you hurt? Can you move?” You reach out a hand and collide with one of his, and he holds on firmly. “Are you bleeding anywhere?”

“I don’t think so. I don’t think anything serious. How about you? Damn it, I wish we had a light!”

“I… I think I might have a slight problem.” A flare of flame sears your retinas, leaving you momentarily blind before vision fades slowly back in the glow of his lighter. You inhale sharply at the sight before you, your hand flying to cover your mouth for a moment before speaking.

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anonymous asked:

fic idea: sniper and spy being gay af in a zombie apocalypse

well, ok, i wasn’t gonna but then i had to and it turned from like a 300 word drabble to a 1500 word drabble so (sfw)


The invisi-watch didn’t really help him at all. Something about the zombies, they could smell Spy, smell his blood; once he got a cut on his finger and had to run for his life from a horde who always seemed to know where he was. 

But they still needed food, Sniper’s van was secure enough but supplies were always running low with the two of them constantly in there and occasional transients they picked up out in the desert, staggering and lonely and sometimes half-dead. Sniper’d picked up enough Outback first aid to be good in a pinch, so he was staying back taking care of their latest charge while Spy had to go out and find some sort of food stores, preferably something sealed so it wouldn’t be contaminated with the virus.

(They still weren’t even sure if it was a virus, but it seemed as plausible as anything in this newly-minted hellscape.)

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Downfall [11]

Characters: Jungkook x Reader

Word Count: 5,080

Genre: Assassin AU

Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21


The first thought that crosses Taehyung’s mind when he regains consciousness is if the child ever found his mother.

As his eyelids flutter open, he soon realizes that Dohyun’s trickery is the least of his worries. The last thing Taehyung can remember clearly is escorting the little boy to the parking lot after having no luck in the amusement park, hoping to find his mother by their family van. He only stood by the unassuming vehicle for a couple seconds before the door abruptly slid open behind him and a powerful strike landed on the back of his head, stunning him.

Now here he is, face down on the cold, dusty concrete, with his limbs tied and restrained behind his back.

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no one talks about the fact that Kaz and the rest of MSF spent three years living in the middle of nowhere in Colombia, so he likely

  • has had a face-off with at least one jaguar
  • puts mosquito netting on everything, may use DDT despite known environmental concerns because yeah, it’s important for the future of the planet or whatever, but it’s more important his people not get malaria
  • had a healthy respect for venomous spiders, snakes, and scorpions, and checks his boots before he puts them on
  • since he has a high rank in medicine, probably learned really shitty field medicine with makeshift tools and minimal supplies
  • possibly learned to drive with that jeep on dirt roads, because when else would he have learned to drive
  • and, on an unrelated note, since the only vehicles they own are probably that jeep and Snake’s bike, has probably ridden double with Snake on that bike at least once out of necessity

wait-imlost  asked:

Can I have a shipping thing please? uhh, I'm 170cm, with a brown pixie cut and sort of an chubby androgynous look. I am sorta apathetic towards things, but sometimes I can get over emotional. I have misophonia,, so I get angry very quickly. (and it can make it hard to sleep around others unless there is some white noise) My biggest fear is the dark and currently I'm studying medicine! I can be really loud and outspoken but I do enjoy calmly sitting around and chilling or doing riddles too,,

Sorry for the wait! I keep relapsing into sickness. Thanks for participating and I hope you enjoy!

Originally posted by taron-egertonn

Befriending you:

You were abducted from Earth for someone else’s laugh at your expense. You were abandoned in a star system you didn’t even know existed when the joke wore off. Unable to adjust, make a living, or even communicate with the other living beings on the planet you’d been dropped on, you had to fight to survive. A few fights in, you were arrested and, when they found that you weren’t one of them, they locked you up where they locked up anyone they’d rather forget than deal with. The fights decreased in size and number, but increased in fatality.

It was in this prison, after another fight, that Rocket found you.

“Hey, dude. My friend here, he’s…” He trailed off when you shot a glare made entirely of aggression and not at all of comprehension. “Aw, flark.”

You watched him scavenge for parts and makeshift tools and tinker for a few minutes, giving you time to calm down. The result was a janky translator, which you put to your ear with reluctance and caution.

“We’re about ready t’go, but, the guards… y’see…” he turned his back to you, showing inflamed and torn skin and protruding wire and metal, distorting and irritating the skin each time the creature moved a muscle. “I’d ask my friend to do it, but…” he waved a clawed hand at his ‘friend,’ who appeared to be a tree with a head and legs, “it’s gonna be a while before his arms grow back. Do you have any idea of how to push this implant back in place? S’murder stickin’ out like that.”

Earth medicine was one thing, a far cry from the guesswork you performed, trying almost blindly to find the correct position for machinery you’d never encountered, before. He hissed and writhed as you worked, but, even through his pain and cursing, told you to keep going because you don’t have much time, damn it!

A satisfying clicking sound, along with a reassuring snap into position lead you to believe you’d done it. His limbs spasmed, stiffened, and he collapsed, before rising, again.

“I think that about did it, thanks. Groot get ready to-” he paused, staring at the tree’s shoulders, “errr, just follow me.”

He checked to see if you were following. You weren’t.

“You’re coming, too, right? That’s why you started fighting those a-holes?”

In fact, that was not why, but you’d take what you could get.

  • Rocket finds it easy to deal with your apathy. Your emotions, on the other hand, he blames them on the fact that you’re Terran, choosing to ignore the fact that he can get just as over-emotional.
  • He’s never insulted your intelligence. Groot is the first to point this out and Rocket explains that it’s because you’re smart. “Y/N’s, at least, not as dumb as the rest of the d’ast galaxy.”

Falling for you:

  • On the nights where you can’t control the sounds in your environment (usually, when you’re locked up), he stays up with you. He makes sure to make up some excuse as to why he’s doing so.
  • Rocket quickly learns what irritates or triggers you and, upon joining the Guardians of the Galaxy, finds his own, threatening way of communicating to the others when they needed to stop or change what they are doing.
  • He tries to convince you that medicine is a very similar practice to machinery. In reality, he just wants to show off his skill to you and, maybe, you could learn from him and the two of you could build stuff together.
  • Once, you had it in your head that you didn’t belong with the guardians and started packing your things. Rocket didn’t act dramatic, he simply grabbed Groot and asked “Where to?” You stayed when you realized that this was a constructive environment for Rocket and Groot and, therefore, probably good for you, too.
  • Rocket is the first to initiate touch. He puts a hand on yours on the nights where neither of you can sleep. He stands on your lap whenever he feels like it when you’re sitting. And he steadies himself against you when Quill “drives like a maniac.”
  • It messes with his head when you display calmness or show contentment at just hanging out amicably with him. He doesn’t know how to be more than a friend to you, nor does he know if that’s something you’re interested in. He feels better on the days he catches you staring at him and his desire to flirt with you prompts him to grin, teeth showing, at you, sometimes even throwing in a wink for good measure.
  • He, often, talks about blowing up moons, with you. You have yet to accept an offer to blow up a moon.

It’s not until after Quill and Gamora start going out that he builds the resolve to ask you out because if those idiots could figure it out, then he sure as hell could. He spent a day confusing you by switching between being uncharacteristically thoughtful of your wants and needs to pretending like he didn’t even notice when you were around.

The moment you were alone with him, he pulled out his gun and fidgeted with it, looking like he was trying to modify it, but, you knew enough about his gadgetry by now to realize that he wasn’t really making any changes.

“Hey, uh… I thought it’d be fun if we went on a date,” he told you. He shrugged as he said it and never once looked up from his work, even as you stared. It was a big deal, to you, but he offered it as if offering to let you borrow a tool.

“Sure,” you said, deciding to only display as much excitement as he did.

“Cool.”

You could have murdered him for the way he shrugged off your acceptance, but, he turned away from you just as you noticed a goofy smile cross his features. You moved to see for yourself.

“What?” he demanded, still trying to hide his face from you, still pretending to be more engaged with his unchanged weapon.

“Is that a smile?” you ask, getting closer.

“Shaddup - stop.”

But, it was a smile - a big, stupid smile - and you kissed his cheek for it and found it surprisingly warm, like he was blushing under that fur.

So I wasn’t going to do anything this year, and then suddenly this happened. It’s unproofread, so don’t hesitate to alert me to any typos – I’m super rusty at this, so I expect there are many.

Wordcount: 1529


Though Enjolras had ordered sleep, Feuilly was not alone in quietly tending to his affairs. Around him, men sorted through their pockets, refilled pipes, scribbled hasty notes to their loved ones on any scrap of paper they could find. He heard murmurs of conversation as his comrades sat in twos and threes, clasping hands and brushing shoulders. He had never been a soldier, but he somehow knew that this very scene had played out countless times before in countless places across the globe. He felt as though he were part of a never-ending play, as though he had stepped into a role played by countless actors before him, one that would be reprized until the bloody curtain of history at last fell on the human race. The thought offered as much comfort as it did despair – never had he felt himself more part of the world as he did now, squatting crouched behind their barricade, the streets beneath his feet uneven and dripping with blood and with history. He felt as though he could reach out and touch all the others who sat, as he did, awaiting death with open eyes and a steady heart.

“Are you not going to take our general’s words to heart?”

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2

Windson Low Tech

Plaus/Den Kit

An exercise in plausible deniability: We are composing a set of items that help us GTFO of urban environments should the need arise. Think HVT hostage situations or comparable in non-permissive environments. Carry everything you need in such a situation to at least get out of restraints, closed confinements, and be able to run. You will be searched; more or less cursory. Everything that can’t be explained away is out. No carbon fiber and no Zirconium dioxide. No dedicated tools. Handcuff keys? Nope.

Pictured is a sample collection of stuff that just happens to be useful, if you know how to use/combine/create further tools from the ingredients:

  • Bobby pins
  • Safety pin, large/small
  • Paper clip, large/small
  • Paper fastener
  • Plastic wrapper band
  • Electric fuse
  • P-38

Here is some tradecraft: In a suit, you won’t be able to explain away most of even these items. But in a casual jacket, you just worked on your car, house, whatever; all of that, kept loose in a pocket, doesn’t arouse suspicion. The trick is to carry it wrapped in the cloth, it’s small and light, but as a bundle, it becomes suspicious. So, whenever a potentially tricky situation is to be expected—just open the safety pin and sprinkle the contents inside the pocket. It becomes just a bunch of unrelated stuff.

Also non-suspicious:

  • Dental floss
  • An old credit card
  • A piece of leader wire
  • A couple small zip ties
  • Nails
  • CD/DVDs are nice to have, if they make any sense in a pocket dump.

That’s about it. Bring any dedicated GTFO tool or implement and you will be treated quite differently, you’ll lose any element of surprise and won’t even have left the makeshift tools above.

Rule: The more you bring, the less you’ll have left.

No:

  • Light sticks
  • Metal saw
  • Handcuff keys
  • Lockpicks
  • Diamond wire

Observe – Evaluate – Control
[Windson How Tos] | [Limited Edition Patches]

New Touhou OC!

While Shinmyoumaru is thought to be the last of the inchlings, it turns out that the other one is just really, really good at hiding. Itoko Kokishoku (小気食 糸子) isn’t lucky enough to have the magical mallet and giant castle that certain other inchlings have, so she has to get by on a bit of skill and ingenuity. She hides away in human houses and uses a bunch of makeshift tools to get bits of food. Since she’s a youkai, she has a little bit of magical power, but since she’s so tiny, she’s practically powerless anyway, and thus relies on stealth to avoid danger.

Itoko doesn’t have any special powers, other than being able to use the Miracle Mallet by virtue of her species. She’s really, really fond of food. Also, she’s terrified of people. And cats. Especially cats. She’s had some bad experiences, okay.

For miss birthday girl @holysmoaksoliver, HAPPY BIRTHDAY <3 Hope you like it <3 (also tagging @sistercanaries)

- -

“Don’t you give up on me, Felicity Queen. Don’t you dare.” Oliver’s frantic voice hummed into her ear, placing a kiss on her sweat-damp forehead. God there was a lot of blood, was that right?

“Smoak-Queen,” Felicity reminded him, a wave of pain stopping her breath for a moment. “Oliver–,”

“Shh… It’s okay, baby, it’s okay… just–just breathe okay?” Oliver said.

“You sound–more scared–than I do–my love.” Felicity smiled weakly.

“Me? Scared? Big growly vigilante guy? You’re the strongest woman I know… why on earth would I be scared?”

Felicity left out a huff of laughter and then a heavy moan, the pressure and pain was becoming too much.

“We should… really get–to-to–a hospital…” Felicity said, tears welling up in her eyes.

“Oh baby…” Oliver said, leaning his forehead against hers. “It’s too late. But the ambulance is on it’s way, you just gotta hold on…”

Felicity leaned forward, grunting in pain, “Ahhhhhh!

“Keep pushing Felicity!” Donna said, “This baby isn’t gonna come out on her own!”

Felicity gave a hard push, then fell back, exhausted, “Mom we don’t know if it’s a girl!”

“Don’t stop now, sweetie!” Donna said, “And of course it’s a girl, those Smoak genes run strong.”

“How did this happen?” Felicity cried, dropping her head onto her husbands shoulder, “The baby wasn’t supposed to come for two weeks! And it wasn’t supposed to come this fast, and there wasn’t—aaaaahhhhhh!–supposed to be a black out keeping us all stuck in the loft, waiting for the ambulance–oooooh!”

“Felicity, I promise, everything is gonna be okay.” Oliver whispered in her ear, “You’re gonna be okay, and the baby’s going to be okay. But the baby is coming now, and she or he is coming now. Stubbornness seems to be a trait the baby’s gonna inherit from both sides of the family.”

“The big head I’m pushing out of my body is totally your side.” Felicity said, her voice cracking from exhaustion.

“Push, sweetie, I see the head!” Donna said, “One my big push for my grandbaby!”

Felicity took her husband’s hand, letting out a loud groan, leaning forward into the push.

“We got shoulders, hands, fingers–,” There was a sharp small cry, “It’s a girl!”

“A girl?” Felicity said through a happy laugh, tears of relief and elation beginning to roll down her cheeks, “A baby girl?”

Oliver leaned over from where he was laying, “She’s so beautiful…” He said, kissing his wife, his voice was thick with emotion.

Donna wrapped her new granddaughter in towels and got the makeshift tools to cut the umbilical cord, “You want the honors, dad?” She said holding out the baby to Oliver.

He took his new daughter into his trembling hands, looking at Felicity for reassurance. God he loved the way she smiled at him. He was sure his hands were too big and too rough to hold something so small and perfect. Donna showed him how to cut the umbilical and he handed the baby to her mother.

Felicity looked down at her cooing, crying, tiny new baby, when the power flickered back on and light flooded the loft. “You are perfect, and loved, and I am so happy that we somehow made something as wonderful as you.”

Oliver kissed her hair, too overwhelmed to speak at first, then mumbled, “Happy birthday, little one…”

anonymous asked:

How would one go about becoming a blacksmith? Are there any school requirements? What do you have to do?

Salutations Ano!

There are some schools for it in Finland. Don’t know about elsewhere for sure. Atleast here you don’t need any schools. Just skill. Best way is just to start forging. Getting started doesn’t take alot of tools. Makeshift forge, a railroad track anvil, hammer. Best is that you find yourself a blacksmith, willing to take you as an apprentice.

Why I Choose Carol

The Walking Dead doesn’t have a stellar record with how they portray and/or develop their female characters and anyone who tries to deny or justify that either isn’t watching the show with much depth or is simply so desensitized by the current TV culture that the right questions are not even coming to mind.

Even if I was to ignore the horrendous way both Lori and Andrea were presented to it’s viewers the fact that the rest of the women, namely Maggie, Beth and Michonne, sometimes seem to be more connected to their male counterparts then they are to themselves or each other, is one narrative that needs some serious attention ASAP.
We have Michonne and Maggie who albeit have the warrior thing down tremendously well, their interpersonal relationships are limited to the “men” in their life, with very little or in most cases no other interactions or emotional attachment to each other. The most recent oversight that pretty much obliterated any opportunity to remind the viewers that Maggie indeed remembers the fact that her sister Beth even exists, is another example of the lack of complexity in the female side of this human story.

It is hard to maintain a fanbase for the ladies of TWD if they are not being shown in the same way the “boy club” is, which in my opinion is the reason there are far less specifically just Maggie or Beth fans, as opposed to those who celebrate their current or perceived relationships.

In the background however we have Melissa McBride’s long-suffering Carol Peletier who has stayed out of the “warrior spotlight” at first, content with cultivating a quiet strength and growing a fanbase that celebrated her journey of transformation first and her relationships second.

Whether by accident or some sheer genius, the powers that be have let Carol come into her own in a captivating and powerful way.

In Season 1 she was barely noticed by the general audience but the moments she was given were played out in a very compelling, memorable way but even those who focused on her right away didn’t expect her to survive the brutality of the new world the way she was. Melissa, herself, expected Carol to last a few episodes at most.

Carol lost her so-called-husband in a karmically satisfying way but as if the universe decided right away that her suffering needed to continue the last person on earth who loved her, Sophia, disappeared in Season 2 and as tragedy would have it she witnessed her re-animated corpse being put down mere inches away from her arms. Carol could have been snuffed out in the grand tradition of the Peletier family–tidily wrapping up their bleak saga.

With Sophia’s death her prospects looked bleak and despite the powerful glimpses of her growing connection with the resident bad-boy Daryl Dixon whose pain she was very familiar with, there were those who simply didn’t see the point of her story continuing. Carol was labeled as weak, useless and essentially pointless to carry through a world where being a burden was not just frowned upon but could even be a liability to those who had the means to survive.
But Carol didn’t disappear after Sophia, she rose from the dirt in front of that barn and for the first time in her life refused to back down and crumble away from the hardships of her new reality.

It was a new start - a new “free” Carol.
It was slow, almost sneaky, but Carol, like the proverbial phoenix, rose from the flames in the most glorious of ways.

As expected Carol mourned her daughters death but she didn’t sit in the RV and dwell on her pain for too long. Instead she channeled her grief, refused to be seen and treated differently and focused on doing what she could to contribute to the close-knit group that was slowly becoming a family.
Carols first mission was to turn her attention to Daryl, a man she understood and cared about deeply, who not just put the most effort into searching for Sophia but had also gone out of his way to keep her hoping and hanging on through it all.

Daryl was reeling from Sophia’s death and in some ways handling it’s impact even worse than she did - finding her daughter had become somewhat of a guiding purpose, a way of proving worth and something that made him feel useful and connected to HER and the group.

Carols unwavering presence, relentless coaxing and unconditional understanding is the reason Daryl stayed at the farm long enough for Rick to recognize how HE and the rest of the group could use his macho, old world skills to keep on surviving.

Season 3 Carol was physically stronger but she didn’t have Maggie’s youthful energy or Michonnes katana magic to rely on to protect herself and others. However it is here and exactly because of these perceived shortcomings that Carol started to emerge as not just a warrior in her own her right but as a trailblazer of sorts by daring to suggest that being a hero or a role model isn’t just about physical strength or slaying physical threats.

Carol was the every-person in the apocalypse and someone whose bravery came through determination, preserverence and sheer will to survive despite not being able to kill the most walkers or fight off threats all by herself.

Just like before Carol found other ways to contribute, to prove her “worth”, to help. Carol arms herself with basic medical skills by learning from Hershel–finding new purpose as the nurse of the group. Displaying an incredible amount of foresight that no one else in the group could even imagine, she takes it upon herself to learn about makeshift tools and medication in preparation for Lori’s impending birth.

You can’t help but root for someone who can carry around a newborn when you know her own heart must be breaking every time the baby makes a noise she still vividly remembers Sophia making.

You can’t help but admire someone who not that long ago withered under Ed’s gaze and yet now was threatening Merle with steely resolution that earned her a very approving grunt of Dixon respect. 

That’s where her strength really lies and the reason why knives and guns are only her secondary means of defense - her beautiful heart and mesmerizing brain is ultimately what sets her apart from the others.

Season 4 solidifies her position as one of the teams integral players and whether she is teaching kids how to use knives, telling the likes of Daryl Dixon what to do or side eying Rick’s farm escapades, Carol makes leadership look GOOD.

Compelled with urgency and armed with this worlds reality that doing nothing, second guessing and waiting around only hurts more people (people she LOVES) she does the unthinkable and puts down two patients on their deathbeds. While the killing clearly gets to her, the audience is becoming more aware of the fact that this is a more assertive Carol.

A Carol willing to make tough sacrifices and pay a high price for the greater good.

Those who were paying attention to who Carol was weren’t entirely surprised by her position not because we thought she was capable of “murder” but because the motive behind it and who she ultimately “killed” for made sense for HER.
Martyrism, thy name is Carol Peletier.

When she confessed Rick simply couldn’t deal and not because she “killed” but because he didn’t see it coming from her and he didn’t want to see or face that it could have come from him if he wasn’t drowning himself in peas and denial.

When he leaves her behind in “Indifference” he doesn’t leave Carol behind, instead he tries to banish the reality that what she had done is something that this world not just demands but requires in order to survive.
Rick also didn’t want to admit that Carol had evolved past him, ahead of him.

When that “I-can’t-look-away moment” came on screen and we see Carol, the quintessential mother, consciously kills a child for the greater good, the realization that what she was doing was not just justifiable but also heart-breakingly real coming from her, is more than a little gut wrenching.

As she stands in the meadow with the perfect mix of awe inspiring strength, and enough humanity to bring you to your knees, and we as viewers realize that this is a mother who is about to lose a child for the third time in a row, there is a second of clarity that simply resounds that it had to be Carol to do this.

Everything Carol has pushed through, all the loss and heartbreak we have seen her feel with every fibre of her being has led her and us to this devastating moment where she once again has to lose one more child to the brutality world (this time, by her doing) and she isn’t a villain for doing it.
Carol is the only character who could have shot Lizzie and not be hated for it.

As if that wasn’t enough the episode shows Tyreese’s fresh pain over Karens death several times but he too, just like the audience, forgives her because everything Carol has done was done for the greater good and the price of that weight isn’t lost on him even as he grieves.

Tyreese says “you feel it, it’s a part of you now” and that in itself explains it all - none of the things Carol has done were done out of malice, self-gain, bravado or foolishness.
These weren’t things she wanted to do and they certainly weren’t things she enjoyed doing. This was about self-sacrifice, about making decisions she knew there was a cost to and ultimately about stepping up to survive and protect the ones she actually had a chance of protecting.
She kills Karen and David to protect her family who hadn’t gotten sick.
She kills Lizzie to protect Judith because she couldn’t protect Mika.

After the Grove some might find the notion that Carol is indeed a nurturing “mother” at her core quite perplexing but that’s exactly what she is and where all of her actions stem from. Carol is what a mother-figure looks and acts like in the world they are living in because everything she does and decides, comes from the instinctual reaction to “protect and keep safe” what and who she can.

Anyone else would have been universally hated but because Carols humanity and tendency to feel and love everything so deeply is so genuine it doesn’t taint or brand her as some evil pariah.

Carol is of course much more than a mother too - she is also a fighter in her own right, a team player, a heroine, a loyalist and ultimately a quiet leader.
Her strength comes from meeting (post apocalyptic) life’s challenges and growing from them, as well as excelling at a traditionally feminine roles.
She isn’t fearless, she isn’t reckless and she doesn’t second-guess or waste time.
She bravely tackles challenges, she stands by her decisions and she doesn’t pass the buck when things get rough.

Michonne seems to be the most recognized strong “badass” female in The Walking Dead, predominantly because of her zombie kill count and fierce katana moves BUT her strength pales in comparison with the delicate ferocity of Carols spirit and the lengths she is willing to go for the ones she loves.
Her strength isnt the in-your-face awesome warrior kind but it’s quiet, unexpected nature is what made Carol underestimated in the first place and ultimately it’s the thing thats kept her alive this long.

And it’s why I love her….

On August 30, 1800, a rebellion plot, was discovered among enslaved Africans in Richmond, Henrico County, and Norfolk, Virginia. The leader of the planned uprising was named Gabriel, a blacksmith.

Gabriel was born to unknown parents in the plantation of Thomas Prosser, in Henrico County, Virginia along with brothers Solomon, and Martin. There is some evidence their father was the plantation blacksmith which led to Gabriel and Martin being taught the trade. Gabriel was also taught to read and write.

At twenty Gabriel was dark skinned, with two missing front teeth, 6'4, and exceptionally strong from years working with a hammer and anvil. A skilled blacksmith, he was routinely hired out to foundries in Richmond, Virginia.

Virginia during the pre war period contained fairly lax regulation regarding hiring out, the practice wherein plantation owners sent slaves to work for other owners or organizations, cities. In the case of large groups of slaves destined for so called unskilled labor such as picking, mining, and forest clearing, the slavers were not paid. 

Depending on the owner and area laws, skilled artisans were sometimes able to travel on their own, and keep a small portion of money. Generally these slaves were skilled, carpenters, blacksmiths, embroiderers, barkeepers. Working alongside free blacks, whites, and immigrants, slaves were often privy to news, ideas, information, and contacts they would never have had otherwise. Haiti had just fought and won a war of independence against a major world power, radical Republicans were spreading abolitionist ideals, and some Christian denominations were denouncing slavery.

While free blacks were able to become small business owners and hired out slave artisans were able to slowly accumulate capital, white owners and merchants exploited them in various ways. White merchants controlled the price of raw materials, often using this advantage to make considerable profits at the expense of black artisans. City officials were free to impose any tax on workers, who as slaves, were barred from bringing charges against free people

Thomas Prosser seems to have been fairly lenient however there was never any guarantee for a slave. When Prosser died his son , Thomas Henry inherited the plantation and proved to be a much more repressive master, brutally overworking the slaves and restricting their few freedoms when being hired out .

In 1799 Gabriel, Solomon, and Martin took a pig from the Prosser plantation to eat. An overseer, Absalom Johnson discovered the three young men and attempted to apprehend them. Gabriel wrestled him to the ground and in the ensuing grappling match, Johnson lost most of his ear. Taken into custody by local authorities he was tried and found guilty of maiming a white man, a capital offense. He was able to escape his execution by taking advantage of a legal loophole called “benefit of clergy”, allowing him to choose public branding over execution. Gabriel recited his verse and was branded on his left hand in open court. He then spent a month in jail.

By 1800 Gabriel had begun planning a slave revolt. First enlisting Solomon, and Ben, another slave owned by Prosser, Gabriel began amassing an army and planning what would have been the largest slave revolt in American history. Key leaders included Sam Byrd Jr., George Smith,Gilbert, Ben Woolfolk, and Jack Bowler, also known as Jack Ditcher. All of these men were slaves.

The plan involved mass recruitment of plantation slaves, free blacks, and poor whites. Messengers were also sent to the Catawbwa tribe. Some few sympathetic whites and militant abolitionists were located and enlisted. Scythes and other tools were brought to Gabriel and Solomon who reformed them into swords. Twelve dozen of these swords were made, along with fifty pikes. Horsemen were identified who would wield the newly made weapons on stolen horses from various stables and owners. The majority of the men would act as foot soldiers carrying makeshift weapons and tools. Gunpowder was gathered and musket balls were also made by Gabriel.

The uprising was to take place on the night of August 30. The plan involved setting fire to the majority wooden structures of lower Richmond as a distraction to local patrols. Slaves were then to escape their plantations by any means necessary before marching to Capitol Square in Richmond where Governor James Monroe would be taken hostage, in order to bargain with city authorities. Also a target was the heavily stocked local jail which doubled as the city’s armory, and a tavern known to keep a large cache of weapons. Gabriel instructed the men not to kill any Methodists, Quakers, and French nationals during the revolt as these groups supported abolition at the time. By August, the number of participants had grown to over five thousand.

On the night of August 30 a severe thunderstorm raged through the area, destroying key roads and bridges. Though many slaves met at their appropriate places, the decision was made to wait until the following night. As pressure mounted, two slaves in different towns reported the plot to their masters and local militia were sent out to comb the area for the dissidents. As plantations were searched and the homes of free blacks were ransacked the rebels were discovered. Gabriel escaped into the woods, remaining free for two weeks before being smuggled onto a ship by a sympathetic captain. When the ship docked at Norfolk, one of the ships crew-members led local authorities to his location.

On October 6, Gabriel was put on trial, and despite being viciously interrogated, refused to name any of his fellow plotters. He was hanged on October 10, 1800.