this is the post where i went too far

Smooooooth Operator

(Our ranger, an introverted teenage girl without much in the way of social skills, becomes fairly tipsy drinking from their new Alchemy Jug full of booze, thanks to the encouragement of her warlock and paladin friends. She decides to go make conversation with a rather handsome dusky human NPC at the bar, to the surprise of the others.)

DM: You head over to this human. The human has a drink and is nursing it.

Ranger: I bring over my my jug. Sit down, try to act casual.

Warlock: (ooc) “Hey man, you look like you like the woods. I like the woods, too.”

Ranger: (cackling) That is *exactly* what I say. That is literally exactly what I say.

DM: Wooooooow.

Ranger: And, as I’m saying it, I don’t care how full his drink was, I pour more from the jug.

NPC: I do like the woods.

Ranger: Woods are good! [And I clink the glasses.]

NPC: And who might you be?

Ranger: I be Ciarà. What’s your name?

NPC: I “be” Alar.

Ranger. Alar. And where you be from?

NPC: Here and there.

Ranger: Funny! I went there once. It was quite interesting.

NPC: It is indeed.

Ranger: Mm! And here and there is even better than there and far. And then there’s here and there and everywhere and I have yet to see all of that but I hear parts of it are quite lovely.

DM/NPC: (ic/ooc) I’m impressed you managed to say all of that.

Ranger: (ic/ooc) Me too!

me in arc 1 of wc: wow tawnypaw is rly cool i hope her character becomes important later and that she lives a happy and long life

me in arc 2 of wc: wow i still love tawnypelt and i really hope she gets a pov chapter in this arc bc she seems to be a main character so far!!!! wait this is book 4 and shes like nowhere to be found where did tawnypelt go wasnt she a main character 2 books ago she went on the journey too

me in arc 3 of wc: wow im so proud of tawnypelt for having her own family but why is she such a minor character!! im hopeful though hopefully she’ll become deputy after russetfur and leader after blackstar, she’s such a great warrior!!

me in arc 4 of wc: wow tawnypelt is still such a minor character but at least she has an apprentice now!! she can be deputy!!! wow russetfur died is- wait who the FUCK is rowanclaw what!! the fuck!!! i know its in character for blackstar not to choose her as deputy but what !! the ufck!! tawnypelt is RIGHT THERE

me in bramblestars storm: wow ok so blackstar died so maybe rowanclaw- okay who the FUCK is crowfrost. what the fuck rowanstar u’d really just ignore your wife whose the most capable and sensible character in this fucking book and in shadowclan for the last four arcs, for some nobody who we dont even know shit about who the FUCK is crowfrost

me in arc 5 of wc: wow tawnypelt is still the best character in shadowclan and one of the only sensible wc characters but she’s stilL!! being ignored!!! tawnypelt u need to leave all these 5′s behind because you’re a 10!!!! make your own clan!! tell ur husband to demote himself and become tawnystar!!! why the FUCK DID ROWANSTAR CHOOSE TIGERHEART AS DEPUTY OVER HIS WIFE 

me in the future of wc: wow-

read more for the illustrated definition of “spending way too much time on something

(an extremely wild AU where Michael has a 4-second-moment of genuine sense of guilt and other assorted human emotions the night before the N-Y heist. yeah yeah I know, how far fetched, I’m crazy like that.)

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

I've been reading thru ur posts about fat fetishes and as a fat woman who hasn't been in a relationship it's something that worries me.. how do I know if someone likes me bc they're fetishizing me over actually liking me? Those quotes from a past fat fetisher even went so far to say they where in love with fat girls just to get closer to them.. that's quite distressing to me. Are there any signs that my naive self might look for?

As a “recovering” (which means constantly and permanently self checking) ex-fat fetishizer, red flags:

- Too focused on your weight. 
- History of only/mostly fat exes/lovers. 
- Negative comments about skinny women. 
- Comments about “how good and loved they are going to make you feel” (which hints that they think that without them you are nothing).
- Comments/encouragement so you gain weight. (BIG RED FLAG) 
- If you ever state that you might lose weight in the future or are currently losing weight because you want to and you find resistance or opposition to the idea, or trying to convince you otherwise: big ass red flag. 

Those are the bigger ones that come to mind. There are many other things but I think those are a good start. 

- Mod Guillermo

anonymous asked:

Hii! Sorry i want to read you NHL! Bitty but I'm kind if lost where to start?

Hi! It’s a bit of a mess now that I have so many little offshoots, but if you check out this post I have links at the beginning to the previous installments. Origin is a loose breakdown of the AUs timeline, the ‘parts’ are snapshots from within the AU. ‘Pens!Bitty’ is the AU of an AU where Bitty went to the Penguins instead of the Schooners (that one is more just for funsies).

They aren’t necessarily in order, but they shouldn’t be too hard to track. Otherwise, I have my NHL!Bitty tag that has collected everything from the AU so far. Just scroll back and you should see it all :)


Closer - WIP

For @nairobiwonders and her fic Friday event (that I want to become a weekly event now…)

I’m sorry to post something unfinished, but I just had an image pop into my head and went with it, and of course it is taking longer to express than I thought. And I really wanted to post something on fic Friday!



Joan was pulled out of her doze far too easily by the tone in Sherlock’s voice. He would never intentionally wake her up this way.

She turned over in bed to face her doorway, where Sherlock stood, his hands tucked tightly into the pockets of his sweatpants, his torso bare exposing his swath of strange tattoos and the erratic nature of his breathing. He looked furtively at her through his lashes, his forehead showing a few extra wrinkles.

Her bleary confused stare immediately shifted all the way over to concern. “What is it, Sherlock?” She had barely gone to bed half an hour ago, and it wasn’t like Sherlock to bother her after she’d chosen to go to bed—at least not for the next six or seven hours.

“I had a, uh…” He looked away from her, pursed his lips, an unfamiliar action for him. He was obviously berating himself. “A request,” he finished, glancing from her face to the floor. A twitch in one of his arms told her he was struggling to keep his hands in his pockets.

She let her expression return to confusion. “Okay,” she said, letting him know with the cadence of the word she wasn’t annoyed, hoping he would look up at her. “Is something wrong?”

“No I only…um.” His wandering gaze went from the floor to the ceiling, and he began bouncing only slightly on his heels, the move so subtle only eyes as keen as hers could catch it. She would bet his pulse was increasing right now. She raised herself up on one elbow, pushing he braid over her shoulder and trying to catch any nuance of expression that would tell her his thoughts. She’d learned to read Sherlock well enough over the years, that even with only the hall light illuminating him from behind, she could tell he was embarrassed, not only anxious. It was in how he held his shoulders down, his hands in his pockets rather than out for her to see, his eyes wandering more than they ever did. Sherlock’s eyes were always focused—when they were not, it meant one of two things. He was extremely unsure or he was under the influence.

“I had an encounter earlier that I thought you should know about.” He finally got the words out, managing to focus on her face for more than a heartbeat. “It was with a, uh, drug dealer.”

“I take it this drug dealer was a member of SBK?” Joan ventured, knowing Sherlock was still not one-hundred percent on board with Shinwell remaining an informant—his hands-off approach to Shinwell’s training was proof enough of that. It had nothing to do with giving Joan “the honors,” as he kept referring to Shinwell’s training as, in that wry yet cheerful way he had.

He gave a slight nod, to the side as if he only begrudgingly admitted it. She had no idea why—she was sure he had good reason for talking to a member of SBK. They had to learn their enemy just as well as Shinwell had, after all.

“He offered to sell to me. Said he could recognize a user, even a former one,” he continued, rolling one shoulder in suppressed irritation. Anger was creeping onto his face, but he was holding it in.

“I seek not only your counsel, Watson, but your…reassurance.” His eyes locked with hers, and he was clearly biting the inside of his cheek, hard. He wanted to lash out—this was not the same restlessness she’d seen a few weeks ago, when he’d stopped going to meetings. This was a barely controlled hatred—at loss of control, loss of focus, two things that were the cornerstones of his sobriety, as she’d warned him when he’d insisted on his intellectual superiority.

“You know you can talk to me, Sherlock,” she said, feeling sleep pull at her but knowing Sherlock needed someone now. If this had been four years ago, he might even had said the word “relapse” in earnest. Now they knew each other too well—he would not be so forward. He knew enough to fear his effect on her. It pained her to think of it—to think of what his last relapse had damaged, but it wasn’t something she could dwell on now.

He nodded more energetically this time, his words coming out hurried, “I know this, Watson, and you know I value your support. I only hesitate to ask more of you now since our partnership has drifted so far from the one between sober companion and client—” He bit off the end of the sentence, his gaze wandering to the window behind her. He was searching for the words now, holding his entire body tightly bound close, as if he feared the words that he sought.

“Sherlock, please look at me.” He did, albeit hesitating for a good second, searching that blank darkness past her window for a last futile moment. “We are friends. Just because I was once your sober companion doesn’t mean I am any less your friend now. If it helps, view me as an Irregular that you just happen to live with,” she said, holding out her left hand palm up to punctuate her suggestion. He gave her a skeptical side-eye, but was still listening, so she continued. “My background as a sober companion only makes me a friend specialized in giving support when it comes to your addiction. We are no longer sober companion and client, and we don’t ever need to be again. But that doesn’t mean you have to feel bad for asking me for help. Friends are supposed to want to help each other.”

He was uncannily still for a few seconds, studying her with a scrutiny she recognized as completely selfish—he only looked at people that way when he was deducing how they could be lying, even unconsciously. And Joan knew, even unconsciously, she was telling the truth.

“If I were to ask you, Watson, as an Irregular and a friend, if you felt comfortable sharing a bed for the night, would you object?” he said, a rasping in his voice that betrayed his fear.

The words hung between them accompanied only by Joan’s increased, staccato heartbeat spreading through her limbs. Could Sherlock see that?

Her expression didn’t change though, so she felt safe enough to reply. “No. But I have to ask why.” Her words came out measured, a careful slowness that she knew Sherlock could read as trepidation. Hopefully he read nothing more.

He bounced visibly on his heels, once, twice, his eyes wandering again. “When I was using, I found it more satisfactory to distance myself from others. Not only socially but physically. Physical touch was more abhorrent to me then than it ever has been—or ever will be.” He stopped to study her expression. Nothing had changed, he had to be realizing. She was listening in her nonjudgmental way, waiting. He took a slow, audible breath, his chest expanding, before he continued.

“As you know I have usually taken on an exercise partner to use whatever excess energies may be hindering my deductive processes. But this exercise also stimulates my mind and detracts from those excess energies that…” Here he finally took one hand from his pocket, gesticulating with a few circling motions his struggle to express something that so troubled him. “…That make my addiction more tangible to me.”

She took a slow breath herself, gathering her courage. “I’m not having sex with you.”

He held up a finger. “I did not say that, Watson, allow me to elaborate.” He could not look at her after she’d said the word “sex”. It was strangely amusing to see him uncomfortable at something she had said. She let her mouth twist in a wry smile.

“It is not the actual sexual act I have found to detract from that energy which brings me closer to my addiction, but the…” He moved his hand back and forth between them, bouncing his heels at the same time now that he was finally getting his difficult message across. “…contact, you see. So I thought, perhaps, if you were not opposed we could…”

“Share a bed,” she finished for him, seeing he’d taken his other hand out of his pocket and had begun to fidget in a decidedly stressed fashion.

He finally lowered his gesturing hand and gave a small nod, eyes on the floor, pursing his lips again. “Precisely.”

She looked away from him, gathering her thoughts, and trying to slow an irritable racing heartbeat. If she thought Sherlock was manipulating her in any way, she would’ve stopped him before he’d barely begun. But this was not manipulation—she’d seldom seen him this vulnerable, not since his relapse. He didn’t want to elaborate, but something about that SBK dealer had shaken him. They would talk about it later, but now was not the time for dissecting and deducing. It was nearing 1am, and Joan had no real reason to object to Sherlock’s request.

She scooted farther to the left of her bed, pulling back the covers for him. “Alright, you can share my bed with me, but if you start kicking in your sleep you’re out. And turn the hall light off please.”

Sherlock was still for a fraught three seconds before he sprang into motion, going to turn the hall light off and rushing back to her doorway like a recalcitrant child. She lay back on her pillow, moving the one other pillow she had to the right side of the bed for Sherlock. He saw her movement and took that for definite permission, coming to her bedside and climbing under the covers in not slow, but careful motions as if he waited for her to take back her words.

But only the rustle of bedsheets filled the room as Sherlock settled next to her. They both lay on their backs, staring at the ceiling, Sherlock as silent as he was capable, waiting for her further approval. She bit her bottom lip to hold back an irrational smile.

“Sherlock, you said physical contact helped you focus your energy away from your addiction,” she said, still looking at the ceiling. He didn’t move. She gave a small sigh. “What would you like me to do?”

A few seconds passed. Then he raised his left hand, palm up toward her. “Hand, please.”

She turned to look at his profile. His eyes were closed, his lungs expanding far too fast for her liking. She silently gave him her right hand.

He exhaled, long and slow. She found herself looking at the tattoo on his shoulder, the one of such great detail she’d never been able to determine exactly everything in contained. It was too dark now, but it occurred to her she had never asked him what the tattoo was, or why he had gotten it.

“Would it help to talk?” she said, her voice coming out a bit quieter, the reality of the darkness and their closeness settling in. She wore shorts and a tank-top for her pajamas—their skin to skin contact had never reached this level of potential. Her mind whirled in uncertainty for a few seconds, not knowing what to feel except for a familiar worry—for Sherlock and for her strange reactions—and an unwelcome excitement.

He was silent for much longer this time. His breathing slowed (and so did hers, though she never acknowledged that it increased in the first place), his grasp on her hand remained relaxed, his eyes closed. She knew he wasn’t asleep—he was thinking, considering. Her words or something else, she could only guess right now.

“No, Watson, I think…” His voice had grown softer as well, and his head turned toward her. “Can I move closer?”

She had turned to face him, and at his question her hand unconsciously tightened on his. She gave a single nod to confirm her agreement, a millisecond later realizing she wasn’t really sure what she’d just agreed to.

He took her hand and draped it over his chest. He was so warm he was almost hot, and if Joan had not been a surgeon and had not known Sherlock was nowhere near ill, she would’ve thought he had a fever. In contrast her skin was cold against his. She moved closer to him to move her arm further across his chest, the prickle of his chest hairs sending foreign but welcome chills down her back. She hoped he didn’t notice the goosebumps rising on her skin (how could he not notice).

Her forehead touched his shoulder, and they spent several minutes settled thus, her feeling his chest rise and fall beneath her arm, him holding her hand gently in his own. Joan could not summon sleep. She was no longer even tired. It may have been approaching 2am, or 3am, she would not know. She feared moving closer, that he might feel her heartbeat increasing again. But then she realized he could feel her pulse as clear as day against his skin. Something in her shifted, and fear rose, but she didn’t know what to do with it. Her hand clenched into a fist under his, and she closed her eyes against the fear, seeking the empty blackness behind her eyelids to give her some calm.

Instead she felt Sherlock’s heartbeat, beating nearly as fast as hers, and this small detail made her open her eyes.

Sherlock was looking at her. She lifted her head, blinking a silent question at him, feigning nonchalance. He took his hand from hers, and lifted it to her face, holding his hand just above her forehead.

“May I?” he said, that rasping back in his voice, the words coming out a whisper that barely brushed her cheek. She nodded.

He smoothed his hand over her hair, and though she couldn’t see his expression, she felt his hesitation. He wasn’t fully touching her, holding his hand just a hairsbreadth away. She could feel that hesitation just as much as if he’d grabbed her. She was about to say something, when he began undoing her braid.

She hadn’t even noticed him pulling off the hair tie, only registering peripherally that he had moved his hand to her braid, pulling it over her shoulder. Now all she could focus on was what little she could see of his eyes, intent on the braid he was now undoing, as if it was another experiment that had caught him unawares, that he could not help but explore.

His fingers ran through her now loose hair, again and again, until she could feel the static against her neck, but also the brush of his fingers, sending more chills through her.


EDIT: the finished chapter is up on ao3

anonymous asked:

1- I come from the l/arry fandom and I used to be a l/arrie, and I thought I would get offended by your post, but I agree with everything you said. It got toxic as fuck, people just went too far, and it turned the 1D fandom into the shit that it is nowadays. I don't like when people compare jikook to l/arry because they have no idea of how it was, and how it actually is. It's gotten to a point where even their own shippers got tired and wanted out of the fandom (aka me and some friends). ++

it worries me that some jikook shippers get like that, but honestly, it’s sad to me to see the point it got and how it got to it. Please, don’t compare something as pure and lovely and nice as jikook to l/arry because it’s two different worlds, two different realities, it’s literally comparing black and white. Not the same thing AT ALL, it’s itchy for me to read these comparisons, because this is what makes the fandom toxic. Please, people. Don’t do that. I come as an old shipper, stop it.

yes thank you!!! like, i hate when people compare jikook to l/arry because they aren’t similar to me at all. and jikook shippers are calmer and more realistic than l/arry shippers. thank you for being able to see the differences between la/rry and jikook, even though you shipped l/arry. it makes me so annoyed when people compare the two, because they just aren’t similar. idk, i just feel like jikook deserves better. lol. 

This is the only doodle I had sitting around before RL happened, and since it won’t be finished any time soon  I’ll  just post it now! A scene from the RP with my fiancee I really loved, after she had debunked one too many theories and couldn’t figure out why that was making her partner in crime feel progressively worse. Peridot has a real talent for being completely and unintentionally sweet when she’s just stating cold hard facts, lmao

As far as the RP goes, this is where she went from “yay cool little green space rock partner that can handle the truths” to “oh no there went my dokis gdi”.

Now it’s her turn

Request #9: Daryl Imagine (Smut)

Anonymous request: May I get an imagine where I’m Carl’s older sister like 18 and I start to date Daryl and he is really cute and protective. The one day Rick finds out and gets super mad. Thank u

I’m not really proud of this imagine but it’s the best I could come up with. Also, I’m super, super sorry for the long delay. I was meant to post this last yesterday but I was feeling ill…

It’s not what it looks like 

In many ways, Alexandria could be defined as heaven. You didn’t have to constantly worry about being bitten in your sleep or whether there would be anything to eat the following day. The big problem was that everybody knew everybody and it was pretty much impossible to come and go unnoticed.

“Hey (Y/N)!” Carl called me over from the couch where he was reading some comics, making me stop in my tracks. “Where are you going sis?”

“It’s my nightshift to guard the walls,” I replied a little too quickly, having thought about my excuse in advance.

“Oka- Wait! Isn’t it Daryl’s turn tonight?” Carl was eyeing me suspiciously, leaning over the back of the sofa, his comics entirely forgotten.

“I think I know better than you when my shifts are, don’t you agree?” Not daring to wait for his reply, I quickly exited the house and hid in the shadows while walking towards the guard post.

Checking once again that nobody had seen me, I started climbing up the ladder to the platform where Daryl was already keeping watch.

“Yer late, (Y/N),” Daryl mumbled without even turning around. Instead of getting distraught by his cold demeanor, I went tiptoes and placed a chaste kiss on his lips.

“Carl’s been getting suspicious,” I explained as I sat down on the wall’s rim, not too far away from him. “I guess when you don’t have to fight for survival every single day, you have time to snoop in other people’s businesses.”

“If yer dad finds out, he’ll kill me,” Daryl wearied and his knuckles turned white as his grip on the sniper tightened. Smiling at his reaction, I stood up and made my way over to him, taking the weapon away from his hands before he could say anything.

“If my dad finds out,” I whispered as I pressed my chest against Daryl’s torso, tilting my head up to look at him while my hands found their way to his back pockets. “You’re dead, I’m dead and whoever tells him about it is probably dead too.” I joked as Daryl tipped his head down to have a better look at me and no matter how many times we had been like this, his blue eyes still made my legs weak.

“And ye think that’s funny, don’t ye?” He smirked ever so lightly and I nodded, barely able to hide my smile. Without wasting another second, Daryl leaned down, capturing my lips with his as his hands roamed over my body, holding me tighter.

Still proud at having been able to lighten the mood, I gave his ass a teasing squeeze before sliding my cold hands under the back of his shirt. I could feel the scars on his back as he shivered every time I traced them with the tip of my fingers.

His lips left mine, tracing their way down my jawline until they reached the spot between my neck and my collarbone, nibbling on the sensitive skin and making me moan in pleasure.

Not wanting to waste another minute of our precious time, my hands left his back and went to his shirt instead, proceeding to undo every and each button. I felt him groan against my neck, his stubble scratching my skin when my fingers went further south.

“Yer sure (Y/N)?” He breathed, slowly pulling away from me to have a full view of my blushed self. Admittedly, this probably wasn’t the best of places but it did have the advantage that nobody would see us.

“Mmm,” I purred, looking straight into his eyes as my hands went to grab the hem of my t-shirt. Before I could even start pulling it upwards, Daryl did the job for me, sliding the garment off me and throwing it somewhere behind me, outside the walls.

Our hands were all over each other, removing the remaining pieces of clothing that separated us in a blur. His lips found mine again in a passionate kiss and while the night might have been chilly, my skin felt as if on fire when I laid down on my back. Daryl’s body quickly covered mine and I could feel every single part of him pressing against me as we continued kissing.

Way too turned on to worry about further preliminaries, I took his engorged member in my hand, stroking it slowly and enjoying the guttural sounds coming from Daryl’s throat before guiding him to my core.

“Daryl!” A manly voice called out and we both froze in our spot. “Daryl, are you there?”

Our eyes were locked in each other for a moment, both of us not knowing what to do. Daryl regained his wit before I did and we quickly disentangled from each other as I rolled over to the darkest part of the platform, trying to grab my clothes in the process.

“Yeah Rick, what d’ya need?” Daryl responded, doing his best to remain in the shadows as he put on his jeans.

“Do you know where (Y/N) is? Carl told me she went out to take the night shift but I checked and it’s not her turn tonight,” dad explained and I didn’t even have to look at him in order to know that he was pissed at me.

Daryl turned my way, silently asking me what to do but I just shook my head in panic as I tried finding my panties in the heap of clothes.

“I, she-” Daryl stuttered, trying to come up with a good lie and failing. “(Y/N) came by earlier, told her she had the shifts wrong and she went back home,” he ranted, still fumbling with his fly.

This probably was the dumbest story he could have come up with considering that there was no way I would be able to get to my house before dad did but I didn’t have time to point it out to Daryl as Rick spoke again.

“Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?” Dad asked confused and Daryl went rigid, almost like a deer caught in the headlights. “Oh, oh,” Rick chuckled after a minute of silence, “that definitely explains the sounds,” he went on, clearly amused. “Well, I’ll leave you guys to it, and um, have fun!”

Daryl didn’t reply, frozen in place at us having come this close to being caught. I heard the footsteps growing fainter and finally dared getting back up on my feet.

“Out of all the things you could have come up with, that was your best shot?” I teased, smirking as I eyed Daryl up and down while trying to fasten my bra. The walkers didn’t scare him, neither did the cannibals and the wolves but my dad certainly did and I found that way more amusing than I probably should.

“Yeah, well ye try thinkin’ with no blood in yer brain,” he retorted, returning my smirk.

I quickly placed a kiss on his lips before starting to climb down the ladder as fast as I could. I used the short cut Enid had shown me weeks ago, running until my ribcage hurt. Luckily for me, dad seemed to have taken the long way around because I managed to get home just before him.

Closing the front door behind myself, I tried not to make any noise as I walked upstairs.

“(Y/N)?” Dad shouted behind me the very same moment the lights went on.

“Yes, dad, I’m here,” I replied weakly, halfway up to the first floor when he stopped next to the stairs.

“Where were you?” He asked angrily and I didn’t even dare imagine how he would react if he found me with Daryl.

Breathing deeply to remain calm, I turned around, putting on the most innocent smile I could master. “Thought it was my shift so I went out. Daryl told me it wasn’t the case so I went back home.”

He was silent for a moment, relaxing as he realized that my story matched Daryl’s and I breathed out in relief. While Alexandria was relatively secure, dad still worried a lot about my safety and he didn’t like me being out at night, hell, he didn’t even like when I took shifts.

“Wait! Where’s your t-shirt?” He asked suspiciously just as I was trying to climb up the final stairs.

“Well, you see,” I babbled and felt my cheeks grow pink. “I was getting ready to take a shower,” I replied, a fake smile on my lips as I faced my dad.

“At midnight?” He stated, cocking his head and giving me his “I don’t buy your bullshit” look.

“I was kind of sweaty.”


“I told you this wasn’t a good idea!” Glenn screamed the moment we stepped out of the car inside the walls.

“Oh come on! This is nothing,” I countered, holding my bloody arm with my right hand.

Tara and I had gone over some maps of the area in the morning and had found a gas station that looked promising. Glenn had decided to join us in our run and we managed to fill the entire trunk of the car with useful stuff.

“Nothing?” Glenn spoke out incredulously. “Your father will kill me if he finds out you got hurt under my watch!”

“And if he doesn’t, Daryl will,” Tara laughed as she came up behind us, placing an arm around my shoulder. I gave her a pointed look, silently telling her to shut up but she only smiled more. “Let’s get you to Denise, she will stitch you up.”

“What happened?” The doctor asked once she saw me covered in blood.

“Cut myself with my own knife,” I explained, sitting down on the cot. Denise nodded before walking away to gather the necessary material.

“You can’t believe how much I regret you having found out about Daryl and me,” I angrily whispered at Tara who was leaning against the door.

“Trust me, my eyes regret it too,” she said, sticking out her tongue at me.


I was slowly brushing the knots out of my hair in front of the full body mirror, getting ready for bed. I might have gotten hurt in the process but I was proud of having accomplished a very successful run. Rick saw red when he noticed my injury but after I told him how much we managed to bring, and more importantly, after Michonne told him to suck it up, he calmed down a bit. I was just glad that Daryl hadn’t been there when we got back or else he would have thrown a fit.

As if on cue, I heard a small knock on my window and through the reflection on the mirror, I saw Daryl’s figure standing outside.

“Is this a High School Musical remake?” I joked after having unlatched the window. This was the first time Daryl had done this and even though it was cliché, having your boyfriend climb up the house and enter your bedroom through the window still had a certain appeal.

“Show me,” Daryl ordered as soon as his feet touched the floor. He didn’t look pleased, in fact he looked even angrier than Rick had.

“It’s nothing,” I whispered in order not to be overheard by Carl whose room was right next to mine. Obviously not buying it, Daryl seized me by my waist and pulled me closer to him before taking my arm in his hands.

“Denise told me ye got twelve stitches,” he whispered, not being able to see the wound because of the bandage. “Why did ye even go on a run?!” He groaned, his blue eyes cold as they pierced through mine.

“Because I wanted to be useful,” I explained, keeping my voice low even though Daryl wasn’t doing any effort in that department. “And don’t even start because you don’t have the right to tell me what and what not to do,” I quickly added when he was about to start lecturing me.

“So I’m supposed ta sit back and let ye get killed?!” Daryl fumed but still tried to keep his voice down this time.

“No,” I replied weakly, understanding where this was coming from. Slowly, I pushed him backwards until he was sitting down on my bed and I took a seat on his lap. “But I would be happy if you congratulated me on my success,” I whispered before kissing his cheek.

“I can’t loose ya.” I wasn’t sure if I had heard it right considering Daryl’s voice was merely a whisper. Silently, he took my wrists in his large hand before looking up at me. “I can’t live without ya.”

His confession took me by surprise and I was rendered speechless for a while, barely even able to hold his gaze. “Daryl, are you telling me what I think you are?”

“I love ya, (Y/N),” he murmured, looking straight into my eyes. Never in a thousand years would I have thought I’d get to hear Daryl say those words.

My body reacted before my brain even had a chance to and in less than a second, I was straddling him, kissing him like there was no tomorrow. Daryl quickly responded to my actions, his hands tearing my nightshirt apart, buttons flying everywhere across the room.

There were no words needed as we undressed each other in the moonlit room, smiling each time our eyes met. When Daryl noticed me struggling to stay on top with my wounded arm, he gently flipped us around before placing a soft kiss on the bandage.

I probably managed to kiss every inch of his chest before his shirt had even entirely come off. He smoothly pulled me away and proceeded to take my right nipple between his teeth, making me squirm underneath him as I tried to remain relatively quiet.

We took our time, enjoying each other’s bodies before I felt him enter me. The bed squeaked each time he thrust in me and every time he did, it brought me closer to my release.

“I love you too, Daryl,” I smiled, teary eyed when my orgasm hit me. I don’t know if it were my words or the way my heat pulsated around his member but he reached his peak at that moment, burying his face on my neck to muffle the sounds.

We fell asleep soon after, still naked as he held me close to him, my head resting against his cheek.


I woke up in panic when I heard noise coming from downstairs. It sounded like something had fallen, quickly followed by multiple curse words.

Daryl and I got up at once. I frantically searched for something to wear, quickly settling with his shirt as he put on his boxers. He silently implored for me to stay but I was already out of the door, gun in hand before he could stop me.

“What the hell?!” I shouted, gun raised once I was downstairs. The beautiful lamp next to the couch had been knocked over and glass shards littered the floor.

“Don’t tell dad,” Carl asked me when I noticed him closing the front door behind himself, hiding Enid from sight.

“Are you okay, (Y/N)?” Daryl’s worried voice came from behind just as I felt his protective hand on my shoulder.

“What the hell is going on?” Dad screamed, running downstairs quickly followed by Michonne.

“Carl went to the kitchen for a snack and knocked over the lamp in the process,” I quickly blurted out, trying to dissipate the tension as the five of us stood in the middle on the room, holding various weapons.

“Yeah,” Carl quickly agreed, nodding his head more than was natural.

“Okay,” Michonne accepted, nodding slowly as she set her katana on the stairs. “Let us clean that up before anyone gets hurt.”

“Wait,” dad countered and my face fell, knowing what was to come. “What is Daryl doing here? And why are you wearing his shirt, (Y/N)?”

“Dad, look, I can explain,” I tried softly, walking towards him carefully. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“Really, (Y/N)?” Rick scoffed without looking at me. Instead, he raised his gun again and pointed it at Daryl, making me stop at once. “The way I see it, it is exactly what it looks like.”

“Look man, I can explain,” Daryl pleaded, raising his hands in defeat.

“Oh, you do?” Rick exclaimed, cocking his head. “So my daughter is wearing your shirt, you’re in boxers and there’s an explanation,” dad joked, sarcasm heavy in his voice. His blue eyed stare was colder than ever and suddenly, I felt like a child again.

Panicking, I rushed in front of Daryl, putting myself between him and the gun. “Okay dad, relax please. I’m nineteen years old so you don’t exactly have a-”

“I can’t believe it, (Y/N)! You lied to me, you were the one on the platform with Daryl,” Rick realized, an angry rictus poisoning his face. When he didn’t lower his gun, Daryl tried to shove me behind himself but I stood my ground.

“Stop!” Michonne yelled, coming out from the kitchen, looking pissed. “Lower your gun, Rick,” she ordered but dad didn’t budge. “Rick!” She yelled once again and he finally complied. “(Y/N), Daryl, go get dressed. We need to discuss this calmly,” she added, pointedly looking at my dad.

 Let me know what you think of it :)


Thanks to rotodisk, I remembered I never really uploaded OC’s for Ever After High and talked about them

The gal in red is Jaqueline “Jackie” or “Jaq” Knave, daughter of the Knave of Hearts. There is a story behind her eyepatch. Makes kazeknight feel feels.

I had the thought that when Jaq and Lizzie were kids, and Lizzie was just learning about her “adoration” with scissors, she was running to show Jaq. The scissors on the way went into little Jaq’s eye, and that’s where the eyepatch comes in.

The gal in green is Marcella Lion, daughter of the Cowardly Lion. I posted her once before, but didn’t really say too much about her. So far she has the most work done on her. She has her Rebel card and I started a webisode edit with her in it, def need to really re-work that. That style is somehow harder to do????

Marcella is most definitely a rebel. She started as a royal, a rather fraidy kitten when she was young, but realized that if she didn’t want to keep being treated differently, she had to start standing up for herself. now she’s a bold whackadoodle :P

But yea. Ever After High OC’s. I had a fox girl too but she is meh? Maybe I’ll work on her. I also have a drawing of the daughter of the caterpillar!! Holy shit someone stop me please :| I have too many drawings. Next post might be Monster High ghouls I’ve done.

So I made up an AU. it’s a bit longer than my usual post though. XD

An AU set in medieval fantasy where the Grace siblings were orphaned at a young age after their abusive mother died and without a father, both were sent to the orphanage. 

After being admitted into the orphanage they suffered constant bullying from other older kids. Especially with Thalia’s rebellious nature and refusal to bow down to others. As well as her desire to protect her younger brother Jason. Then suddenly one day the bullying went too far and Jason got injured (thus lip scar, nope nope nothing to do with staplers at all. LOL) . In her rage Thalia lost control and  released a devastating storm upon the orphange.  It took a lot of people to hold her down and after that the people imprisoned her, out of fear of her powers. Little Jason came to visit her regularly always crying everytime he saw her.. Even though beaten and bruised she would always put on a smile for him. 

Then not long after, men in armor came. They came and took both the Grace siblings. It turns out they were the bastard children of King Zeus  of House Stormborn. One of the Great houses of the kingdom. They were taken in and trained to join their father’s army. Turns out both were very talented. As the years passed, the siblings rose through the ranks quickly. Earning the respect and fear of those around them. 

Jason grew into a disciplined and diplomatic man, yet was also an excellent swordsman. Always prefering the diplomatic ways first. His sister Thalia was a different story,  a force to be reckoned with. Hot-headed and unpredicatble she usually prefers to use force. And power is something she is not lacking in. 

That is why when King Zeus sends his son Jason to reason with you… be sure you grab this opprunity to think things through. For when Jason comes to visit… Thalia is not too far off.

And as they say… There is always a calm, before the storm.

7 Days of Halloween

Originally posted by lematworks

I love Halloween so I thought it’d be fun to write a Halloween themed story for  the week leading up to it! I will be (hopefully) posting one Halloween story a day plus an imagine/one shot/request/something.

Here’s the lineup I got so far….

Tuesday-Big brother Dean takes Sam & Y/N (in their motel homemade costumes) trick or treating.

Wednesday-Sam watches Casper the Friendly Ghost with his older sister.

Thursday-Dean & Sam get costumes so they can take Dean’s daughter trick or treating.

Friday-AU where Sam & Dean pickup their little sister from a Halloween party gone too far.

Saturday-Dean picks up the Halloween traditions that Sam used to do with their little sister before he went to Stanford, with a little help from Sam.

Sunday-Sam has to explain to his little sister that monsters are real after a close call.

Monday-Team Free Will & the youngest Winchester celebrate Halloween in the bunker.

daylightring replied to your post: karen we’re the same person lmao. maximoff is described as this hero who is the big brother/cousin to everyone but they don’t…. show anything….? where’s the proof???? i’m not having any of it. “you wanted to do your own thing, and i get it. go do your own thing. stop fucking with mine.” maximoff fucking cancelled

ikr?? all the time he’s described as this amazing guy but all i’ve seen are his erections. sorry if i sound mean but he doesn’t get to shit on my boy charlie like that through his whole book and expect me to be cool about it. “what are you doing here charlie?” “you can’t account for anyone’s feelings but your own” “sometimes i think he just likes being on the opposite side of me” “i’m nearing the edge of a cliff that i want to push him off of” “you’re not invited and i’m not joking around charlie” excuse me???????? CANCELLED.

wveck  asked:

☀ + omg i drove through mälmo (both the denmark one and sweden one haha) when i went to denmark + its not too far from where i was staying... my day has been okay, i found out that i passed my second year of uni yesterday though so im happy about that!! :)

CONGRATS! i am starting uni in september and i am sooo excited and nervous!!!

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post: 10/10
overall:  10/10

following: no(t yet), sorry | f+ | of course! | i love your blog with all i have

☀7.3k celebration blogrates☀

It could be possible that I won’t be posting any art here until January so have some (non canon)holiday fluff to end this year. This was a doodle that went too far because I have lost the control of my life.

No matter where you are, and how festive or mundane your holiday season may be, I hope you get to spend it with someone you care and love. 

A Guide to Jack Zimmermann in Dates

So I have see a ton of posts about what Jack’s exact timeline is like in regards to everything that went down in 2009, and @idrilka and I have spent far too long hammering this timeline out not to share at least the basics with you all.

May 22nd 2009 - The Memorial Cup final (the actual final in 2009 took place on the 24th but in order to fit in those perfect 34 days mentioned in the Parse III extras, and the 22nd is POSSIBLE, they would have just had to have been really good, and well we know they where)

June 25th/26th (around midnight?) 2009 - Jack Zimmermann ODs 

June 26th 2009 - Kent Parson goes 1st over all to the Los Vegas Aces at the 2009 draft in Montreal

August/September 2011 - Jack Zimmermann starts at Samwell

July/August/September 2012 - Kent Parson visits Samwell (potentially) with the Stanley Cup

Essentially I hope this helps someone somewhere write terrible angst or just you know normal angst ?

makesusmonsters  asked:

hc + rings

SEND ME ‘ HC ’ + A WORD and i’ll write a character headcanon about it.

i was going to just post screencaps of woodes’ hands to annoy you, but i’m too lazy to look for said caps so i guess i will ramble about the rings instead.

okay so to kick things off, this is more meta than a headcanon, i suppose, but i figure it bears writing down (a second time since i accidentally unplugged my router with my foot and lost this paragrapht the first time round). during season three, woodes wears only two rings, one on each hand, while in season four he wears four: three on his right hand and one on his left ring finger. this is significant not only because it is traditionally the finger on which a wedding band is worn, but also because he did not previous wear a ring on that finger, despite being married to sarah whetstone at the time. this suggests a notable difference in the type of relationship he and eleanor have than the one he and sarah had. 

furthermore, there is a clear dileanation between woodes’ manor of dress in the two seasons. though he is in both instances shown wearing typically gentlemanly attire for the time, the bright colours and clean, off-white shirt and cravat of season three are replaced in season four with an overwhelmingly dun coloured wardrobe and a visible increase in arms. this is indicative of the switch in his position as governor from politician to military commander. additionally, these changes in costuming suggest a darker, more dire state of mind—one that is existing under siege, like nassua town itself—and a gradual shift from a “civilized” londoner to pirate; a shift which is foreshadowed in season three (“xxv”) by woodes himself when he comments on feeling his connection to london grow weaker by the day.

i was gonna say more, but then i realized this was already stunningly off topic, so back to the rings. specifically, the ring he wears on his left ring finger during season four, and my headcanon, which is this: eleanor gave him the ring and he insisted on wearing it as a wedding band.

want some more completely unsubstantiated opinions? the ring was part of the plunder from the first prize that eleanor had a hand in dealing with when she took over operations from mr scott. she kept it as a token in a small hidden cache of personal affects which went undiscovered during her imprisonment. she told woodes the history of the ring when she gave it to him.

tl;dr: his wedding band is pirate loot that his wife gave him and i will be emotionally compromised by this idea for the rest of my life, probably. see also: everything to do with woodes and eleanor because i am weak and know no chill about anything ever. the end you’re welcome.