#grimes for ts

[embrace-the-madness]

Andrea: Somebody must know something. Somebody, somewhere. Carol: There are others, right? Other facilities? Dr. Jenner: There may be some. People like me. Rick: But you don’t know? How can you not know? Dr. Jenner: Everything went down. Communications, directives... All of it. I’ve been in the dark for almost a month. Andrea: So it’s not just here. There’s nothing left anywhere. Nothing. That’s what you’re really saying, right? Jacqui: Jesus. Daryl:

*gif by @reedusgif 

[dorokoro-blog]

rick 을 성별반전으로 그리는것에 상당히 중독되어 버렸다. 😋

[titleleaf]

WIP Word Game: Petal

It’s not hard to tell when he’s been freshly fucked; the stink of it carries with him, summer sweat and seed and the marine-rich perfume of cunt. His hair is in disarray, the folds of his toga more of a tangle, wound around one arm like a man who expects to fend off an assassin — his face is clean and scrubbed of artifice, but the blemishes stand out like rose petals on marble and his mouth remains a bitten red.

Oh my god, of course it's Caracalla's acne. Good for him.

[prettydeeryess]

btw cowboy like me was written about michonne and rick from twd

[l0vergirlwrites]

soooooooooo,

since ttpd dropped today, i desperately need to write a fic at some point based on some of the songs— help me choose which song i should do first!!!

[leikeliscomet]

Obviously not expecting a (white) American site to gaf about today so lemme talk a bit more about Windrush Day and the Black British experience:

I feel like the Black British experience is constantly one of work and struggle. Our parents and grandparents lived through colonial and post colonial (using the term lightly) rule just to end up working and serving the imperial core, targeted by the same government that invited them here. A lot of the time its phrased as a choice but in reality what else could they have done? Ts and Cs apply bc for some West African Brits their parents were middle class back home but for me and others our families grew up in poverty in places still recovering from slavery and colonialism.

Britain whitewashes the history of Black immigrants, literally in the sense we're not taught our own history of Black people in Britain and metaphorically by applying British individualist myths; that as long as you work hard, don't complain about it and love Britain you can be British too. But it erases, ignores and distorts the truth that the British state used our community as nothing more than a labour force to rebuild after WWII and actively targeted Black British communities with police surveillance, brutality and systemic racism. All whilst denying it of course and turning their nose up at the very accusation. Very British.

Black British contributions, West African and West Indian to be more specific don't just apply in terms of work but in terms of shaping culture. 'Roadman' has become a meme and a caricature (including by some Americans on here ik u lot love 'chav') with barely any connection to its Black British roots, even when the term gets used as an insult to mainly Black working class men or used as a British version of 'thug'. The grime scene is undeniably a staple of Black Britain yet it is pathologised and judged, moral panics about Black people's violence and yet capitalised and profitted off of by non Black Brits as an aesthetic. Everybody wants the tracksuits, the tunes and the terminology innit. To be 'road' means to be Black British yet when its time to talk culture, nobody wants to credit it us. All of a sudden its 'London culture'.

But it isn't all doom and gloom. There's so much history and culture here in our spaces. I'd be lying if I said growing up where I did was easy. But it has shaped my outlook and made me and I'll carry that with me forever. Our grandparents and parents came here with so little and made so much out of nothing. And I'll always honour that. Justice for the Windrush generation.

EDIT: Wow this blew up. If you're an American or non-British person and you wanna know more I linked some videos that talk about Black Britishness in an easy way, like a Black Britain 101. I have a sideblog for history posts and I have a lot of Black British history stuff on there, mainly post-war if anyone's interested. Also made this list of Black British music recs x

[softaestluv]

Grease & Grime Won’t Break Your Bones

You never thought you were attracted to grease and grime, sweat and exhaustion, definitely needed a shower and scrub, but no one has worn it like he is.

Mechanic! Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Fem! reader

Tags: dirty, greasy, grimy, sweaty, blue collar worker, yeah I’ll take one of those! you own a pick up, & I actually don’t know anything about cars, eventual smut

Pt . 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3, Pt. 4, Ao3 | masterlist

Contrary to popular belief, you weren’t completely daft when it came to cars. There were a handful of things you could do, as simple as they might be. You knew how to change a flat tire, how to change your oil, the oil filter and air filter. Even knew how to change the bulbs in your headlights— yours had gone out more than once.

Kept up with basic maintenance, topped off all fluids when necessary, rotated your tires, visited a shop when needed.

Though, the piece of shit pick-up you owned seemed to have more problems than one. Sticks on wheels, lemon of a vehicle, engine light flashing more often than not. You were quite exhausted from all the maintenance, worked too hard to keep staining your clothes in grease and ruining your manicured nails.

A pretty thing like yourself shouldn’t be doing such hard work, but you put entirely too much time into the old truck for price gauging and scamming mechanics to stereotype you— a woman, naive.

Simple.

Maybe you had been lucky when you stumbled across ‘Ghost’s Garage’ and the mechanic was anything but, even if his shop was a rundown brick building on its last leg. Old, dinky, mortar deteriorating, cracks and chips in the bricks. It was honestly a miracle it was still standing, but he worked in auto-motives after all, not construction.

Maybe you were a little biased when the mechanic seemed to walk out of a Men’s Health magazine.

Blonde hair, white t-shirt hugging his biceps, coveralls low on his hips, grease stained arms and fingertips, tattoos curled over his ridiculously tanned skin. It was almost cliche the way he approached you, dirty rag pressed to his forehead, wiping the sweat that dripped down his temples before using the same rag to clean the grease off his fingers.

“What can I do for ya?” He asked with shallow breaths, thick accent twined around each word.

You swallowed thickly, “My oil, I just need my oil changed.”

He raised his brow, gesturing to your blue truck in the service drive, “This your C10 right ‘ere?”

You nod, ���That’s me.”

“Y’can sit in my office if you want, ‘ts hot out here. Shouldn’t be long.” He explained, pointing to a small room in the corner of the shop.

It was a typical mechanics office, small, a little dirty. Papers scattered across the desk and floor, plain beige walls, spare parts thrown in a corner. One frame on the edge of the desk, a picture of him and three other men, one of which he’s not really smiling in, just a slight lift to the corner of his lips.

You’re quite grateful that he let you sit in his office rather than being stuck in the summer sun; it was hot, scorching. Even the shorts and t-shirt you wore clung uncomfortably to your skin, thighs pressed tacky to the leather chair.

Despite the fact that it’s a bit too stuffy, a bit too cluttered, you don’t entirely mind. Not when it gives you a perfect view of the mechanic bent over the hood of your truck through the rooms only window.

Now you could really look at him, appreciate the absolute hulking mammoth of a man he is. Burly, brawny, sinewy, can’t even begin to think of all the adjectives to describe him.

Sweat drips down his thick neck, over broad shoulders, and around stout biceps, accentuates each dip and curve of his beefy muscles. It soaks his white shirt wet, makes it cling to his back and abdomen, displays every defined contraction of muscles.

Makes your body burn hot.

You feel like an absolute pervert, mouth salivating at the sight of a mechanic changing your oil. Maybe there was truth behind loving a man in a uniform, even if it was dirty, filthy, soiled, and half off.

You never thought you were attracted to grease and grime, sweat and exhaustion, definitely needed a shower and scrub, but no one has worn it like he is.

It isn’t long, less than 10 minutes, and meanwhile you appreciate the efficiency, a part of you is a little disappointed at the loss of the show.

“All set for you.” He says once he enters the room.

You jump up, “Ah, thank you so much!”

“Nice ol’ thing, ‘aven’t worked on one of ‘em before,” He compliments, zipping up the rest of his coveralls— ‘Simon’ printed on a pocket patch.

You laugh, real low from your chest, “That’s what you think. Just wait ‘til I come back next week cause the engine light came on.”

Simon chuckles, “No worries, bring it t’me for whatever you need.”

“Depends on how much you’re charging me for today’s services,” You joke, rummaging through your bag for your wallet.

“‘ts on the house,” He responds, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against his desk.

“What? No, I didn’t mean like that,” You stammer, shaking your head, “I’ll pay you.”

Simon just shrugs his shoulders, “Just be back for your next oil change.”

Your smile is wide, “I’ll see you in a couple thousand miles then.”

✦.─Masterlist ─.✦

[justiceiscalling]

i’m gonna try to keep this one short but, genuinely, why is damian going to hell never mentioned? like jason’s death is mentioned 24/7 and damian’s death is basically never even referenced (to my knowledge). did his death get retconned?

and even then—why don’t fics mention it? damian went to hell! literal hell! that’s prime angst material right there. i don’t understand people sometimes. everyone ignores the important aspects of jason and damian’s deaths, they only take note that they died. like the fic ideas i have for this is limitless.

catholic jason todd dies and sees nothing. no heaven, no hell. no jesus, no devil. he comes back brain damaged, then fucked up in the head, and when he finally gets his feet underneath him, he has a crisis of faith. then damian wayne fucking dies, comes back a year later (double it and give it to the next ts). bonding ensues.

“You trashed it.” Tim notes, looking down at the shirt that’s covered with paint, grime, and the distinct scent of the sewer.

Duke looks over at the shirt and scrunches his nose, glancing between it and Damian. “Just throw it in his closet. Maybe he won’t notice.”

Tim gives Duke a look. “It reeks of the sewer. Dicks not that messy.”

Damian frowns at the shirt. His trip through Gothams sewers hadn’t been intentional, it was a detour he had to make when an assassin cornered him. Unfortunately, at the time he was wearing Dicks blue ‘Nightwing’ shirt (yes he has his own merch. Yes it is because he is full of himself).

A low whistle draws Damian’s attention away from the shirt. He looks up and meets Jason’s eyes. His hair has grown out since Damian last saw him two weeks ago. If he refused to go to the barber then he should at least let Alfred cut it, do the entire world a favor. “Oh, Dicks going to kill you.”

“I hope not,” Damian says absentmindedly, putting the shirt down. Lest he start smelling like the sewer again. It took four hours to get the scent out of his hair, an additional two to get it off his body. “I’m not dressed properly.”

It’s meant to be a joke. Him and Jon aren’t exactly ‘working on them’ but he has been a test dummy for a few. Damian came to realize Jon laughed at everything, no matter if it was funny or not. The trio in front of him laugh as if it’s funny—Damian is about to dedicate an entire thirty seconds to basking in glory at the victory of making three out of four of his brothers laugh—but it’s when Tim speaks that Damian realizes it was interpreted wrong.

"What, you too cool to die in a hoodie and sweats?" He gestures to Damians outfit, a Gotham Academy hoodie paired with its matching Gotham Academy sweats. Underneath the black hoodie, is a black long sleeve shirt that had the Gotham Academy symbol on the sleeve.

Duke straightens up to get his own joke out. "Obviously.” He says with complete seriousness. “He has to die wearing Prada. Keep up, Tim.” He looks over at Jason, “Get a load of this guy.”

Jason snorts in response. “Gotta die in style. Dying in uniform is so outdated.” That earns a loud laugh from Duke, the only person who has yet to tire of Jason’s ‘I died’ jokes.

“Imbeciles.” Damian rolls his eyes, his tanned cheeks were probably coated in pink dye to embarrassment. He would never imply he had to die in a certain outfit if it wasn’t half-true. “That is not what I meant.”

“Please do explain, O-Wise one.”

Damian clicks his tongue at Dukes nickname but does as asked. “When I died before,” He doesn’t miss the way Tim and Jason stiffen at the mention. Duke just kind of pauses. “It was hot. You cannot exactly ditch clothes in hell.”

He’s met with silence. Well, he didn’t expect to be met with laughs.

Jokes aren’t funny after you explain the joke. Damian busies himself with folding the shirt he had previously let go of, the one that smelled of the sewer. “You…” Tim pauses, tilts his head, then continues. “What?”

“You broke Tim.” Duke comments, though he doesn’t seem fully there either.

“I don’t understand.” Damian furrows his brows look from Duke to Tim. Finally, he decides to look over at Jason.

Jason doesn’t seem tense, the only sign he was was the hand he had clenched together in a fist, which he quickly got rid of. In reality, it’s his face that gives him away. Jason’s always been emotional, you could read his emotions far too easy off his face if you were trained to do so. It’s a good thing he wears a helmet. “Hell. You went to hell.”

“Yes.” Damian says, because, was it ever a secret? Did he forget to mention that? He didn’t exactly have to write a mission report on his death. “I assume you did not.” His voice is stiff. Hell isn’t his favorite topic.

“No. I didn’t.��� Jason confirms.

“How was Heaven?” His tone is slightly bitter, he can’t help it. Even though he knows Jason was good pre-death. Didnt lay a finger on a soul, and when he did, they were deserving of it and walked away breathing just fine.

“Wouldn’t know.” Jason shrugs. “Wasn’t important enough to get either.” He explains.

and yk bonding brother stuff. the potential is just sitting there untouched. like if someone doesn’t use it ill tweak out. feel free to rec fics, im clearly in need. only crossover fics id enjoy are marvel/mcu and criminal minds.

use this for an idea if you want, give credit obv.

edit: i've been informed that jason, in some iterations, did go to heaven but just doesn't remember it. so...even better ngl.

crisis of faith, thinking there's no heaven and hell, then boom bro finds out he actually did go to heaven. also the little writing bit i did was made in like twenty minutes at like 3 am, so sorry for it being shit. if i do ever get a great incredible idea for a fic on that, ill let yall know.

[winged-self-indulgence]

I was daydreaming about the different TS characters playing with my MC's hair and the one for Leander grew legs. Hoping to do Ais later but I had to get this down for my own sake lmao. Leander x GN!Unnamed!MC with long hair (I use the gender neutral "you" but my MC is female so the POV might seem more fem-aligned).

You know it is Leander at the door before he ever knocks.

The noise from the bar is low this early in the day and muffled by the layers of wood and the thin carpet that covers part of the dusty floor. No matter how much you mop and sweep, your room remains frustratingly grimy – courtesy of Eridia’s dismal weather. The humid weather and the rising river waters transform the already battered streets into muddy lanes. Then the yellow blazing sun by day bakes it hard, allowing the hurried steps of Lowtown crowds to kick clouds of dirt into every open window that must be left as such lest the room turn into an oven. 

You know Leander’s steps almost as well as you know your own. You suspect most people do, clad as he is in thick-soled boots tipped with shimmering gold. They thump when he walks, a particularly solid sound that makes you tilt your head.

“Come in!” You call. That is the best you can do, as you are too focused on the task at hand to open the door for him.

He peers around the door courteously, smiling when he sees you. “There you are! Are you busy?” He asks, leaning against the doorframe.

The afternoon sun flickers over his dagger shaped earring and draws your attention to the inviting crease of his lips. Leander smiles a lot, which is still a little disconcerting. No one has ever smiled at you so genuinely before, at least not without expectation of a reward. The most devout of your temple, the priests who had cared for you in that isolated sanctuary, had always been strict with you. Growing up you were at once a prophet, a deity, a divine herald, a messiah. Everything except a child.

You do not know what to do with the fluttering feeling in your chest, so you just shrug. “Not particularly. Why?”

It is true, you aren’t strictly busy, but you are currently engaged in a task. Specifically, your hair. Being on the road for so long had taken its toll, and now that you had a room and access to (somewhat) clean water, you’d taken the opportunity to wash away the grime of the past several weeks.

You are sitting in front of the desk and peering into the shard of mirror you’d snagged from a merchant. The broken thing is propped up in front of you, and you are working an almost toothless comb through the tangles.

“Well, I was planning to swing by a cafe to take my afternoon break, and then I remembered my favourite oracle hadn’t gotten a chance to try the local cuisine,” he steps into the room, accessories chiming softly as he approaches you with the grace of a famed thespian. “If we get there before the lunch rush, I promise to buy you the best muhallebi this side of Lowtown. I know you’ve got a sweet tooth.”

“Muhallebi?” You try not to give away the way your spine straightens at the mention of milk pudding. You wonder if the cafe makes it with pistachios. You want to say yes, but then you remember the solid weight of your still damp locks and the comb in your hand. “Oh…thanks for the offer, but I’m a little busy…”

You cannot see his face in the mirror, it only shows your own and his broad chest filling up the scuffed glass. Yet you feel more than you see his approach, the looming presence of his being as it casts a green-tinged shadow over your seated form.

“You have lovely hair,” he comments, idle but no less frank. “May I…?”

Confusion stymies your tongue until you notice an ungloved hand in your periphery. Then you nod jerkily and fight back the urge to shudder when you feel long fingers running through your hair. The touch is gentle, as though your split-ends and knotted locks are gossamer and spun gold. The air behind you thrums, and you snap without thinking, “Don’t you dare use magic on my hair!”

He laughs, breathy and warm. “I wouldn’t dare. Not without your permission, anyhow,” he shows you what he has conjured: a comb, golden and fine. It runs through your hair like water, and you lower your own snapped instrument to the table.

“I’ll admit, I’ve never seen hair so long before,” Leander comments as he works a knot smooth. “Is there a reason you keep it this way?”

“It was…encouraged back home,” you say evasively. Required. Demanded even. All of you was seen as sacred, and what little needed to be snipped off for the sake of proper grooming was ritualistically burned in the temple flames. After all, what if some nefarious evil got hold of a piece of you and used it to cast some horrific spell?

You didn’t know if magic really worked like that, but you had never lost the aversion to cutting your hair.

“We can’t really cast love spells with people’s hair, you know.”

“What-?!” You jump and whip around, wondering if he’d read your mind.

Leander chuckles at your expression, his dark eyes creasing with amusement that makes your stomach swoop. “A lot of visitors to Eridia think that. One of the problems of having all the world’s magic concentrated in one place. Stories get spread with no one around to correct fact from deeply exaggerated fiction.”

“Ah,” you blush and turn back to the mirror, glad you can’t see his face. Still, you can’t help but tease, “I take it you also can’t cast moneymaking spells with fingernails?”

“Only under the waxing moon on the third month of every leap year,” he replies blithely, and you share a laugh. This is nice. You haven’t felt this relaxed around another person in…months? Years? The moment is honey-sweet. Sticky and slow and golden in the afternoon sunlight. You don't even mind the arid heat, or the noise of the Lowtown streets below.

As soon as he is done combing your hair, you gather it into your hands and begin braiding. Leander offers to help, but you prefer to do this part yourself. You enjoy the easy rhythm of twisting and twining the now smooth strands, though his rapt attention makes you feel a little clumsy. You can almost feel his rapt gaze on the back of your head. Emerald eyes singeing the nape of your neck and burning the tips of your fingers.

Once you’re done, you reach for your ribbon to tie the bun in place, but find it gone from the table. You turn, expecting it to have fallen to the floor, and find Leander at your side. You hadn’t even heard him approach.

“Here, let me…” he murmurs, and a gentle hand covers yours. He takes your hair and deftly twists your hair into a neat series of loops before securing it in place. “There we go. Gorgeous.”

“Thanks Leander,” you admire the neat hairdo in the mirror. Your hair feels more secure, and you assume he must have tied it a little more firmly than you are able to.

"You should call me next time," he offers. There's a boyish smile on his face as he offers his bicep to you. "My invitation still stands, by the way."

"Lead on then," you roll your eyes, feeling a heady thrill as you rest your bandaged fingers on the exposed skin of his forearm. "That pudding better be delicious."

"It will be," he promises grandly as he shuts the door behind you, "And if it's not, I'll just have to take you out again until we find the best muhallebi in Eridia."

On the floor, your ribbon lies decaying into grey ash that you will sweep away come evening. You will not notice its absence, or its replacement, but others will. The Adders will hide their stares, but you will feel their attention regardless and chalk it up to your status as a newcomer. Mhin will glance at the top of your head and grimace, hesitate, and then take their pay without comment. Kuras's luminous eyes will widen ever so slightly, but the doctor will not push where he isn't wanted.

Ais and Vere would have said something, but they are not here, and so you will not know. You will not know until night falls and you retire to your room. You will not know until you raise your hand, and rather than meet roughspun fabric, your fingers will bump up against cool gemstone.

You will pull it free, and find within your grasp a jade hairpin, pale and intricately carved, and set with shimmering ivory lilies.

[vanyatas]

can you do Ben headcanons? ^_^ I loved your Toby ones(^^)

i might be out of touch with BEN !! but i’m gonna try to do my best STRAIGHTLY AVOIDING how he was in 2013 (a freak.)

BEN DROWNED HCS

GENERAL HCS:

Another firm belief he is just. Short. (no shade to my short kings, me too..)

5’1.

Cyberpunk style.

His voice sounds very glitchy and electronic.

Layered neck length hair.

Blonde obviously!

Also has Jeff cut his bangs, he likes the layers a lot.

He definitely uses the floating he has to make himself feel taller.

3 Piercings on his ears but nothing else.

Elf ears!!!

Loves Phonk music, Or anything with cool noises/Electronic sounds.

The Weeknd, Pastel Ghost, Blink182, Daft Punk, Crystal Castles, Laura Les, Odetari, Grimes, Machine Girl, 1nonly, Eternxlkz, SXID, NUEKI, Akiaura, Sidewalks and Skeletons, MGMT, S3RL, Grimes, Yeule fan!!

Definitely makes his own music

Only noises and sounds he does NOT want to sing ever he just likes the way music can make you feel.

Puts his music on soundcloud.

I know Jeff is in the comments saying “delete ts bro 🔥🔥.”

It’s actually really good.

LOVES Vintage video games but he’s also on overwatch 2, LOL, the finals, Roblox, DBD, Apex, PUBG, CSGO, Valorant, RS6 Siege, and Fortnite.

Yes he’s fucking GOATED at all of them.

Genuinely means it when he threatens to DOX people on any of them.

Very nerd behavior.

Stubborn and an Asshole.

Has multiple accounts on each of the multiplayer games just because it’s too much of a risk to gain popularity.

A lot of his rude traits are just from him having an ego over being good at games and getting compliments all the time.

NOTTT a pervert whatsoever.

This mfker is a gamer he is 100% awkward around anyone he finds attractive.

Mansplains video game lore if ANYONE gets the TINIEST fact wrong.

Tangents about LOZ, Mario, and Smash bros.

ROMANTIC HCS:

I’m so serious when I say he calls you his discord kitten.

Most of the time it’s ironic.

But it catches on so much he’s definitely just enjoying it.

Playing video games 80% of the time!!!

Builds you your own pc.

No console bullshit only the best for his partner.

Matching skins on EVERY GAME.

And matching users.

Definitely goes into vc to crash out if people are being dickheads to you, or if they’re trying to intervene and hit on you.

Going with the pc building he also makes your setup gorgeous, however you want it.

Usually I’m not keen on using this terminology but he is a SIMP bro.

Thinks you’re just so pretty. Anything you ask of him he will do it.

Head on your chest, just. staring at you for as long as you let him.

Loves to have his face held too.

Following you around anywhere, on his switch, Gameboy, DS, he just loves being around you.

Will explain any sort of lost media/video game if you ask him about it.

If you’re ever just on your computer or phone doing your own thing, he will either pop his head through to give you a kiss, or leave pop ups that says he loves you and he misses you.

Very clingy.

You need to hold him so much.

He’s not affection deprived especially because he gets that sort of platonic shit from Jeff.

But once BEN has a s/o he is just crazy in love with them.

100% calls you princess, baby, kitten, and doll face.

I noticed every time I write for someone i just instantly get a crush on them. it’s not good.

reblogs / follows / likes appreciated!!

[dorokoro-blog]

[melanatedeuph0ria]

the boy is mine ⋆˙⟡♡

rick grimes x black!fem! reader

since he’d arrived in alexandria, you and rick have gone from complete strangers to close friends. you’d proven to be extremely useful to his team-after all, you were a great shot and had skin tougher than steel. but now, you’ve started seeing rick in a different, more romantic light. will your newly-developed crush on the police officer be reciprocated as you’d dreamed?

summary: you and rick go on a run for supplies. some hidden feelings get uncovered along the way.

NOTE: this fic takes place in alexandria era BEFORE negan (i’m guessing like s6 bc i forgot)

a/n: MY FIRST FIC EVER AAAAA i’m hoping its ok bc i’m literally just going w the flow lmao

also sorry ts took so fucking long i still have school n stuff guys 🙏🏽😞

genre: fluff, angst, hurt, comfort idk

warnings: blood, zombies, cursing, use of n word, near-death experience

“y/n! you ready to head out?”, rick yelled as he leaned against a silver sedan parked in front of Alexandria’s gates.

after finding yourself caught in a conversation with maggie and glenn, you quickly swooped your head around to acknowledge the gruff man, your eyes widening at the sound of his southern drawl lingering on your name.

“yeah, I’m comin’!” you croaked, creasing your lips into a nervous smile. after a moment, you made your way over to his car, backpack slung over your back.

you and rick were headed to a small, nearby grocery store that an old-time alexandrian claimed was hidden away from the frequent commotion of the town. there was a 50/50 chance that it might’ve or might’ve not been looted, but you both weren’t willing to skimp out on this rare opportunity. after all, the community was running short on food and supplies-it started getting obvious that it was once people were given smaller portion sizes than normal.

and it was you who, stupidly enough, agreed to check out the area with none other than your best friend you’ve been harboring a crush on, rick grimes.

you were intrigued with the man from the moment he stepped foot into alexandria-he lowkey terrified you, him AND his group, but that only sparked your urge to get to know them a bit more. you didn’t actively seek interaction with them- it was by really by circumstance when you had the chance to kinda intermingle with them all. you forgot how you and rick even met each other, to be honest. he knew you were a good shot and had skin tough as nails, that’s for sure. you had grown into something of a maternal figure for Carl, his teenage son, although it took a while for him to finally warm up to you. you couldn’t blame him, to be honest. you knew he’d been through some rough shit-he told you about his mom and what he was forced to do to her after she’d been bitten and just delivered judith, his month-old half-sister. nonetheless, you and rick were both each other’s rocks; he cared for you unlike anyone else in alexandria, and you adored certain things about him-his deep, southern voice when he gently called your name. the traces of vanilla and bourbon cologne left on his clothes despite sweating all day-most of the time he didn’t even bother trying to put it on, but the days he did, you subconsciously noticed. him surprising you with 90’s rnb album CDs that he’d snatched on his runs- once he’d surprised you with a whole erykah badu album, and since then, you’ve kept it under lock and key inside your nightstand. his damp, ruffled hair as he stops by your house for a towel to dry it off because he never seemed to have any of his own; you let him in without much question, of course, but for the past few weeks he’s been on your porch steps, your heart’s been pumping at speeds you’ve never experienced before-at least, not in a while-a zombie apocalypse ruins one’s concept of love when the one you’re in love with can slip from your fingers in a heartbeat.

but could it be? could you really be in love with your best friend in a zombie apocalypse? you were sure of it, but horrified to know if he felt the same, which is why you didn’t even realize your leg was was anxiously bouncing up and down on the floor of the car until…

“y/n. you alright?”

“huh? oh y-yeah, i’m good. what’s wrong?”

“nothin’, you’re just..extra quiet.”

“do i need to start talkin’?” you didn’t mean for that to come off as rude as it did. you were just nervous, nervous about what he’d tell you if you told him how you truly felt.

“no, no, it’s fine. you don’t gotta say nothin’ if you don’t feel like it.”

aww shit, now i feel bad, you thought. you tried your hardest not to sink into the car seat in shame so he wouldn’t notice yet another thing off about you today. you tilted your head to the window.

“we made it.” in what seemed like a flash, you and Rick were parked outside the convenience store. did you zone out that hard? not that it mattered anymore. you climbed out of the car and you both took a closer look at the store. it was abandoned all right-at least, it could’ve just looked that way-but it still looked intact. untouched by the world. you hoped that would also apply to whatever awaited inside.

bigger than what i thought it’d be, you thought as you peered at the building.

“bigger than i thought it would be.” rick said aloud.

is this nigga reading my mind..? you thought. “let’s just hope there’s no walkers on the inside.” you said in an attempt to reassure yourself that there were no undead lurking around.

You looked back at Rick for a response or some sort of agreement, but when you did, out of the corner of your eye you saw him damn near snap his neck just to stare back at the store. he cleared his throat loudly. the gesture alone radiated an anxious energy, something you had almost never sensed in the man since knowing him. it was kinda like he was afraid of getting caught…wait…

..was rick staring at you? and how long had you gone without even noticing?

if he was staring, it certainly wasn’t for no reason. you are undoubtedly stunning, so much in fact that some people were envious of your beauty before and during the apocalypse. your rich, brown skin, glistening in the hot, june sun, and your thick, coily hair, pulled into a low puff, were just a few of your most admirable features, both inside and out.

shaking the thought off your mind, you both finally approached the building, carefully peeling open its glass doors and sliding inside. you knew the drill already, but rick felt the need to tell you again, which wasn’t to your surprise at this point. “i’ll take the left side, you take the right. we’ll use our walkies to communicate-if you’re in trouble, i’ll be right there, alright?” you nodded in compliance-you both knew you could handle yourself-but you couldn’t help but bite down a smile when he said that. his low, whispery voice was strangely reassuring, like he cared for you as a lover instead of a friend. you felt your cheeks begin to burn-it’s not really like he could tell anyway, for obvious reasons, but also because it was dark as hell in the store- you assumed the owners didn’t survive long enough to pay the electricity bill.

you were shocked to see that the aisles were just barely looted-you we’re expecting them to show signs of being scavenged at least a bit, but there they were, filled to the brim with food that would just about save Alexandria from starvation.

you clicked on your walkie and held it up to your mouth. “holy shit.” is all that could manage to come out of your mouth right now.

“looks like we hit the jackpot.” rick replied on the on the other line. he already knew what your “holy shit” meant.

with caution, you strolled down the “canned goods” aisle, looking up and down each section in awe. you came to an abrupt stop in front of one of the rows, gazing at everything in stock until your eyes settled on a can of peaches. you knew they were probably expired, you expected everything else in there to be, but you were curious to see what the expiration date read on its back, to see how long it’d been since the world went to hell. you held the can in your left hand, examining the date on its back: 10/18/09; it’d been expired a year before the apocalypse even began…

didn’t think it’d be that expired.., you murmured to yourself as you creased your lips into a disgusted frown. just as you began to set the specimen back on the shelf, a loud thud from underneath the rack sent it bouncing upwards, startling you so badly that the can slipped from your fingers and splattered onto the floor into a mushy mess. somehow, there was a walker under there, reaching its pale, maggot-infested limbs out to grasp at your leg. your eyes immediately traveled to the undead as you quickly thought of how you could quickly end its 2nd life. you frantically tugged your imprisoned foot backwards in an attempt to break free, reaching into your leather sheath and pulling out your dagger halfway, but, soon enough, you were met with an even more terrifying scenario. your back clashed violently with the rack behind you, and a walker on the other side, suddenly aroused by the sound and the smell of your human flesh, reached its spindly hand through a wide, open hole in the decaying rack. its hand curled around your throat with enough pressure to keep you pinned to the shelf while you also tried to free your leg from the walker below you.

“RICK, I NEED HELP!” you yelled out into the aisle. it was a risky move and could probably attract even more walkers than what was already threatening you, but you couldn’t get a good grip on your dagger and that was the only weapon you had. calling for backup was the only option you had left.

the oncoming presence of death pricked at prodded at your skin like thorns. the thought that-in that moment, you could be bitten, and all of your hopes and ambitions for the future could immediately be crushed-left you speechless, stricken with terror.

just as the walker grabbing at your neck prepared to take a bite out of it, rick appeared and stabbed it right in its head. just after you finally freed yourself from its grasp, the man noticed the walker on the ground and stomped on its skull, leaving a bloody, mushy mess on the floor, but you were too panicked to even notice.

an exasperated sigh escaped your mouth. “oh my God, rick, you’re a lifesaver-“

your rushed, panicky words were interrupted when he suddenly crashed his lips onto yours. your eyes immediately widened at the sensation of his coarse lips pressing onto yours, soft and plump, then slowly fluttered shut. your breathing, at first rapid and filled with anxiety, had simmered down into slow and steady breaths as his lips passionately devoured yours. almost subconsciously, he trailed his right hand, roughened with scars and calluses, on the nape of your neck, holding you closer than ever before as he rested his left hand on your hip. his ocean blue eyes drifted shut as he explored you, desperate for your touch, before he slowly pulled away from the kiss to give you some time to breathe. you fluttered your eyes back open and waited for him to look up at you.

“i’m-i’m sorry, i shouldn’t have done that, just so randomly. fuck…” rick babbled rapid apologies before a frustrated, shaky sigh escaped from his mouth. without thinking, you cupped his cheek, burning with the embarrassment of his decision, and leaned into him, rewarding him with a kiss of your own; it only seemed fair after he saved your life and your heart in only a matter of seconds. his eyes fluttered shut at your touch as your other hand tangled into his neatly combed hair. you let the feeling of your lips gently pressed together linger for a few seconds before you slowly pulled away. you felt your heart buzzing with excitement but also with relief, now that you knew that he’d been storing feelings for you this entire time. a confident grin appeared on your face as you looked up at him.

“i like you too, grimes.”

-the end. ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

[sincere1ystar]

Best Loved with Your Kisses on my Scars

billy the kid x nurse! reader

When Billy gets hurt once again he pays yet another visit to the town’s nurse.

You took up nursing out of necessity. It was no secret that the civilians of this town were rowdy and planted seeds that blossomed as wounds, and one man seemed to collect more injuries than the rest.

“Back here again Billy?”, you asked, appalled that he managed to once again land himself in a situation like this.

“Ah well, jus’ got in a small disagreement”. Billy’s hand made its way to the back of his head as he looked at you sheepishly.

“A small disagreement? I hate to break it to you Mr. Bonney, but minor quabbles don’t result in a gunshot wound on your chest!!”, you badgered. You had a certain care for all the patients that came by the clinic, but that care seemed to grow into something more when it came to Billy.

“Well I suppose the issue was… Well it was more than minor”, Billy started. You knew by his hesitant tone that he was swallowing his words in an attempt to prevent himself from going on a rant and nodded for him to continue.

“Well I couldn’t jus’ stand there!”, Billy went on, “You shoulda seen how those farmers were bein’ treated.. ‘ts not right. I wanted to make things right”.

More than anything, you understood his sense of righteousness. It was what brought you two so close together. He had the same sense of softness that was installed into you, a sense of softness that was as rare as finding a diamond in the mud that wasn’t stained with grime. The world had already blessed you with such a rare gift, but you couldn’t help but beg for one more thing: Billy.

“I’m just glad you’re alright”, your calm words opposed the worry in your thoughts. The bullet was close. Too close.

“I’ll be alright as long as you’re around to patch me up”, he chuckled as you began to strip him of his shirt to treat the wound.

“I’m gonna have you drink a bit of this medication okay? It’ll just make you a bit woozy, so it’ll hurt less as I’m patchin’ you up”.

Billy nods as he takes the small cup from your hand and swallows its contents. It doesn’t take more than a few moments for the medication to lull him to sleep.

—————————————————————————

Billy woke up to find his chest bandaged instead of bare. Despite his open eyes, his senses were still fuzzy.

“You’re awake! Are you feeling alright?”, you asked worriedly to which Billy just mumbles in response. “Right.. of course you aren’t feeling alright, your wound was pretty severe. Well, are you at least feeling a little better?”

“Pretty”, he mumbles as he takes a strand of your hair to fumble with.

“What?”

“Nah, nahhhhh ‘m fine. Pretty gal takin’ care of me… I feel like I’ve finally made my way to heaven”. His words might have been brought out forcefully, but his expression was more than sincere.

“That’s the medicine talking”, you say trying to subtly put out the fire that had sparked on your cheeks. “Still feeling a little woozy?”

“You’re the pretiestttt nurse a man’s ever ever seen”, Billy utters as a loopy grin makes its way to his face. “So veryyyyy pretty”.

“I’m the only nurse that any man in this town has ever seen, now please try not to move, you might reopen your wound”, you quietly commanded.

The first aid kits on the shelf were calling your name to organize, but Billy grabbed your arm before you could. Your words shift into mumbles as he nuzzles his face closer to your arm.

“Just rest”, you whisper as your free hand makes its way to stroke his hair. The little smile he wore in his sleep validated his comfort. You were sure he was off dreaming about going on some reckless adventure, but he was instead dreaming about the kind-hearted nurse whose arms he managed to land in after every rash situation he threw himself in.

[eatuniverse]

sonny's : retired drs

i have been in the shifting community for like five years, a lot of scrapped scripts are piled in the recesses of my noggin.

i choose blood ! ✶ dream smp

i'm so tired of pretending like the dream smp was corny. i mean, the fandom was. and so were the streamers. and so was the story. and the characters. however, i choose to turn a blind eye because it did something through minecraft that nothing else was doing at the time, and nothing has replicated since. and it was great. excellent, beautiful. although i recognize that my impression filtered through layers of nostalgia and headcanons. and if you know me, you might expect, i basically rebuilt the entirety of the lore from scratch. rewrote history.

who is she . . . ? my name was soap. i was part mushroom, the daughter of an ancient forest entity, psychically tapped into the mycelium network between the tree roots. i was down devious madly in love with technoblade, who was a werepig cursed by the same witch who was sally's mother. i lived with him and phil, and tommy post-exile. i listened to a lot of grimes during this time period. so, think, that informing the vibe. i was a weird kid in middle school. i would yap to anyone who would listen about ts.

death before dishonour ! ✶ arthurian legend

i went through a phase where i was obsessed with the knights. not in a weird christian way. in a feminist way. this was just after i finished reading tcp, and i needed to be a girlknight so bad. i remembered i had free will so i clung onto the round table, my funky little englishmen, my mythological blorbos. i still have never seen bbc merlin, dont want to watch that thank you. because. i dont like real british people. i started trying to learn old english. i still really fw this so i might go back to it lowk.

who is she . . . ? phoebesthus goulding la fey. i was the descendent of faery warrior nobility. had a tail and golden eyes that shone like a cats in the dark. whimsically inhuman. i was an expert swordfighter, the only knight other than lancelot to best king arthur in a joust. smaller, quicker, and deadlier than any of the others. i was op.

one giant leap for mankind ! ✶ space travel

phase when i really wanted to be an astronaut. i had just read project hail mary and thought that the astrophage were dope. and i desperately wanted to escape our solar system. this was basically a waiting room. i scripted that i just drifted between outposts and journaled. incredibly chill. the ship i drove was an old green hunk of junk shaped like a scarab beetle called a "sunbug".

who is she . . . ? i was a green, half human/alien who could photosynthesize. a spaceship mechanic with a pet raccoon named beetle. i was an orphan, obviously, with a military past, duh. i think i just really want a tail in general, because i still lowkey script one in almost every dr.

do i dazzle you ? ✶ twilight saga

im literally bella swan. like she's just literally me. that's always been the case. im legitamately an avid twilight scholar, i know all of the lore. no one truly understands it like i do. i love it all. not even in an ironic way like genuinely. and i wanted that freak discoball so bad.

who is she . . . ? i replaced bella. i divorced my parents (foreshadowing...). and i love my baby renesmee. MY SHAYLAAA.

breathe out / so i can breathe you in ✶ firebug dr

original firebug dr was actually a fever dream. it was a better cr that i heavily fixated on throughout freshman year of high school. it took place in a major, quite historical city on the east coast, except i scripted near constant cosmic peril to befall us. dark, grungy, thrilling, inspired by the batman (because that movie literally altered the culture, 2022 was crazy). this is what my currently current superhero dr is based on. scripted my hallway crush wanted to talk to me and that i never fell over when a public bus moved.

who is she . . . ? sarafina graham. the firebug. pyrokinetic. pit fighter. annoying smartass. biochemistry prodigy. fourteen year old girl. oooh good times, bad bad nostalgia.

ib this post by @oretskov

[collecting-stories]

I just imagine nuzzling into rick grimes’ s neck after a long day and him just stroking my hair.

Birch - Rick Grimes

Summary: just some escapism featuring Rick being soft and dreamy.

A/N: Thanks for being so super patient. I know this was requested eons ago and I so apologize. Feels like life is knocking me around a lot lately and I haven't gotten to write like I want to.

TS Anthology Series | The Walking Dead Masterlist

✰ so I cannot leave, yes, I must here stay ✰

There was no sure way to determine exactly what hour of the day it was, probably mid-evening given the warmer temperature and the just setting sun. If daylights savings still existed and the sun was still setting at the time that it used to before the entire world fell apart then you had to wager a guess that it was sometime close to 7pm...maybe 7:30pm even. You had stayed on Eastern Standard Time, not that stuff like that even mattered anymore. Really the only thing you could be certain of was the ache in your joints and muscles and the fact that the sun was setting. Blue hour was upon you. 

Alexandria still felt relatively new, even after the few months that you'd been living inside the walls, but you had already gotten used to the possibility of a shower after a long day. It was impossible to tell accurate time and you made do waking up with the sun and trying your hardest to go to bed with it too, unless you found yourself the unlucky candidate for night watch. Tonight you had no responsibilities once you crossed the threshold into your house though, just a shower and food and sleep. You had planned it in that order but the moment you turned off the water and changed into clean clothes you were collapsing on the bed, your body sinking into the soft surface. You were halfway to being completely out of it when you felt the bed sink down behind you and you shifted onto your other side, coming face to face with Rick. 

"Well if this isn't the best sight in the world," you mumbled, moving in as close as possible, pressing a kiss on the underside of his chin.

"I asked Carl where you were when you weren't at dinner, he said you came up to shower."

"Hoping to catch me in a compromising position?" You teased though you were only half-aware of what you were even saying, still far too tired to be completely awake. 

"Oh most definitely," Rick laughed and you could feel the sensation of it. "You doing okay?"

"Just tired," you replied, nuzzling further into his neck, bread tickling your skin, as he ran a hand up and down your back soothingly. "You got stuff to do?"

Rick hummed in response. You couldn't see his face, but judging by the way that his hand had slowed its monotonous movements and his breathing was starting to even out you were certain that his eyes were closed and he was on the way to sleep. He mumbled something, too indiscernible in both your tired states for either of you to be confident in what it was.

"What?" You chanced asking, lifting your head just enough to see the underside of his chin, beard thick now that it had grown back in. 

"Got dinner," he managed, eyes still closed, "downstairs."

"We should get up then?" You asked, slowly coming back to the living.

He hummed again, shaking his head just slightly, enough to let you know that he disagreed with that suggestion. This was the first time in two days that he'd even managed to lie down in bed. Lately he'd been falling asleep sitting up on the couch and then staying up for watch or because Judith was restless or any number of other reasons that drew his attention away from the bed in the upstairs bedroom that the two of you shared. 

"Rick," you whispered, kissing his jawline as gently as possible, reluctant to really wake him unless he wanted to be woken up. 

"I'm getting up," he promised, though he made no move to actually get up. 

"I can see that."

"I am, just give me like, five more minutes of this," Rick replied. 

You tucked yourself back into his side, closing your eyes against the fading sunlight coming through the window. No doubt someone would be coming upstairs, knocking on the door and disturbing your peace soon; there was always something that someone needed Rick for. But at least for five minutes (or just right now) you could pretend like all that didn't exist and it was just the two of you. 

[jon-sedai]

ASOIAF entities as main pop girlies

The Night's Watch = Katy Perry

Once upon a time, pop's most influential hit maker suddenly decided to dye her hair blonde and get a pixie cut, got political, and publicly spoke to a therapist who told her to get her shit together. Thus began her never-ending flop era.

In an unrelated sequence of events, Aegon I Targaryen (a weird blonde man) invaded Westeros, created a central political unit, told the different kingdoms to get their shit together, and cut off the NW's weekly supply of men since there were no more pointless wars going around. Thus began their never-ending flop era.

BTW Jon Snow is the NW's 'Harleys in Hawaii'....their first and only hit in a really long time :(

The Kingsguard = Taylor Swift

Very famous, very rich, very influential, actually has a history of producing incredible material. But every now and then, you get a pop album that's just so..... bleh :/ And is Jaime Lannister the Westeros version of Taylor's Reputation era? Idk, you tell me....

Also, remember how TS had a feud with KP but got more famous and successful as Katy faded into irrelevance? Yeah, me too. In the same vein, the KG continues to maintain its high reputation while its counterpart (the NW) becomes even more irrelevant than it already was, if that's even possible.

The Golden Company = Gaga

Exclusively for the gays and no one else. There's really no doubt about it. But Gaga hurt the fanbase when she decided to pivot into acting, which is currently giving her more success than the music stuff. The GC has a great reputation but comes from a history of flop rebellions. So they've pivoted to a "Targaryen" pretender in hopes that they can win big this time around.

The Rainbowguard = Charli XCX

Huh?? Shouldn't the Rainbow Guard be Gaga??!

Please 🙄 don't be ridiculous. They do not have the material, and that's the T. But they're both for the gals and the gays. And in the same way that Charli had like two hits then faded into the shadows, the Rainbow Guard really can only claim Loras and Brienne. The rest are inconsequential.

The Brotherhood Without Banners = Dula Peep (aka Dua Lipa)

Who doesn't know THE Albanian pop princess Dula Peep?? She new, she's hot, and she's from out of town! She's got good music, but critics say that she's been recycling the same sound for a while now which is getting stale. The BWB has fallen into the hands of a foreign red god, and critics say that they can't produce a hit anymore since they kept recycling the same Beric. They did it six times, which got a little stale...

The Faceless Men = Grimes

Grimes makes really good music, I think? Also, remember when she dated a douchebag billionaire, got dumped, then staged a PR stunt reading the communist manifesto? Me neither. Anyway, the FM are known for being very good assassins who sell their services for the highest price possible. They were also founded by slaves, but that's probably unrelated.

Maesters of the Citadel = SZA

The talent is there, the influence is there, and the reputation is there. But you cannot trust them because they like to lie a lot...unprovoked.

[BONUS] Robb Stark's Vanguard = Bebe Rexha

Bebe is responsible for some of the greatest pop hits of the 21st century; she's even written one of the greatest K-pop songs of all time, that's a whole other region!! She's the very face of talent, but she's unfortunately a blink and you'll miss it type of gal. The average Joe would most likely struggle to name more than two songs from her. Robb's Vanguard also has the talent. They have the material. But sadly, 90% of us would struggle to identify anyone not named Dacey Mormont. I mean, did you even remember that this group existed?

[BONUS] Tywin Lannister = Nicki Minaj

A very talented but messy bitch who likes to play around with extremely problematic people...do I need to elaborate any further?