#napsack

[saturnslingshot]

where i long to be with my lovers, a sheet, picnic basket and maybe some absinthe. love - j

[ichiichit]

@macole_official 他の投稿はこちらから⇨@ichi_t_ #macole #bag #baglover #bagaddict #napsack #baglovers #unitedarrows #mens #mensfashion https://www.instagram.com/p/CmYh5Hgvomj/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[mossymeep]

I haven't seen anyone talk about it on here (if they have I must have missed it), but I think the idea that tieflings wear matching horn jewelry with their partners instead of rings is Cute I think I've still got brainworms from the sylvans in dragalia lost

[karmacomesaround]

hi :DD

are you the rat under my bed?? Or is it your cousin Napsack? I always get you two mixed up.

Heyo! Nope I would never do such I thing. I have my own home

Totally my cousin-

[keeps-ache]

sigh. alright

[mrthful]

dam wut we do now..

i love.. this lil guy… i wanna put him in a lil grub wrap like a lil napsacks.. hes jus.. so small i love him hes so tinyy gfuckjgbmfnv no one understands yhe pure love i have for this tiny little grub

(terezi got puked on by him.. hashtag not my problem)

[princessbrunette]

oh my fuck i just thought of outlaw!jayj and johnbee and them using u as bait!! like ur so pretty n sweet looking so they put u in the forest looking all helpless and hide behind the trees and wait for someone rich to come through… and when someone does obviously they stop to help u because who wouldnt!? while ur sweet talkin the guy, jayj and john bee jump out with the guns and rob them! u don’t particularly like it but they way they fuck u so good after makes up for it 🫶

-☀️

🫧୨ৎ🐻‍❄️ྀིྀི⋆⭒˚｡

doing your job so reluctantly, woeful little pout on your face when the target strolls up to you as expected. you do your part, bat your lashes just the way jj told you to, hold lots of eye contact the way john b advised, and soon — you get to sorrowfully watch the colour drain from the poor suckers face when he feels the cold metal of a pistol against the back of his head, your two lovers having made their entrance.

“yeah, you know what that is dont’cha?” jj asks with a grin— but it’s not the smile that reaches his eyes that he gives you, it’s this cold and scary one. you know it’s closer to a grimace than a smile truly, and you know it means trouble.

“whats going on? just drop the gun, we can talk this out.” they always try to reason, but in order to get their money — the outlaws have to really put the fear of god in him, make this guy think he’s actually gonna die.

“we don’t wanna have to hurt you buddy. turn it around, easy… there you go.” john b instructs, standing back as jj keeps the weapon pointed straight at the strangers head. as advised, you disappear back behind a tree, out of arms reach incase anything does go wrong. they say it’s for your safety, and because a pretty young thing like you shouldn’t see such nasty behaviour from her two fellas.

it gets boring after a while, so you sit down behind a tree, the voice faded to a muffle as you hum to yourself, picking up a ladybug on your finger, entertaining yourself. sometimes they rough the guy up a bit if he’s not complying, beat on him ‘til he does — but the exchange never lasts longer than ten minutes. soon, the guys cleared off and your boys collect you, helping you to stand.

“gonna get dirt on your dress, pup.” john b tsks, patting you down and you stare over at his companion curiously.

“did you get anything good?” you tilt your head to the blonde rifling through the napsack they fill their ‘prizes’ with. he squints one eye when he smiles, and this time you know it’s genuine, and he reaches inside the sack and pulls out gold jewellery he must’ve taken from the man.

“you tell me, this look good to you babydoll?” hes showing teeth now, biting back a chuckle as your jaw drops, bouncing with excitement.

“oh that’ll make you a fortune!”

“all from your help, sweetheart.” that homely rumbly voice that belong to john b cuts through, a warm hand on your waist pulling you into his side. you melt into him, his body on yours always feeling like it could make you fall asleep. he smells like fresh water and embers from last nights camp fire— all warm and daddy-like.

neither of them let you forget how helpful you are later that night, a few drinks down in a shabby motel shack, sandwiched between the two of them, crying and gasping with a dick in each hole.

“f—full!” is all you can say, and the boys chuckle— albeit slightly awkwardly, their faces so close from the position on the bed. john b took your pussy, jj nasty as ever in your ass.

“the…good kind of full?” john b coo’s like none of it’s happening, a hand brushing your cheek. jj kisses the back of your head, letting out a breathy moan momentarily after.

“s—so good!”

“only the best for… goddamnit… only the best for our best girl, right john b?” jj’s barely holding it together.

“you’re damn right, jj. our good little helper.”

🫧୨ৎ🐻‍❄️ྀིྀི⋆⭒˚｡

[fullmoonfireball]

WELCOME TO THE PIKMIN TREASURES TOURNAMENT!

I'll start putting up the polls tomorrow, but for now, here's the full bracket! in the meantime, consider sending in propaganda for your treasure(s) of choice!

ROUND 1 MATCHES:

Mechanical Harp (Memory Song) VS. Spellbound Friends

Olimarnite Shell VS. Newtolite Shell

Comfort Cookie VS. Wind Detector

Growshroom VS. Temporal Mechanism

Personal-Injury Plank VS. Parting Tape

Crystal Clover VS. Anxious Sprout

Network Mainbrain VS. Starship Bones

Rubber Ugly VS. Universal Rubber Cutie

Mechanical Harp (Lullabies) VS. Luck Wafer

Stone of Advancement VS. Micromanagement Station

Wayward Moon VS. Crimson Banquet

Slapstick Crescent VS. Courage Reactor

Sunseed Berry VS. Smile Detector

Possessed Squash VS. Doomsday Device

Professional Noisemaker VS. Silencer

Life Controller VS. King of Bugs

//

Wiggle Noggin VS. Sweat-Soaked Bluebird

Shock Therapist VS. Comedy Bomb

Jiggle-Jiggle VS. Dapper Blob

Fire-Breathing Feast VS. Gift of Friendship

Shizakipiki Soda bottle cap VS. Onion Replica

Mystery Squish Fish VS. Octoplus

Brute Knuckles VS. Repugnant Appendage

Innocence Lost VS. Love Sphere

Five-Man Napsack VS. Pink Menace

Buddy Display VS. Time Capsule

Unsung Hero VS. Fanged Marshmallow

Perforated Raft VS. Winged Freedom Sculpture

Arboreal Frippery VS. Faux Fishy

Face Wrinkler VS. Mirrored Stage

Behemoth Jaw VS. Monster Teeth

Authoritative Obelisk VS. Mechanical Harp (Windmills)

[1ivinqdeadqir1]

Tear You Apart

Chapter 1: Paranoid

Daryl Dixon x Reader

A/N: soooo as you can probably tell I’ve been watching the walking dead… and I’m almost finished now and I’ve fallen madly in love with Norman. This fic is gonna be a series and slow burn romance and Daryl isn’t in this chapter but will be in the next !!

Era: Prison Era onwards (Pre-Woodbury Fall)

Warnings: allusion to death of loved ones, murder, typical TWD stuff

Word Count: 5k

Masterlist: here

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You had taken a large step over a display case of alcohol- the bottles now smashed, littering the ground with glass shards. It looked as though someone had thrown it down in a hurry, like they were looking for something hidden behind. Maybe they’d been running from the dead and took the case down with them on the way. You tried not to focus on the mess, and instead, your eyes flickered around the room, which felt much smaller because of the clutter and boarded-up windows. Eventually, your eyes landed on a medicine cabinet by the cash register.

A quick, sharp pain charred into your skin with each breath, so you took them slowly, and they shook against your lips as you inspected the shelves. There were a few brightly coloured protein bars in the road trip aisle so you quickly shoved them into your pockets. Your slouchy cargo pants were already packed full of your belongings- a box of ammo for your gun, your flip-knife and some bandages… a notebook and pen- and even a watch you managed to keep working that told you the date and time. It had been a gift before everything happened, and something your friend had given you on your birthday.

When you reached the cabinet, you shuffled around the boxes in search of some over-the-counter antibiotics. There were a few boxes of menstruation relief medication, so you shoved those into your pockets before throwing your backpack over your shoulder and onto the ground alongside the metal bow you'd been lugging with your sheath and arrows.

At the beginning, when the virus started spreading, the first thing you did was go and pick up as many survivalist books as you could find. You figured not a lot of people would think of that when panic buying. In the books you learned how to make toothpaste, soap and even string your own arrows. The few people you’d grouped with didn’t think it was necessary, but you deemed it more than so and found yourself using the knowledge you’d gained studying those books like gospel during your time spent alone- away from any kind of civilization.

Your free arm swept the boxes from the shelf into your napsack. Now hunched over at this level, you noticed some tubes of antiseptic cream and chucked them in alongside the boxes of pain medication. You struggled to fit it all in alongside your homemade toiletries- but eventually managed and went back to looking at the assortments the store still had.

Then, there was a crunch from the shattered glass and you raised your bow, arrow already equipped- it was second nature at this point yet still the sudden movement had your teeth gritting together so hard you thought you might break a filling.

“One wrong move and I’ll cut you in half”

Your eyes were met with those of a woman and man. She looked to be a few years older whereas he was maybe a year or two younger. Her eyes were dark and focused, her locks fell past her rich mahogany shoulders and down her back. The man looked at you with bright, wide brown eyes. His hair was a short, black mess on his head. He was wearing a navy button shirt rolled up to his elbows. And you noticed he had reached for the gun on his hip but hesitated.

“We aren’t gonna hurt you.”

The man spoke first, holding up his hands as you kept your arrow pointed in their general direction- eyes flickering to the woman beside him. Her cold stare seemed to soften, having now taken you in properly. Your shoulder was wrapped in dirt-covered bandages that needed changing to avoid a gnarly infection, and your skin caked in filth and dried blood. Your clothes were just as bad, the bottoms of your pants were saturated with dirty water and your leather boots scuffed and plastered with dried mud.

“My name’s Glenn Rhee… This is Michonne,” he slowly referred to the woman holding the katana with his right hand. She shuffled on her feet as you swallowed and pursed your lips together- trying to ignore the stabbing sensation in your side. You glared them both down, fighting back tears that threatened to spill from your eyes as they looked at you like you were a small child who needed saving. The man - Glenn - spoke again.

“Are you out here all by yourself?”

Chewing the inside of your cheek, your knuckles white- the metal frame leaving a curved indent in your palm.

“As Glenn said, we aren't going to hurt you.” the woman - Michonne - added.

“He won’t, but doesn't…” you paused, feeling the sharp pain in your ribs again. “How can I be sure you won’t skewer me with that Katana?”

Glenn looked over with pleading eyes, his lips sewn shut in a straight line. As though communicating telepathically, she sheathed her weapon - yet still rested her hand on the tip of the handle. You couldn’t blame her for that.

“So,” she began again, “are you alone?”

You nodded.

It was then Glenn’s turn to speak. “You’ve been alone this entire time?- I mean, you’re far from home. It doesn’t sound like you’re from Georgia, let alone the states.”

You slowly lowered the bow yet kept the end of the arrow between your fingers and the handle- pointing it at the ground with less force as you had been a moment prior. “I was with a group, we were ambushed. There weren’t many of us; we couldn’t hold them off.”

You watched as Glenn regarded you with an empathy that many people seemed to resonate with nowadays. He didn't press any further about the group; from the look in your eyes, he could sense the wound was still fresh.

“So, you moved to the States before everything?” Michonne was the next to ask; from the looks of it, she seemed to have calmed down compared to how she had been.

“Yeah, I was a tattoo artist.”

She nodded and looked to Glenn, who looked back with the same blank expression you couldn’t read.

“You have a name?” Glenn said, his hands now planted on his hips. You were suddenly aware of how filthy you looked compared to the pair. They must have come from somewhere with running water.

“y/n, y/n l/n”

“y/n, how many walkers have you killed?”

Puzzled, you raised a brow weakly, gripping the handle as though it had become fused to your flesh and bone. “I don’t… never thought to count, if I were to guess… about… upwards of 80.”

“How many people have you killed?” he asked that question with just as much conviction as the last. Michonne's gloved hands had now dropped to her sides as she peered down at your pile of belongings and the stray medicine boxes scattered at your feet.

“I… right now? two”

“Why?”

Biting your lip, you thought back to your friend. “The first tried to kill me, and the second killed my best friend, One I had known before this and after.” You fought back tears again, stroking your thumb across the metal frame. You had already cried so much - from the pain of your injuries and losing him - that there were now narrow streams of clean skin that went from your waterline to the curve of your chin. The rivers that had run down your cheeks starkly contrasted the mask of dirt, blood and sweat painted on your face.

“I’m sorry”, Michonne said first, “I can’t imagine what you’ve had to go through.”

“Yeah,” you bit back a laugh, throat hoarse, “you really can’t.”

Glenn stepped forward, and you stepped back, which made you wince and hiss at the stabbing pain in your side. “ We come from a group. We’re all survivors- like you- but we managed to find a place where we can have a chance.”

As you listened to the man, you wondered whether this was too good to be true. You had been all alone, both of you. Hunting and gathering, living in dirt and squalor for the better part of 9 months and here was your chance to start afresh with new people. It may have been the hunger, exhaustion, or innate need to survive that forced you to go along with them.

“Wait, there’s something we have to do first before we go.”

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

“Finn? It’s safe to come out now, kid”

You called out into a small wooden shed adjacent to a house which looked to have been burned down. Michonne and Glenn stood nearby with their weapons at hand, you could’ve scoffed as you watched them skittishly take in the view.

“We’ve been here for a few weeks, it was like that when we got here.” you kicked a twig by your feet, ignoring the throbbing in your side when a small boy walked out of the shadows with a knife in his grip. He was no less than 6, and his hair was a mess on his head. His skin was smudged with dirt- less than your own but it still looked as though he had been through a lot. Michonne forced a smile and took her hand off her blade. Glenn placed his gun back into his pack.

“Did you get the things?” he asked, pushing the knife back into his pocket. He had his own bag, and it was almost as big as him. Michonne peeked into your makeshift home, the floor was covered with a blanket and there were a few sacks of meat and cans laid out on the workbench. Beneath the bench, there was a sleeping bag atop a roll-out mattress. Then, on the blanket, adjacent to the bench, a sleeping bag without the extra support.

“I got some stuff, not really anything special but…” you ruffled his hair, picking out a stray piece of fluff that’d managed to work its way onto his strands. It’d gotten quite long, and it now brushed his collarbones. Whenever you offered to give it a trim, he refused and said he’d wait until everything went back to normal.

“Who are you?” Finn looked up at Glenn and Michonne, his eyebrows furrowed inwards- his attempt at a scowl.

“I’m Glenn- Is he your-?”

“Nephew” you cut in before asking the young boy to help you pack up your belongings with a smile. He nodded and got to it, only asking you questions about where you were going once you’d both left the pair standing outside.

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

It took the four of you two and a half hours to get back to the prison. With having to carry your heavy belongings, Glenn suggested you all take regular breaks- he had noticed your struggle walking for long distances at a time with your injury. It was a journey you wished you wouldn’t have to make again in a similar shape. Finn, on the other hand, was fine and took the walk in his stride. He made idle talk with Glenn and Michonne- asking if there were other kids like him there. There were a few, according to Michonne, and he seemed more than excited to get back once having learned that.

A small boy, around 13 or 14, greeted the three of you at the gate. He was wearing a cowboy hat and a blue flannel shirt that looked as though it were a few sizes too big for him. Finn tried to hold back his nerves, and he opted instead to squeeze your hand. You squeezed his back twice, and looked down at him- smiling. The boy behind the fence opened it and greeted Glenn and Michonne, although he seemed to be struggling to comprehend what you and Finn were doing there.

“Hey Carl, where’s your dad?”

The boy - Carl - pointed toward the prison, a concrete slab of a building that seemed more cold than warm. You almost shuddered at the thought of the winters here, and Michonne seemed to sense your apprehension.

“It’s better inside, it doesn’t look like much, but it’s home for now.”

You nodded, having become quiet on the journey. She deduced that you’d only speak once you had been spoken to. As you started walking toward your new home, a slender brunette with short hair and a wide smile ran to you- to Glenn. She enveloped him in a bone-crushing hug, and when he pulled back, she pressed her lips to his quickly. It was strange how people managed to find love in such desolate times. You couldn’t imagine falling in love before, but now, your fear of impending loneliness and abandonment settled to the back of your mind. Being lonely didn’t seem as bad as losing everyone you loved or got close to. Finn was the only exception these days, you loved that kid like he was your own. He was all you had left- after all.

“Who’s this?”

You snapped up from your thoughts and locked eyes with her. She was still smiling, though you chalked that up to the moment she had just shared with Glenn- her husband - by the looks of the ring on her finger.

“‘Maggie, this is y/n and Finn. We found them out alone in the woods… y/n’s injured, but she’s a tough one, I think, a hunter as well.” Glenn held up the knapsacks you’d crammed in the shed. Finn held your hand a bit tighter

Michonne nodded, “Mmhm, we’re gonna go see if your dad would check her up… then talk to Rick about what to do; he’ll probably wanna talk to her.”

You didn’t mind that they talked about you as though you weren’t there- or that you couldn’t hear every word they were saying - in the shape you were in, you couldn’t engage in a full-blown conversation. The only thing on your mind was the ache in your body and the grinding of your joints upon one another from all the walking you’d been doing.

“Ah, that’s great, well… it’s nice to meet you, y/n. I hope we get to know each other better.. you too, little guy, I love your shirt”

Finn’s cheeks flushed red at the compliment, and he thanked her politely- just as his mother had taught him to. You managed to smile small at how kind she was despite your and Finn’s appearances. Caked in blood and gore, you were still being treated like humans and not a pair of animals being taken to the slaughter.

“Me too.”

Maggie grinned before pecking Glenn on the cheek, exchanging a few fleeting words, and smiling at Michonne. Then, she was off in suit of the guard tower you’d passed on the way up.

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

The cellblock was cold, as you’d expected, but it was refreshing in a way that the Georgian summer couldn’t provide on days like this. You’d run into only one other person on the way in, Beth, a young lady who was Maggie’s little sister. She seemed sweet enough, her eyes were kind, and her smile was bright with that whimsical nature teenagers seemed to have at that age- full of hope and wonder for what could come next. Finn seemed to like her too, and he made a passing comment that she reminded him of his primary school teacher.

As the three of you trailed further, you heard a baby crying and shushing from a man with the beginnings of a thick beard growing upon his jaw. A baby, you hadn’t seen a baby since before everything, and even then, it had been almost 7 years since your sister had given birth to Finn. You’d wanted children at one point- when you had a job and a home- a boyfriend and even a pet dog. Thankfully for your sanity, the boyfriend had been gone long before the outbreak, and unfortunately so was the dog.

Ozzy was an old, gentle rescue, one you remember fondly for the years you had spent together. That dog had been your lifeline for a while, your main reason for getting up in the morning for work. Sometimes, when you got anxious, you would trace your fingers across your arm- where a tattoo of his name lay in cursive amongst some of your others. Your fingers brushed across the skin now, drawing his name with the pads of your fingers as you and Finn approached the man and his child.

“Rick, can I talk to you real quick?”

Rick turned to Glenn, still holding the baby. You twitched a little in your spot and shuffled your feet, trying to avoid his cold, blank stare. His brow was furrowed with lines that held years of pain and torment. You swallowed thickly as the slate blue of his eyes glowed in the stream of light that peeked through the high windows of the prison, between the bars and onto the floor.

“Sure. Beth, can you take Judith?”

The young lady, Beth, whom you’d met on the way in, nodded with a smile and took the infant from Rick’s arms. The baby - Judith - looked only a few months old. Maybe a few weeks, if you were to guess. Rick walked over to you, Finn and Glenn. Michonne had left on the way up, saying she wanted to clean her blade. After a long morning of slicing through rivers of the undead, it was crusted with dried blood.

“Glenn, what the hell is this?” The older man regarded you with a blank stare. His accent was thick- thicker than Maggies - and his voice rough against his tongue. He then looked down at Finn- his brows raising and eyes widening. You pushed your nephew further behind you, lips tight together as Rick glanced you over again. Finn was still holding onto your hand.

“Y/N and her nephew, Finn. They've been on their own for a while, camping out in the woods a few hours away.” Glenn motioned to you and Finn as he introduced you to Rick. Mouth still shut, you swallowed back the fear and it sank to the pit of your stomach.

“She’s got meat- venison, with her- she’s a hunter, look I-“ Glenn looked at you quickly, “can you step out for a second, please?”

Once a decent space had been made between you, Finn and the two men, you stared blankly at your feet. You could only hear the whispers that reminded you of hissing and the occasional coddling from Beth in the other room. A sick feeling began to creep up inside of your gut, and you instinctively wrapped an arm around yourself to try and keep the bile from rising up your throat. “Do you think they're gonna kick us out?” Finn asked, his voice a slight hum over the buzzing thoughts in your head. “I.. I don't know, kid.”

A few minutes passed, and you were taken out of your head by the sound of Rick and Glenn approaching you both where you stood.

“Alright,” Rick placed his hands on his hips, almost tucking them into his belt. They looked like they had been lightly dusted with a thin layer of dirt and grime.

“You can both stay for now. We’ll see how it goes, and in a week or two, come back and decide if you can stay permanently or not”

You managed a thank you and a small smile, adjusting your metal recurve bow slung over your back. Rick hesitated momentarily, clearing his throat and shuffling where he stood. “One thing, for uh, the first week, we’re gonna keepa’ holda’ your weapons. We have kids here and-“

“You don’t trust me yet,” you sighed and unsheathed your bow and quiver- handing them over alongside your drop-point black hunting knife and glock 22. You also handed over the 6 full boxes of ammo you had scavenged from a camp that had been overrun by walkers. “Don’t worry, non-taken. I get it. I wouldn’t want a stranger around Finn with guns and knives either.” you nodded at Finn, who then pulled out a large hunting knife from the loop on his pants. Sometimes people you crossed paths with would look at you as though you were a bad parental figure for allowing him to carry that, however, you thought it was more than necessary to teach him while his mind was still malleable. Just in case anything happened to you.

He huffed “Well, I guess we can agree on that. How old are you, Finn?”

“I’m 7 soon, Sir”

Rick almost laughed, and you smiled weakly at the small boy as he insisted on being formal- as though that'd be what made their minds up as to whether you could stay.

“Rick’s just fine, Finn”

The boy nodded and handed Grimes the machete, the blade pointing down to the ground just as you had told him.

“You moved here before, then?” He added, quickly changing the subject. You nodded twice. Having explained this already numerous times, you weren’t that pissed about Rick asking. It was all procedural- he was the leader. It only made sense that he knew where you came from.

“I did before the apocalypse, I was a-.” you took in a sharp breath and pressed your hand further against your hip to try and dull the pain. “I was a tattoo artist and worked in a studio- learned how to shoot a bow in summer camp, kept up with it… a friend of mine before and after, he taught me all the survival stuff, he was ex-military so…”

Like Michonne and Glenn, Rick seemed to relax as you told him part of your story. He - more than anyone - understood that everyone had their demons, and that there were probably things you didn’t want to tell him.

“Well, thank you for telling me. Glenn, take her to Hershel, She can stay in the medical cell until we know she’s not sick.”

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

Hershel was a kind man. Kind, old and wise. The way he treated you so carefully and gently- even excusing himself whenever he added pressure to your ribs- It almost brought tears to your eyes. He had told you (and Finn, since he’d refused to leave the medical cell whilst you were being treated) how he had Irish and English ancestry and that his father and grandfather before him took pride in where they’d come from. You chatted back and forth for what felt like hours, and before you knew it, you were all bandaged up. He’d suggested bed rest for your broken ribs, and with the gash on your shoulder, he advised being careful when showering and coming back to see him in a day or so to have it changed or if you accidentally got it wet.

“Now, if I were you, young lady, I’d go wash up and get some rest; you’re gonna need it for your injuries…” you slowly swung your legs over the side of the bed, gritting your teeth together so hard it felt as though you were going to crack a filling. “And you, Young man, you take care of your auntie okay? Make sure she doesn’t get herself in any sorta trouble” Finn nodded, adding a ‘yes sir’ as Hershel reached out to ruffle his head. You pinched the bridge of your nose with your finger and thumb. “But i- Rick said-”

“Never mind what Rick said. I’ll let him know you’re healing up, and I’m sure he’ll understand.”

Before you could get up to leave, a woman with short grey hair knocked on the gate- in her arms, she had what looked to be two towels, a pair of shorts and a clean black vest along with some clothes that’d probably be a bit big for Finn, ones he’d grow into. As she entered, Hershel excused himself, letting the woman know where he’d be if she needed him. She then turned her attention back to you and Finn, a smile spread across her face as she moved to place the clothes and towels on the bed beside you.

“Hi, heard you guys were gonna be staying for a while, thought you'd need some fresh clothes and a towel each for the shower”

You nodded in response, and she sheepishly chewed the inside of her cheek. “I’m Carol, by the way”

“y/n”

“y/n,” The lady - Carol - repeated, as though trialling the name on her tongue to see if it fit. “And what’s your name, hm?” She crouched down to Finns level, and you edged forward on the seat, looking around the room for any sort of weapon in case she tried anything.

“My name’s Finn, Finn L/N”

“It’s nice to meet you Finn, I love your hair, it's very long” She held out her hand, and he took it after examining her for a few seconds. “Nice to meet you too Carol” she smiled at him again and stood to her full height

“Well, y/n, are you alright with walking? I'll show you where the showers are, in the meantime I’ll get those clothes cleaned up for you”

A sad smile tugged at the corner of your lips as she spoke, your eyes glassy.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing I just… everyone here has been so kind to me’

Carol sighed, helping you to your feet, an arm wrapped carefully around your shoulder.

“Well, we’ve all been in your position, honey.”

You can only nod, lips pulled taut in a straight line as you concentrate on not toppling over Finn or ripping the bandages when stepping out into the hall.

As you turned to look back at the lady, you notice her eyes trailing across your skin.

“I like your tattoos, do them yourself?”

“Some, though it’s pretty hard to do it yourself… most of them are my own designs but done by other people, mainly those I worked with…” having taken a towel and a pile of clean clothes from Carol, Finn asked her where the showers were.

“Just down the hall to the left and then straight on, there should be some shampoo and soap already…”

“Thanks again, c’mon Finn, I'd race you, but I don't think I'm in any shape for running.”

The small boy laughed and reached up to hold your hand, you took it in your own, the towel and clothes tucked under your free arm as you walked with him slowly toward the showers.

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

Once you and Finn had finished cleaning up and gotten changed into the fresh clothes Carol had pulled out for you, you paced around the stairs of the cell block and eventually heard someone coming down behind you. It was Carol again, and she seemed a little bit faster with her steps as she locked eyes with you. Finn was busy twiddling his thumbs and trying to make his clothes look more normal by rolling up his sleeves.

“Hey! It's nice seeing you both not covered in all that muck, hand those here honey I’ll get them cleaned for you,” you handed her your, and Finn's clothes and brushed the dried blood and dirt from your palms. You didn’t realize they were that gross. “You guys have met everyone, right?”

You shake your head, “ I don’t know, we met Maggie and Beth briefly, Rick of course… Michonne and Glenn found us, Hershel… the kid- Carl” as you listed off the names (which took you a few seconds to remember) you began to wonder whether you had met everyone. That was a lot of people.

“Oh, well, Daryl is out hunting and Judith can't exactly talk yet…” she picked at the hem of your old shirt before eventually placing them at the bottom of the stairs. “you’ll probably see Axel around as well- he’s the skinny guy with the mustache and light hair, he was apart of a group that was here when we arrived.”

“A prisoner?”

“I guess you could call them that, though I suppose we’re all sort of prisoners now if you think about it”

You nod, huffing as you draw your attention back to the hunter she had mentioned and try not to focus on the fact there were felons (convicted of GOD knows what) living amongst the kind people you had met. It was weird how she talked almost like Axel was a friend and not someone to be suspicious of. Hell, even if they were nice, you couldn’t help but be a little skeptical when showering or when taking off your shirt in front of their doctor.

“I don’t like feeling trapped… like a prisoner”

Carol nodded, smiling at you still. She had a nice smile, a lot of the people here did, although you couldn’t shake the feeling that beneath hers there was a lot of pain. You could see it in her eyes that she was tired.

“That’s great, we kinda need more hunters… food running out and everything, Rick said you’d brought some stuff in with you?”

You nod and call Finn to follow Carol as she makes her way up the stairs and takes you both down the aisle toward a cell on the furthest side, adjacent to the wall.

“Luckily for you, Daryl isn’t all that talkative either” she shrugged, laughing to herself. Part of you wondered whether she was seeing this Daryl person. “But he has a big heart and would die for this group- listen, I don’t know you much yet but I kinda have a feeling you’ll fit in just fine, y/n- and you too, Finn. It’s nice having new faces around, especially when they’re as adorable as yours, little guy”

Carol pinched Finn’s cheek with her forefinger and thumb, to which Finn groaned and blushed pink like he had when Maggie complimented his shirt earlier. You smiled down at him and ruffled his hair, when you said he could pick which bed he wanted, he was off and sat down on one and then the other. Trying to gauge which one was most comfortable. To your surprise, your belongings (minus weapons and food) were already shoved underneath the metal bed frames.

“Thanks again, Carol. For this.”

“Like I said,” she lay a hand on your arm gently, “we’ve all been there.”

[ichiichit]

@macole_official 他の投稿はこちらから⇨@ichi_t_ #macole #bag #baglover #bagaddict #napsack #baglovers #unitedarrows #mens #mensfashion https://www.instagram.com/p/CmYh_77PEPp/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[anyasathenaeum]

Ahh! Your asks are open again im so stoked. How about vash and wolfwood getting flowers from the reader? Like she just thought some flowers were nice and gave them to the boys ??

A/N: Awww that's so cute! I love this! Headcanons coming right up for this!

Vash the Stampede

The moment you hand Vash flowers, he's looking at you with wide, sparkling eyes

"Are these for me? Wow! Thank you, (Y/N)! They're beautiful!"

Vash isn't used to being given gifts of any kind, and when he is given gifts, it's usually as recompense for something he's done for somebody and are empty gestures, only given to rid the person giving him the gift of the feeling of being indebted

But something like the flowers you give Vash? They truly make him happy.

You giving Vash flowers is a genuine gift that you give him because you wanted to, not because you felt the need to pay Vash off for something he did

You'd end up catching Vash looking at the flowers with a goofy little smile on his face when he has a moment to himself, carefully and gently touching the petals and looking at each flower individually

He looks absolutely entranced by the beautiful little bouquet, lovingly crafted by your own hands to give to him

You made the bouquet with him in mind, and that thought alone makes Vash positively beam with happiness

The best moment was when you handed Vash a particularly special bouquet, comprised of the most beautiful and delicate red geraniums

Vash's eyes watered at the sight of the flower that his adoptive mother had loved so much, and now you were giving them to him? The man is touched beyond all comprehension.

Seriously, he's like full-on got tears in his eyes and they're a second away from coursing down his cheeks as he steps forward and hugs you tightly, burying his head into the crook of your neck.

"Thank you, (Y/N). You don't know just how much this means to me."

You'll end up finding that particular bouquet later, carefully dried and tucked away safely among Vash's belonging in his napsack and you end up realizing just how much it really meant to him.

Nicholas D. Wolfwood

I feel like Wolfwood would look at you weirdly the first time you extend the flowers to him

"What? Why are you giving me those?"

Wolfwood is definitely confused - why were you holding flowers out to him? Was this your way of asking him to do something for you? Was this your way of asking him for a favour? What was your motive?

When you explain that you had no motive other than you just thought they were beautiful and wanted to give them to him, Wolfwood stares at you like you've grown a second head

Seriously, why would you do something like that? There had to be some secret reason

Wolfwood didn't see the point to you picking and giving him flowers, so he's not somebody who'll accept them right away

But once you stop offering the little bundles of flowers, looking downcast now every time you hold them, he genuinely feels bad for turning them down and regrets how he's reacted to them

So, the next time you're walking by with a bouquet, he'll startle you by coming up behind you suddenly, asking, "Is that for me?"

Now it's your turn to stare at him like he's grown a second head, and you even ask him if he's sick or something, to which he chuckles

He'll take the flowers you're holding and look them over before glancing back at you over the top of his sunglasses, a small smile on his face

"I don't really like flowers, but I like you, sweetheart. And I like the way you look whenever you pick 'em and give 'em to me. So, keep 'em comin', alright?"

Taglist: @ryuukami4, @spacioussoul, @iceoblivious, @yuudofu

[pepsiiwho]

Dels been irritable, recently. It’s difficult trying to talk to him when he’s like this, grouchier than usual. Basilio almost feels bad for the men under them, he so hated being on the receiving end of Del’s icy glares.

He can’t help me ask about the mood shift, a week in. “What’s wrong, Del? You’ve be a reach grouch this week. Scaring all the newbies something fierce”

“Nothings wrong” he’s tinkering with his ignighter, pinching at the bright blue jewel right in the center. The brass of the wrist watch glitters under his touch, still looking new. Basilio doesn’t remember Del buying such a fancy ignighter, but it looks good on him. Right and fitting with the rest of his intelligent build. “Why would something be wrong?”

“You seem angry, ‘s all”

“M’ not.” He says, angrily. “Just tired”

“… where’s the watch from?”

And there it is. That other look. One Basilio had never seen on his brother before recently, all soft and reverent. It was similar to the look he’d give Lady Junah, but more concentrated. Infinitely brighter and held entirely in the eyes, and occasionally the twitches of his upper lip or the crinkle of his brow. If Basilio had to name it, or attempt to, it would be “content”.

“Cassie got that for ya, didn’t she?”

“What if it if she did? As if it matters”

“You haven’t stopped lookin’ at it since you got it, I reckon”

“So what if I haven’t? It’s nice…”

…

He always knows when Cassius gets back, because without fail Del is there, right by the entryway, pretending to look busy. To Anyone who isn’t looking, he may well seem diligent. To someone who knows him, adores him even, it’s clear he’s restless, doing little more than moving dust around.

Not like it lasts. Basilio is about say something when the doors open and a body walks through, holding her usual saint’s worth of gifts in the napsack at her hip. Basilio sees a blur of pink out of his peripheral and almost misses the way his brother smiles, small and private. It’s over before it can be remembered and without pause he begins corralling Cassius down the hall and into the elevator. She passes by, sending a joyful, if not tired, “hi silly” before being ushered behind the metal doors, the last peak of her being the full brunt of her attention on his unphased brother. Though, he’s never seen Del’s tail wag so steadily before…

[madcatdaderpydrawer-blog]

I feel like the baby blood demon twins (when they get a little older) would attempt to run away because blaze told them they need to clean their rooms.

They pack one of those little cartoony napsacks too. Then escape out the window and leave it open because they’re drama queens

[the-golden-comet]

✨🏴‍☠️Find The Word Tag 🏴‍☠️✨

Thank you for the tag here, @indecentpause !

My Words: heat, chill, hurt, and heal

Your Words: cold, shiver, stream, and drop

Back to search the High Seas in Peter Hart:

Heat

The prince shot Davey a wicked glare, but resided in his feelings of contempt as he paddled to the solid surface. Rejoining the captain and the crew, they brushed their hands over their slick breeches to shed some water weight. Benjamin, who was shivering from the dank cold of the dripping ocean cavern, ran his palms over his forearms to get some heat and friction to his sea-steeped skin.

Chill

A chill swept over their spines as Davey shook his head. “Oooooohh…..I don’t like the sounds of this, m’boy. We better take what we can and get out….”

Hurt

Peter scratched his chin as he contemplated. ‘An engagement ball, huh?’ He schemed through a smarmy smile. ‘That means that they’ll be loaded. And busy with guests….’ Much like his father, Peter was a daredevil at heart. Though it probably was a bad idea, he thought it wouldn’t hurt the royal family if a few priceless heirlooms went missing. What was the harm in a handful of lost trinkets, anyway?

Heal

Benjamin closed his eyes, hanging his head again as he let the pirates haul him away from land once more, accepting his punishment as his heavy heart sank in his chest. The amulet’s glow gently flickered and dimmed, but stayed softly illuminating Benji’s delicate, tired face inside the napsack. Indeed, it would take his heart a long time to heal from this betrayal of trust….for now, he was just thankful for the benevolence of his captors.

I will gently tag (no pressure): @thecomfywriter , @gioiaalbanoart , @marlowethelibrarian , @just-emis-blog , @pluppsauthor , @illarian-rambling , @cybercelestian , @fantasy-things-and-such , @paeliae-occasionally , @agirlandherquill , @michellekarnold , @flurrysahin , @differentnighttale , @authorcoledipalo , @somethingclevermahogony , @mundanemoongirl , @obviousknife , @yourpenpaldee , @wyked-ao3 , @clevah-girlboss , @aintgonnatakethis , @theaistired , @mysticstarlightduck , @ominous-feychild , @nebula--nix , @finickyfelix , @moltenwrites , @tildeathiwillwrite , @leatafandom , @thebearthatreads , @alinacapellabooks , @saturnine-saturneight , @lychhiker-writes , @rotting-moon-writes , @kaylinalexanderbooks , @katenewmanwrites , +open tag! 🏴‍☠️💛✨

[mustdies]

INTRODUCING YOUR FAVORITE BOTTLE-BLONDED SKEPTIC, THE REBEL. KNOWN MOST AFFECTIONATELY AS DANTE, HATER OF AUTHORITY & LOVER OF CARTHEFT.

NAMED DANTE NEVEK. KNOWN AS DON, DANNY. DOB OCTOBER 15TH, 1977. PLACE OF BIRTH AGADIR, MOROCCO. GENDER CIS MAN. PRONOUNS HE/HIM. ORIENTATION DEMISEXUAL. OCCUPATION PRO BOXER, POLITICAL ORGANIZER. FACECLAIM EMILIO SAKRAYA. POSITIVE TRAITS ASTUTE, DEVOTED, OBSERVANT. NEGATIVE TRAITS REPRESSED, CYNICAL, IMPULSIVE. RESIDENCE. CONVERTED FLAT IN BROOKLYN, NY. HEIGHT. SIX FOOT ONE INCH. EYES. DARK BROWN, FAWNING. HAIR. BLEACH BLOND, CROPPED SIDES + WAVY TEXTURE. ANNOMALIES. HEAVILY TATTOOED, FEW HAPHAZARD SCARS FROM FIGHTING BOTH IN THE RING AND OTHERWISE.

PRELUDE

you are coddled between the murky nowhere wedged between dreamy isle’s of palm & discarded american dreams. you’re a young thing with stars in your eyes; the others see this and smother you in their palms until you’re merely a streak of shimmering stardust because dreams aren’t for survivors. because your mother never wanted to be a mother and your father wasn’t the kind of man she’d trust with her heart, let alone you with your chubby hands and big eyes. giving you up was just the right thing to do, but at the very least, didn’t you deserve to dream a moment longer ? as it turns out, dreams are riddled inconsequential for little boys with hardly enough belongings to cram into a tattered napsack. but so long as you have the room for it, you hold onto this one thing: you’ll get out of here one day & by god, you won’t look back.

you’re nine when you pickpocket your first tourist, and ten when you successfully pull your first con. the descent is unseen, but occurs quicker than you realize and before you know you’re no longer the one cowling beneath the wings of those who came before you. you’re still the boy with the bright eyes but now, you’ve got even brighter ideas & happen to know your way around a shoddy hot wiring job or two. suddenly you’re fourteen with hardly a lick of peach fuzz dotting your features when you first become a ward of the court & you’re fifteen when a man who you had never known existed makes you one of the lucky ones. rather than aging out of a system that you had spent too long outrunning, you are withdrawn from juvenile holding on account of being placed beneath his conservatorship.

ACT ONE

sooner than you know, everything & everyone you’d known including your self-professed sibling with the kind eyes and the slit in his lip merely faded into a sunny break on the horizon. upstate new york becomes your new home & if you are to stay out of trouble you are made to make yourself something useful. days spent siphoning old gas & racing through the odd junctions of your seaside town come nightfall turn into even longer days as an unfavored ward. as you saw it, not even the dusty summer heat could sweat out that streak for havoc you had come to learn to know so far before your time—even seas away, you couldn’t outrun the law. teen years are spent pinned to the hoods of county cruisers just to be out of the pin come the end of the week while stark dreams continue to fade. 

ACT TWO

you spend your latter years giving hell to whatever boarding schools your guardian could enlist you in. become someone different, still a blaring asteroid, but some of your edges have refined. you learn what it means to be a society man—how to properly despise such a title. though these efforts were not made to entirely change you, rather, another outlet was found. instead of brawling with whomever looked at you funnily enough, the largest portion of your time was spent training in mixed martial arts. if you're going to be violent, you will learn to honor your craft.

ACT THREE

as a young man, you fall into sync with the ballad of a runaway train, horn steadily blaring as you utterly veer off the rails while onlookers can merely speculate in utter horror. luckily enough, you’re not the only one in this dusty old house pushed to your brink out of boredom so you slot well into your place with the rest of the small town miscreants, the only difference is the tan of your skin but in time you would even adapt their mixed lilt; even if you didn’t quite look it, you were one of them & the truth is, you were no better than the rest. it’s a damn miracle you make it out of woodrow in one piece: running off into the night when you’re old enough, leaving nothing but tire marks in the driveway & a number richard could contact you at in the future. now you’ve been running laps in the game for too long, and the only thing you’ve been left to wonder is if this was the dream you had so fervently chased as a child.

AESTHETIC

james dean chic meets streetwear final boss. breezy linen button-ups, undone by the first two buttons. perpetually bruised, walking into the room like god sent him. adorns at least five tattoos he has no recollection of getting in the first place. bottle blond with a knack for trouble. smelling like camel cigarettes & sandalwood.

HEACANONS

ever in motion, always leaning in a doorway or drumming his fingers along the edge of a table.

easy to call, hard to get in contact with. has a phone but will likely not answer lest prompted by his manager; harder to contact since richard's passing.

began prizefighting at eighteen, became a super wba titleholder in 2002.

did not pursue higher education following high school but currently runs a community-led organization in brooklyn to help the underserved youth in the area stay out of trouble.

hairtrigger temper which is highly exasterbated under stress/pressure. sooner to seclude those he's close to before allowing them to be involved in his mess. needs a therapist sooo bad.

technically, the last time dante was seen at woodrow house was seven years ago. however, he was last present on the property five years ago per the request of richard. the reasoning and his appearance at large is still broadly unknown to the rest of the wards.

secretly really enjoys tennis, catch this man at the yearly u.s. open & wimbledon with your favorite wag on his arm.

got into political organizing around the age of thirteen after rallying a small network of underserved youth (for better or worse) against the local government. was arrested shortly thereafter for inciting civil unrest.

really into running, has ran at least a mile a day since he was seventeen.