#jowrites

[jo-writes-fanfiction]

Parenting 1 - Headcanons - Daryl Dixon x Daughter!Reader

Parenting 1

Daryl’s Daughter

Daryl Dixon x Daughter!Reader

Words: 312

Warnings/Notes: none but whats in the show

Partially inspired by @rue-dixon so go check them out too <3

Not my image

Daryl wouldn’t want you out without a way to protect yourself. He would take you under his wing and teach you everything. 

If you're the same age as Carl you would know how to shoot before him, which would start a rivalry.

Daryl would have to scold you not to bring it up around him.

He would protect you with his life, always ready to get between you and a walker

When you have a nightmare he would be there to comfort you.

You wake up sweating, calling for him. He comes running right away.

Holding you and just telling you it's okay over and over again.

Letting you lay with him when you want to.

If anyone asks he couldn’t get you to move. Over time he just accepts it.

Whenever he hugs you he puts his hand on the back of your head.

Kisses to the top of your head during hugs, only when no one can tell.

When you are little you just follow him around like a lost puppy.

He wouldn’t want you going on runs, ever, period.

If you do he makes sure to go on every one for the first while.

If it’s one of the times the group gets stuck out on the road, he wouldn’t let you more than arm's length away.

He would always worry whenever he was away from you for too long.

Always uses nicknames for you, some just from your name, others like “kid” or when you were younger “duckling” because you always followed him around.

Always makes sure to listen when you need him to.

As you get older and need more space he has to learn to give you that too

Trusts you with his life, and you trust him with yours.

He knows you can handle yourself

If you ever got kidnapped or killed, no mercy

Period

—--

Hope you enjoyed it!!

Thanks for reading, as always like, comment, and re-blog to support your writers and other artists.

Thanks again and see you soon.

#the walking dead #daryl #daryl dixon #fanfic #twd #daryl x daughter #fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl x reader #jowrites

[odd-caym-out]

Full training video of me practicing! Definetly not all the way there yet, but working on it!

#jowrites #the bad batch #the clone wars #star wars #lightsaber

[evanbi-ckley]

tęsknię za tobą #poetry #mypoetry #poem #writersofinstagram #writingcommunity #life #writer #longing #desire #yearning #distance #friendship #love #lgbt #lgbtq #queer #gay #polyamorous #jowrites https://www.instagram.com/p/Cm_AS26OQ7w/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#poetry #mypoetry #poem #writersofinstagram #writingcommunity #life #writer #longing #desire #yearning #distance #friendship #love #lgbt #lgbtq #queer #gay #polyamorous #jowrites

[jojojoj]

~when you finally feel the pain~

here you are

all alone

on the floor

in the deepest

and darkest

moment of your life

after all these years

of going back and forth

you finally felt it

shattered heart

broken dreams

and a painful life.

#jowrites

[jowritesthingss]

a moment of relief

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Pairing(s): Loceit (Logan | Logic + Janus | Deceit), romantic or platonic

Rating: Teen (for some swearing)

Content Warning(s): unhealthy hyperfocusing, burnout, sickness, mild swearing, potentially dissociation?? (Lo kinda experiences it bc exhaustion, although he doesn’t put a name to it)

Length: 2,243 words

Brief Summary: Logan is hot. Janus is not.

TS Masterlist + AO3 Links

*

It is hot in Logan’s room.

Blisteringly hot. Unbearingly hot. Unshakingly hot.

It’s the type of hot that slaps you on the face on a bright summer day. The type of burning hot that causes relentless sweatstains and heatstrokes, the type of sweltering heat that beckons for you to tear off your shirt like a buffoon. Normally Logan would not attribute such comparisons to something, but he has been working for so long that he is no longer certain that his brain actually works at all.

He has been working hard all day, all night, and all day again, with barely any breaks for dinner with the others, and none whatsoever to get any rest. Perhaps that is the reason why his thoughts feel like they are swimming through dense lava within the confines of his brain. Perhaps that is why he finds his tongue loosening, muttering aimless literary devices and frilly confessions aloud to himself that he would not typically be “caught dead” saying.

Perhaps that is why Logan can feel the incinerating effects of burnout licking all around the edges of his weary, frenzied figure.

And perhaps he should have caught on earlier—he usually does, and acts accordingly—but Thomas, bored to tears during quarantine, finally decided to listen to his endless requests that they take an online class or two (or ten). He can’t help it if, in his overenthusiastic hyperfocus, he tried to complete an entire month’s worth of coursework in the span of two days, can he?

A thudding sound interrupts the incessant scratching of his pen on paper. He barely pauses to look up and figure out the source of the sound. The door. Someone is knocking on his door.

Logan intends to shout at them to go away, that he is busy, but his tongue trips over itself, and an incoherent stream of babble makes its way out instead.

The knocking sound falls silent, and there is no response from whoever is on the other side of the door. They must have left. That is what Patton did, when he came to inquire about Logan missing breakfast that first day, and he hasn’t come back since. The same had been true when Roman banged on his door, whining about some simplistic problem in the Imagination, and for Virgil, who had quietly tapped on the door for some unknown reason at what Logan thought was two in the morning (or was it four? time always seemed to blur together that early in the morning, especially when he was figuratively “on a roll” like this).

Honestly, by now the others should know not to bother him when he’s like this. They so, so rarely listen to him, but! Thomas is listening to him now! Thomas is taking classes again now! He is learning more now! Logan must do his absolute best to ensure maximum learning potential is reached. He must do as much work as he can. He must, he must, he must.

“Well, isn’t this a delightful sight to see,” a voice drawls from behind Logan.

Logan whirls around in his seat, surprised, his fist clenching and snapping his pen in two. Dark blue ink cascades over his fingers, but he absent-mindedly wipes it off on a corner of his already-stained black polo, eyes narrowing behind his glasses as he glares at whoever it is that dares interrupt his study session.

He squints around his bedroom, frowning at the somewhat...muted quality of it all, as if someone had slapped one of Roman’s ridiculous Instagram filters over it all. Is the blurriness caused by his eyesight failing, or is there a haze throughout the entirety of his room?

There, standing in the doorway of his now-grainy room, is someone dressed in all black, with a dash of yellow around the corners. A mismatched pair of eyes stares faux-casually at Logan where he sits at his desk.

Logan opens his mouth to speak. It takes him a few tries to get the wrods rout wight. “Ah, Janus.” He reaches to push his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, misses, pokes his forehead instead. He tries again and hits the left lens, but pushing that adequately situates the glasses further up on his nose, so aside from the smudged inky blue fingerprint now on the glass, he deems the result satisfactory.

“I must say, Logan, you’re looking quite well-rested,” Janus purrs.

Logan looks up at him, woozy. Janus...he...snake. Deceit. The backwards thing. The lie thing. Correct? “That....” He moistens his lips. Everything is so hot and dry and scratchy. He should ask Roman to snap him some chapstick after...after all this. “False...hood?”

Janus rolls his eyes. Watching his slitted, snakelike eye do that is surprisingly intriguing. Logan could—what is the phrase? He could figuratively get “lost” in that eye—in either of Janus’ eyes, really. All of the sides have the same eyes, but nevertheless, they’re just so fascinating on Janus.

Janus strides into the room, shutting the door behind him. Logan really should tell him to leave, but his tongue is too big in his mouth.

“Now, is there any particular reason you decided to experiment on sleep deprivation using yourself as a test subject?” Janus asks him, penetrating Logan with that intense gaze of his. Maybe it’s just the state he’s in, but gosh, Logan really likes that intense gaze. He wishes it would stay trained on him more often.

“The others are not worried in the least,” Janus says offhandedly. “You missed breakfast and lunch, and you turned them all away, so they sent me to...take care of you.” His expression is...Logan would dare to say it’s almost...lascivious. Dear lord, Logan hopes he doesn’t make that face around the others. They would melt. Is Logan melting?

“I am hot,” Logan abruptly announces.

Janus’ eyes dart down, running leisurely from Logan’s untied shoes up to his half-tucked-in shirt to mussed-up hair. Logan supposes he should feel embarrassed over his unkempt appearance, but the haze hovering in his room seems to have permeated his brain as well. Any embarrassment (or any other...feelings he should have, for that matter) seem strangely distant.

Janus looks Logan in the eye, heterochromatic brown and yellow matched with glazed brown. His forked tongue slithers out of his mouth, licking his lips, and for some reason Logan feels himself shudder at the sight. “Yes, you are hot.”

“I...that is what I just stated, yes.” Logan blinks owlishly at the snake-like side.

Wait.

Snake-like.

Snakes are cold-blooded. Cold. Cool.

Is Janus cold-blooded?

Well. There is only one way to find out isn’t there.

(Perhaps there are other ways, such as, just maybe, actually asking him, as Logan will later reflect. But in his current state of foggy disarray he can think of only one action moving forward.)

At some point he must have stood up. Logan doesn’t really remember. He makes use of this newfound state of existence, though, and he moves forward on rubbery legs. He crowds himself into Janus’ space, staring intently into the other side’s slitted yellow eye.

“Uh,” he hears Janus stammer. “This is a very, um, normal position. This isn’t strange at all.”

Logan raises his right hand, cupping the scaled side of Janus’ face with a sweaty palm.

The sweet soothing relief of something cool touching him is instantaneous. “Oh,” he mumbles, leaning still closer. “You...your skin is cool.”

“Of—of course. It’s not like I’m a cold-blooded snake or anything,” Janus chokes out, his expression extremely odd as he gapes at Logan.

“’s nice,” Logan assures him, mentally shoving away the instinct to collapse in the other side’s arms. He brings his other hand to cup the more human side of Janus’ face, pleased to find it alleviates the burning in his palms equally well.

Janus carefully pushes Logan an arm’s length away, and Logan fights the urge to whine at the loss of contact. Janus’ closely-guarded expression is as incinerating as Logan’s nerve endings feel—that is to say, very. However heated his expression may be, though, Janus’ skin is so nice and soft and cold, and Logan wants, but he mustn’t, he mustn’t—

Only...why has he been fighting that instinct, anyway? It sounds like such a nice idea....

Logan collapses forward onto the other side.

He feels Janus hastily throw up his arms, struggling to support the deadweight that is now Logan. A muted part of his brain supposes that this is not a good sign, but he is too overwhelmed by his senses screaming Janus, Janus, safe, cool, comfortable, sleep.

“Um—Logan—” A voice rumbles near his ear, his name absorbing through the heated skin of his neck. “Shit, you’re—heavy—uh.”

Through his rapidly tunnelling sense of self, Logan feels the cool surface he is resting on stagger, then he is being deposited on something soft. Something warm. And his source of cold has disappeared.

Quick, quiet footsteps echo through his ears, then the sound of a door opening and shutting.

A pathetic whine works its way out of Logan’s half-open mouth.

Time passes. He doesn’t know how much. All he knows is that his body is too leaden to move. The blood in his extremities is molten like magma, shimmering red underneath the surface. His head feels like it is about to erupt.

He cannot move, cannot drag himself off of the squishywarmhothothot surface he lies on, but he cannot sleep where he is, so scratchy and blazing and burning and uncomfortable.

Logan vaguely becomes aware of tears, slipping trails down his face, but they provide little relief, for they are just as salty and warm as the rest of himself is.

Eventually, the sound of a door opening and shutting crashes through his brain. He winces, trying to draw his hands up to cover his poor ears—but he’s not entirely sure if they actually make it up there or not. He’s not so sure he can control anything he does anymore.

Soft footsteps patter ever nearer, cutting through the crunchingscraping white noise of his head, and then two cool hands are gently re-positioning his body. A third hand delicately removes his glasses, a fourth rests itself against his cheek in an oddly familiar motion, a fifth and a sixth carefully place something on his forehead—something soft and—and cold.

Logan’s breath stutters out in a hiss, his eyelashes fluttering. Cool. Good. Feels good. Feels very nice. Very good.

“I’m sure it does,” a soft voice murmurs. “Here—drink.”

A pair of the arms gently hoists Logan up, leaning him against a pleasantly cool something—someone? A glass is pressed to his lips.

Grateful, Logan drinks.

The water is sweet and refreshing as it trickles down his throat, calming the raging of the rest of his body. He feels the closest to lucid that he has been in...in hours, at least. Possibly days. He isn’t exactly sure what time even is anymore, what it even means. It’s all made up anyways.

Logan’s eyes flutter open for a moment, but he sees nothing. At some point the lights must have been turned off, and his glasses are off.

Taking another gulp of the water, a corner of Logan’s mind notices an almost chalky aftertaste. Medicine, hopefully, something to help this fevered state. Remus has since learnt that the sides cannot be killed via poison, and if the person helping him is Roman, Logan doubts he would want to repeat the paint water incident of 2016.

Surely it must be medicine, for not long after he finishes drinking the water his brain starts to feel fuzzier once more.

Logan sags down, and whoever he leans against lets him. They—was—is it Janus? It has to be, he’s cool against Logan’s feverish skin, so deliciously cool and he’s always been so, so nice and pretty too—Janus carefully extricates himself from Logan’s weary body.

“N...no,” Logan moans, feeling his most welcome source of chill disappear away from him. He thinks he might reach out, grabbing for it again, but he feels nothing. “Come...come back. Please.”

A long, resigned sigh sounds from above where Logan lies. “Fine, fine,” the voice mutters. The phrasing makes it sound as though the words ought be said more reluctantly, but the tone of the voice saying it sounds more concerned and fond than anything else.

The surface Logan is lying on dips slightly—his bed, it must be his bed—and a cool body slides in behind him, wrapping pairs of arms securely around Logan’s waist, his chest, his neck. Were Logan coherent enough, the arms might feel suffocating, but as it is, their firm grip and the low temperature radiating off of them are strangely comforting.

“Logan.” A cooling breath of air blows into the back of his neck, and he squirms half-heartedly, loving the chill of it against his skin and love-hating the vague heat it curdles in his stomach.

In the morning they will wake, and they will discuss. Janus will turn the tables and lecture Logan about overworking himself. Logan will surprisingly discuss feelings—namely, that warmth in his stomach that lingers even as his fever dissipates. But that is for the morning.

For the moment, there is just the two of them and the now-receding, almost pleasant haze of Logan’s room and mind, just the two of them and their breaths huffing out as Janus whispers, “Sleep.”

Logan sleeps.

Fin

*

I’m not usually on the “Janus has six arms send tweet” train bc I’m more apt to believe it’s simply a visual effect Remus/the team used in that particular musical sequence, BUT I am jumping aboard for just this one-stop fic bc that means more hug for our poor boi Logan here. And our poor boi Logan here needs more hug.

Also uhhhhh...this is the very first Sanders Sides fic I’m posting, so plz be kind lol. Of course if you have any critiques I’d love to hear them too! ^^ Also, if there are any typos, let me know, cuz I have no friends and my stuff is almost always unbeta-ed. :P

Want to be added onto any of my taglists? Shoot me an ask or a message here or via my other social media!

#sanders sides #logan sanders #janus sanders #logic sanders #deceit sanders #thomas sanders #loceit #logan x janus #adhd logan sanders #sympathetic deceit #thomas sanders sides #sanderssides #sanders sides fanfiction #tss #ts #jowrites #jowritesthings #jowritesthingss #jwt sanderssides #cw hyperfocus #cw burnout #cw dissociation #cw sickness #cw swearing #idk how to tag things halp #uhhh we'll call that good

[lilaclish]

Insomnia

Sometimes I lie awake

Remembering that

All those years

I had slept

Without you

Beside me

But now I couldn’t even

Shut my eyes

Without you

Beside me

#jowrites #poem #poemsdaily #sad #writing

[jovgrey]

On time...

I've never understood the fascination I witness in the eyes of friends and lovers as they note the passage of time. The preoccupation with what has occurred and what changes have becomes of it.

Perhaps because I feel time constantly. An instrument of the thing, I am bereft and isolated, numbed by its passing for sake of frequency.  I feel a moment pass as intensely as a year. Every racing and paranoid delusion I endure is an infrequent happenstance in the time's slow gaze. I sink to the edge of its pit, pittied by its daunting and overbearing ugliness. It hangs over me like a midday sun, or a city's smog.

I find myself fabricated by time entirely. I am nothing but its child and mistress, enamoured and in awe and in love. I births me in its consequences, for I am time. As time itself does not exist without me, so too am I daunting, so too am I limitless. The unequivocal revolution which accumulates the distance between myself and eternity is captured. I shall go on until my forever, for time stops, in my perception, as soon as I do. And no great war or fear of circumstance can distance me from the reality of my own evolution. I am the most relevant version of time. I manage efficiencies in my mind and correlate a history of mine own making. Undoubtedly, I become the time and space I take up. Surely I am.

A reckoning befalls me and with gratitude I take it up. I am unending for my life exists not without me. Immortal in my point of view. I am a single constant in a moments unyeilding bellow of change. In a case of my own fiction, I make tales tall and wide and unbecoming; close chapters until I am not, completely.

The pattern of my living shall be drawn, and so shall I from shallow depths of pencil marks and hysteria. I become commonplace in my vivid purpose. Timely, I manifest a destiny suitable. Growl at an abyss. 

Take time.

#jowrites

[jowriteslittlethings-blog]

mason jar wishes

he collected tiny fireflies and

kept them in a jar placed on his bedside table so

he could see them glow at night until their light

burnt straight through his eyelids

and became the morning sun.

  he watched these tiny stars

and wondered what magic he had to use to

glow like that

but stars don’t speak

and maybe they weren’t supposed to.

  one night he came home to a jar full of

a thousand dead fireflies

and he had trouble sleeping knowing that

maybe the brightest things

are not meant to be kept.

                                                                                                                                    - jo

#poem #fireflies #stars #masonjars #jowrites

[jonogueira]

Author Interview

Thanks for tagging me again @princessvicky01! I love these things.

Name: Jonogueira or JoWrites.

Fandoms: Dragon Age (Jonogueira) and Marvel - Avengers (JoWrites on AO3 or Jonogueirawrites here on Tumblr)

Where You Post: Here are my works:

Áine - completed. AO3.  Dragon Age.

Moon hair & fire eyes - completed. AO3. Dragon Age Cullen/Avvar AU.

Our time is in my blood - ongoing 6 chapters (slowly lol). AO3. Dragon Age.

Save me from myself - ongoing 12 chapters (not so slowly). AO3. Marvel/Avengers.

Asks. AO3. Dragon Age.

Most Popular One-Shot: I honestly don’t know but you can check here to see if you like any.

Most Popular Multi-Chapter Story: Def. my baby Áine (Words: 100,049 Chapters: 43)

Favorite Story You Wrote: Áine. It was the first story I wrote and it has a very special place in my heart..

Story You Were Nervous to Post: Áine but now that I’m writing for a new fandom I get nervous every time I upload a new chapter....

How You Choose Your Titles: I write the chapter and then I take a word or sentence from it. Sometimes i just play with words from the chapter too.

Complete: Áine and Moon Hair.

Incomplete: Our time is in my blood and Save me from myself. I also have an original work Fate in our hands, destiny in our hearts that I don’t write for in AGES!

Do You Outline?: Unfortunately no. I know it would help a lot but I just don’t. Please, don’t judge me!

Coming Soon/Not Yet Started: Chapter 13 of Save me from Myself!

Do You Accept Prompts?: Yes. ~ looks at the 2 sitting on my asks ~

Upcoming Story You Are Most Excited to Write: I have 2 stories brewing. One with Fenris and the other with Carver, but only God knows when I’ll have time for them! URGH!

#author interview #tagged

[writingquestionsanswered]

I can't decide on an author blog tumblr url name! I don't want to use my name... Do you have any suggestions?

Choosing a Name for Your Author Tumblr

When creating an author blog on tumblr, if you don’t want to use your author name, there are lots of alternatives:

1) Initials or nickname plus writer/writes/writing.

Lots of writers and authors use their initials or a nickname combined with variations of “writes” to create a social media handle or tumblr blog. For example, JK Rowling could have gone with:

WriterJKR

JKRWriter

JKRWrites

JKRWriting

JKtheWriter

JoWrites

JoJoWriter

JoKWrites

2) Combine writing-related words with another word that has meaning for you.

FullMoonWriter

NightGirlWrits

CaffeineAndWriting

CaffeinatedWriter

CoffeeAddictWrites

ButterflyPen

SnowyTales

BlueSurfStoryteller

3) Incorporate something from your main WIP or other important story you wrote with writing-related words or not.

TheBoyWhoLived

TheBoyWhoWrote

TheGirlOnFire

TheGirlOnFireWriter

LoveHazelGrace

WroteHazelGrace

TrisAndFour

WritingTrisAndFour

LionAndTheLamb

LionAndTheLambTales

BlueNHerBoys

BookOfBlueNHerBoys

FeyreHere

FeyreWriter

I hope that helps!

[lali1444love]

📸: #tbt That one time your taking pictures and the wind 💨 helps you out at just the right time 👌🏾@jowrites #fashionphotography #typography #graphicdesign #gifs #vectorart #illustration #blogger #journalist #springfashion #sfstyle #mission #murals #colorful

#colorful #sfstyle #blogger #murals #typography #mission #fashionphotography #springfashion #vectorart #journalist #tbt #illustration #gifs #graphicdesign

[jo-writes-fanfiction]

Prompt List

13 - "You fucked up, and now you have to fix it. I'm not just going to pretend you didn't hurt me."

Daryl Dixon x Daughter!Reader

Words: 1789

Warnings/Notes: same as show

Not my image

Daryl found you when you were little. Back when they first found the prison. He raised you like you were his own. You argued a lot, most of it is harmless. It wasn’t even arguing, just bickering. That’s just the way you two got along. You both loved each other and you both knew that. He introduced you as his daughter whenever it came up, and so did everyone else. Most of the time you agree on things. Sometimes things would come up and you would get mad at each other, like when you first started going on runs. Or when you started helping in battles. Or smaller things like overworking yourself or something. You two would have your argument, end it out of anger, not speak to each other for a little while, and then make up and come to an agreement. Daryl usually ends up giving in, just because he wants you happy. However, there are times that he’ll do whatever he thinks is right and won’t let you get a word in. That’s when you get really pissed, you ignore him for a little while, and usually, he lets you have your space. You always end up going back and apologizing anyway. 

After a little while of living in Alexandria, you get more and more comfortable living with everyone. Carl tries to get you to hang out with him and the other kids but you try to keep your distance. You convince yourself that you won't like hanging out with them anyway. You learn of different ways to sneak out of the walls. You learn when to sneak into the armory and when not to. You get good at listening to people around you and sneaking around them. The only thing you can’t do is sneak around Daryl. You’re a teenager of course you’re going to be rebellious, but you also want to go outside. You don’t want to get weak. You had talked to Carl in the beginning about training together, but he just follows his dad around all the time.

Eventually, you learn your father’s schedule as well. You learn when he’s home and when he’s not. When he’s outside the walls and when he’s not. You learn when to sneak out and when not to. You learn when Olivia records what's in the armory. Not to brag but you’ve gotten really good at sneaking around.

One day you decide to go out. Daryl is supposed to be out working around Alexandria for a while and Olivia is out helping as well. You sneak out of your and Daryl’s house and head towards the armory. You're careful to check your surroundings, making sure no one sees you, and if they do you act as casual as you can. You make it over to the armory and sneak in through the back door. Thankfully there are no surprise visits today. You grab your pistol and some ammo before sneaking back out the door. You put the extra ammo into the backpack you packed full of snacks and extra stuff. You’re careful when going through the courtyard, making sure to make it look like you're just going for a walk whenever someone sees you. You get to the spot you always use to climb over, the beam positioned so you can easily climb back up it. You do one last check before climbing up and over the wall.

After spending a while outside you realize that your dad will probably be getting home soon. You turn around and start to make your way back. You’re about halfway when you hear rustling to your side. You freeze in place and look around for a second. You don’t hear the growling of walkers or any other kinds of movements for that matter. 

“Hello?” you call out. You get no response so after a couple of seconds you decide it was probably nothing. You glance around one last time before continuing on your walk. It’s only after a few minutes that you hear the rustling again. 

“Ok, whoever is following me I know you're there.” you stop again and turn to where the rustling was. Suddenly you hear a whining in your ear and look to the tree you're standing next to to see an arrow a little too close to your head. You whip your head in the direction it was shot from and see Daryl stepping out from behind a tree.

“What the hell?” you stare him down as he walks closer to you.

“Don’t “what the hell” me! What the hell are you doin’?” He rips his arrow out from the tree.

“I just wanted to go outside for a little while. It's fine.” you snap at him. He of all people should understand not wanting to get weak.

“It’s fine!? Don’t tell me it’s fine. You could’ve died and non’ us woulda known.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t. I’m out here all the time and come back without a scratch.” you realize what you just said all too quickly, and as it hits your face, your father realizes it too.

“You what?” He stops pacing around and looks you dead in the eye.

“I come out here while you're gone at work sometimes. It’s no big deal.” you suddenly feel very defensive. “ I come back every time don’t I?”

“You could’ve gotten killed. What the hell?! You think you can just do fuckin’ whatever!? I’m here to take care of you. I can’t do that if you're trying to get yourself killed every goddamn day!” He points at you with the arrow still in his hand.

“I’m trying to make sure I don’t get weak. You can sit inside those walls and pretend there aren't walkers out here but you’re gonna get weak and when that happens I’m gonna be the one who fucking makes it. I’m gonna be the one protecting everyone else.” you can feel yourself getting more and more angry.

“Goddamn it! I’m not getting weak kid I’m trying to get us somewhere safe!” he starts his pacing again.

“And that’s fine! But I’m older now, you can’t expect me to just sit around. And I can do what I want! It’s not like you’re my real father anyway.” you realize what you said immediately and cover your mouth with your hands. “I’m sorry.” you whisper. 

Daryl just stares at you, you can see the hurt and betrayal on his face.

“Dad I’m sorry.” You feel the tears welling up and you can see the hurt in his eyes.

He stands and stares for a moment longer before he turns and starts walking back toward Alexandria. 

“Please, I didn’t mean it. I wasn’t thinking. Please listen to me!” you feel tears rolling down your face and you start sniffling. 

He just keeps walking so you trail behind him. You two walk in silence the whole way. Not a sound from each besides your occasional sniffle.

When you get back you both enter the house without a word and he goes straight to his room. Usually, you two will sit and eat and talk before going to bed. Yet you stand alone in the kitchen. You eat an apple in silence before heading up to your room and lying in bed. You expect to fall asleep with no problem, however, that’s not the case. You lay in bed for hours. The day’s events running over and over in your head. Eventually, you fall asleep, but you wake up again two hours later. The night goes on and on like that. Sleep for a couple of hours, awake for a couple.

Eventually, you wake up and head downstairs. Usually Daryl would either be there or would leave a note. Yet, no Daryl, and no note. You go through the whole day just sitting around worrying. You decide to go for a walk later but you end up just walking in circles around the neighborhood. 

At night when Daryl gets home you have dinner already ready. Set out on the counter and everything. Your waiting behind the counter when he walks in. You look up and smile as he shuts the door. You watch as he takes off his boots. As he hangs up his jacket and sets down his tools. And as he completely ignores you and walks up the stairs to his room. 

It goes on for multiple days like that. No talking, be barley even looks at you. After about a week your sick of it, so you decide to confront him.

“Dad, why won’t you talk to me? I apologized.” You ask him when he walks in one day.

“You never apologized kid.” He doesn’t even look up at you to say it, just continues to take off his boots.

“But I did. I apologized over and over. Right after it happened to. I didn't mean it, you know that.”

“No.” He just stays where he's sitting, both of his boots resting on the floor next to him. “No kid, I don't know that. I care for you. I know we don't say i much but I do. And when you said that it hit. Hard. You fucked up, and now you have to fix it. I'm not just going to pretend you didn't hurt me”

“But I'm trying, I said I was sorry, I tried to  make you dinner. I've waited for you every day thinking and worrying about what I said. I haven't even left the house since!”

“And how the fuck do you tink I can trust you right now!” He stands up surprisingly quick, making you take a step back. “You can’t be trusted right now. How do I know your not sneaking out every day still?”

“Because I can almost guarantee that you have someone watching the house at all times if not yourself.” you pause for a moment and can feel the tears welling up in your eyes. “I, have tried to make it up to you. I have thought on what I said every second since I said it. I never meant it. I will never mean it. Daryl, you have been my father for years now. Not whatever dude I barely remember anymore, you. You're my dad and I really, really mean it.” 

You have tears streaming down your cheeks and you can see the water in his eyes. Not that he would ever let you see him cry. He slowly steps toward you and reaches his hands out to you. you let him pull you in, he wraps one arm around the top of your shoulders and his other hand rests on the back of your head.

“‘s ok kid, we'll be ok.”

—--

I hope you enjoyed it!!

Thanks for reading, as always like, comment, and re-blog to support your writers and other artists.

Thanks again and see you soon.

#the walking dead #daryl #daryl dixon #fanfic #twd #daryl x daughter #fanfiction #daryl x reader #daryl dixon x reader #jowrites

[jojojoj]

09.20.20

i feel so far away from you

and to everyone

you're getting high

while i'm getting buried

underneath

digging my own grave

all the way down

to the darkness

as you soak in the light

sparkly smile

so bright

ahead of you

as i succumb

to the dark

#jowrites

[ao3feed-buckybarnes]

Save me from myself.

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2r7NLcn

by JoWrites (JoNogueira)

The Winter Soldier carries on with his mission and leaves a little girl behind without her parents. The little girl grew up and spent all her life chasing the ghost she saw many years back... in her parents' bedroom... with their souls in his hand. When the two finally meet again, what will they do? How will they behave? Will she revenge her parents and bring peace to her mind? Or will he show her nothing is set on stone as she always thought?

Words: 930, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: F/M

Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Tony Stark, Captain America - Character

Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Female Character(s), James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Character(s)

Additional Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Death, Murder

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2r7NLcn

#bucky #IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #bucky barnes #james barnes #the winter soldier #james barnes

[lilaclish]

Dusk

It was where it ended

The same old street

Where you made my heart flutter

And left me torn apart

x

Passed by our memories

The ones I tried to forget

But it all came crashing in

And I can’t stop my tears

x

It was the same spot

The one you stop believing

Where we could be forever

And you left me broken

x

I remember your gaze

The one which sang goodbye

But I held onto it

Hoping it said stay instead

x

It became a memory

Of us holding hands

Where it was blissful

But it’s time for me to let go

#thoughts of the day #dusk #ending #lilaclish #poem #poems on tumblr #jowrites

[jovgrey]

Trying desperately to take care of myself and perhaps failing. Isolation is a cure to a degree, But ultimately I feel vacant and lost and hollow. Eating and sleeping take tremendous effort. I can't be touched. I can't be close. I can't be loved. I feel misunderstood even by a wonderful support system who do their absolute best to ensure my wellbeing. So much of me is missing or dying or tearing me apart. So much of me is repulsive and accidental. I feel more messy and derailed than I can remember ever feeling. I fear for myself for the first time. I am burdened by concern. I feel sick to my stomach every single day. I am in hysterics and when I am not, I am quietly devouring my own mania in repetitive pulses. I vanish within myself. Hurt myself to take isolated care. I am dying faster than usual, and slower than visible and I sometimes wish desperately for my success at this so that I might succeed in something. Tomorrow is the start of a new week, of my second week in manic overload. A first succession of defeat. I sometimes die because I mean to. All this to say I have nothing left and that I feel the loneliest I hope to ever feel.

#jowrites