#Caryl the Cat
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Please do not buy squishmallows irl unless purchased secondhand. Sources below
Squishmallow Alternatives + my current reasoning for the tournament (subject to change)
More info with sources
Official Boycott (this blog is not part of the official boycott)
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Howdy!
So I'm a very, very long time Tumblr user, been here since I was at least 16 or 17, (29 now). I haven't always posted much, and I'm usually just reblogging whatever my current hyperfixation is haha. But I'd love to become a bit more active in the fandoms I enjoy, possibly even posting my own stuff at some point.
I'm a writer (which yes, means I do a lot more staring into space daydreaming about a story than actually writing it) but I actually do have a few fanfictions that I have never shared, and even one that I am currently writing.
So here I am reaching out to try and connect with some folks that are interested in the same stuff as me! In the tags I'll be adding all (that I can think of at this moment) the fandoms and ships that I am into, and that you can expect to see me reblogging. So if you are interested, please give me a follow and I will follow back :)
Thanks y'all!
#mulder and scully#msr#caryl#rdr2#red dead#dragon age#cullenmance#solas x female lavellan#dragon age inquisition#adoribull#destiel#cats#funny stuff#dutch van der linde#vandermatthews#mass effect#call of duty#ghost mw2#john soap mactavish#avenged sevenfold#studio ghibli#red dead redemption 2#video game photography#the sims
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#OK#i'll tag it bc i want attention#caryl#jesus twd#aaron twd#michonne hawthorne#andrea twd#idk those cats ship names 💀#uhhh#regan#the walking dead#my shit
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My cat is adorable.
Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.
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Here's what this blog is all about
(updated June 26th,2023)
Hi to all the new faces around here. Here's a quick overview of what this blog is all about so you can decide if space is for you or not.
I mostly, read/write/rant/analyze/nerd out about
Caryl (Carol Peletier x Daryl Dixon - TWD)
Nedlyn (Ned x Cat - GoT/Asoiaf)
Healthy sprinkling of Critical Role, Downton Abbey, BTVS, Bioware games and a few other fandoms
Wonderful middle aged actresses/characters
What to expect on this blog:
Updates on unfinished Ned x Cat fics
Caryl positivity
Caryl inner monologues (tagged accordingly)
Incorrect Caryl quotes (also tagged accordingly)
In depth Caryl reviews/analysis (stay tuned for this)
Character analysis posts (maybe)
MAYBE Caryl fics to fill the gaps TWD left behind. But mostly to fill the Melissa McBride shaped hole in our hearts (you can blame @my-mt-heart for planting this idea in my head)
Talking about how beautiful and wonderful Melissa McBride/Carol Peletier is every chance I get. (Think Leslie Knope @ Ann Perkins amped up to a 100)
Did I mention that Melissa McBride is beautiful in every way possible and deserves all the goodness in this world?
This blog holds space for Carol/Daryl/Caryl positivity. It's not a space for hateful comments on any ships, characters or actors playing characters mentioned above.
Anon asks are welcome on anything mentioned above (as long as they're respectful).
I know many are bummed about the way S11 turned out – I see you. I acknowledge how you're feeling. But now more than ever I think we have to stick together and remember – they have a future. Positivity is dwindling in the caryl tags, let's fix that.
Finally – Don't forget to be kind to each other. Enjoy your stay and Caryl on ❤️
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Borrowed Time: Chapter One
A little fanfic I got suckered into writing by @the-biscuit-agreement ‘s incredible prompt. Huge thanks to @lemonsharks and @oceanspray5 ‘s additional ideas.
This is that Lockwood and co serial killer prompt…
Tag list (or interest list for those who showed interest in the prompt. If you aren’t interested in the fic no worries): (also my Lockwood friends in general): @neewtmas @givemea-dam-break @thedonutdeliverygirl @ikeasupremacy @wellgoslowly @edmundlockwood @narnianweirdos @tangledinlove @so-true-jestie @oblivious-idiot @paysomeonetopaysomeone @peachesanddandelions @myownpainintheass @sadwinistic @almostlikequake @saelterlude @fandomscraziness22 @everythingwillend @uku-lelevillain @atlabeth @carlyleons @smol-being-of-light @losticaruss @superpositvecloudshipper @totally-not-an-npc @paranorahjones @malteevars-kee-devi @teaandtoastandthyme @jesslockwood @krash-and-co @lucy-j-carlyle
Please note this is a sideblog and all replies will come from @waitingforthesunrise
This takes place four months after The Hollow Boy: Lucy is an independent agent who starts investigating the wrong case, and Lockwood has always been living on borrowed time…
Warnings: mild language, general pain, angst, suggested injury, death, car accident, hint at torture, threats, hurt/very little comfort (yet). I’m so sorry, guys…
“Miss Carlyle.” Inspector Barnes sighed, flipping over the newspapers strewn across his desk. “Trust me. This is a case to let go.”
“What cases do we let go, Inspector?” Lucy leaned forward. “We’re agents. Getting to the bottoms of things is what we do.”
“And DEPRAC’s job is to make sure that’s the only thing you go to the bottom of,” Barnes said. “Miss Caryle, you have almost no evidence. You have no team. You certainly have no proof. There’s nothing here, and frankly this will only cause you danger I’m unable to help you with.”
“I didn’t ask for your help,” Lucy snapped. “You called me here.”
Barnes rubbed a hand across his jaw. Lucy stared stubbornly at his desk. They were sitting in his office; well-lit, clean, and smelling strongly of chemical cleaner. Lucy clenched her jaw, determined not to lose the silent battle. She was so tired — Barnes had called her and left no choice but to return to his office immediately after work. And now she was sitting here in front of his desk, wasting time…she could be eating breakfast, or in a warm shower…the hot water cascading over her tired shoulders….
But the water was shut off due to a leak at her apartment, and there would be now arm breakfast or inviting smells awaiting her. Only crusty dishes and a sulking skull.
It had been four months since Lucy had left Portland Row.
Barnes cleared his throat. “Let me make sure I understand. You first took the case from a Miss Helen Younge, correct?”
Lucy nodded. Miss Younge had been young no longer when they had met; the whispery, frail old lady worked at the take-out shop where Lucy often bought doughnuts. Miss Younge often showed Lucy pictures of her cats, but that had been the extent of their interactions until the day the old woman had seized Lucy’s wrist over the cash register and whispered, you’re an agent, aren’t you? Oh, I’m in such trouble…
Barnes studied a notebook. “She offered to pay you?”
“Of course. I am an independent agent. But it was more…”
“A favor?”
Lucy nodded. “She’s an old woman working at a bakeshop, Inspector. She could never pay for a Fittes or Rotwell team.” She didn’t bother to hide the bitterness in her voice; who knew how many nights Miss Younge and others like her had spent, anxious and afraid of things they were unable to see, knowing an inspection alone would cost them precious food?
If Barnes noticed it, he didn’t let on. “Surely you didn’t inspect the property at night?” He squinted at the paper. “An apartment building, nonetheless.”
“Of course not. I did it in daylight. But…” Lucy hesitated. “I thought it would be just a weak Type One, an old person’s death or something, but…”
“Yes?”
“There was a strange whispering.”
“Miss Carlyle, you are a Listener, and sources do have a habit —“
“I found the Source, sir. It was just a simple Type One and gave almost no trouble. But I don’t think it’s the only ghost there. There’s something else, maybe more than just one.”
Lucy paused, remembering the sticky brush of a spiderweb against her face, the quick rush of cool air, the sudden suspension of time.
“It says here,” Barnes said, “you ‘found yourself stuck in a time-loop.’ You have no idea when it could be from, or what it’s stemming from. You’re convinced it’s connected to the Type One, but that it’s not the cause.”
“Exactly.” Lucy eagerly leaned forward. “The voice, it kept saying the same thing, over and over—”
“— help me, I’m dying, he took care of you, so now you’ll kill me too,” Barnes finished in a bored tone. “Very concise for a ghost.”
Lucy brushed off his skepticism. “Of course there was more, that’s just what was clear — Inspector, this ghost was murdered. Maybe Miss Younge’s Type One, too.”
“Wouldn’t it have been a bit stronger, then?”
“Not if it was a miserable, elderly person living alone in an apartment complex with a cat and a bottle of pain pills. Those are a dime a dozen, Inspector. The person might not even know they were murdered. Not until it was too late.”
Barnes groaned. “You have the Source, don’t you.”
“Not on me,” said Lucy. She did. It was in her knapsack, securely sealed in iro; a small, initialed pocketknife.
“Miss Carlyle—”
Lucy hurriedly shuffled through her knapsack, and held out a stack of papers. “Look, Inspector, I found these in the library — it’s a murder case, I’m sure, I think this might lead to the victim, an unnamed body — the Source gets clearer every time I listen to it—”
“Miss Carlyle!” Barnes brought his hand down on the table. “I don’t have time for this. DEPRAC can’t keep you off the case, but consider this a warning. Whatever happens after this is on you. And —“
The door banged open. Lucy looked up to see an ashen-faced assistant gabbling into a hand-held receiver.
“Sir!” The assistant said. “Sir, it’s urgent…there’s been an accident outside, a body…”
Barnes jumped to his feet and hurried out the door, and Lucy, after hesitating for a moment, followed.
Clouds were gathering in the sky overhead; the air smelled like rain. A cool breeze tugged at Lucy’s hair as she hurried down the steps after Inspector Barnes and towards the knot of people gathered near the road.
“They said it was a green van,” the assistant said. “Just barreled through and drove off…”
Voices rose excitedly from the gawking group. “Came right out of nowhere, he did…just slammed into the poor thing…never had a chance….”
“DEPRAC Inspector!” Barnes roared. “Stand back!”
The crowd drew apart, and Lucy had a clear view of the blood streaked face staring empty-eyed at the sky.
It was Miss Younge.
There was a blur of ambulances and shouting and the passerby offering eager comments. Lucy couldn’t look away from the sightless eyes and crumpled cardigan of the old woman. Her head pounded; it couldn’t be real, couldn’t be happening. Miss Younge had given her a sandwich only that morning! The blood spattered across the pavement…
Barnes tried to steer her towards the steps, but she caught his sleeve.
“Miss Carlyle —“
“Inspector.” Her voice was ragged even in her own ears. “Don’t you see? Don’t you understand? This is proof! She must have been coming here to tell me something, she must have found something out! She was murdered, I —“
“Lucy,” Barnes said gently. “There’s been an accident. I understand you’re distraught. Go home, get some sleep.”
“Don’t you get it? This isn’t an accident, this is murder!”
Barnes glanced at the crowd, the assistant waiting nervously, the flashing lights of the screeching ambulance. “This was an accident, Miss Caryle. You’re conjecturing —“
“No!” Lucy stumbled back. “No, it wasn’t.”
An official approached, holding a clipboard. “Inspector, if you’d step this way…”
Barnes looks down at the paper, and when he looked up, Lucy Caryle was gone.
He swore under his breath.
Lucy paused in front of Miss Younge’s apartment building, breathless. She had run all the way from DEPRAC headquarters, rapier digging mercilessly into her hip, stopping only at her apartment to retrieve the skull. Lucy would rather have died on a bed of hot coals than admit it out loud, but she felt safer with it at her side. She bent over, gasping.
The skull groaned from inside her knapsack. “You know, I said that all that greasy food would slow you down. But did you listen? No, of course not. Why listen to your friends? Oh wait…” It cackled. “You only have one!”
“Shut up,” Lucy said abruptly. She was digging in her pockets for the key Miss Younge had given her. The key she had been going to return today….
But there was no time for that. She needed to focus, keep her mind clear. Find any clues before DEPRAC took over. She bounded up the stairs, skull complaining loudly in her ear. Hurry, hurry, hurry…
The door was unlocked.
Lucy tapped it hesitantly and it creaked slowly open.
“Put me down!” The skull complained. “I can’t see a thing!”
Lucy slid the jar out of the bag and set it in the corner. The room was dark and musty; a few half-empty bookshelves, a stained quilt covered the sagging bed…and that strange muttering whisper in her ear sending shivers up her skin…
Something warm and furry brushed against her leg and she almost jumped out of her skin.
“Skull! You could have warned me.”
“Oh, because that’s my job now? You haven’t even apologized for this morning, and you expect me to hand out my exceptional services for free? Besides, it’s only a cat.”
The orange cat meowed hesitantly, and Lucy bent down to brush its back.
“God, no,” the skull said. “Lucy…I see what you’re thinking, Lucy, and the answer is no!”
“We have to take it.” Lucy straightened up and began to examine the dusty bookshelves. “Miss Younge won’t be coming back.”
“It’s a cat. Cats live like the little demons they are. ARGH! It’s coming closer, Lucy, make it stop, it’s so ugly…”
A sharp riiiing cut through the skull’s moans. Lucy jumped, glancing at the phone. Just a call. Probably some elderly friend, looking for a chat. And she’d have to tell them…
She picked up the receiver. “Hello, I—“
“Hello, Lucy Carlyle.” The voice was smooth; slippery, sharp, and entirely unfamiliar. “I’ve been waiting a long time to meet you. Might I add how beautiful you look this morning?”
Lucy froze. “Who is this?”
“A businessman. Looking for a deal.”
Lucy shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. “I’m sorry, but this isn’t my number.”
“Oh, no. It’s your location. But why leave a message when I can reach you like this? I knew you’d come for the cat, anyway.”
The sounds of the skull arguing faded away. “What did you say?”
“Look, darling. You’ve had a good run. A good case. Why, if you go home now, you’ll even find a little payment on the doorstep.”
“A payment for what?”
“Dropping the case, of course.” The voice was like silk. “And never speaking about it to DEPRAC again. We wouldn’t want to bother our silly little head about it, would we?”
“I’m not dropping the case!”
“Oh?”
Lucy scrambled for time, a cold weight in the pit of her stomach. “So you know something? Miss Younge was murdered?”
“Oh, Miss Younge.” The man made a disgusted noise. “She was small and unimportant.”
“The Type One, then?”
“No, my dear. This is about Lockwood.”
Four months. Four months. And her world still reeled at the sound of his name.
Lucy swallowed. “What does Lockwood have to do with this?”
“What doesn’t he have to do with this is a better question. Everything about you traces back to him eventually, doesn’t it? But it’s simple: you bury the case or I bury the boy. After I’ve had some fun, of course…And come on, Lucy. We both know catching him wouldn’t be the hard part.”
“I—”
“You need to drop this while I still have the restraint for it. Think how hard it will be for me to stop after I’ve heard him beg like you have. The boy’s practically screaming for someone to end his misery already, and trust me — when I’m done, he will be. And I’m sure you saw that last case put him in the hospital for three days…No, our Locky’s been looking for death a long time…”
Lucy’s ears were ringing, her nose full of the heavy must of dust and cat. “I—“
“Good day, darling,” the voice said, and hung up.
Lucy clenched the receiver, staring at the faded wallpaper. Her knees were shaking. God, he was right. That hospital visit. A broken leg. She had scanned the papers every day for news of Lockwood, hoping she wouldn’t find a death announcement, hating herself for it every time…
The skull was making horrific faces at the cat, which was inching closer. The skull yelped as Lucy swept it into the bag and bundled the cat in her arms.
“What kind of treatment is this, huh? And we’re going home, I hope…”
“We’re going to find Lockwood,” Lucy said briefly. “Before it’s too late.”
Lucy didn’t bother with the bell or the iron line. She threw herself at the door, hammering at the wood, a horrific panic clutching her heart. The voice had seemed so sure, so certain. She had imagined her re-entry to Portland Row many times; in one particularly gratifying scenario, Lockwood had been on his knees begging her, the hugely successful businesswomen, to save his beloved house. And now it was her begging for entry…she kicked the thoughts aside and hit the door with her foot.
The door swung open unexpectedly and she fell into the dark hallway. George was staring at her, eyes round from behind his glasses, a rapier in his hand.
“Lucy?” He said blankly.
“George,” Lucy gasped, the cat leaping from her arms. She brushed her hair back with a sweaty palm. “Is Lockwood here? Hurry, please, I need to see him!!”
Holly appeared over George’s shoulder, wrapped in an elegant coat. “Oh, it’s Lucy! And she’s brought us a cat!”
“Please!” Lucy pushed past them towards the library. “Where is he? Lockwood!”
“Oh, Lucy,” Holly whispered.
Lucy paused, the quiet house settling over her like a heavy weight. For the first time she noticed George and Holly’s coats and hats, rapiers strapped to their waists.
“We were just going to find you,” said Holly.
Lucy swallowed. “I..”
George heaved a sigh. “Lucy, Lockwood’s been missing for two days.”
The world was spinning again.
Lucy felt a hand on her elbow, and Holly guided her into a chair. “Hurry, George, put on some tea, she’s probably frozen…oh, I’m so sorry…”
George made a disgruntled noise. “She still hasn’t said what she’s doing here.”
“I got a phone call,” Lucy said numbly. “About Lockwood. There’s this case — it was a warning, and I …Oh, my word.”
Holly set down a mug. “We were just going to look for you. We thought, maybe…”
“He wasn’t with me,” Lucy said.
They all jumped at the shrill ring of the phone. The sound sliced through Lucy with a cold recognition. She rose.
“I’m alright, Holly, really. I — I need to answer that call.”
“You don’t even work here!” George said, following her into the hall. “It’s not your job!”
“You never answered them even when it was your job,” she shot back. “And this one will be for me.”
The receiver was cool in her hands. She stared at the dark bookshelves, breathing in the familiar smell of Portland Row. “Hello?”
Silence.
Hope filled her. Maybe it was just a wrong number — a grocery order —
“Hello, darling,” the voice said, a soft chuckle hiding in it’s voice. “What a pleasure to hear your voice again.”
“Wish I could say the same for you.”
“My, my. Sass this early in the day? Did your little pals miss you?”
She gripped the receiver. “Where is he?”
“Where is he? But you’ve guessed that, haven’t you, Lucy Caryle? Best Listener in London. Head like that on your shoulders. You know where he is.”
“I swear if you’ve hurt him,” she whispered. “It will be the last thing you ever do, do you hear me? I swear—“
“Oh, Lucy,” the voice crooned. “If I hurt him? You should be begging me for a little mercy.” He sighed. “What would you have guessed? DEPRAC arrived at the apartment only five minutes after you and started a Source sweep with a double team. Your Mister Barnes trusted you a little more than you thought. But that’s besides the point…”
“I don’t know you have him,” Lucy said. Geroge’s worried face loomed in her vision, Holly right behind him, hands clasped under her chin. “You could be lying.”
“I could.” The voice hummed lightly. “How would you like me to prove it to you? His voice saying your name? A handkerchief?”
Her stomach clenched. “A recording. A piece of fabric. Could have gotten them anywhere.”
“True,” it mused. “What about a finger? You’ve stared at his hands enough; you’d know them anywhere, wouldn’t you?”
“I—“
“Or his ring? The one you thought you might wear on your finger one day.” It chuckled. “Still time for that. At his funeral, maybe —“
“Where is he,” Lucy spat into the phone. “Where is he, you stupid bastard!?”
“Now, now,” the voice tsked. “I’m not cruel. Why don’t I just put him on the phone? Be a good girl and listen to his demands, now.”
Lucy’s stomach dropped at the familiar voice over the phone.
“Luce,” Lockwood said warmly. “It’s been a while!”
“My word, Lockwood,” she said faintly. It was him, really him; his voice and his nickname for her… “What are you doing?”
“A spot of business. Quite nice, really.”
She could hear the rough edges in his voice now, the little gasps on the end of his sentences, like the air was whistling through his lungs.
“Lockwood,I—”
“It’s so good to hear your voice again, Luce; you have no idea. Wish you could have popped round for some tea the other day, though. George made your favorite.”
“Lockwood!”
His voice was weary when he spoke again. “Yes, Luce?”
She turned away from the others. “What’s going on, Lockwood? They couldn’t find you — I was so worried — where are you? Where do I need to go? I’ll come and I’ll —“
“Not to worry,” Lockwood said cheerfully, but it sounded forced, as though he was saying it through clenched teeth. “I’ve got it all handled, Luce. Everything’s under control. You’re not running yourself to the ground over me, are you, Luce? Get some rest and take care, you hear me? And stay at Portland Row as long as you like. Oh, and tell Holly that I broke one of her pink teacups the other day. She can order a new set. My apologies.”
Lucy’s gaze rose to meet Holly’s horrified eyes. “Lockwood!” She spat, trying desperately to keep the panic from her voice. “Tell me where you are, I swear — dear God, Lockwood, this isn’t a joke—”
“Isn’t it? That reminds me: I heard a particularly good one the other day, I made a note to tell you…” Lockwood hissed sharply. “Ah. Oh, that’s better.” There was a sliding sound. “Just needed to sit down.”
“You’re hurt, aren’t you?” Lucy knew she was babbling. “Lockwood, please, please—”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s okay, Luce.” Lockwood’s voice was perfectly calm, with only a slight tremor to remind her they weren’t sitting across from each other at the breakfast table. “I promise.”
“No!” She gasped for breath. “No, you swore you would never lie to me again, Lockwood — you swore—”
“Lucy!” Lockwood chuckled, but inhaled sharply as though it pained him. “I’m taking care of a brief issue. It’s business as usual.”
“No, Lockwood, it’s not! Just tell me, please, please—”
“I’ve spent my life feeling like a weapon,” Lockwood said quietly, his voice echoing over the phone. “Always living on borrowed time. I never could tell if the weapon was pointed at myself or at others. But I’ll make damn sure it isn’t pointed at you.”
A ragged sob caught in Lucy’s throat. It wasn’t real. She’d wake up tomorrow, in her own bed, and Lockwood would still be an annoying prick who lived nearby, and she would have a chance to fix everything. It couldn’t end like this.
And here she was, already acting as though it was the end.
“No,” she whispered into the phone, her voice growing louder. “No! NO. DAMN YOU, LOCKWOOD, YOU ANNOYING BASTARD — JUST TELL ME WHERE YOU ARE, YOU’RE NOT GOING TO DIE, I WON’T LET YOU, I—“
“Listen to me, Lucy,” Lockwood said, his voice suddenly urgent. She broke off, sobbing for breath. His voice was quick and direct, like they were on a case together. “Take the Source. Listen exactly to what it says, and then tell Barnes. Okay? And then take it to the furnaces and burn it. Understood? You’ll be alright. Everything’s under control.”
“No,I—”
“One last thing,” said Lockwood, his voice shaking just a little. “Luce, I needed to say…there’s not much time, but I lov—”
There was a sharp beep, and the line went dead.
~ To be continued ~
#save lockwood and co#lockwood and co#renew lockwood and co#save lockwood & co#bring back lockwood and co#together for lockwood and co#anthony lockwood#togetherforlockwoodandco#lucy carlyle#locklyle#locklyle fanfic#lucewood#lucewood fanfic#Lockwood and co fanfic#holly munro#george cubbins#george karim#fanfic#Anthony Lockwood fanfic#Locklyle fanfiction#Lockwood and co fanfiction#Original fanfic
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As utterly beautiful the Richonne renuion was, amd they deserved it don't get me wrong...It's just their love making scene is EXACTLY what I imagined it what it would like for Carol and Daryl. I mean exactly, from the fear, the overwhelming emotions to the point of tears, the hesitation and finally letting 12 years of burning lust and desire break threw all the barriers and they would ravage on another. We have for years talked about when they have sex the scars they both have would be kissed, we talked about Daryl being afraid to the point of trembling like he couldn't believe she was real and finally in his arms..If they do go Canon I hate to see a copy cat scene smh 😞🥺 Maybe they could play it like two fumbling teenagers, unsure, nervous and giggly...laughing and setting the mood light only for it to turn into passion later?! 🤔 I dunno...I hate to even talk shit about the The Ones Who Live 1x4 cause man was it powerful and beautiful. Danaii outdid herself writing and direction 2 the episode,no one knows the characters better then her and Andy..They our both powerhouse actors, see the charactersto go from enemies to lovers and face so many obstacles and just falling deeper in love is so beautiful, but to also show how hard it can be and things aren't always what we expect them to be. But despite the setback and heartbreak you keep fughting for ezch other. ANYWAY COMPLETELY OFF TOPIC 🤦🏻♀️MY ENTIRE POINT WAS, Where you also kinda sad about the Richonne lovemaking scene? With it being pretty much being exactly like thousands of caryl fanfic, and was what we all expected when they are finally intimate that's how it be?
To be honest, I've been staying away from all the towl discourse due to how quickly it turns into a ship war where everybody is trying to invalidate everybody else. I'll say this though (and nothing further unless or until it ever feels safe again to discuss). To me, apples are apples and oranges are oranges. Richonne is Richonne and Caryl is Caryl. They have completely different histories and I'd expect there to be plenty of nuance even if they both hit the same story beats at times.
For Caryl, there's a lot of trauma that goes hand in hand with their sex lives. We can infer that Daryl has guarded himself for a lot of his adult life and Carol has had to survive, serve, or maintain control, but sex with each other would be an entirely new experience for them because it would be about expressing how deeply they love each other and how completely they trust each other. I think Daryl would be hellbent on making it good for Carol and she would allow herself to be vulnerable/taken care of. We wouldn't see her leave in a hurry afterward like she did with other partners. She'd stay in his arms. Fumbling like teenagers maybe would've made sense in S3 of the flagship show, but their relationship is far too mature for that now.
I'll do a more in-depth post on sex where I can just focus on Caryl without making any comparisons, but hopefully this answers your question for now.
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I was tagged by @whydidnttheyaskcora Thank you so much! <3
Tag game: Tag 9 people you’d like to get to know better.
Last song: Schüsse in die Luft by Kraftklub
Currently watching: Peaky Blinders, The Crown S06... and always rewatching Downton Abbey.
Three ships: Cobert aka Cora x Robert (Downton Abbey), Ned x Cat (Asoiaf/GoT) and sometimes I'm a kind of Caryl shipper (Carol x Daryl, TWD)
Favorite color: Green, all shades of green.
Currently consuming: A glass of red wine.
First ship: Pooh, I don't really remember but I guess it was Dumbledore x McGonagall (HP) while reading the books as a child.
Relationship status: Single
Tagging @indigoraysoflight, @bella-caecilia, @pattarainn, @the-golden-paw, @britta-ashcroft, @ohtobealady, @northbndtrain, @its-because-of-his-lordship, @madame-airlock
No pressure, guys!
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Things that I want to see on the TWD finale, no particular order, because I hate loose ends:
- Baby Adam and his little potato nose. Where the fuck is this kid? Who adopted or is taking care of him after Alden died? The last conversation Alden had with Maggie was about the boy and now I'm supposed to believe he just vanished in thin air? That she and no one else on TF felt responsible for him??
- Virgil. You know, the only adult who knows what happened to Michonne. Who created a bond with Connie and was later seeing on ASZ helping taking care of the kids while the walls were down. That Virgil. Where the fuck is he? Diane reappeared on the last episode to help invade the CW, why didn't Virgil?
- the people of Oceanside or, as I like to call them, TWD's Schrodinger Cat. Are they alive and working as slaves of the CW? Are they dead and invading the CW right now as part of the horde? Who knows? Things could have changed since Luke and Jules got out. Who cares? Me! I care! I hate loose ends!
- walker Hornsby! We've got a photo shared on SM a few months back of Josh Hamilton with walker make up. He would do a great smart/climber walker. I want him to attack Pamela and EAT HER FACE! It would be a fitting ending to both characters. Also, I miss Josh/Lance, let him shine one last time!
- Michonne and Rick back to ASZ. Let TF completely reunite on the last scene, please, I'm begging you. And by TF I mean Daryl, Carol, Maggie, Hershel, Eugene, Rosita, Gabriel, Aaron, Ezekiel, Jerry, Judith, RJ and everyone else! Just let everyone LIVE! Let them be happy just for once, kissing, partying, making babies. And if a gore death it's really needed, kill Luke! Kill Jules! We won't miss them, just don't kill anyone else, please!
And, of course, last but definitely not least:
- THEM! CARYL! Daryl and Carol. Carol and Daryl. Just let them be together and kiss, please. 12 years in the making. There's no looser end bigger than this. Just let them love each other like they're supposed to and deserve!
Come on, AMC, come on. Give me my answers! It's time!
#caryl#caryl positivity#twd alden#twd adam#twd virgil#oceanside#lance twd#lance hornsby#everybody lives/nobody dies#the walking dead#the walking dead is ending#im not ready
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Bloodborne characters spirits animals
Laurence : roe deer
Gehrman : a hound (one of the two types we see in Yharnam present day, wolf dog or another type idk)
Caryll : a slug (an other gastropod or whatever is the scientific name of the augurs)
Maria : wolf pup (or wolf dog)/ feral cat
Dores : snake?
Gatekeeper : dog? Guard dog
Patches : a spider (the bad one)
Ludwig : horse/mule
Rom : a spider too (the good one)
Micolash : a dog or a bird so a crow-dog chimera
(Idk for Willem, maybe some kind of sea animal?)
This is based on a drunk conversation between Laurence & Gehrman that I imagined, yes.
#yes there’s 2 types of spiders#i think a white wolf fit Maria so well#bloodborne memes#bloodborne headcanons#bloodborne#yes i need to write this crazy conversation one day 😅#if you have ideas too…
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#sot2023#sot2023r1#Gisla the Hamsa Hand#Caryl the Cat#tournament poll#poll#squishmallow#squishmallows
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Newport: The Short Hot Summer (Newpork Folk Festival, 1965)
PHIL OCHS: The trouble with Newport 65 was that too many people forgot that it was supposed to be a festival. The cops were ridiculously harsh and rude. Many city performers were up tight about how well they would do professionally. And juvenile gossip seemed to be on too many peoples’ tongues. It should have been called the Newport Fuzz Festival. If people don't take it so seriously next year it should turn out to be a whole lot better.
NEWS REPORT: This year’s Newport Folk Festival was the biggest ever with 77,000 paid admissions. Festival officials plan to have next summer’s affair run a full week.
CARL MIRKEN (Broadside reporter): Fanatic screaming erupted when Bob Dylan appeared on stage Sunday night. His black leather sports jacket, red shirt, tapered black slacks and electric guitar startled some in the audience and dismayed many. Sight of the Butterfield Band backing him up deepened their dismay. By his third -- and most ‘radically’ rock and roll -- song, there was loud jeering and cat-calls from some parts of the audience. Then a regular battle between boos and cheers. Bob was obviously quite perturbed, the first time I have seen him so in front of an audience. (It must be said that he had rehearsed with the band for only an hour the night before and the poorly-balanced sound system made what could have been a great sound messy). Bob dismissed the band, exchanged his electronic guitar for his more familiar acoustic one. When a cry arose for him to sing “Mr. Tambourine Man” he responded almost apologetically “Okay, if you want me to.” And he did, and then once again he had the oldtime thunderous near-unanimous applause. All in all, it was a dramatic confrontation.
JACK SOLOMAN (manager): Dylan was out of his own element. Butterfield isn't a performer. He just lays down music.
JOAN BAEZ (performer): Tonight Bob was in a mess. He’s really very good. People just don't understand his writing.
CAROL ADLER (copywriter): This is the most hostile audience I've ever seen. I don’t understand it. Dylan completely knocked them out wherever he went in England.
THEODORE BIKEL (performer): You don’t whistle in church -- you don't play rock and roll at a folk festival.
NEW YORK TIMES (Robert Shelton): While the fresh, enthusiastic thousands of teenagers in the audiences comported themselves in a fashion that pleased Newport and festival officials, the conduct of older members of the folk leadership left much to be desired… A folklorist and a personal manager scuffled on the ground over a fine point of courtesy in the folklorist's introduction.
ALAN LOMAX (folklorist): I had been on stage for over three hours and I was hot and tired. At this point I wasn’t emceeing -- I was talking about the blues. When I came off stage there was Al Grossman and he said to me “That was the worst job of emceeing I’ve ever heard in my life.” And I said “It was no worse than some of the things you've done in your life.” Then he said something like “I ought to belt you in the nose.” I pushed my chest up against his and invited him to try it. I don’t remember swinging but there he was stretched out on the ground. Then he jumped up and grappled me around the waist and we were both down, rolling around. By that time people pulled us apart. That’s all there was to it. It couldn't have lasted more than 30 seconds. But I suppose it's already becoming a folk legend. (Editor’s note: The artist who apparently got a somewhat less than perfect introduction from Mr. Lomax belongs to Hr. Grossman’s stable).
CARYL MIRKEN (after the dust settled): The contemporary songs workshop was a high point of the festival, or could have been. It was the most eagerly awaited event and best attended. Large crowds jammed into the area the instant the gates were opened. Co-Host Peter Yarrow in a little speech said the contemporary writers are rightfully folksong writers because the whole folk tradition is with them. But although this was by far the workshop attracting the greatest interest the Newport Board this year seemed deliberately de-emphasizing contemporary songs and their writers. Most conspicuous by his absence from the program was Phil Ochs… Also absent were such of the country's leading topical songwriters as Tom Paxton and Eric Andersen. Also memorable at Newport 65: Joan Baez saluting “Johnson’s marvelous foreign policy” by singing “Stop, In The Name Of Love”... Another side of Pete Seeger: Pete managing to hang in while backing Spokes Mashiyane, the amazing South African pennywhistle jazzman (his music is really called “Kwela” but the closest term we have for it is jazz), along with Chicago blues piano player Lalayette Lee and bassist Willie Dixon. Spokes, who along with Mimi and Dick Fariña was probably the most brilliant performer at this year’s festival was brought to Newport largely through the efforts of Pete Seeger, who discovered him on his world tour a year or so ago… Fannie Lou Hamer: A great human being and a wondrous singer (“Mississippi, land of the tree and home ot the grave”)... Dick & Mimi Fariña holding an enthusiastic audience Sunday afternoon despite a sudden downpour as they sang their “House Un-American Blues Activity Dream”... Mark Spoelstra's new songs… Donovan the import from Britain is certainly much more than just an “imitation of Bob Dylan”. Donovan has his own style; his imagery is clear and meaningful without any trace at Dylan's semantic obscurity. Aside from his music Donovan is the sweetest, most “natural” guy going… John Koerner's parody of the gambler-sheriff song.
(Broadside #61, August 1965)
#newpork folk fest#newpork folk festival#newport folk festival 1965#bob dylan#phil ochs#1965#60s#broadside#broadside magazine#broadside ballads#dylan#joan baez#richard farina#mimi farina#pete seeger#newport#newport folk#folk music#folk#folk magazine
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Forever mine…
#Caryl as cats (via buitengebieden)
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I was listening to a true crime podcast recently. A man became obsessed with a woman and broke into her house when she wasn't home. He killed her cats and wrote death threats on the walls in their blood. The woman was understandably horrified and felt extremely anxious and unsafe in her own home. This man later had coffee with this woman and told her he would protect her and never let anyone hurt her. Made my heart feel a little empty.
Don't let anyone steal your joy, much less induce baseless anxieties then claim to be the only one that can soothe them. There is so much to look forward to as a Caryler (spoiler alert). The I Love Yous were as meaningful as we hoped they were.
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M, N, S, T, V, and I
M: Got any premises on the back burner that you’d care to share?
I feel like this question is a tad vague. But I'm taking this as if I have any ideas on the back burner and the answer to that is yes. I have some ideas for Caryl fics (mostly because TWD S11 was a bummer). lol Sorry I don't have that many Ned x Cat ideas at the moment that don't include finishing my unfinished fics.
N: Is there a fic you wish someone else would write (or finish) for you?
DKNC (@dknc3) would work wonders with any of my Ned x Cat fics. (if you haven't read her work on Ao3, please do, she's gifted.)
S: Any fandom tropes you can’t resist?
Unlikely alliances that end up being soulmates. Falling in love AFTER marriage. Healthy partnerships aka deep love, friendship, mutual respect and trust. Partners who become best friends over time. AKA
S L O W B U R N. Two damaged souls helping each other heal. Soulmates who hover in the space between friends to romantic partners. Soulmates who are best friends. Men who are pathetically in love with their women and would fight the world for them. Women lifting up and loving the heck outta men who believe they're unloveable. Soulmates who are literally married and everyone can see it but them AKA
(I added two Caryl gifs because they own my heart and I literally can't hide it)
And if its not clear: MIDDLE AGED ROMANCES. Bring em to me. We need to normalize finding love after 40.
T: Any fandom tropes you can’t stand?
This is a loaded question haha.
I don't and will never support tropes/ships with:
Middle aged characters shipped with barely legal or underage characters (I'm starting with this because its a HARD NO for me. I won't name any but there are a few in particular that make my stomach roil.)
Abusive foundations (romaticizing emotional & physical abuse, abuse of power, status, manipulation, etc.)
Incest (With *some* shows incest is literally the norm so I get why some people are for them. But it's just not for me.)
Power imbalance (aka forced marriage, stockholm syndrome type scenarios)
SOME enemies to lovers or friends tropes (trying to get someone to like or love a character that destroyed their life. I like a good redemption arc but I also think some things shouldn't be forgiven.)
V: If you could write the sequel (or prequel) to any fic out there not written by yourself, which would you choose?
Oooh IDK. I wish some unfinished fics were finished but I don't think I'd do a better job of writing them than the people who conceived them. I would offer to edit them though if I had the time and space.
I: Do you have a guilty pleasure in fic (reading or writing)?
When people resolve sexual tension beautifully, that's always great to read/write/watch. I love reading/writing/watching anything that show unexplored parts of characters and relationships. For example:
Ned-I'm-stoic-Stark being an awkward flirt with Catelyn but somehow being endearing anyway.
Daryl-don't-touch-me-I'll-cut-you-Dixon finding ridiculous excuses just to touch Carol or be chivalrous for her because he craves her like oxygen.
Robert-I'm-proper-Crawley continuously asking Cora if she was satisfied post sexy times even though she's said yes 50 times already (innuendo intended).
Those are just some examples.
Hope this answer your asks, anon! I realize that this may be an important ask to follow if you want to know what my blog will feature and absolutely will not feature haha!
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“I want a pet.” (a Walking Dead drabble, Caryl AU).
Caryl family AU wherein Carol and Daryl are newlyweds and Sophia’s little and doing a little testing of the boundaries in her newfound happy family life. I might have been thinking about Silver’s story where Caryl adopt a most unusual pet when this one popped into my crazy brain, lol. Hope you enjoy this little bit of silliness.
“I want a pet.”
Kid makes the announcement over breakfast, leaves him and her mama speechless because they’d been gearing themselves up for The Big One. That wish every only child gets around to sooner or later. A visit from the goddamn negligent stork.
“What kind of pet, Sweetie? A kitten?”
“Hey, now. What about a puppy?”
His brand-spanking new wife—seriously, he gets to call her that now—gives him a look for that one. Daryl clears his throat. “Cats ain’t bad.”
Carol grins wide around the piece of pancake she’s speared.
“A pet possum.”
“This one’s yours, Daddy.”
#The Walking Dead#Caryl fanfiction#Caryl#Carol x Daryl#Carol Peletier#Daryl Dixon#stuff that I write#adult language#just one word really#that felt really Dixon#so I left it#Sophia Peletier#things that make me smile and cry#for reasons#my heart
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