noemitenshi
(Not) Just here for Good Omens
my writing | my gifs | gifs & lyrics
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NEVER ALONE
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please please please please reblog if you’re a writer and have at some point felt like your writing is getting worse. I need to know if I’m the only one who’s struggling with these thoughts
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#troy otto#daniel sharman#nick clark#frank dillane#ftwd#fear the walking dead#my gif#danielsharmanedit#dsharmanedit
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I wanted to do some more sketches and studies, but now I have a short break in drawing, so only here is a portrait
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do you ever hear people talking about something and you’re like. fuck. let me be real for a second. i’m too much of a commie to have this conversation
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Excerpt
Troy couldn’t help but recall the way she’d fought so fiercely for him. She didn’t even know him.
Would she still have done it if she knew him, really knew him? Knew what he’d done, what he was? The last person that had – known him, understood him, even – had tried to kill him for it. Only dumb luck had made him survive that. Or sometimes he thought, it was punishment. Because surviving that meant he had to live with that knowledge. Had to live—
No, stop.
This wasn’t where he wanted to go, not now. Not when he was able to feel again. It felt like he was staring into a gaping maw, black and endless. He’d never get out again.
He would not think of this.
He tried redirecting his errant thoughts and recalled that Crazy Dog had stepped into that fight, between Ri and Walker. He wasn’t delusional enough to think it was for him though – was he?
His thoughts came to a sudden halt, his whole focus zeroing in on that moaned little “ah, Lee!” Her voice in that tone sent little jolts of electricity through Troy, making him feel…! Oh yes, this was a feeling he didn’t mind sinking into, vanishing even, if only he could…
He was so lost in it, desperately trying to hold on to something he knew wouldn’t last – not nearly long enough, but god, how he wished it would – that it took him a moment to realize the content of that moan. Lee, she had said.
Who the fuck was Lee?!
Wasn’t she Crazy Dog’s girl?
#troy otto#crazy dog#ri#ftwd#fear the walking dead#fanfic#ftwd fanfic#smut#throuple#troy otto x crazy dog x ri#crazy dog x ri#angst#fluff#lost & found#my fic
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When they are bullshiting and you are taking mental notes so you can tell them off the moment they shut up
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Oh and here’s a polyamory specific emoji since someone tagged the first three people hugging emoji with polyam
[ID: a triad of people with their arms around each other. Two have their arms around each other’s shoulders, and the one between them holds their other hands to their chest. They are enclosed in a red heart and a blue infinity sign, making one symbol for polyamory. /End ID]
🖤commissions🖤
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"i'm the one who fuck you hard and raised you from perdition" will never leave my brain btw
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mads: hannibal never saw a future. he lived in the present. but he saw a future with will :)
misha: BALLS DEEP I TELL YOU
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Carry on my wayward son, you'll be balls deep when you're done
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Snippet Sunday
Ok, this is totally unsolicited, but I am oddly proud of this opening for a fanfiction idea I've had for a bit. As always comments are welcome, when they are constructive.
Word Count: 1045
Fandom: Fear the Walking Dead
The first time they saw each other no one’s lives were in danger, no wounds needed mending and no soul in dire need of repair. Instead, Winona had just flown into town to move in with her uncle. She was a child at the time, old enough to forever remember her parents, yet young enough to still have Mr. Coyote -her canine stuffed animal- nestled between her body and arms. Both Qaletqa and Jeremiah stood in the airport glaring at each other, with no verbal communication. The boys ran around the play area, low giggles leaving them as they were blissfully unaware of the battle.
Winona paused, adjusting her light blue dress, and slightly hiding Mr. Coyote behind her back as she approached. She was maybe two and a half when she last saw her uncle, though she didn’t remember any of it, both of her parents spoke fondly of the Black Hat reservation and those who still lived there. Their jobs prevented them from returning often. Seeing other children, with the man whom Qaletqa was speaking eased her worry, having been the only child in the neighborhood. Her fingers came forward as the child around her age reached out, and a greeting died on her tongue when Jeramiah tugged the boy away.
“Keep your savage away from my children.” The older gentleman shouted, shoving his fingers into Qaletqa’s face.
This wasn’t the first time Winona’s heard those words directed toward her she’s heard many different slurs and stereotypes directed at her. Her dark chocolate eyes danced to the yellowing brick floors, everything in her is telling her to be ashamed of the word. She wanted to leave, and go home where everything was safe, at least for the moment. Though Qaletqa pushed her behind his back, shielding her from the intense rage on Jeremiah’s features.
He’d later tell her that there’s no reason to be ashamed, it’s their problem, not hers that they see her that way. A message she kept in her heart forever.
~*~*~
The second time they were around each other, Troy was wandering the barren desert half bloody. Winona had been wearing her turquoise sun dress, with small white flowers dancing to the bottom, as she wandered around just outside of the Blackhat reservation. She often walked about, or rode horses, to clear her mind of the life around her. Nature spoke to her like an old friend. It listened just as well, taking in all her troubles as well as all the good. Mother earth knew all about her parents, and how much she wished that they would come back, but also that she loved all those in the Blackhat world.
Neither noticed the other for long few moments, Troy was far too busy tripping over underbrush and Winona too infatuated with the view. During the late evening, right as the sun started to kiss the horizon, the remaining bits of light reflected from the sand left a white shine. It gave the feel of water in the distance, perhaps it’s from this phenomenon, that others have called mirage. Winona loved it and greatly appreciated that the school day allotted her enough time to get home and change before coming out here.
It was when the last of the setting sun’s rays faded into light navy blues, that Winona noticed the young Otto crying in the dirt. Blood trickled down his long face, telling her that something sharp had slammed across the side of it, breaking the flesh before scraping him. Her lips parted, wanting more than anything to help him, though remnants of her arrival -five years prior- telling her to leave the clearing as fast as possible. It was the brokenness in his eyes that stopped her from doing so. The pale silver moonlight reflected off his blue-green eyes. It reminded her of waking up in the hospital after a drunk driver rammed into their car and found out her parents were dead.
“You’re that savage girl from the airport.” He grunted.
Though the meaning of the words was always malicious, Winona didn’t get that sense from him. Troy Otto simply knew her as only that, having come from his father’s prejudice. Winona nodded, though she didn’t want that word to become a habit when referring to her. It was getting late, and her uncle would be wondering where she got to, but leaving this boy alone wasn’t an option.
“I-I can help you… If you want.” She whispered, taking a few hesitant steps closer.
He didn’t say anything, not at first, instead he shakily made it back to his feet, fighting to stay right side up. When he swooned forward, Winona gently rested her shoulder on his side, wrapping his arm around her in a protective fashion. There was no reason to fear, he seemed broken enough to not care what she did to him. Whispers of wanting to die echoed in his eyes, begging her to end his suffering. She couldn’t, being such a sensitive soul. Instead, Winona helped him to her uncle’s mobile home.
Qaletqa worked late on weekends, often asking the neighbors across the way to keep an eye on his niece, while he worked late into the evenings. He wouldn’t be back for another six hours, giving her more than enough time to patch the young boy up and tuck him into her closet to rest. Most of his wounds would prove to be superficial, others too in-depth for her to fix -a broken rib, a bruised wrist- but she did her best to make him as comfortable as possible.
~*~*~
Patching the youngest Otto up became a habit, sneaking him into her room and feeding him after all the work is done before he slipped out before early morning light. Secretly becoming friends, with the understanding that to the outside world they needed to be enemies, not that Winona ever said anything negative about the Otto’s, it wasn’t her job to judge their lifestyles.
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this may be an Unpopular Opinion (even on tumblr) but like the 8-hour workday is just Too Gotdamn Long
like even sitting in an office for eight hours a day isn’t particularly pleasant (or healthy, as we are beginning to see) but when we’re talking about doing *actual work* for that same amount time it gets pretty fucking brutal
doing literally *anything* (even leisure activities) for eight hours straight tends to be less than enjoyable but when we’re talking about things like construction, landscaping, factory work, and hell, even foodservice and retail, eight hours is a fucking ETERNITY
i might just be a lazy weak-willed bitch but honestly i think i’m not entirely wrong
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“Yes,” said Eustace, “and whenever you’ve tried to get her to come and talk about Narnia or do anything about Narnia, she says ‘What wonderful memories you have! Fancy you still thinking about all those funny games we used to play when we were children.’ ”
“Oh Susan!” said Jill. “She’s interested in nothing nowadays except nylons and lipstick and invitations. She always was a jolly sight too keen on being grow-up.”
“Grown-up, indeed,” said the Lady Polly. “I wish she would grow up. She wasted all her school time wanting to be the age she is now, and she’ll waste all the rest of her life trying to stay that age. Her whole idea is to race on to the silliest time of one’s life as quick as she can and then stop there as long as she can.”
“Well, let’s not talk about that now,” said Peter.
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