my wife will understand

  • emani: You should be singing my praises, husband, for being so understanding about your costly mistake.
  • bnty: *vaguely mockingly* Thank you so much my loving, patient, understanding wife.
  • emani: Hold up, dude. Patient? We both know that's patently untrue.
  • bnty: Oh. I thought we were reenacting some fanfiction right here.
  • emani: If this was fanfiction, you'd have something up your ass by now.
  • bnty: Wait! *My* ass?!

I looked into Lucy’s eyes, and it suddenly dawned on me what the scene was about. It wasn’t a love scene at all. I didn’t need to kiss her, or have sex with her, or make her my wife.

I wanted to understand her. It was that simple. I wanted to know everything I possibly could about this woman.

Somebody coughed. I had a line to say.

Ian Harding in his book Odd Birds on his chemistry read with Lucy Hale

i want to be married to a man that doesn’t need to be told how to take care of himself or the house or the kids. i want to be married to a man who looks around and wants to take care of things, for the sake of himself and me. wash the dishes because it’s what you’re supposed to do. clean the house because it’s what you are supposed to do. cook because it’s what you’re supposed to do. i would only consider marrying a partner who understands that my job as a wife is not to be the person that nags them to do things. my role as wife would be do be a partner, and a helper. and that means that there’s a split of responsibilities as a sign of love and respect

I Want My Wife Back

“I want my wife back.“

There was a quiet force behind the words, that surprised me as I spoke them. I had agonized over how I would plead my case, what meandering, trembling story I would spin when the time came. But now that it had, I knew exactly what to say. Not a letter wasted. Not a syllable carelessly uttered. The product of all my desperation and conviction burned in a crucible and cast into a sentence.

The words cooled quickly in the silence. The young man opposite fixed me with a calm stare. I forced myself to meet his eyes, all too aware of the large metal suitcase, clasped shut on the floor beside him.

I’d already lost a son before. My boy Joshua disappeared whilst on a holiday to Rejyavik. The whole affair was a blur. Missed calls. Missed flights. Missing person posters. Then, after three years of silence, simply missed.

Five years on I gave up all hope. But my wife never stopped searching. She said she knew he was alive, that she felt something only a mother could feel. All our money went to private investigators, she spent every hour of every day in our study calling up the faintest leads. And she would cry almost every night or, worse still, slip into a state of numb quiet, entombed in a place I could never reach.

A decade after his disappearance, Josh was found.

Our son stumbled from a fishing boat in Denmark, muttering our names. The day we found out was our first joyful day in ten years. We met him at the airport, now almost a man, looking so different yet so familiar. He cried in my arms when we took him home.

Two weeks passed, and harmony returned to our house. Josh was quieter, reluctant to talk about his disappearance and distant from his friends. But he was happy to be home and to me and my wife, that was all that mattered.

Except this young man isnt Josh. Yesterday, one of the private investigators contacted me, saying that he suspected this new Josh was an imposter, exploiting our desperation to attain the family he’d never had. It wasn’t an unheard of situation. I sent swabs from his toothbrush to a private firm. The results arrived this morning, but Josh saw me as I picked up the letter. In that panicked moment I knew he wasn’t my son, and he knew that I knew.

Now he’s about to do the unthinkable.

We stare at each other a while longer. My words hanging in the air. The silence is broken as my wife calls from downstairs

"Boys! Dinner’s ready!”

In quiet understanding, Josh drops his hastily packed suitcase and walks past me. I know that what I’ve done can’t be forgiven, but I’ve served a preemptive sentence. A decade with a dead son, and a wife lost to despair.

God forgive me, I cant return to that silence.

I want my wife back.

Ladies get mad at me for moving my canopy so I'll be in the shade, I pretend I can't understand them.

A few years ago, when my wife and I were still dating, we went to one of my son’s little league baseball games.  We knew in advance which baseball field it would be played in, so we already knew they had no seating for spectators and no shade, either.  I brought lawn chairs and an EZ-Up (a canvas canopy with four legs).  

When the game was about to start, we picked out a spot down the first base line where we could set up our chairs and the EZ-Up.  Several parents were already there to watch their own kids play.  Like us, most of them brought their own chairs.  

I figured I’d start with the EZ-Up, then I’d go back to the car to get the chairs.  Among the parents who were watching the game, there were two ladies (who I assume were Vietnamese) that were paying particular attention to me as I put up the EZ-Up.  They were about 20 feet away from where I was putting the canopy up, but they kept turning around and looking at me, talking about what I was doing, and pointing at me.  I got the impression that they had a problem with what I was doing, but I’d seen people with canopies at the games before, and I’d set up behind everyone, so I didn’t see what the problem was.  

When I’d finished putting up the canopy, I asked my wife (girlfriend at the time) to stay with the canopy while I went back to the car to get the chairs.  The car wasn’t parked very far away.  When I got the chairs from the car and headed back to the canopy, the two ladies had gotten up and were moving their chairs to be  under the shade of my canopy.  

This was in the afternoon, so the shade provided by the canopy was already several feet away from being directly under the canopy.  Instead of being under the canopy, the shade was a few feet to the right of the canopy, leaving the underneath side of the canopy directly in the sun.

These ladies set their chairs down right in the middle of the shade of my canopy and were sitting there talking to each other in what I could only guess was Vietnamese.  It might have been Thai or Laotian or something else, but whatever it was, they were talking to one another and seemed to be very happy with themselves for beating me to the shade provided by my own canopy.  

I unfolded the chairs beneath the canopy and asked my wife, “How’s that?”  

My wife sat down in the chair and said, “Good, but we’re still in the sun.”  

“No problem,” I said.  There was no one to the left of us, so I picked up the canopy by one of the legs and dragged it across the ground to the left until the shade was covering our chairs.  

As I did this, the two Asian ladies, looked up and around, like they’re trying to figure out why their shade was disappearing, as if it wasn’t completely obvious that I was moving my own canopy so I could sit under the shade I had intended to provide for myself and my wife.  

I’d already been married for nine years to a really shitty person, so I had a lot of practice in dealing with selfish people who thought of only themselves.  I wasn’t about to sit there and just suffer in the sun when I’d been the one to bring the canopy for myself and for my wife.  

These ladies were mad, though.  I don’t know what they were thinking, but they had the impression that they were entitled to the shade from my canopy because they had sat down there first.  

“You put that back!”  One of them said.  She had a really thick accent.  “You can’t move that!”  

“I what now?”  I asked.  I couldn’t believe it.  

“You took the shade.  We were sitting here and you took it!”  The other one said.  

I was in disbelief that the two women would both come to the same conclusion.  I wondered if it was some kind of cultural thing, like maybe where they were from, it was bad manners to provide something and then take it away or maybe if they had gotten there first, they thought they were entitled to it.  I didn’t know and didn’t care.  

Those two then turned to each other and were squawking back and forth in whatever language they both spoke.  Then, turned back to me.

“You put it back!”  One of them said again.  

“I what?”  I asked.  “This is mine.  I brought it.”

“No, no,” the other one said, then said something I didn’t understand.  

“You put it back!”  The first one said again.  

The second one said something else I couldn’t understand.  

“Yeah,” I said.  “I’m here to watch the game in the shade.  I don’t know what you’re saying.”  

The first one said something else again in English.  Rather than argue, I just pretended I couldn’t understand either of them no matter what they said.  Every time they said something, I just answered with, “Okay, thank you.”  This just made them more mad.  I got them to speak louder and slower and to used different words, but I would keep answering like I had no idea what they were saying.  

At one point, one of them was saying, “We sit here!  You move shade!  You sit there!  You move back!”  

I shrugged my shoulders and said, “I don’t know what you mean.  I’m sitting here.   This is my chair.  I brought it.”  

Those two ladies sat there and squawked back and forth, kept pointing at me, pointing at the canopy, and pointing at the shade the whole game.  As the game wore on, the shade kept moving away from my wife and me due to the angle of the sun and kept moving toward these two ladies. I’d wait until the shade was just about to touch them before I’d get up and move the canopy again.  

TL;DR:  I put up a canopy for some shade.  Two ladies sit under it, then bitch at me for moving the shade so I’ll be under it instead.  I pretend I can’t understand them when they complain.

Welcome To The Paladins


Keith was busy cleaning out the fire place when his dad grabbed him by the hair and shoved his face into the piles of ash causing the boy’s already damaged lungs to get a gasp full of ash.
He coughed and spluttered praying desperately a asthma attack wouldn’t be triggered.

“What to know what I hear at the pub?” Jonathan hissed pulling Keith’s face close to his own. “Some do gooder teacher decided to try and tell me how to be a parent. Said I should keep a better eye on you” he pulled upwards so the boy had to stand on his tip toes to lessen the pain of his hair being pulled. “What you been saying Runt!”

“N-nothing dad I swear!” Keith didn’t try to struggle.

“Ya swear do ya! You ungrateful little lying twerp! I’ll teach you a lesson! Wash your sins away!” Jonathan screamed pulling his son by the hair outside.

“No dad please! I didn’t say anything I didn’t say anything! Please no!“Keith screamed in vain.

The boy couldn’t do anything to stop his dad dragging him outside to the little pond covered in a thin layer of ice thanks to the cold winter night.
He couldn’t do anything as his head was smashed through the ice and held under as he frantically scrambled to try and get up.

"Repent! REPENT FOR YOUR SINS YOU LYING MONSTER! ADMIT YOU LIED TO YOUR TEACHER! ADMIT YOU LIED TO ME!” He screamed only letting Keith breath once the fighting stopped.

He repeated this process over and over again. Eventually getting bored and leaving Keith curled up alone in the snow for the rest of the night.

“Keith come here” Jonathan called from the attic.

Keith flinched at the use of his name but did as he was told climbing the rungs of the ladder until he was roughly grabbed by the scruff of his neck and pulled the rest of the way. He had no time to react as he was chained down on a table with his dad smiling down madly at him.

“I can bring her back. Get my wife back” he mumbled over and over again.

“D-dad?” Keith asked eyes wide at the sight of the large knife in his dad’s hand, he didn’t even notice the werid amulate in his other hand.

“Shhh, It will be over soon.” He stroked Keith’s hair.
The kindest gesture he had ever shown the boy since the death of his mother. “I forgive you, now that I’ll get my wife back. You being born, your mistake will be fixed”

Keith didn’t understand his words but he didn’t need to.
Next thing he knew was pain as the knife was driven through his heart and he died.

Everything was quiet and peaceful. He drifted between the veil of life and death when he heard the voice.

“My Vessal.” It was like millions of voices spoke at once “what do you seek? Power? Revenge? Immortality?”

Keith could see a small purple fire burning in front of him. Compelling him to take the offered power.

“N-no!” Keith cried drawing away from the temptation “I just want to be safe for once in my life!”

The voice made a sound of alarm “impossible!”

The purple fire grew turning a dark blood red, becoming part of Keith.

The last thing he heard was the voice cursing the son of a demon before fading away.

When Keith woke up he was alone and standing in a pit of ash covered in blood only a few feet away from the charred remains of his dad.

He ran.

And didn’t stop running.

5 pages letter from May 21st, 1984 by Ted Bundy (x)

Dear Diane,

I have received your letter from May 1st, I apologize for taking so long to answer it. Thank you for writing to me.

You say that you have written to me on two previous occassions. I’m sorry, but I don’t recall those letters.

In your letter you speculated as to the possible reasons why I didn’t answer your earlier letters. I’d like to comment on your theories.

1.I’ve many letters from total strangers.” You’ve a point here. I do receive many letters from people I have never known (I agree with you, by the way, that “there are no strangers in the world, only people we haven’t met.”)

The main problem here isn’t so much the time I’d need to answer took me, that problem can be overcome. All I need is the motivation. I made little or no effort to write back to people like yourself, but lately I have been because … well, it’s not easy to say actually. I guess I just feel free to in a way I wasn’t before.

No, the real problem I have in answering you and others who write to me is a straight forward for me: I don’t have the stamps.

People don’t send me stamps or stampered, self- addressed envelopes (note: Here he makes reference on the right where it says:“Let me correct what I just wrote.”) Sometimes people will enclose a stamp or two but they are for the exception.

I’m not being critical, Diane. That’s just the way it is. I can’t send people letters if I don’t have stamps.

So I have to conserve the few stamps I have for people I have known for years, especially my wife and family. Only when I have what can be considered an extra stamp or two now-and-then do I respond to the (illegible) of correspondence I have from other folks.

Believe me, I don’t expect people to send me stamps. I don’t imagine that it occurs to people who write to me that I wouldn’t have just one stamp to use to write them back. But as I’ve explained, there are many letters that each need only one stamp.

And it may also be that people assume (illegible) heard rumors to the effect that I have money, or friends or family with money. I don’t, and (whatsmore), I don’t receive a nickle from many of the books, articles, TV programs, or (illegible) films about Ted Bundy. Nothing. Nada. Zero.

That’s fine, too. I don’t want any of that money and I don’t need it. The fact is I’m broke, and while I can handle that, it also means I can’t afford stamps to go on letters to you. So it goes.

Excuse me, I’ve made too much of the stamp (illegible). It doesn’t bother me actually, it’s just the way it is.

2.My wife doesn’t allow me to answer letter from other women?

This is the second theory you propose. Perhaps you were being only half serious on this one. No problem. Of course, if you knew my wife, Carole, you would understand immediately that isn’t the case.

3.You are too busy to write a lot of just friends letters.

I’ve already addressed this point, though briefly, earlier on. Time is not a big factor here. Or is lazyness. It can be, though.

I find that I have more than enough to keep my days (illegible) from 5 in the morning to 11 at night. I’m rarely bored. However, contrary to what you assumed, I do not work with legal matters.

Generally, (illegible). I find the law too limiting and doctrinaire the way it goes about separating people. But that is another story.

So while I am being in a relaxed, controlled, and positive way, there is time to write just friends, occasionally, attorneys, the time available is limited and there are many people to write to. It’s also important that I feel inwardly moved to write to a certain person, and I don’t always feel that way. I have to be conscious of my inner flow and that is another story too.

I enjoyed your letter and enjoyed writing to you. Again, excuse me for taking so long.


Second Time Around - (Taeoh’s  4th Birthday)

Synopsis: Jongin struggles to balance life as an idol and life as a father. His four year old son is growing up and beginning to notice his absence and attempts to find a fatherly figure in your boyfriend, Seunghyun. 

Word count: 5,538

Characters: Kim Jongin a.ka Kai (EXO), Oh Sehun (EXO), Choi Seunghyun (BigBang), Kim Taeoh, and other EXO members. 

Warnings: Eyebrow Shaving, Gum Stuck in Hair, Sehun’s dancing skills, and Taeoh and Kai’s cuteness. 

Part One

Originally posted by kaitty88

Originally posted by lil-duckling

The flight to Paris was horrible. It was ten hours of constant panic attacks from you, Taeoh fidgeting in his seat whining at the top of his lungs that he wanted to get off the plane, then there was Seunghyun who had lost his phone and made all the flight attendants help him look for it because he didn’t have a lock on his phone and had things in it that were not suitable for the public eye. To top it all off, you were sprawled on the bathroom floor of the plan for almost half of the trip vomiting because of altitude sickness.

When the three of you finally got off of the plane you were all half dead and beyond pissed off. You reeked of vomit and had dark circles under your eyes which contrasted your sickly green skin. Seunghyun had bags on every limb of his body and apart from having to hold Taeoh’s hand, he had to half-carry half-drag you through the airport because you were so weak your knees wobbled every time you took a step. Taeoh looked like a train wreck, his usually silk hair resembled a bird’s nest. He had snuck a piece of gum out of your purse and somehow managed to get it stuck in his hair. You were honestly too sick to care.

Seunghyun looks at you then Taeoh before chuckling to himself. “Thank god for masks.”

Keep reading

non-birth mama pro-tips: bonding with the baby

as a more practical supplement to my earlier reflection on being the non-birth mama, i thought i’d share the things i did/do to feel more involved in the pregnancy and to bond with our baby from go. some tips are uniquely queer, while others i got from my male friends who often felt left out during their early days as papas. these won’t be right for everyone. 

without further adieu:

1. have an amazing partner with whom you communicate early & often
sounds obvious, but this is everything. my wife knew before she got pregnant what i was nervous about (feeling left out). the world knew she was pregnant, so she in part became my advocate. she constantly talked about her wife (me) and that WE were expecting. be open. be honest. have each other’s backs.

2. be actively involved in choosing a sperm donor
again - sounds obvious (this is your family!), but i’ve heard of non-birth partners being disengaged during the sperm selection process. this is where the journey went from a ‘one-day thing’ to an imagined reality. bonding starts with dreaming up your baby.

3. attend everything you can alongside the birth mama
i went to every doctor’s appointment, blood draw, and ultrasound while my wife was pregnant. not everyone can do this, but it underscored a broader principal: i am an equal part of this. 

4. get loud and persistent about your role as an equal parent
it was awkward, but it got easier. a lot of times, i felt in the way. i often felt like the medical world ignored me. some of it is understandable – my wife was the patient as the pregnant one. but often, i felt like if i had been “the dad,” i would have been addressed directly. it’s a shitty feeling. so get brave, even if it starts as a shaky whisper. 

5. find a role: spoil the birth mama
sure, i wasn’t the one growing our son, but i made myself the one who cared for my wife. growing & birthing a baby is hard work! so it felt like a perfect fit to be my wife’s advocate at this time. i made it my mission to ensure she was well-cared for - lots of food, water, massages, and general TLC.

6. find LGBTQ-inclusive medical providers
once my wife was pregnant, we prioritized finding a doctor who would be warm & welcoming of our family. it made all the difference in the world. they made notes in the file to include my name & that i was the other mama so that nurses would know to address me.

7. get in the trenches after birth
it was tough when Dashiell was first born. breast feeding can be really challenging & there’s very little sleep happening. i changed every diaper when Dash came home until i went back to work. and while i wasn’t his food source, i carved out the role of putting Dash to sleep. i spent the first month of his life rocking him to sleep while reading aloud Joan Didion to the whole family. it was exhausting and romantic and one of the best times of my life. 

8. have the baby take your last name
not for everyone, but this one was important to me (and my wife was happy to go along). but let me tell you, seeing my son’s birth certificate with my last name on it - my heart burst out of my chest.

9. control the narrative
early and often and to anyone who will hear, i’ll tell people about my wife and our son. this is to try to hedge the stupid fucking questions from nosy strangers. you know the ones: “who’s the real mom?” “ what’d the donor look like?” these questions suck and they will happen. so have responses ready. “We are both the moms.” “That’s private.” “He’s ours.”

10. remember: being a parent is showing up, over and over
relax. enjoy expecting or having a baby. cuddle and make silly faces and dream up the future and laugh with your partner as you have newborn poop running down your arm. bonding with your baby will come naturally because you are already the parent - you’re the one that is there, putting in the love & hard work. this kid wants you, so just continue to show up.

Good Advice

Pairing: Linstead
Timeline: During the “break”. 
Genre: Way #3 of fixing it. Fluff. 
Rating: G

A/N: Pretty much just another fruit of my brain trying to fix that break thing. My mind just comes up with 3846458435 different scenarios. This is a bit more playful than the last two, and a bit shorter. I hope you enjoy it!

For all those who voted for the 1.11 AU, you’re still going to get it tomorrow or on Wednesday, depends on the feedback I get for this. :)

Keep reading

Daryl Dixon x Reader ||Dwight x Reader - You’re gonna be okay


I love Daryl and I know Dwight was an asshole to him, however, I love his character since I read about him in the comic so yeah…I want to write something about him ♥

At first I wanted the reader and Daryl to be siblings but then I decided to make them boyfriend and girlfriend, while between Dwight and Reader there is something platonic.

If I have more ideas this can have more chapters.

WARNINGS: MENTION OF SEX (between Daryl and the reader), Little angst and fluff


“Someone is here”

Rosita welcomed us from our long journey like that.

Today we went to Oceanside, hoping that people would join us against Negan, however we came home with all their guns and no allies.

When I thought that I can finally rest another problem came out.

While our group is walking toward the little prison situated into an house’s basement , Daryl grab my hands, walking next to me.

I lift my head toward him giving him a small smile.

He knows that what we did to Oceanside upset me so he tries to comfort me.

When we finally enter into the basement and after Rosita opens the cell door, we finally see who our guest is…blonde hair…scarred face…


Suddenly I see Daryl charging toward him.

“Daryl stop!” I scream, while Jesus and Rick try to keep him away from Dwight.

“Daryl look at me right now!” my voice grow louder , making him stop.

I grab his face with my hands and I lay my forehead against his.

“You’re better then him, he won’t hurt you anymore” I whisper sweetly.

After I made sure that Daryl was calm, we get close to Rick, listening to what he’s saying.

“I want Negan dead”.
Dwight expression was serious, I can see determination into his eyes.

“Do you wanna help?”

“I do”
At that point Rick grab his gun, pointing it at Dwight’s face:
“Ok…get on your knees”.

Slowly Dwight get on his knees, looking straight into Rick’s eyes.
“I’m serious…Negan took everything I love from me…I’m here to end this”

Seeing that he didn’t get any reaction from Rick, Dwight eyes moved to me.

“You! You know what it feels like seeing your loved one taken away from you”

I let out a sigh…he was right, Negan took Daryl away from me and I couldn’t do anything…but this man killed Denise…this man hurted Daryl…

Our stare was interrupted by Daryl that he pushed me behind him: 

“Don’t you even dare to talk to my wife

A warm shiver run across my back.

He called me his wife.

Even though I wanted to scream in happiness, I must stay calm, I can cheer later.

Dwight scoffed at that: “Negan took my wife, you should understand why I want him dead so bad”.

Rick interrupted Dwight: 

“We’ll talk about that, for now you’ll stay here”.

With that said, All of us walked out the cell while Rick closes the door.

While everyone heads out I linger for a moment staring at the blonde man.

“You know what it feels like seeing your loved one taken away from you”

“(Y/n) are you coming or what?”

I shake my head, listening to Daryl calling out for me take me back to reality.

“Yes, sorry”.

We are reunited in the church talking about what to do with Dwight.

“I think we should give him a chance”

“How could you say that? He killed Denise!”

Tara voice was filled with pain once she listened my opinion.

“Yeah but…”
“ I can’t believe you said that, he literally beat up your man and you want to give him a chance? I can’t believe you’re such an idiot”.

I always despised Rosita, she thinks she knows everything but all the things she has done was enough to make our situation with Saviours worse.

“Listen here you smartass, don’t you think I know? I know he killed Denise, I know he beated and shoot my husband and I fucking know that it can be a trap! However, anyone of you considered that maybe he was forced to do that?”.

Everyone stay in silence, hearing what I was saying.

I turn to Daryl: “I was with you when we first met him, don’t you remember what he said? He was scared, his only purpose was protect his wife…”

Daryl lowers his head, while i turn around facing Rick:
“All of us saw what Negan is capable of…Daryl told me that Negan took Sherry as his wife and he couldn’t do nothing…just like when he took Daryl away from us”. 
I let out a sigh, Rick was staring at my eyes letting me know that I have his attention:
“I know that we can’t totally trust him yet, but think about it, he knows Negan, he knows the Sanctuary so I think that he can be helpful against him”.

The silence that filled the church seems eternal.

I can see that my words didn’t have an effect just on Rick but on everybody.

“Okay (Y/n), we’ll give him a chance but he will stay into that cell until we make sure that he can be trusted”.

A smile appears on my face.

“…but since it’s a good idea, you’ll stay with him, you’ll know him better and try to figure out if he’s being honest”.

“(Y/n) will not go anywhere near that asshole”.

Daryl almost growled, he’s really angry.

“Then who will keep an eye on him huh? Everybody in this room wants to kill him so, she’ll do it, whether you like it or not”.

After the improvised meeting all of us heads home.

Daryl was pacing back and fort the room, still angry at what Rick told him.

“Daryl can you please stop? you’re making me nervous”
“Sorry if I’m worried about you being with that prick”

Talking will not calm him down so I get up from the bed and I envelope him into an hug.

“I’ll be fine, you know I can handle myself” I assure him, while I snuggle onto his cheast.

I feel his muscular arms around my hips, Daryl was finally returning the hug.

I feel him laying a kiss on the top of my head:
“I know you can, I’m just really angry at him, for everything he has done to us”.

I end our embrace, giving my back to Daryl.

“Maybe I know how to help you to pour out all your anger” while I’m talking to him I take off my t-shirt, showing him my bare back.

Turning around I throw my t-shirt to him and I lay down on the bed, displaying my breats.

“I mean, you call me your wife so let’s celebrate our sudden marriage” I say, smiling at him.

His blue eyes became dark and his tongue came out, licking his dry lips.

With a quick move he straddled me on the bed, starting to kiss me on my neck, on my jawline and finally taking his time playing with my breast:
“Yeah, I think you can help me” he grins.

Let’s just say that it was a very long night.

The next morning I woke up early, ready to spend the day with Dwight.

I was in the kitchen, drinking my coffee when I suddenly feel arms wrapping around my hips:

“Good morning sunshine” 

Daryl’s deep voice gave me goose bumps.

He lays little kisses on my temple, he’s always so sweet after a night full of rough sex.

“I’m so sore Daryl, you better make up for it” I turn to him giving a peck on his lips.

He lay down again to deepen the kiss but I walk away from him, taking the tray with Dwight’s breakfast.

“I have to go, be a good boy and maybe we can continue this” I say grinning.

Daryl however has a serious expression on his face:
“Please (Y/n), be careful”

I nod at him before going out our house.

I excpected Dwight to be more talktive, trying to persuade me to believe him, however he silently ate his breakfast.

Once he finished, the silence was interrupted by his raspy voice: 
“Thank you”

I was taken aback by that..I didn’t expect him to thank me.

Looking at my surprised expression, he scoffed:
“Your man didn’t tell you what I gave him to eat while he was at the Sanctuary?”

Of course he told me.

Dog food.

Just thinking about him in that dark room makes me angry.

“Yeah, he told me, but I’m not like you…we’re different from your community.”.

Silence filled the room again.

I was sat down a chair in front of the cell while Dwight sit in front of me on his bed.

“What happened to your face? You didn’t have that when I met you”.

“Negan…that’s what happened”.

Dwight get up and slide the now empty trail under the cell’s door.

When he turns around I notice that something fell from his pocket.

Picking it up I notice that it’s a photo of him and Sherry.

They seemed so happy.

“Dwight! This is yours…” I say while I hand out to him the picture, toward the cell’s bars.

He took the picture from me and linger there looking at it.

“You seems happy in that picture…”
“We were…she gave up her freedom to save me”

Dwight’s voice trembled, he stares at me with watery eyes:
“I…I wanted to stay with her again, I wanted to take her away from that place but I freaked out and stole your bike”.

He turns around walking to the bed, he really need to sit down.

“I didn’t want to do all of that, I just wanted to stay with her…I’m sorry I took out my anger on Daryl…he didn’t deserve all of that”.

In that moment I forget that he was the man who hurted my loved one…I forget that he left us in the woods…and I forget that he’s the man that shoot an arrow right into Denise’s eyes.

He was broken.

In that moment I don’t see an enemy…I see Daryl.

Both of them are fragile and broken.

They want to keep their loved one safe, ready to sacrifice everything, even their freedom just to make sure that the people they care about don’t get hurt.

We didn’t talk anymore that day, we stay in silence until dinner time when it’s time for me to go.

“(Y/n) wait a minute”

I stop on my tracks, turning toward him.

He took off the vest he was wearing on his shirt.


Once I reach for it I finally notice the wings on its back.

This is Daryl’s vest!

I smile at him, touching his hand:
“Thank you Dwight…this means a lot to me”.

Day passed by and I spend a lot of time with Dwight.

We started to talk more about a lot of things, sometimes we also shared a laugh.

I can say that we bounded a lot and I’m 100% sure that he’s honest about his intention against Negan.

“You know D? Rick says that he’ll talk to you, that means the war is gettin’ closer”.

I lower my head.

The realisation hit me.

More people will die, it can be me, it can be one of my friends…

…it can be Daryl

Just the thought of losing him makes me feel like someone stabbed me right on my heart.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” 

Dwight walks quickly toward me.

He brings his hands on my cheeks.

I didn’t notice that I was crying until I realize that Dwight was wipping away my tears with his finger tips.

I stare at him, the bars separate us however I feel him so close to me.

Dwight start to lean close to my face.

I was paralyzed.

I love Daryl I really do…but I haven’t the strength to stop him.

He lay a little kiss on my lips.

It was quick but was enough to snap me out from my trance and move away from him.

We stare at each other, both surprised about that fleeting kiss.

Before one of us can say something, the door opens and Rick start to walk down the stairs.

“I need to talk to Dwight, you can go”.

Nodding I walk toward the stairs.

“And (Y/n)?”

I turn around to Rick, waiting for  him to continue.

“Thank you”

“Don’t mention it”.

Once I was out from that little prison I lay my back against the wall.

Tears start falling again from my (e/c) eyes.

What happened with Dwight was nothing…

Why this happened to me?

I keep repeating into my head that the little kiss I shared with him meant nothing…

…but was that the truth?

Forever taglist: @youandyourstupidrope






spooky-little-boy  asked:

Here's a question on characterization I've always wanted to ask. How do you feel about Victor Fries? What do you like in terms of his personality and backstory? Early on he was nothing but a petty criminal, however BtAS gave him the tragic Nora story, which paved way for more development. Problem is, you can't really write him as a "villain" anymore can you? Beyond your usual "Heart Of Ice" story, any other time he's evil no longer makes sense. Not when everyone's reminding him about Nora.

Mr. Freeze is fairly unique among all of Batman’s foes in that the entire reason for his villainy is his devotion to his wife. Many of the villains have tragic pasts–Scarecrow had an extremely dysfunctional upbringing, Killer Croc was abused as a child and mocked for his appearance, Poison Ivy was experimented on and then abandoned by a manipulative man she was in love with–that serve as an explanation for why they later became villains, but often their motivations tend to be self-serving, vengeful, or based on warped logic. Victor, however, only became a villain because he truly felt he had no other choice. 

That said, Freeze does take a bit of a more rage-driven direction after he’s irrevocably separated from Nora. In a story from The Batman Adventures called “White Christmas”, Freeze escapes from Arkham Asylum on Christmas Eve and plunges Gotham into a snow-storm, causing numerous problems for the city’s citizens. He even threatens to kill Batman before finally revealing the reason for his behavior. 

And then you have “Cold Comfort”, an episode of The New Batman Adventures where Freeze goes on a rampage and rids people of their most prized possessions: he destroys a dinosaur skeleton painstakingly pieced together by an archaeologist over the course of decades and an artist’s masterpiece painting, and threatens both pets and children. Nora had since recovered and remarried after failing to reunite with a distant Victor, and he later reveals that years of living in the freeze suit had caused his body to decay until the only part of him that was still alive was his disembodied head. Because Victor felt great pain and misery over his staggering losses, he wanted others to feel that same despair as well, and attempts to nuke Gotham with a reverse fusion bomb because nothing would hurt Batman more than to see his beloved city destroyed. In his own words, Victor wanted to “steal hope”.

“Ironic, isn’t it? After all I did to keep my wife whole, I end up like this. You understand now why I could not return to my Nora. My treasure. There’s no hope for me… or you or your city. Everyone’s going to feel my loss.

In the Batman Beyond episode “Meltdown”, Freeze gets a second chance at life when an experimental procedure gives him a new body that allows him to live without the use of his temperature-controlled suit. Overjoyed, he takes the opportunity to make amends for the damage he caused in his past and expresses genuine remorse towards his victims, and even begins a relationship with the doctor who performed his operation. But when it’s revealed that the procedure was a failure and the doctor calmly attempts to terminate him despite his pleas, Freeze escapes before returning in his suit and ruthlessly killing the doctor. At the episode’s conclusion Terry McGinnis tries to save Freeze from perishing in an explosion, but he refuses and sadly tells Terry that he’s the only person who cares whether he lives or dies. 

So while Freeze was originally driven solely by the selfless desire to keep his beloved wife alive, I do think he fully has the capacity to be a villain even without Nora being in the picture. The greatest tragedy of Victor’s life is not what happened to his wife, but that he was forced to be a villain for so long that he lost himself entirely and no longer knows any other way to exist.