try to work it into your every day speech

Friendly reminder that it’s a good day to respect local artists and not demand that they change their technique to fit your personal standards

Friendly reminder that it’s absolutely okay for artists to want to improve by their own standards and nobody else’s

Friendly reminder that not every artist is trying to be perfect like half this community for some reason believes and that drawing for fun rather than to be “good” is a thing that exists

Friendly reminder that it’s okay for artists to be proud of their own work

Friendly reminder that artists are people

Did I Stutter?

A/N: Anon asked me to write Barba learning that his girlfriend has suffered from Stutter like almost all her life.
I hope I could do some justice to this request, as I have no personal experience to draw from, just my imagination I’m afraid.
As always, thank you @minidodds for your input!
Word count: 1,593 (it turned out longer than I was expecting!)

Sinking into the couch after a long day at work was a wonderful feeling. Especially when you had witnessed such horrific violence. You thought back to the interrogation you had witnessed that afternoon.

“You know something, Kyle? When I first saw Jack laid up in that hospital, I was pretty upset. I was angry at who did it. Because right away, Jack reminded me of of me,” Sonny said to the boy gently.

“You see, I was the scrawny kid, way back when. Guys in the neighborhood, they used to pick on me every day. The worst was this this kid, Bobby Bianchi. One day when we were at school, he grabbed me by the hair and he he shoved my face through a plate glass window.”

“Must have hurt.” Kyle seemed like a good kid.

“I was bleeding, I was all cut up. The principal asked what happened. Now I could have put an end to it. Right there, all I had to do was say Bobby’s name. But I didn’t. Because I didn’t want Bobby to get into trouble.”

“He got away with it?” Kyle asked.

“That’s right. Nobody ever knew what happened. You know where Bobby is now? He’s in Sing Sing for stabbing some poor sap to death during a bar fight. And I always think, what if I would have said something? What if I just would have said something? Maybe that guy would still be alive. I missed my shot, Kyle. Not a day goes by that I don’t regret it.

“But this is your shot. Right now.”

Rollins had been right, the story Sonny had told had been a true memory. You had wanted to comfort Sonny that day, but the case had taken up the detectives’ time and instead you had gone over to Rafael’s apartment to wait for him to finish up with his case. Sonny’s story had brought back some less than pleasant memories from your own childhood.

Keep reading

Delphic Maxim #10

Know your opportunity

With this one I waver. Cause to me it could either mean “seize opportunities in your life” or “don’t lament your missed opportunities.”

Particularity the second one reminds me of a quote from a graduation speech from the 90’s saying, “don’t congratulate yourself too much, or berate yourself either. Your choices are half chance, so are everybody else’s.”

Throughout my life I find myself wondering “what if” in situations, but trying to work on that and accept what comes and goes in my life is an every day progression.

So take what opportunities you can, don’t lament the ones missed and be grateful for the path you’re on right now.

anonymous asked:

Why do you have to make a "big deal" about what people ask you? I mean, if someone ask you something, you should answer what they asked, or simply say you're not going to. I'm saying this because someone asked you "what exactly did you say to Essena when you reached out to her?", and you gave them tips. If this person is just curious - like me -, they simply wanted to know what did you say. So, stop trying too hard.

Haha.. Am I supposed to say sorry for caring? Not gonna do that.. I truly care. I want to help people by sharing my experiences. ESPECIALLY when it’s about attracting good things into your life. Cause it’s working for me every single day. 

(I was gonna stop writing now, but since you love my long speeches I’m gonna continue and hopefully you will walk away feeling a bit more openminded and inspired to be more positive) 

Here are a few things I do/have done to attract the life I want:

❤ Every time I cry I say thank you. I reach deep to find the feeling of gratefulness for what’s gonna come. 

❤ I wrote a list of what qualities I wanted in a partner and what kind of life I wished for us. A few months later I met him, and for 2,5 years we’ve been living that life.

❤ Our cat went missing for months when I was about 12. My family and I  were on holiday and I decided I wanted our cat to return home before we got there the week after. I spent hours in the pool that day, daydreaming of holding my cat again. A few hours later my mom got a phone call that our cat had returned. 

❤ I have a small rock in my wallet. Every time I see it I list things that I am grateful for. 

❤ I’d been complaining for 2 years to my boyfriend that we didn’t have a dog. I was registered on several dog rescue sites online, but something always came in the way for us to adopt. I had enough and said out loud that the most fluffy, perfect, loveable puppy would come into our lives very soon. And very soon after I got a phone call from a dog rescue site that they had a pup for us.

❤ The night before I moved to LA I couldn’t sleep and said out loud I needed a sign I would have a great life in LA. I stumbled upon Essena’s instagram and decided I would go vegan.

❤ Every time I feel I need something materialistic in my life, like a piece of clothing, something for the kitchen, a book etc.. It ALWAYS magically appears. I decided 1 month ago I needed something to organise my jewellery in - same week someone had left a completely new jewellery-organisor-thing next to the container in our garage. Another time we went out to buy a mattress and we found a perfect one on the street with a note “TAKE ME”. haha.. 

These things happen to me every day. To you as well.. But most likely you think they are random happenings. Either you ask for what you want and focus on the positive. Or you do like a lot of people: Ask for and focus on what you don’t want. 

You choose if you want to believe this or not. But either way that’s how it works, so why not be on the safe side and stay positive? 

For starters, because it is about race. There’s a topic that draws perfect pitch on your heart strings - it tugs and twangs the chords perfectly - and you can’t help but talk about it. You defend it nail, tooth, and hammer to the very end. For me, race isn’t that topic. Burgers are. For me, race is a shadow painted permanent on my first bedroom walls - I never noticed how dark it was until I got older and my eyes focused and my chest shone brighter. This is when the churning in my stomach began too. Try to imagine it like an optical illusion: once you see it, you can’t not see it. And so, you keep witnessing this presence creep with tendrils; this car crash where you are the only person in both vehicles but you aren’t driving; this rolling like a thick fog and you can’t help but get yourself wrapped in it and your body shakes and you shiver but you never let it waver through your voice. I hear your arguments (an advocacy for the man in horns and pitchfork) which I appreciate, I really do. I see the dance shoes tied perfect on your tongue and the way your contentions hold tension like the world’s only dance floor: it’s impressive. That takes hard boiled work. But imagine never being able to take off that fancy attire. Picture your speech dressed for court every day. How tired your words must get always being so stern and formal and infallible. A pendulum fatigue. I would love to give it a rest. But I don’t get to sleep it off. This thing wakes me up every time I start to dream. Nightmares are the only time it leaves me alone. So I don’t sleep. I don’t get to sleep. Even if I wanted to sleep. And believe me, I do. I’m exhausted.
—  on trying to explain to the eyerolls in ENG 395 why it always has to be about race by Alex Dang!

Requested by Anonymous: Set in Alexandria, Daryl finds a girl (the reader) who has lost the ability to speak because of the trauma of the apocalypse, they still have a connection though and they are close, like she writes in a book to speak to him. She disappears a lot and Daryl doesn’t know where she’s going but it’s secretly to Aaron’s house where they are helping her learn to speak so she can say happy birthday to Daryl. Then, Daryl gets drunk because he thinks the reader is with someone else, and ends up sleeping with some tart who has been trying to get between him and the reader. She walks in his bedroom the next day to say happy birthday and sees them together and runs off upset, and you can decide the ending!


“Hey, Y/N.” Daryl says, and you look up from your sketchbook to see him standing on the sidewalk in front of you.

“Hi, Daryl!” You write above the picture you were scribbling and wave as you hold it up.

“What’s that a picture of?” Daryl squints at it.

“Rick and Michonne slaying a dragon.” You write. “But I can’t really draw people, so they’re stick figures.” You shrug.

“I like it.” He smiles, then moves to sit down next you on the porch of the house you two shared with Sasha and Eugene. He didn’t say anything after that, just kind of watched the wind blow the autumn leaves around on the yard out front, and you did the same.

Finally, you write, “What’s new?”

“Nothing.” He says. “Just wanted to say hi.” You nod and go back to working on the drawing, but you only got a few more lines sketched before Daryl sighs and says, “Actually, there is one thing.” You look at him, patiently waiting for him to tell you what he wants to. He’s wringing his hands nervously, and staring at his shoes. After a long silence, he finally says, “If Olivia’s calendar is correct, then my birthday is next week. Next Tuesday, actually.” You smile and go to write ‘happy birthday’ on your sketchpad, but Daryl keeps talking, interrupting your writing. “And, I’ve never really celebrated my birthday before. It just wasn’t really something we did in my house growing up.” He shrugs. “But I was wondering…” He pauses for a while again. “Maybe we could do something? Something small. Just us.”

Your heart does a little barrel roll that you weren’t expecting and you have to catch your breath again. Was this a date? Probably not. But still, you would get some alone time with Daryl, and you always loved it when that happened, and maybe if it happened more often, then he’d finally ask you out.

You beam at him and write, “That sounds like fun! We can definitely celebrate your birthday together.”

“Great.” Daryl smiles back. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Hi, Daryl!” You look up and see Vicky waving at you from the street. “Oh, hi Y/N.” She said, less enthusiastically. You roll your eyes. It was obvious that Vicky wanted to sleep with Daryl; she was always hanging on or around him, batting her long eyelashes and throwing out major ‘fuck me’ vibes. It was gross.

“Vicky.” Daryl says curtly, nodding slightly before turning his attention back to you, forcing her to keep walking. You hoped nothing was going on between them, and it really didn’t seem like there was, but if you were honest, Daryl was hard to read, so there was really no telling.

“So, we’ll plan on next Tuesday, then?” He asks, standing up to go inside the house.

You nod with a smile, also standing and waving goodbye as he shut the door behind him. Then, you made sure you had your pencil with you, turned to a clean sheet of sketchbook paper, and set off in the direction of Maggie’s house.

As you walked, your head was spinning with ideas. You wanted his birthday present to be personal, but also something he’ll love. And it obviously has to be creative or homemade, because you can’t exactly just go to the mall anymore. You were frowning and squinting into the pavement as you went, and you were so lost in thought that you almost slammed right into Maggie and Aaron near her house.

“Where are you going in such a hurry?” Aaron asked with a laugh.

And then it dawned on you. “Teach me how to speak again.” You wrote in big letters on the page and held it up for them to see.


For the next week, you spent nearly six hours every day at Aaron’s house in speech therapy. Maggie, Aaron, Denise, and Carol were all working non-stop to try and coach you into learning how to talk again. Denise knows a little about speech therapy from a few classes she had to take in her undergraduate and in med school, but not enough to be an actual speech therapist. However, her input was still the most helpful for everyone.

You would spend all day at Aaron’s, working on simple sounds, and just trying to get yourself to make a noise that sounded even remotely close to words. It was long, frustrating, and you were close to giving up all of the time. But then you said your name, and you said ‘Daryl’ and you said ‘Maggie’ and ‘Denise’ and ‘Aaron’ and ‘Carol’.

And you felt amazing.

So, you kept at it. Every day, you’d come home, mentally drained and not wanting to converse or do anything really aside from going to bed. Daryl would usually be home, though, and per your previous routine, he would want to talk to you. He’d ask you what you did all day, and you’d just shrug and smile and start to go upstairs, and though you felt bad leaving him like that every night, you knew it would be worth it when you could actually wish him a happy birthday, rather than just writing it on paper.


When Tuesday rolled around, you were nervous and excited. Your whole lesson that day was nothing but learning to say “Happy birthday, Daryl.” and everyone else had said it so many times over and over that the phrase hardly sounded like it is was made up of words anymore.

But finally, with only thirty minutes to go before you were supposed to meet Daryl, you said it. “Happy… Daryl!” You practically screamed his name and you and Maggie were jumping up and down for joy in the living room.

“Oh, Y/N, he’s going to be so happy!” Maggie said, beaming at you.

“I…” You concentrated really hard. “Exci-ci-ted.” You were going to cry.

Aaron was smiling at you and going in to hug you, too. “This doesn’t mean we’re done helping you, obviously.” He says. “We’re going to help you learn to fully speak again, but I’m glad we got you to your goal in time.”

You were giggling and you snatched up your sketchbook. “I’m going to go find Daryl!” You scribble, barely flicking the phrase in their direction as you skitter out the door and start to head in the direction of your house.

You were trying really hard not to run, but you were just so excited. You couldn’t wait to finally wish Daryl a happy birthday, and you couldn’t wait for him to hear your voice for the first time. Maybe you’d eventually get to sing again, too. You used to love to sing.

You leap up onto the porch and open the front door to the house, looking around the living room for Daryl. You were about to try and call out when you heard a thump in the kitchen. So, you shrug and walk towards the noise.

When you reach the kitchen, though, your heart does that barrel roll again, but this time, it lands in your throat and threatens to suffocate you.

Vicky was sitting on the island counter, her shirt and bra discarded on the floor and her hands knotted in Daryl’s long hair as he kissed her exposed chest. She was moaning obscenely and you had a sudden urge to punch her so hard in the throat that she’d never be able to make that noise again.

But instead, all you did was drop your sketchbook in shock. It landed with a loud smack on the tile floor of the kitchen and both Daryl and Vicky were suddenly staring at you. “Oops.” Vicky said, though there was malice in her eyes.

“D-Daryl?” You said, quietly, a tremor in your voice and tears blurring your vision completely. Then, you turned sharply and fled the house.

You didn’t know where you were going, but you had to get away. “Y/N, wait!” You could hear Daryl calling from behind you, so you broke into a sprint. But, the sound of his footsteps on the pavement behind you where getting louder and closer, and in only a few moments, he had caught you by the arm.

You spun around and pushed him. “G-go!” You stuttered, trying to pull his hand off your arm and he let you go.

“You can speak?” He asks, shocked.

You were sobbing now. This isn’t how you wanted him to find out. Not like this. Your cheeks were burning from embarrassment and you just wanted to crawl into a hole and die. You buried your face in your hands and cried.

“Please, can we just talk about this?” He finally asks, gently taking your wrists and trying to look into your eyes.

You were standing near the house that you used for storage, so you motioned for Daryl to stay put as you went in and took a pad of paper and a pencil from one of the shelves and came back out. “I have been in speech therapy 4 to 6 hours every day for the last week with several different people to learn to try and say Happy Birthday to you. As a gift.” You show it to him, then quickly write. “I can say a few simple words and phrases now, but I’m learning. I wanted to surprise you.”

“But, I feel like an idiot.” You write on the pad and show him.

“What, why?” He asks.

You sniff and figure you may as well go for the gold. “I thought maybe tonight was a date. But, I was wrong. You’re with Vicky, so it’s whatever. If you’d rather spend your birthday with her, I get it.” You show him the writing and his frown deepens as he reads it.

“No, I’m not with her, I just—“ He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes and let’s out a huge sigh of frustration. “I’m the idiot, OK? I thought you were seeing someone, and I thought you didn’t want to hang out with me anymore, so I made a stupid, impulsive decision. Because I wanted tonight to be a date, too.”

You were both staring at each other silently in the street. Finally, you write, “You like me?”

“Yes!” Daryl throws his arms up in the air in exasperation. “But I fucked it up. You were out working so hard to try and do something INCREDIBLE for me, and all I did was try and sleep with somebody else.” He runs both hands through his hair and paces away and back towards you. “God, I’m such an asshole. Can you ever forgive me?”

You point at a phrase again on the pad. “You like me.” And you beam at him. “I like you, too.” You giggle as you write it. “And I can forgive you.”

“Really?” You nod. Daryl smiles and steps forward to hug you.

You look up at him, take a deep breath and say, “Happy birthday, Daryl.”

He grins from ear to ear. “Your voice is beautiful.”


Check this “Coming Soon” post to see which imagines I’ll be posting next!




Usually my blog is VERY positive. It’s a very safe place for people who love Pokemon, ESPECIALLY artists to come and enjoy other people’s art and just enjoy the Pokemon fandom in general. But I’m sorry to put you on the spot, but I’m just trying to get you to understand.

You don’t seem to comprehend what reposting does to an artist. What you’re doing is the equivalent to stealing the homework from the smart kid in school and you getting the perfect score. Doesn’t really make it that fun for the smart kid now does it?

I’m sure many artists will agree with me when I say that what you’re doing is not very respectful to the artists time and effort they put into a piece. You’re basically broadcasting their art for followers, and I personally think that’s not okay. Regardless if its from DeviantArt or not. Believe it or not, people who have DeviantArt most likely post their art on tumblr as well.

The same issue happens on People repost Japanese artists work for followers and their excuse is that they cannot communicate with Japanese artists cause of the language barrier. But an easy Google Translate will tell you that Japanese Artists do NOT want their work reposted. Or they give you a source on tumblr for you to reblog from.

This is the reason why I reblog artists work. They get the recognition for it, as well as showing my followers what an awesome job they did so that the art spreads more for people to enjoy. I get asks every day from artists telling me they drew something awesome and they ask me to check it out and they appreciate what I do because I dont repost.

I’m not trying to sit here and tell you what to do, but frankly you’re not the only one I’m giving this speech to. I’m going to block your Pokemon blog as well as this one, but only with the hope that you really take in what you’re reading right now.

Reposting is never okay. Regardless of what website it came from.


“I know that there are people in this room who go to school every day and get treated like shit for no reason. Or you go home and you feel like you can’t tell your parents the whole truth about yourself. And beyond putting yourself in one box or another, you worry about the future, about college, or work, or even your physical safety. And trying to create that mental picture of your life, of what on earth is going to happen to you, can crush you a little bit every day. And it is toxic, and painful, and deeply unfair. And sometimes it’s the little, insignificant stuff that can tear you down.” - Ellen Page