#also the fact that it opens up a lot of possiblities for world building for her to come to these planets because she's there ON business an

[dismas-n-dismay]

Hi! It's me again (I'm transferring to a bachelor's in biology this fall and I love the science that goes into the series so I love that you're exploring this)

Do either of them have hoarding instincts or dietary preferences or are they pretty much human in that regard?

They'd possibly be born with baby teeth, at least in Haze/Hazel's case, would that change anything? (Hazel would probably fit better because Falin is half French on her father's side from what I remember from the Adventurer's Bible and it feels even that they'd both get to name a kid but that's just my opinion)

Haru with his mouth full: Checkit!! Blegh!! Haize: Gross. Good job, Haru, you're a natural hunter!

Welcome back to part 10,000 of me talking about my silly ocs. Hi. hello. Thank you sooo much for coming back with more biology questions for these two hehehe >:]c

Diet Preferences?

These two are quite the oddballs. Haru is an insectivore by simple dragon nature while Haize is a carnivore by hers, though their elven and tallman sides balance them out to be closer to omnivores! Light dragons commonly eat bugs as they're the easiest prey to attract when ur big and flashy though this keeps them very lithe and they typically have more slender builds, though the proteins do help a lot. Conversely, red dragons being mostly carnivores results in their larger build and their obvious frequency to be the most dominant and persevering dragon species- y'know. Because they murk the other ones due to their weaker diets and builds.

Haru started to eat bugs right around the time it was warm enough for him to go outdoors without getting sick, I imagine he would've eaten a butterfly or a dragonfly much to Marcille's horror. Like that vine of the pug eating the butterfly with his owner screaming no! Backtracking a bit though to give some cool facts about baby light dragons because I decide the lore. I'm making them weird half mammal half bird-lizards because I think the variety is cool but this also means that - up until baby light dragons can open their eyes and properly attempt to hunt - they drink milk from their parents! (Whether or not this is crop milk like birds produce is entirely up to the reader's imagination, I will not judge but I will choose either one if asked)

So up until he started going outside, Haru was perfectly content just drinking milk like any other baby- Haize was not. Unlike Haru she was born with baby fangs!! Just little milk teeth to help her get a headstart for the world and such, but she grew hungrier for something more diverse than milk very quickly. Red dragons, unlike light dragons, don't do the whole milk thing so Haize was only partially satiated due to being part elf and tallman but the minute she was allowed to eat soft meats she basically refused to go back. So just imagine like a 1 year old eating various lunch meats for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

Honestly it was probably for the best, Haize's fangs bit into Marcille a lot and they were worried she might grow a taste for blood if she kept accidentally nicking her mom while trying to eat. She probably would have and it would've been a really bad habit to get rid of because she hadn't developed that big girl brain to be like "Hey maybe drinking blood isn't super cool."

All in all, the Touden-Donato sibs have slightly preferenced diets! Though Haize prefers meats, nectar, and citrus fruits while Haru prefers bugs, ground vegetables, citrus fruits, and any/all milk based desserts (he just really likes them). God if these kids ever got their hands on sorbet it would be a disaster, Falin and Marcille would literally spend a week trying to explain why they cant have ice cream for every meal and have to deal with whining dragonets the whole time.

2. Hoarding Instincts

They do have hoarding instincts! Though this is one of those things that differs from dragon to dragon on how they react with it. Light dragons tend to go for the flashiest treasures to make themselves more appealing and alluring, naturally they like the attention they draw in just from an instinctual standard. They frequently discard rusted, unpolished, or just not as eyecatching treasure all the time. They really just arent particular about the whole thing unless they see you have an interest in something they were previously disinterested in- then they're smug assholes who see their treasure as still having some renewed value. So essentially Envy = Worthy to them, but they arent extremely vain creatures despite their hoarding preference and are actually particularly generous within reason. It's very common for light dragons to gift their young, mates, or siblings with treasures from their own hoards or that they've taken for themselves to gift. Typically though the gifting of treasure is to help younger dragons start their own hoard and have an idea of what to go for when out and about for themselves.

That being said, Haru is a greedly little fucker who wants every single new treasure possible, fuck you. He's very grateful for being part elf and tallman because he's aware that he can make his beautiful treasures last long if he polishes, dusts, and cleans them! So his hoard isn't too huge if only because he's good at maintaining things. Still, if he sees something he tends to want it and is often reprimanded for trying to steal shiny gems, jewels, or artifacts just because he likes them- as Haru often gets tired with his new finds extremely quickly if they begin to bore him or don't compare to his other treasures. When it comes to his hoarding he essentially has the dragon equivalent to having eyes bigger than your stomach.

Haize, however, has your more traditional dragon's hoard of miscellanous treasures, artifacts, coins from birthdays, and prized family gifts. Much of her hoard consists of trinkets Haru grew bored with but that she still saw interest in and wanted to give renewed purpose, she isn't nearly as picky but is very curious and likes to inspect an item before taking it in. She'll often let Haru have a treasure knowing that he'll get tired of it within the hour- though she has been known to assert her place as the eldest sibling if there is a gift for her she particularly wants and Haru usually shies off. Haize doesn't assert herself as the eldest often so he knows it's business if she does for things like food or treasure. Haru keeps her hoard partially in and around the her nest as well as the family nest in Falin and Marcille's room! Her nest in the guardian is where she keeps most of her baby clothes, toys, trinkets, and cloths/blankets. She just feels they're safest there and prefers to sleep near them <3.

Also, fun tid bits on how dragons train their kids to gain treasure!: Typically young dragons get the urge to grab and snatch at shiny things as soon as they're able to crawl around functionally and protect themselves- which is pretty early due to them being predators of a mythical variety- so they'll often try and steal treasure from their parent's hoard! Older dragons use this as stealth training for their young and will often guard their treasure, sitting stop or nearby and continuously removing their children until they manage to sneak by successfully to take a trinket. Typically the larger/shiner/whatever is more impressive for the type of dragon you are is what is most rewarded for by parents but they do punish thinking a bit too big. It's good to know your limits! better to have 5 gold coins than 5 gold bricks you cant carry.

so Falin was very often having to train Haru and haize to amass their own treasures which was much easier for Haize due to her slinky and stealthy body allowing for quicker and quieter movement! Haru had to learn to fight, due to his regular baby limbs and range of movement, which didnt really work because he's so itty bitty but the thought was appreciated by Falin, learning to stand your ground is good too!

#as per usual send in more asks about these guys pretty pleeeease #haize and haru lore #oc lore #farcille #dungeon meshi #marcille dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #falin touden #falin dungeon meshi #marcille donato #marcille dunmeshi #dunmeshi falin #farcille fankid lore #farcille fankid #farcille fankids #fankids #ship kids #my ocs #my art #oc asks #chimera/dragon biology

[elsolaer]

i have many thoughts in general but this tidbit from tingyun's voice lines is one of the things i wanna elaborate some more on at some point...

" Every time I head out, I leave a letter behind and lock it in the drawers of my shop. If I come back, then I'll burn it later. If I don't... then it'll be something for others to remember me by."

#OOC. #this post is more of a reminder to myself before i go try to write some stuff for nat and/or stelle #but idk i like her concept of being pacifistic despite the inherent dangers of her position as... basically a galactic ambassador? #it says that most reps take weapons with them but she refuses to because she believes that you should build relationships from a foundation #of peace instead of threat of violence #which has worked in her favor but idk its kinda sombering knowing that she basically leaves her last words in a letter every time sh #e leaves for another planet to do her job because she knows shes leaving herself vulnerable if somebody wanted to do something to hurt her #and she burns it every time she comes back only to rewrite it again months later when she goes on her next trip #xi.anzhou's lore is ROUGH dont get me wrong but theres a lot of fun concepts in there that im smashing together LMAO #also her traveling the way she does opens up so much room to meet literally anybody #its just jarilo-vi right now but as more worlds open up it just gives her more room to work with #also the fact that it opens up a lot of possiblities for world building for her to come to these planets because she's there ON business an #trade & commerce is one of the BIGGEST things a society needs. one decision could steer the entire direction of their society in a complete #y different direction #like even just introducing more leisurely/hobby focused products can be a huge turning point for a war stricken world #or better materials for their tech and their buildings #new crops in exchange for what they have #literally the exchange we see in her lore is her discussing taking just a few samples of a world's plants and growing it on xianzhou for #commercial sale AND that world would recieve shipments of said crops along with wahtever other deals they struck #and blablabla yes i know capitalism whatever. tis the way of the world and i think its really interesting frmo a worldbuilding standpoint #tingyuns a very interesting character because she can change a lot of things in very little time in the big picture #i feel like she's commonly brushed off as a shallow character who doesnt do much but she's one of the most accomplished characters in xian #zhou EASILY #yes you could argue that jing yuan is more because of his general shit or yukong is the helm master blablabla like Yes they are also very #accomplished but she is the literal only reason that the grand fairs are FAMOUS throughout the galaxy. they werent until she took leadershi #she's completed trade missions to SIXTEEN different panets and is implied to have formed alliances with at least a few of them #and was the one to renew xianzhou's mutual alliance with the IPC #i dunno #also i think people see her as way more of a trickster than she is #like ... i thought she was too but she really isn't particularly mischevious? girls tried to leave MULTIPLE times during the story bc she

[iwillneverforgiveyousunghanbin]

taedros tresdros

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

part one: taedros taedros ☆ part two: taedros twodros wc: 2.2k reader: afab reader (pretty sure no specific gender mentioned but putting this disclaimer just in case!) warnings: smut 18+; MINORS DNI!!! -- specific warnings under the cut -- also some angst and some fluff :) summary: uh-oh... you fell for your best friend taerae. but was it all in vain after he's ghosted you the past two weeks? *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ITS DONEEE! you will notice i've went with "taedros tresdros" for the title. decided to keep all three parts with taedros as the first word lol. this is the finale for this little series and i really hope you like this ending i've made lol. i am so happy you've all enjoyed taedros taedros -- stay tuned for more works soon (hopefully) xx

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

warnings: 18+ explicit smut, fingering and oral (reader receiving), cumming in pants, eavesdropping/voyeurism by reader but it's only out of shock/anger, swearing, lots of innuendo in this one lmao... i think that's it!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

“so, the ring finger goes here?” you hear a feminine voice ask; ear pressed gently to taerae’s door to hear better. just a few moments ago, you’d been taking deep, steadying breaths as you walked through the entrance to your best friend’s dorm building on your way to finally confront him.

something that was so familiar now made your heart race with anxiety. 

but when you’d rounded the corner to taerae’s room, you were surprised to find the door shut almost all the way. usually taerae left his door wide open, even when he was playing the guitar or getting changed or sleeping. in fact, his dorm-mates told you one night when you were leaving that the only time taerae made an effort to close it was when you were over... you couldn’t hear any noise coming from his room, which made you all the more curious as to what was going on in there. 

walking up to his door, you’d seen it was propped open just a bit by one of taerae’s shoes. you couldn’t see through the gap in the door, but you’d heard quiet murmurings from inside and gently placed your ear to the door to listen closer. the sound of a girl’s voice had completely shocked you. especially considering what you’d come here to talk about with taerae.

“yeah, it might take a bit to find the sweet spot,” taerae answers with a chuckle; his answer causing your jaw to drop. fingers? sweet spots? what the fuck is going on in there!?

“mmm, thank you again for teaching me, taerae,” the voice responds. upon closer listening, you realize you know this voice. it belongs to your world history classmate, jinah-- the girl who sits behind you and doodles the entire period. she’s very nice-- pretty and athletic, too, but...

you didn’t really think taerae was her type.

you hadn’t spoken to taerae much in the last couple weeks. ever since you’d actually slept together... things had changed. it felt like your best friend was avoiding you. when you’d texted to ask about movie night the past two fridays, taerae had said he was busy with homework both times. normally taerae would meet you for lunch in the student union every other day in between his music theory class, but he hadn’t come by since then. he’d barely said two words to you at choir practice last night.

was this why? he’d decided he liked jinah instead? he couldn’t face you after... using you? 

taerae would never do that. not to you. probably not to anyone.

then again, you’d never talked about whether what was going on between you was exclusive or not. and what it meant to you; what he meant to you. had you completely misinterpreted this whole situation?

“and the middle finger...” jinah trails off and the mental picture you have unfortunately painted in your head of the scene taking place is enough to make you gag.

“that one’s gonna reach as far up as possible,” taerae explains. if you had known your best friend was offering masturbation classes out of his dorm room, you probably would’ve been more careful about where you were sitting on his bed.

“i don’t think i can reach that far,” jinah huffs with a frustrated sigh. “it kind of hurts.”

“relax,” taerae soothes. “it’ll feel better if you relax.”

your hand flies to your mouth to muffle the sound of the audible gasp that escapes you, but your elbow hitting the door blows your cover. you stand up quickly as taerae’s door swings open-- revealing you in the doorway to taerae and jinah.

... and revealing jinah sitting on taerae’s bed and holding a guitar (quite clumsily, if you may be so brazen) in her hands; taerae sitting next to her and seemingly offering some sort of instruction.

“you--...” you stutter, surprised and also incredibly relieved to find that the lessons taerae was giving were much more wholesome than you’d been forced to imagine for the past few minutes. “oh thank fuck holy shit.”

as the uncontrollable string of grateful curse words leaves your mouth, jinah clears her throat awkwardly and stands up; removing the guitar strap from around her neck and handing the instrument to its owner.

“sorry for interrupting,” you mumble, bottom lip finding its way between your teeth as taerae glares at you. 

“no, it’s okay! i have to finish an essay for tomorrow anyway,” jinah replies, picking up her bag and walking towards the door. you step to the side for her to get by, awkwardly smiling as she calls behind her, “thank you, taerae! see you next week!”

jinah retreats down the hallway, leaving just you and taerae alone in a tense silence.

“what are you doing here?” taerae asks, rather unceremoniously. “it’s a thursday night. you have tutoring on thursday nights. that's why we have movie night on fridays.”

you nod, still leaning against the doorframe. “my last appointment cancelled so i--... i wanted to come talk to you.”

“oh,” taerae replies with a nod. “okay.”

you frown. “okay?”

“yeah,” he says, looking down at his guitar in his hands; starting to strum it lightly. “okay.”

your eyebrows raise in shock as your best friend seemingly shrugs you off. you walk over to him and snatch the guitar from his hands by its neck.

“HEY!” he protests as you bring the instrument over to its stand and place it there annoyedly (but carefully; you’re not an asshole). “i was playing that.”

“what the fuck is the matter with you!?” you snap, turning back around to face him. “you’ve been avoiding me for two weeks!”

taerae visibly gulps; eyes falling to the floor. 

“and this is how you’re gonna act?” you scold, folding your arms across your chest. “after we...”

for some reason you’re unable to say it. taerae is silent-- seemingly holding his breath as he waits for you to continue. coward.

“i came here to talk to you about everything and--... and then i heard you through the door giving jinah a fucking guitar lesson,” you explain while rolling your eyes. “better than the lesson i thought you were giving her, but...”

taerae looks up at you now; brow furrowed as his head tilts to the side confusedly. “w--... what kind of a lesson did you think i was giving her?”

you blink back at him; unsure of whether to tell the truth or not. but taerae catches on before you can commit to a lie.

his jaw drops in shock. “you thought--... did you think--”

you look down at your feet: embarrassed, anxious, and just plain sad after the events of the last couple weeks. this mixture of emotions forms a lump in your throat that you are now hopelessly trying to suppress. “i’m really sorry for interrupting. and for listening a bit. i just don't know what happened. i thought we were--... i thought you felt the same way that i did, but... you just must be really upset with me and i don’t know what i did but i’m so sorry and i really miss you so i wanted to talk to you and i just was... i dunno, i thought--”

taerae cuts off your rambling by standing up and wrapping his arms around you tightly. against your neck, he soothes, “ssh, baby. it’s okay-- it’s all okay. i promise.”

“i like you,” you confess into taerae’s sweatshirt. “i’m sorry, i didn’t know this would happen. but i really like you, tae.”

"fuck-- i like you, too. of course i like you, too,” he says, pulling back to look at you. “and this is all my fault.”

you sniffle as you ask, “what did you do this time?”

“something really, really stupid,” he replies with a sad smile.

mirroring his expression, you quip, “what else is new?” 

“yeah, yeah,” he accepts with a laugh. cupping your cheek in his hand, he runs his thumb across the skin sweetly. “i thought i was the one who fucked up... by falling for you.”

“... oh,” is all you can manage to say.

“oh is right,” he says, leaning in and kissing your lips gently. “i honestly wasn’t sure what to do about it. i didn’t want to hurt you and i thought maybe just... avoiding you for a bit would make it easier for me to stop having feelings for you. but it didn’t. it just hurt you and me more-- and it was really immature. i’m so sorry.”

you wrap your arms around his neck, having forgiven your idiot of a best friend before he even apologized. “i missed you so much.”

“i missed you more,” taerae says, peppering your cheeks with kisses. you giggle; taerae grinning before attaching his lips to yours again.

“but, um,” you say quickly, pulling back to meet his gaze. “i’d love to put in a request for no more guitar lessons with the door closed, if the suggestion box is still open.”

“it is,” taerae says with a laugh. “suggestion accepted, approved and implemented.”

“and, uh, maybe they don’t have to take place on your bed,” you say, biting your bottom lip and hiding your face in his chest.

“i will have you know my conduct is strictly professional at all times,” taerae replies and you can hear the smirk in his voice. “but you’re completely right. not to mention, it was probably rude of me to let her sit on my bed... without telling her what it’s covered in.”

“TAERAE-YA!” you shout, hitting his chest as he pulls you toward his bed-- pushing you down gently onto the mattress and climbing between your legs with ease. “you do wash your sheets, don’t you?”

he just laughs.

“tae, that’s gross,” you reply, shaking your head as he cups your center over your jeans. your protesting starts to waiver as he applies more pressure to where you need him most. “you--... you really should--”

“enough, enough, baby-- of course i wash them,” he replies, hooking his fingers around the belt loops of your jeans and shimmying them along with your underwear down your legs before discarding them on the floor. then he smirks at you, adding, “but sometimes i do wonder what the point is when you’re just gonna get them dirty again.”

“fuck,” you whine as taerae admires you. he’s licking his lips like he hasn’t eaten in days-- and he hasn’t. you wonder how he’s survived this long without you.

“so,” he says, starting to circle your clit with two fingers. his rhythm isn’t steady though; it’s intoxicatingly teasing. “what did you think i was teaching in these ‘lessons’?”

you feel your face heat up again at the mention of your faux pas. “don’t make fun of me.”

“never, baby,” he says; a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “i’m just curious what you think i’m enough of an expert in to be qualified to teach.”

“i--... oh my god,” you say, shaking your head with embarrassment. “i thought you were teaching her how to finger herself!"

“hmm, i guess i can understand the confusion,” taerae runs his fingers through your folds, gathering some of your slick and painting it across your stomach. “since playing guitar requires so much skill with your fingers.”

“shut up,” you reply, pouting at him.

“no, really,” he insists with a nod. as he pushes his middle finger into you gently, you gasp at the sensation. “like, to play a chord; each of your fingers needs to hold down the correct string and in the correct spot. like, to play a d chord for example.”

taerae strokes up into your walls with his middle finger, causing you to whimper. “see this middle finger needs to be on that ‘high e’ string. and then the ring finger...”

plunging another finger into you, your hand reaches to grab onto taerae to steady yourself. he smiles at you, pressing both fingers firmly against your walls now. “will sit nicely on that ‘b’ string right here.”

as he works his fingers against your walls lazily, you whine-- desperate for more friction and soon. your prayers are answered when taerae inserts a third finger, stretching you carefully until he’s able to push it all the way in.

“and finally, the index finger is going to go...” he laughs lightly before pushing his index finger into the spongy, firm spot in your walls that only he has ever been able to find. as you cry out in pleasure, taerae presses kisses to your thighs. “you might’ve guessed, but that one’s on the ‘g’ string. and listen to that beautiful sound it's making.”

“did you--... did you plan that g-spot joke?” you ask breathlessly in between pleading moans as taerae picks up the pace of his fingers. “you’re the--*hic!*... worst person i know.”

the little hiccup from pleasure that separates your insult sends taerae reeling. “fucking perfect, huh? every inch of you.”

“baby, please,” you beg, self-control low after two weeks without taerae. “wanna cum. please, wanna cum for you.”

taerae moans and, from the way he’s looking at you, you know he’s just as desperate as you are. he falls to his stomach now between your legs as he says, “was gonna try to... keep my mouth off of you. show you i really like you. you-- not just your pussy but...”

“fuck it,” you both say at the same time.

lips attaching to your clit, taerae wastes no time in pushing you closer to the edge as he laps, sucks, eats at you-- one leg of yours hooked over his back as he continues to work you with his left hand. 

“tae,” you whimper, hands in his hair as you grind your hips into his touch. “g’nna cum... please, gonna cum.”

taerae whines and, with the state you’re in, you don’t even notice how feverishly he’s grinding into the bed. he switches to sucking, lips tugging perfectly on your clit and it’s all over for you.

“fuck, i--... i--... m’cumming,” you moan, taerae’s name falling from your lips a few dozen times as you come down from your high. “oh my god.”

taerae is noticeably quiet; removing his fingers from inside of you, he laps at the juices that drip out of you with his eyes closed. you know he really likes you... but it’s very possible he likes your pussy just as much. you’re not complaining.

“tae,” you call sweetly, sitting up on your elbows. “baby? come here-- want you to fuck me.”

he opens his eyes, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he sits up a bit. “um... so, about that.”

his gaze trails down to the crotch of his jeans and you follow it to find a nice, big wet spot soaking through the denim. 

“are you serious!?” you whine in frustration; sighing as taerae smiles at you sheepishly.

“i’m sorry,” he apologizes with a cute little pout. “will you forgive me if i say it’s because you’re just too hot?”

you roll your eyes-- grinning at him. “i’ll consider it.”

“thank god, because i think i can probably make it up to you...” he says, sitting up and grabbing your jeans from the floor. “after some dinner.”

you laugh. “are you asking me out?”

“i totally am,” he answers with a smile.

“you’re sure you’re not too... full?” you joke, grabbing his hand in yours. “you did just eat.”

taerae shakes his head, smirking at you:

“trust me-- i’m never full when i’m with you.”

#zb1 #zb1 smut #zerobaseone #zerobaseone smut #zb1 fics #zb1 imagines #zb1 x reader #zerobaseone fics #zerobaseone imagines #zb1 taerae #zb1 kim taerae #zerobaseone kim taerae #zerobaseone taerae #zerobaseone x reader #kim taerae imagines #kim taerae fics #kim taerae x reader #kim taerae smut #kim taerae #taerae smut #taerae #taerae x reader #taerae imagines #taerae fics #kim taerae angst #zb1 angst #zerobaseone angst #boys planet #boys planet smut

[luvfy0dor]

“Guess I'll Just Stumble on Home to my Cats !! ♡” - Fyodor Dostoevsky x Gn!Reader ੈ✩‧₊˚

Warnings; None! Fluff.

Description; Fyodor taking care of you while dealing with your cats that he had no idea you had!

A/n; This is part two of the ask in this drabble ! Sorry posts have been super slow lately </3

ೃ⁀➷

Fyodor ended up at your house, taking care of you while you were sick with a cold. Though he much would have preferred you make your way to his house, he just sighed and muttered some number of minutes into the phone. You waited in your bed, sprawled out with the blankets only pulled up to the middle of your torso. You had placed a cold towel on your forehead in hopes of cooling you down, but the heat from your forehead transferred to the towel way too quickly for your liking; and quite frankly you didn't feel like getting up.

And that's exactly why you called your boyfriend over. There were other reasons amongst that one though, like making you chicken noodle soup or keeping your cats out of the trashcan while you suffered through your bedridden state. Fyodor was a smart man, you figured that he could tend to your tasks while you were nearly too tired to think. It was a miracle that you even conjured up the conclusion of calling him over, let alone build confidence to ask him. You didn't wanna be a burden, but his cooperation made you feel a whole lot better.

You turned on some stupid reality tv show a while ago, and you were starting to get highkey invested. As one of the episodes ended, you heard the door open. You let Fyodor know that it was unlocked, but you also had given him a key a couple of months ago just in case he needed it. His soft footsteps hit the ground as he made his way to your bedroom, yet suddenly stopping midway. "Hey there." He softly murmurs, his voice followed by a couple meows, letting you know he had found one of your three cats. It was just now dawning upon you that you had never told him about the furry little mammals.

Some more meows followed the first before Fyodors steps continued. Right before he could make his way down the hallway to your room, he stopped again. "How in the world did you get over here so quickly?" He mumbles again before realizing that it was not, in fact, the same cat. He quietly laughs at his mistake before petting the cat and greeting this one as well. "How many of you are there?" He questions the animal, before standing up. The cat rubs against his leg before skittering on off making him smile slightly. He finally opens the door and his eyes immediately land on your pretty e/c ones, peering back at him through your droopy eyelids.

He gives you a pitiful smile, walking into your bedroom and sitting in the side of the bed. "Hello, my dear, how do you feel?" He asks, feeling your forehead with the back of his hand. You sniffle and sigh. "Not good, m'so hot and stuffy." You groan, eyes squinted. He nods, pushing some hair away from your face. "I can see that. Do you need anything right now?" He softly asks you, taking in your sick appearance. "Uhm...I'm kinda hungry...and could you just make sure the cats stay out of trouble?" You murmur, sniffling horribly. You almost felt a twinge of embarrassment, but you felt comfortable enough with your boyfriend to let him see you in such a vulnerable and discombobulated state.

He nods. "Is it just two of them? Or is there more? You never told me you had cats, my dear." He reminds you, just above a whisper. You shake your head and clear your throat. "No, there's another one. Probably hiding behind some sort of furniture." You say. He hums in response. "Alright, I'll get you something to eat." He says, getting up from the side of your bed and heading back out into your kitchen. He didn't know where anything was, but Fyodor saw your microwave and smiled, knowing he wouldn't have to use pans or anything of the sort. He searched through your cabinets for soup or something that could possibly soothe your cold a little bit, and eventually he stumbled upon a can of chicken noodle soup.

He did a bit more rummaging around and found a bowl and fork, quickly opening the can and pouring the soup into the bowl. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed one of the cats prancing on into the kitchen. He payed it no mind at first, but it hopped up onto the counter and sat, staring at him. After putting the soup in the microwave, he walked over to the cat, trying to shoo it off of the counter. "Get off of the counter, you're not allowed up there." He says monotonously. The cat jumps down, meowing again and standing right at Fyodors feet as he waits for the microwave to finish heating the soup up. They stare at eachother for a moment before the other cat joins the first.

"Do you need something? Are you hungry, too?" He asks with the tilt of his head. The second cat meows, nuzzling it's head against Fyodors leg. "Or do you just want attention?" His own attention is redirected to the microwave when the timer goes off. He removes the bowl from the microwave, grabbing the fork again and stirring it around a little bit. Upon turning back around, he's met with yet another cat directly infront of him. "You can not have this. This is for y/n." He says to the trio as if the words would fend them off. Carrying the bowl carefully, he brings it to you and pushes the door open with his foot.

"Thank you, Fedya." You say, sitting up and reaching out for the bowl. He hands it to you with a small nod. "You're welcome." He notices the damp cloth on the night stand and grabs it. "Do you want me to wet this for you?" He asks, his soft gaze on you. You sniffly nod while you bring the spoon to your lips, blowing away the steam. "Yes please." He gives you a small smile and brings the washcloth to the bathroom sink, and your eyes follow him as he goes. You laugh a little bit, seeing as he's unknowingly gained an entourage of three.

"Look at you and your little posse." You say from your bed. He gives a soft hum of confusion before he audibly realizes what you mean. "They will not stop following me." He says, walking back to you in your bed. You laugh a little bit and take the towel, trying to hold it to your forehead while simultaneously eating your soup. One of the cats leap into the bed, and not to your surprise at all, the other two follow suit. They were like a little, furry gang, trying to cause trouble as they attempted sniffing your soup but we're met with the back of your hand gently pushing them away. "Go lay down." You command them to lay at the end of the bed instead of right one top of your thigh or legs, already way to hot from your sickness and the bowl of soup in your lap.

"Fyodor, I think you should sit with me and watch this show, it's crazy! The drama is off the walls." You blabber on about the show you spent your day watching as you weaved in and out of sleep. He can't help but find you a bit unserious in the moment, but he complies and walks around to the other side of your bed, sitting next to you. "They look familiar." He says, leaning back against the headboard and looked in your direction. "Yeah, it's like, Kim Kardashian and her whole family." You explain to him, continuing to eat your soup. He hums in response, seemingly slightly intrigued. He tries to watch the show, but the feeling of three cats finding a spot on his lap to loaf distracted him. He sighed in amusement as one of the cats laid horizontally over his crossed ankles, another directly in his lap and the other in between the two of you.

He didn't mind the cats at all, infact it provided him some extra warmth on top of the blanket while you were too sick to cuddle. You didn't wanna get him sick, after all. The cats LOVED your boyfriend, immediately taking a liking to the lanky man. His hands ran across their heads and backs as he pet them drowsily, the comfort of his sweatshirt, the blanket, and the cats almost put him to sleep, and eventually they did. You couldn't help but laugh at him as his head leaned back against the headboard, three cats surrounding his body while he slept. You weren't going to wake him up, so you quickly brought the bowl to the kitchen, rinsing it out in the sink and bolting back to the bed, trying to conserve your own sleepiness as you crawled back into the bed. You grabbed onto one of Fyodors hand and held it to your chest as you yourself started to fall asleep, following your boyfriend and cats into a pleasant dream land.

A/n; I almost went a fully week w/o posting, I'm sorry y'all, but I got part two of the Chuuya one out! Two more requests to go and I'll be all caught up. I think next Thursday I'll open requests again, but I also have 4 or 5 other ideas to write out 💀

#bungo stray dogs #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd headcanons #bsd x reader #bsd fanfic #fanfic #bsd fyodor #fanfiction #fyodor x reader #bungo stray dogs fyodor #fyodor #fyodor dostoyevsky bsd #bungou stray dogs fyodor #fyodor dostoevsky #fyodor x y/n #fyodor x you #bungō stray dogs #gn!reader #bsd x gender neutral reader #bsd x you #bsd x y/n #bungo stray dogs x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #cats #taylor swift #gorgeous taylor swift #gorgeous #ask #request

[youryurigoddess]

Maggie’s pendants and good omens

Yes, you’ve read it right. This post is going to deal with some literal good omens, not just title drop! But first things first, let’s take a closer look at the topic of this analysis.

A toucan

The top necklace is a lovely design involving a crowned toucan — believed to be a messenger of gods able to travel between the spiritual and the physical world, often associated with rain and rainbow (a Christian symbol of divine love, grace, and mercy, a reminder of the covenant between God and humanity to spare the latter from future trials like the Flood) — encircled by a gold band (a symbol of infinity, eternal love and promise) spun by a small butterfly (a symbol of transformation, hope, and rebirth). All three symbols combined seem to deliver a divine message of hope for rebirth, possibly resurrection, and the eternal life. Very fitting in the context of the Second Coming.

The fact that toucans were revered by the native South Americans as rainbringers strengthens the symbolic meaning of another type of bird we can spot on Maggie’s clothes in the very first episode, as her character introduction — a swallow. Swallows flying low are also believed to be harbingers of rain and bad weather. If you see one close to Earth or a building, it means that there’s a storm — or a certain biblical tempest — on the horizon.

In Ancient Greece and Rome swallows were representing Aphrodite, goddess of love. In Christianity they were considered to be of God and symbolized hope, awakening, and revival of life as messengers of spring and protectors from winter colds. Also helped Jesus on the Cross — according to a Christian legend, a group of swallows was supposed to take out the thorns from the Crown of Thorns and alleviate His Passion on the Cross. Humans banding together in the name of good have been a big theme in the series ever since The Them made an appearance, and from what we already know about the unpublished Good Omens sequel, we can assume that Jesus is going to take the spotlight in the upcoming season.

Maggie definitely attracts sudden inexplicable weather changes, like a thunderstorm with weirdly localized lightning strikes or a sudden downpour. And we’re still waiting for some vavooming (and the following happy ending) to happen in S3.

A heart with an eye

Now, the more nuanced clue hidden in the bottom necklace. I know that some of us were trying to tackle the concept of Maggie’s eye in a heart pendant suggesting her Masonic connotations, but this symbol (or the Eye of Providence in general) isn’t strictly Masonic, it isn’t even limited only to Judeo-Christian art. And while it is used a lot in Christian iconography, we should focus on a very specific example of it already referenced in the show.

Buckle up, we’re making a parachute dive into S1.

It seems like our old friend, Agnes Nutter, still has our backs.

Prophecy 4020:

Let the wheel of fate turne, let harts enjoin, there are othere fyres than mine; when the whirl wynd whirls, reach oute one to another.

If you look closely at the bottom right corner of this frame, you will see that as an illustration for the above prophecy the production team chose a 1611 engraving titled The Minde should have a fixed Eye On Objects, that are plac’d on High first found in Gabriel Rollenhagen’s Nucleus emblematum selectissimorum.

In 1635 it was published in A Collection of Emblemes, Ancient and Moderne Quickened With Metrical Illustrations, both Morall and Divine, Etc by George Wither with the accompanying hymn:

A Heart, which bore the figure of an Eye

Wide open to the Sunne; by some, was us'd,

When in an Emblem, they would signifie

A Minde, which on Celestiall Matters mus'd:

Implying, by the same, that there is nought

Which in this lower Orbe, our Eyes can see,

So fit an Object for a manly thought,

As those things, which in Heav'n above us be.

God, gave Mankinde (above all other Creatures)

A lovely Forme, and upward-looking Eye,

(Among the rest of his peculiar Features)

That he might lift his Countenance on high:

And (having view'd the Beauty, which appeares

Within the outward Sights circumference)

That he might elevate above the Sphæres,

The piercing Eye, of his Intelligence.

Then, higher, and still higher strive to raise

His Contemplations Eyes, till they ascend

To gaine a glimpse of those eternall Rayes,

To which all undepraved Spirits tend.

For, 'tis the proper nature of the Minde

(Till fleshly Thoughts corrupt it) to despise

Those Lusts whereto the Body stands inclin'd;

And labour alwayes, upward to arise.

Some, therefore, thought those Goblins which appeare

To haunt old Graves and Tombes, are Soules of such,

Who to these loathsome places doomed were,

Because, they doted on the Flesh too much.

But, sure we are, well-minded Men shall goe

To live above, when others bide below.

And hey, guess what 4020, i.e., the number of the prophecy, symbolizes in Strong’s Concordance? Periergazomai, a Greek word meaning “to waste one's labor about something” — to meddle, going beyond proper boundaries (where a person doesn't belong); to fixate on what others are doing, instead of doing what the person himself is supposed to do.

It appears only once in the Bible:

2 Thessalonians 3:11: We hear that some among you are idle and disruptive. They are not busy; they are busybodies. Such people we command and urge in the Lord Jesus Christ to settle down and earn the food they eat. And as for you, brothers and sisters, never tire of doing what is good.

To make things slightly more interesting, in the Hebrew version of Strong’s Concordance 4020 has another meaning — migbaloth, meaning “twisted things, i.e. cords”. Which doesn’t make much sense until we read the actual passage:

Exodus 28:24 and two chains of pure gold, twisted like cords; and you shall attach the corded chains to the settings.

And compare it to the most recent post on the topic published directly by Word of God:

What if all these clues didn’t apply to Maggie and Nina, but Aziraphale and Crowley instead? What if Maggie served as a messenger — consciously or not — just like the toucan, delivering the prophecy to those who need it most?

“When the tempest comes and darkness and great storms, and the dead will leave their graves and walk the Earth once more and there will be great lamentations for the end is near, don’t lose hope, hold hands and look up.”

Basically what Aziraphale and Crowley already did when they performed the 25 Lazarii miracle, only with no interference from Gabriel this time around.

And, if both Strong’s Concordance and Maggie’s personal addition to her second pendant are to be believed, with a wedding band somehow involved in the process.

#everything has a meaning #the invisible and unbreakable line that joins Crowley and Aziraphale #two chains of pure gold twisted like cords #never tire of doing what is good #don’t lose hope #hold hands and look up #the good omens crew is unhinged #good omens props #good omens costumes #the nice and accurate prophecies of agnes nutter #agnes nutter #good omens #maggie service #good omens meta #good omens analysis #strong’s concordance #yuri is doing her thing #ineffable husbands #wedding bands

[moonmeg]

There is something I don't understand, if Bree had everything she needed and always wanted in the town where Neil was born, why did they decide to move to Bonesborough?

Didn't she think that upon returning she might have the bad luck to see her parents again and relive the traumas of her adolescence?

They moved because the land they had was very much useless and in order to provide and survive it was necessary to find another place to make a living at. Bonesborough was one of the options and the most profitable one at that. It's not that Neil specifically only cares about profit but he's well aware he has a wife and three kids to provide for and he would lay the world at all of their feet if he could, which is why he preferred Bonesborough over other places.

Breena was not happy about hearing that because, yes, she was afraid of her past catching up to her. Not only was she scared that meeting her "parents" would throw her back to the insecure and broken girl she was before meeting Neil but she was also scared it would affect her severely in her mother role. She wanted to do better than her "parents" and actually quite enjoyed being a mother to Makenna, Feya and Micah and she didn't want to possibly damage the good relationship she had with her kids because of that.

It threw her in a bit of a dilemma. She wants the best for her babies and if Bonesborough is the best option they have for a great life she will not object but she also doesn't want to be confronted with her abusers. So... who does she prioritize here? Her kids or herself?

Neil offered to investigate on whether or not Breena's parents still live in Bonesborough, hoping desperately for them to have moved themselves, so that Breena's fear could be taken away. He wanted to go to Bonesborough anyway to take a look at the land that is up for sale and so he took Ian with him and upon arriving handed him a note with Breena's old address and maiden name.

Ian went to the address given to him and there was still a house standing there. He knocked, the door opened, he introduced himself and let the woman that opened the door know who he's looking for.

"Ah no, I'm afraid you won't be able to find my cousin here. She moved out about 15 years ago."

"Yer cousin ye say?"

"Distant cousin if we want to be precise."

"Ye dinna happen to know where yer cousin is now?"

"No idea. I only know she separated from her then-spouse and they then both moved out of Bonesborough after their daughter disappeared. Don't know where to though. None of us in the closer and more distant family was able to contact either since they left."

"And they dinna plan to return?"

"Unlikely. Upon leaving my cousin was rather joyful than saddened. I wish I could help more, good Sir, but unfortunately that is all information I have."

"No worries, Ma'am. Ye helped me a lot already. I willna disturb ye any longer. Have a good day!"

"You too!"

Lucky coincidence.

Once Breena heard the bad part of her past was gone, it did make the decision easier. That and the fact now she was a 32 year old woman and no longer a child + the fact that she knew she wasn't alone but that she had a husband who she can confine in, who'll catch her and who'll build her up again, who'll stand with her no matter what, she made the decision to agree with the plan of moving to Bonesborough.

She wasn't ecstatic about it. She would've preferred staying with her found family in the town she grew to love, the town she married at and the town that was her children's birth place but she came to accept it. Being reunited with Ahana and Cat was her biggest joy and made it all a lot easier too <3

#moonmeg ask #breena bower #neil bower #breeil lore

[blueskittlesart]

This is kinda stupid but as a Zelda expert I wonder if you'd have any tips for me. I got BOTW like years ago bc I'm obsessed with all the content that came out of it but with a combo of general anxiety + the fact that I am egregiously bad at playing video games I have uhh barely played it. I kind of had the same issue with Stardew Valley of all games b/c the mines gave me anxiety until I was given tips for getting through them quickly. Now I really do wanna finish BOTW bc if I can finish then reasonably I should be physically capable of playing TOTK???

i think that botw can be a particularly overwhelming first play bc of the sheer size of the world and the lack of guidance, but just so you know most of that anxiety you're feeling is unfounded. despite how much it builds itself up in-game as having very difficult combat situations, botw is a relatively easy game in terms of combat difficulty, and you can actually avoid a good amount of combat altogether once you get off the plateau. like with almost any open-world enemy you can just run away and they'll eventually stop chasing you with no fight needed. but the open world enemies also become stupid easy once you get some halfway decent weapons and armor. i suspect you're probably just stuck in plateau purgatory where everything is hard by virtue of you having very few hearts and shit equipment. this is unfortunately the only segment of the game where you CAN'T really set your own pace and have to do things in a certain way, but there are only four shrines to complete and the second you complete them everything gets way easier, i promise. if you ARE off the plateau and still feeling that anxiety, it might be helpful to nail down some objectives to combat that open-world-endless-possibilities fear factor. i would suggest focusing on building up your heart count with shrines (you can find them pretty easily by climbing sheikah towers at night and looking for their orange glow) since having more hearts is going to make everything a lot less difficult for you in general (i wouldn't bother with stamina in early game, get a decent heart count first. at least 13.) as well as building up your armor and weapon stashes to a point where you're confident enough with menial enemies. getting as much of the map as you can in early-game is also really helpful because it makes it much easier to find and access points of interest like villages. you might try practicing archery or swordsmanship if you're really concerned about that element--there are several in-game training spots that you can utilize basically as much as you want in order to get the button combos down. then once you're confident enough in your abilities you can switch gears to the main quest (divine beasts!) and just remember, there's no wrong way to play video games and there's no penalty for deaths or failures. if link dies all the game does is drop you back into your last autosave, and botw's autosave is so good that you probably won't even lose any progress. no one is going to get mad at you if it takes you a few deaths to beat a boss. no one is going to get mad at you if you need to google walkthroughs to beat bosses or puzzles. your gameplay experience should be enjoyable, and whatever accommodations you have to make for yourself in order to make it enjoyable are fine! there's no reason to suffer through something that could be made easier just for the sake of doing it right.

#asks #go forth and play botw :)

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hi I recently put an ask but I forgot to add a few things sorry 😭

In book 4, when Jamil overblot, I remeber this scene where he whooped Yuu and the gang to the end of the desert and Jade said something like "I believe we're at the edge of the dimension that contains Scarabia Dorm." I don't really know much about this but does that mean the dorms are all just pocket dimensions they shove in the dark mirror? Idk if this has any significance but I'm just shocked considering how op it is. Also, idk how big Scarabia's "dimension" is but I also remember Kalim somehow managing to make a flood with his UM that went from the edge of the dimension up to the dorm where they live and stuff. And that really made me think how powerful his UM actually is considering the fact that he only needed little magic to make an actual flood. It also made me think how much stamina Floyd and Jade has since they swam through all that.

Yes, each of the seven dorms are contained in their own pocket dimension. Considering all the crazy things magic can do, it’s not that far out of the realm of possibility if done by a particularly powerful mage. (We’ve seen Malleus pull off time stopping, right? 😂)

Just a quick correction, the dorms are not traveled to via the Mirror of Darkness. Each dorm has its separate mirror as pictured below in the Hall of Mirrors. Heartslabyul’s portal is shown here as an example:

The Mirror of Darkness is kept in its own location (the Mirror Chamber, which is NOT the same as the Hall of Mirrors despite the similar name). It is NOT used for travel to the dorm dimensions, but rather for travel to different locations across Twisted Wonderland. For example, the Mirror of Darkness is used for traveling to various hometown locations in those events.

To give you a rough idea of the distance between the Hall of Mirrors (dorm travel) and the Mirror Chamber (world travel), here is where both are situated on a map of Night Raven College.

In green is the Mirror Chamber (world travel) and in red is the Hall of Mirrors (dorm travel):

Regarding Kalim! Yes, his UM, Oasis Maker, allows him to produce a large amount of water for a smidgen of magical power. He didn’t flood the desert though, he just produced enough water to form a river the twins could swim all the way back to the Scarabia dorm building. It seems that Kalim doesn’t recognize the true potential of his UM; he says it’s pretty useless since his home country, the Scalding Sands, already has the infrastructure for potable water and waterways.

The twins having a lot of stamina doesn’t surprise me at all. They’re part moray eel, which is a predator animal. Their merforms are also very long and lithe, which is ideal for darting around in open waters.

#twst #twisted wonderland #Jade Leech #Floyd Leech #Tweels #Kalim Al-Asim #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #notes from the writing raven #spoilers #question #twst resource #twisted wonderland resource #Malleus Draconia

[koithelittle]

Hello! could you make a cg!simpbur moodboard with a kinda webcore theme? also headcannons if it's not too much of a bother :3

cg!simpbur moodboard + headcanons!

note; I'm not familiar with webcore so I hope this is good!! anyways i don't have too many hcs but I will write the ones I do have :3 requests are getting wrapped up today, after that any wips that will be posted will be non requests !!

paci creds; thesoothershop on ig!

navigation

other moodboards (requests are open!)

taglist; @jjtheresidentbaby @lillylvjy @wilmaslittleflower @whos-nicooo @littlerosiesoot (ask or dm to be added!)

- i feel like he's very overprotective and often times a lil strict

- he has his rules for a reason but he's a bit more firmer in the following of them

- possessive but in a good way! never do anything you didn't like.

- asks for permission to hug you or kiss your face or call you any sort of petname

- he likes honeybear and baby the most though

- more of a papa/dada guy but secretly melts when you call him daddy!

- he writes little lullabies that he sings for you

- carries you literally everywhere around the house

- like you are always on his hip and he's just like walking around doing random stuff

- big on holding you between his legs

- like you'll sit between his legs and play while watching cartoons and he's doing your hair

- plays computer games with you all the time, but only the ones he deems are age appropriate!

- his favorite to play with you is the JumpStart 3D game! there's a lot but the specific one is the legend of grizzly mcgruffin!! (personal fav here too-)

- please ignore the fact that jumpstart is no longer existent, let me live in my fantasy world where it didn't shut down

- interactive play all the time! asks you questions about what you're building or what your stuffies are saying or even sets up tea parties with silly invites and fun snackies!

- he has this list he gives to any sitter he has for you. it's incredibly detailed and has the answer to any questions a sitter may have. like favorite toys, favorite foods, allergies, bed time, routines, rules, triggers, etc etc.

- although he only has one person he deems suitable to be around his baby without him and that's his older brother, anyone else has to be thoroughly vetted.

- if you ever get hurt by any means, he's right there with the first aid kit, candy and a drink, and a ton of warm blankets n stuffies.

- also kisses. every boo-boo gets a kiss per number of pain times two (if you say it hurts like a 5, he'll give you 10 kisses on that owie)

- he's an absolute pro when you're sick. does everything you could possibly think of to make you feel better.

- he'd do anything for you.

#sfw agere #wilbur soot agere #wilbur soot #koimoodboards #koiheadcanons #wilbur moodboard #wilbur x reader #wilbur #wilbur soot headcanons #wilbur soot moodboard #cg!wilbur soot #cg!wilbur #cg moodboard #cg!wilbur soot moodboard #cg!wilbur moodboard #cg!wilbur soot x little!reader #simpbur #simpbur agere #simpbur moodboard #simpbur headcanons #cg!simpbur #cg!simpbur moodboard #cg!simpbur headcanons

[bemusedlybespectacled]

re: Jenkins' tweets about how Buttons is a witch and there's no show without Izzy, IMO there are three possible ways to interpret that:

He's being cryptic because he in fact has no intention of resurrecting Izzy (outside of maybe being a guilt ghost, like Nigel) and is trying to mollify the fans.

He's being cryptic because he wants to keep his options open in the event that he does resurrect Izzy somehow.

He does actually plan to resurrect Izzy, via Buttons' sea witch magic or something similar.

I think it's #1, at best #2, because I think him resurrecting Izzy would cause more narrative problems than it solves.

Longer explanation under the cut:

So, okay, Buttons being kinda magic was hinted at throughout season 1 but, importantly, it was never actually confirmed one way or the other.

The fact that he can identify ships on the horizon as Spanish with his naked eye when Izzy needs a telescope could be proof of sea witch powers, or he could just have good eyesight and/or guessing ability.

His ability to talk to birds could be a legitimate skill, or it could be a figment of his imagination, like ghost!Nigel is for Stede.

The hex he puts on Calico Jack could be real, especially since Calico Jack gets hit by the cannonball after Olivia has her standoff with him... or it's a complete coincidence.

Even in season 2, we never actually see him transform: he walks off into the woods, the bowl falls on the ground, and we hear a seagull, but we don't actually KNOW he's turned into a seagull. There's no Swan Princess-esque transformation scene here.

The same ambiguity is present in the curse episode. It's never confirmed one way or the other whether the curse is real, because that ambiguity is part of the point (i.e. "it doesn't matter how you feel about it, Stede, you need to validate your crew's experiences and not be a selfish ass").

So say Jenkins ends up leaning hard into the magic thing, makes it explicit and unambiguous, and ressurects Izzy. That opens up a whole host of new problems for him, like:

If magic is real, what are the rules? How does it work? What can it do? What are its limits?

Who else in this world knows about it? Obviously Auntie does, but it doesn't seem like Zheng or anyone else does: why?

If it is known by other people, how well known is it? Why do so many people (like Stede and Izzy) not believe in it?

Who else in this world is magic? It can't just be Buttons, since he needed the scroll to turn into a bird and that presumably came from some other magic user.

How much of what we've seen is magic and not plot convenience/rule of funny? Are the Loony Toons physics magic? Is the ship staying afloat despite no one knowing how to sail magic? Is the characters' ability to row anywhere they want, including places they do not know or even have a reason to try to find in the first place, magic?

And, the most important one: if magic exists in this universe, and people know about it and believe in it, and if it's been underpinning the story this entire time, why does Izzy need to be resurrected at all?

I'm not saying these are insurmountable questions Jenkins has no way of answering. But they are questions he would start having to answer, which is not only a lot more work but also very easily verging into the ridiculous if not handled well. It's an incredibly difficult needle to thread. Like, even if he's not slapped with (honestly, valid) accusations of trying to do a do-over because of fan pressure, he's going to be veering off in a direction that is way more difficult to write in a way that feels authentic and satisfying and not forced.

And I currently don't trust him to handle it well! Since we just saw how well he handled killing off a main character and navigating the cast's romantic relationships, which are both way less complex in terms of world-building!

Fanfiction can absolutely handle this. The OFMD fandom has already picked up the magical realism ball and ran with it, which is one of the things I like about the show: a lot of tropes that are often kind of jarring to me in certain fandoms (not just magic in a world with no magic, but certain whump and angst tropes that sometimes feel a little overwrought) aren't jarring here, because there's some basis for it in the canon. Like, the fandom has already written a lot of stuff more complex and better understanding of the universe's rules than the S2 finale (even, dare I say, much of the second season in general).

But Jenkins and the writers team right now? Nah.

#our flag means death #izzy hands #ofmd meta #ofmd s2 #ofmd spoilers #ofmd s2 finale complaining #ofmd critical

[metatronhateblog]

Not to Be a Bearer of News pt 2 with some essence of Duck Duck what the Fuck

Something fowl is afoot. Between the newspapers and the ducks and the content of the newspapers. I have had the drafts for these posts sitting on my account for about a month or so now and was immediately screaming at the responses I was getting on the first part of this series of posts. So let's get further into this bit of a mind fuckery.

This one is gonna be a long one so just hang in there, I promise it's worth it. There's A LOT going on with this.

Back to the newspapers.

Last go 'round we talked about Mr. Brown (of Brown's world of carpets) and his very strange newspaper that is the cause of the opening sequence having an accordion duck in it, as well as some of the other appearances of ducks throughout the series.

This time, we're going to look more at the newspapers, with a touch of me screaming about my thoughts from the comments on part one of this mini-series of posts.

We already know Mr Brown (of Brown's world of carpets) holds a weird ass newspaper...

and how he practically waves it around like a billboard every time he's on screen, going so far as to even cover his face with it at some point.

Now I could go on about how the way time works in Soho seems practically non-existent, but we'll save that for a later day because we're talking about the newspapers. At least...the newspapers in season 2 specifically.

As we already know, thanks to the X-Rays on Amazon, Nina's coffee shop strangely holds the magazines that Adam read in season 1 (a very strange and deliberate choice to be making...) but those aren't newspapers so to speak.

(Screenshots for the people who didn't know)

So I'm gonna get started with the FIRST newspaper(s) we see in season 2.

And that would be a stack of them on the street right next to Aziraphale's bookshop.

Now unlike most of the other newspapers, you can't exactly see what these ones have to say, which is fine. I'm more intrigued by the fact that there just so happens to be (I assume that red thing is a newspaper thing because I'm from the US and that's not what those normally look like) a place to buy newspapers right outside the bookshop. The building itself says 'The News Agency' but I'm more intrigued by the little red cylindrical thing. How intriguing that so many characters wave their newspapers around for us to see and the News Paper building is literally right next to the bookshop.

Even more importantly this thing ALSO makes an appearance in the opening sequence. I know, I know, you're all probably tired of me screaming about the opening sequence at this point but seriously. Look.

And then this extra right here appears to be holding a stack of presumably newspapers, possibly making a delivery to The Dirty Donkey based off trajectory.

But I've also noticed we never really see anyone on the street holding newspapers, only in isolated locations where you can very clearly see the front page of their papers.

Which brings me to our second newspaper appearance (technically the first if you're going by readability)

Crowley (notice the ducks in the background, but kind of a given based on the location.)

We have three big 'headlines' on this one page we see right here.

"Maple Lane Post Box Becomes Home to Spider Species Not Seen in 45 Years."

"Norton Institute Reports its Highest Intake of Students Since Opening in 1888."

"Billions Still Owed to Millions."

Little weird. we have two things that are an increase in happenings since a certain time period...and a not so surprising 'billions owed to millions.'

Then we flip it around a bit (and ignore the...weird way he's holding his hand)

And we have the name of the newspaper. "TADFIELD ADVERTISER." With the main headline 'Is Tadfield the Best Village in England?' and no surprise that Crowley is keeping up to date and looking to see if anything else continues to happen with Adam.

The mini headline under the big bold one says 'According to voters of latest 'Best Village in England' poll Tadfield really is the loveliest place to live.' And in the tiny little blue box 'Entirely perfect weather AGAIN for Tadfield.'

So even after the end of season 1, it appears we still have some strange happenings in Tadfield. Right on.

By the by for those of you who didn't know, pretty sure every single page of Crowley's newspaper is the exact same.

But I think another important detail is, same as Mr Brown (of Brown's world of carpets) Crowley also seems to be holding the newspaper so you can very clearly see what's on it.

Next time something news related appears, we have our little red vessel appearing while Crowley loses his shit.

Now we don't actually see newspapers again until episode 2. This specific one is a doozy and had me and @lady-of-the-puddle screaming over it.

When Aziraphale is looking for clues over the Buddy Holly record, we see him pouring over some newspapers.

SO! Here we see Aziraphale reading a Scottish newspaper with an article titled "Everyday It's a gettin' closer" and we can see a couple more on the desk next to him. Now I've gone through and read the article (I'll post a screenshot so you can too if you want) and to sum it up it's basically the owner of The Resurrectionist discussing the records that keep changing to 'Everyday' by Buddy Holly and how he thinks it's a group of pranksters but never can catch them and the security measures he's tried to put up to prevent it from happening again.

Now the thing that's weird to me is actually the variety of newspaper articles Aziraphale seems to have...from different countries.

Now you might just kind of brush that off....but why on Earth would this news be important enough to make world news? Why would it be in news articles from different countries.

But most importantly...there's a typo.

Now. I don't speak German (so correct me if I'm wrong) but I do know how to use Google Translate.

This German article is titled 'Eden Tag nähert es sich... dem Wahnsinn des Wirts!'

And I don't speak German (though I'd love to) but I plugged this in to Google Translate and what I found was insane. Now when it translates you'll notice that the word Eden doesn't translate.

And there's a little suggestion underneath the German sentence, indicating you probably had a typo, and here's what you're probably looking for, which when you allow it to translate as such gives you...

Weird right? You'd assume the correct version of the news article would be where they're quoting the song they're talking about (unless it's a different dialect or slang of course.) But it's interesting that if I'm correct and that is a typo...it says 'Eden.' Now if you watched season 1 or have some Biblical knowledge of sorts, you might be on the same page as me...

Why Eden? Why create an article that translates to 'Eden Day' instead of 'Every day.' I wonder how many of the other news articles seemingly have a typo?

If this show has taught us anything, what do we know about typos? (Insert Markiplier voice here) DEMONS, JIM! So could that news article possibly have been written by a demon?

Anyways as we continue on, the next (and most frequent appearance of newspapers) is Mr Brown (of Brown's world of carpets.) And I won't add all the instances of that because if you read my last post, you already saw them.

But there he is, with his strange recurring article about accordion ducks.

But I actually want to focus on a different newspaper that appears in this scene. This gentleman right here.

Looks normal right? Except you can just barely make out the corner of something peaking out next to his leg. Well guess what? This is the same guy who was sitting at the table Aziraphale emptied.

In which his newspaper never comes 100% into focus, but it's right there on screen, flashing and saying 'HEY LOOK AT ME!'

in which he folds over his 'your travel' 'Milton Keynes' newspaper as such

to a completely new side of the newspaper and walks away. But wait there's more.

Check this out.

In which he turns to look at his newspaper AND ROTATES IT before going back to standing there looking like there's nothing in his hand. Look at these back to back shots though.

Would you look at that. Our newspaper is back. Guess what though. When we look away from him again and back, the newspaper is once again gone.

Mind you this whole time, when the newspaper appears, you see Aziraphale's eyes continuously flickering away from his conversation with Mr Brown (of Brown's world of carpets) and directly past him. Possibly to the newspaper? Maybe trying to direct your attention?

Here we have 'Thenewspaper' with articles

"Unearthed mysteries of sealed library basement."

and "Government approves funding for citywide [insert word here because i can't make it out thanks to his finger] stations."

Interesting....library basements and citywide funding. Huh.

Now as far as I'm aware, the only other times you see newspapers in the rest of the season, are Mr Brown (of Brown's world of carpets.) And even if there were more, I'd have to make a part 2 because I actually reached the image amount on this post.

That being said...there's a lot of weird shit going on with the newspapers, including our strange little accordion duck which has me absolutely bewildered. But I can't help but feel like the newspapers are important when everyone holding one seems to be holding it like a sign, just so that you can read it. Not to mention the freaking typo has me wide awake every night staring at my ceiling.

But for now, that's all I have. Stay tuned for another mental breakdown over something in this show that is preventing me from sleeping.

(Upon further examination I might be making yet another post about this.)

#good omens #good omens 2 #ineffable husbands #good omens season 2 #good omens meta #okay 100% not gonna lie #i was not prepared to post this yet #dont know what happened #but started getting notifs for it #but uhhhh i guess heres this post lol

[cerealboxlore]

i just remembered another small idea for de-aged billy thats been playing in my head

so like billy’s been very bitter around the league for the whole time they’ve seen him de-aged and end up taking him out of the watchtower for whatever reason (or he finds a way to leave himself if the league doesn’t let him because they think it’s unsafe for him or whatever) and villainous shenanigans ensue, theres a lot of damage and a very, very, scared child

of course our dear billy goes to help said child (maybe the league try to stop him since they don’t think he can comfort the child in his current bitter state but can’t really stop him?) and that’s the first time they really see captain marvel in him

like they’ve seen his physical similarities (eyes, hair, ect.) but now they see him put on a big cheesy grin for this kid, his posture becomes so much more open and friendly, and he just manages to look like he can handle anything despite the fact that by all means a boy so malnourished should not look that way

i also imagine that the way he talks suddenly holds so much wisdom and kindness (he was very mean to the league lol)

also it’d be so cool if the moment the child’s safe and out of sight he just switches up immediately and looks so weary and tired, the moment he notices the league so much as glance at him funny he switches again to super feral

(seems i had more to say than i thought dear cereal)

I always love answering your asks, sorry that I end up procrastinating so much!

Now time to cook this baby 🔥

De-aged Billy (but not really) is one of my favorite things ever, and it brings forth so many opportunities for this small child to open up and talk about his traumas and problems to the world. (Once more people has seen the newest movie I will be creating my own post about Billy's traumas and how they affect him despite being coined as the immature, childish superhero by every other superhero in his world.) But the beauty and tragedy about Billy having every opportunity and chance to open up and be vulnerable with others, is that he's too scared. Too convinced that what he wants to discuss isn't going to be important to others and that his problems are his problems alone to face and conquer, when he's just a kid. A kid who's grown up too fast for his own good.

I imagine if the league tries to keep little mortal Billy Batson in the watch tower, he'd definitely try and fly the coop. The zeta beams, trying to hitch a ride with another hero back home, or just straight up using a spell he saved to float in a hamster bubble back to Earth in space. (Superman stopped him from that last one).

Ultimately deciding on letting this small and feral child version of Captain Marvel outside in his own city for some fresh air is the smart decision. There may be some of his villains looking for him for any opportunity to strike at him, but I trust that the Justice League wouldn't leave him alone without a partner/chaperone, as they joked. It was supposed to be just Billy and Green Arrow accompanying him while things got sorted out.

Unfortunately Plastic Man hitched a ride on the zeta beam at the last second and completely threw plans WAY off.

They end up getting spotted by a villain, Dr. Sivana possibly, and things get messy, as you said. Green Arrow shoots down his mechanical dummies while Plastic Man deals with dangling the bald man upside down a lamp post. But the catastrophic effect to the clean and nice street was evident. Buildings were crashed into and torn apart by Dr. Sivana, nearly killing off innocent civilians, had it not been for Billy Batson guiding them to safety routes and easing their escapes.

In the chaos of it all, I like to believe that Billy will still find calmness and ease in it, after living a life so full of it for so long. He'd still remain focused, especially when he hears the cries of a familiar voice. A classmate.

They don't know that he's secretly Captain Marvel, and he doesn't know their name. But what does that matter? They're both kids. They're both too young for any of this to be happening to them. Guiding them away from all the falling debris and rubble, Billy keeps his classmate calm enough to bring them away from the dangers of the battle close to them.

Green Arrow and Plastic Man manged to shoot/sneak a concerned and worried look over to their supposed de-aged teammate's way, only to be surprised when they see that Billy is smiling as confidently and with his big cheesey grin as before.

That's when they realize. Even if it wasn't real or a moment in bad vision, it felt like Billy's shoulders were much broader than they seemed. Like the weight of the world was on his shoulders more than they should have been, but that the boy would never complain and only ask for more weight to hold in return. Just like their regular Cap.

It's strange. They never noticed this side of Captain Marvel before. They were meeting so many new sides of him in just one day, despite knowing him for years at this point. Just how much of their friend had they not known?

"Hey, come on, hold my hand! I'll get you out of this, maybe you'll still have time to help give me the math homework answers for tomorrow!"

"B-but! I'm too scared to move!! Everything is falling, a-and I-"

"It's going to be alright. You have to make the first step if you want to keep moving forward. I'll be with you, I promise. Let's get out of here. Together."

At the end of the terrible, no good, very bad day for Billy Batson, and Dr. Sivana is dealt with and his classmate is sent home to their family safe and sound, Billy just collapses, intending to hit the grass and sleep off everything, had it not been for the swift and caring stretched arms of Plastic Man catching him in time.

Billy wants to argue and maybe even tries to scratch at Plastic Man to let him go, but Plastic Man is already swinging and rocking him in the air in his super stretched arms, singing loudly and annoyingly an out of pitch made up lullaby.

Green Arrow gets them zeta beamed back to the watch tower before Plastic Man can start on the next chorus, but at least they were able to give the de aged Captain Marvel some free time for once (even if that was ruined halfway through).

Billy looks so peaceful and soft when sleeping. Malnourished and scruffy, yes, but right now, he was safe, and that was all that mattered. They'd figure out how to age him back to normal soon, and Billy would find a way to get out of this troublesome situation....eventually. But for now? Billy can enjoy this well-earned sleep.

Whew. It feels like I had a lot more to say than I thought, Markus.

#This was such a lovely ask #Tysm #I love answering asks #ask me anything! #Billy batson #dc captain marvel #Shazam #justice league #oliver queen #green arrow #patrick o'brian #plastic man #Funny things happen when you're traumatized and sleep deprived #Go Billy Batson Go #Billy Batson getting burned out is also one of my favorite things #If you see spelling errors #No you didn't #Also #We need to see more uncommon Justice League Co-Workers/friends team ups #That's all for now #Send me more asks anytime!

[ddarker-dreams]

Us and Them.

Daryl Dixon x F Reader.

Tags: Not SFW, follow up to Hierarchy of Needs, takes place from Daryl's POV. Simping o'clock. Some typical TWD horror elements. Word count: 11.5k.

It takes a great deal to crack Daryl’s focus. 

The life he’s led up until this point necessitated the fact. To ensure he’d hit his mark or continue tracking the elusive fauna hiding in the thickets, he needed to block the rest of the world out and hone in on his objective. This tendency bled into the other aspects of his day-to-day existence as well. It’s made him notoriously reliable, a reality he doesn’t take pride in, for he’s just doing what he thinks anyone should do. Shaking this cornerstone of his identity is no easy task. 

Unless you’re thrown into the mix, that is. 

Then it’s as if every functioning brain cell he has decides to jump ship in favor of seeking you out, no matter how detrimental it may be to him. Truth be told, he can’t even bring himself to mind half the time. You’re a distraction he’d hold the door open for. That being said, as much as he’d love to entertain thoughts of you 24/7, it’s an unrealistic dream. There’s work to be done and he can’t take up residence in la-la land. He’ll be forcibly evicted most of the time, should he not leave of his own volition. 

His present predicament does well to remind him of this. 

“You with me, Daryl?” 

Rick’s voice is a scythe cutting through the overgrown verdure of his mind. Daryl grunts, probably agreeing to something he should’ve been paying closer attention to. It’s too late for him to play it off, he can tell by Rick’s expression alone. He’s giving that raised eyebrow, head tilted look you once theorized to be the byproduct of being a sheriff for years. Officer Friendly’s changed a lot since they first met, but that look has remained reliably consistent. 

“That so? Mind telling me what I just said then?” Rick challenges. 

Daryl doesn’t even bother to entertain the charade. He knows when to cut his losses. “Sorry. Wasn’t listening.” 

“Mhm,” Rick nods his head in the direction Daryl’s been staring. “Let me guess. It got anything to do with our social butterfly over there?” 

Daryl doesn’t know why Rick’s asking when he likely already knows the answer to the question. Indeed, Daryl’s been keeping an eye on you while Rick discussed various happenings. You were reading Frankenstein beneath a gazebo for a whopping five minutes before an interloper made himself known. One of Deanna’s sons — Daryl can barely tell them apart, they leave so little of an impression — decided to strike up a conversation with you. The complete and utter disregard for your personal time has him fuming. You’ve been so busy shadowing Deanna that you’ve barely had a moment’s respite, you deserve to read your damn book in peace. 

He knows you’ve been working yourself to the bone. Alexandria is important to you, you’ve been doing everything possible to guarantee a future for your tight-knit group here. It helps that Deanna’s taken a shine to you; the opportunities this granted have been paramount. You’re slowly winning over the skeptical residents and explaining away any errant behavior from your group. Whatever tale you're spinning, he figures it must be working. He can at least walk around without being gawked at. Regardless, you confided to him that there's still much to do. Tensions are brewing faster than you can reconcile them. 

“Hardly see ‘er no more,” Daryl scoffs. “Yuppies are takin’ up all her damn time.” 

Rick gives a thoughtful hum. “It’s good, what she’s doing. Building up trust. Might help us if things are headed the way I think they are.” 

What was no doubt intended to lift Daryl’s spirits does the opposite, plunging them down into a deeper depth. He feels he’s deceiving you somehow by not mentioning Rick and Carol’s ‘backup plan’ should the Alexandria inhabitants prove beyond help. He also knows you loathe feeling used — a vulnerable confession owing to a drink too many — and that’s what this feels like. Using the good graces you’ve painstakingly established for an ulterior motive. 

Daryl keeps quiet. Fortunately, Rick is quick to catch on and changes the subject. 

“You know,” he starts, looking away from you to focus on Daryl, “I’ve noticed something’s different between you two. Ever since the night of that welcoming party.” 

Daryl assumes a poker face. He knew he should expect this line of questioning at some point, because things did change between you, in a way that exceeded his wildest dreams. Still, the way Rick’s sizing him up makes him feel like a teenager being greeted by your dad at the front door before your first date. He doesn’t know how to deal with this shit. The only person close to Daryl in terms of their protectiveness over you is Rick. Is this some type of test? That can’t be right; Rick’s been trying to convince him to shoot his shot with you since the prison. He probably just wants to know everything’s fine. Ever the worrier, holding the weight of the world on his shoulders. 

“She, uh,” Daryl focuses on his scuffed boots, before finally managing to look Rick in the eye. “She knows.”

Rick’s countenance betrays his disbelief. “You told her?” 

Well, it’d be more accurate to say you told him by kissing him silly and putting his many doubts to rest, but he isn’t about to go around announcing that. He’ll hold this near and dear to his heart. 

“Yeah.” 

“And?” Rick presses, borderline impatient for the information Daryl’s so stingy on handing over. “What’d she say?” 

Daryl can’t stop his lips from quirking into a closed-mouth smile. “Feels the same.” 

Unlike Daryl, Rick doesn’t bother trying to hide his grin. “What’d I tell you, huh? That’s— that’s great. I’m happy for you. For both of you. It’s about time you both stopped dancing around things.” 

Daryl wants to grumble over Rick giving him a hard time, but he can’t bring himself to, because the man’s right. While it may not have been love back at the quarry, even then he thought you were the prettiest damn woman he’d ever had the blessing to lay eyes on. His attachment to you only grew from there. By his estimation, that’d place it somewhere around two years of having the hots for you without ever making a serious move. While he doesn’t regret the time dedicated to deepening your friendship, it would’ve saved him a lot of grief if he knew you reciprocated his affections. He’d lost track of the nights spent tossing and turning, contemplating just how out of his league you are. 

“While we’re on the subject, Glenn’s got some condoms on him, should you need any.” 

Daryl coughs into his hand to hide the wicked blush rising to his cheeks. “The hell, man?” 

“Just sayin’,” Rick puts his hands up in defense. “It’s best to be proactive. Sometimes you look at the girl like you’re ready to pounce.” 

He fights back a groan at the new ammunition Rick has to tease him with. It is good knowledge to have, though, so he makes a note of it. You had only slept together once on that fateful night roughly two weeks ago. Daryl was mistaken in thinking getting a taste of you would calm the raging flames of desire that burn him from the inside out. If anything, it’s as if they’ve been doused with gasoline. Every little thing you do nearly drives him mad with need. When you chew on your bottom lip in contemplation, bend over to grab something, or make those cute little noises when you stretch, the list goes on and on. You’re making it a damn challenge to think with his head and not his dick. 

How can he not, when he’s experienced how exhilarating it is to become one with the person he loves most? The sights and sounds of that night play on a loop in his mind constantly. The teasing banter, the taste of chocolate on your lips, the mind-numbing pleasure that exceeds anything he’d felt in his life… it’s got to be a special kind of torture to know he can have that with you, if he only he could get you alone. He swears every force in the universe is working against him. You’re living in a house packed like sardines, your schedules don’t line up (he’s an early riser, you love ‘your beauty sleep’), and you’ve been busy as a bee. 

In your benevolence, you’ve treated him to some fleeting kisses and hugs, which, while he treasures those more than the air in his lungs, can’t satisfy the excruciating need he has for your body. He has to stop himself from undressing you with his eyes the few times of day you’re around. You’re just so gorgeous, so exuberant, lighting up the room in the way only you can and leaving a cold emptiness inside him when you’re gone. 

He used to harp on lovesick fools for gushing over their ‘other half’, but now he gets it, he truly does. Going without you for any length of time is a unique agony that twists his guts into a knot. 

Glancing back over your way, his blood freezes over at the sight he’s greeted with. 

The prick had the audacity to put his hand on your lower back while Daryl was preoccupied. His eye twitches and his nostrils flare, hands balling into fists by his side. Rick senses the change in demeanor and follows Daryl’s line of sight to identify the reason, instantly piecing together the problem. Right before Daryl can charge over and rip the asshole’s slimy hand off you, Rick steps in, motioning for him to slow down. 

“Hey, hey, look at me—” 

“He’s fuckin’ touching her,” Daryl seethes, barely able to hear anything over the sound of his heart thumping in his ears. “She’s uncomfortable, I’m gonna—” 

This time, it’s Rick who interrupts him. “I get it, I really do, but we can’t afford to go makin’ a scene over something like this. [First] wouldn’t want that. You know she wouldn’t. So let’s take a moment and calm down.” 

“The hell do you know ‘bout what she wants?” Daryl challenges, his voice raising enough to attract some nearby attention. He juts his shoulder out of the way when Rick tries to lay his hand on it. “We both know why you’re letting ‘er play nice.” 

Rick’s eyebrows furrow, hurt at the insinuation. “Daryl…” 

He turns on his heel and storms off. 

Rick calls out to him a few more times, but he makes a point of ignoring him, along with the stares his outburst garnered. A quiet, reasonable voice whispers to him that he’s blowing things out of proportion. This sensible counsel is overpowered by his Dixon blood yelling otherwise. He’s always been quick to default to anger, it’s an emotion he can make the most sense of when everything’s confusing. Rage is all-consuming and familiar. It gives him an easy target to release his pent-up negative emotions. 

There’s just too much for him to work through. The gnawing insecurity, that in this stable environment, you could do so much better than him and he wouldn't have the slightest clue how to stop it. He’s not a smooth talker, can’t excuse confidence in spades. Hell, he couldn’t even confess to you first, you had to come to him. Who in their right mind would want a man like that? A man like him? 

His jaw feels like it could snap from how hard he’s grinding his teeth together. 

When he gets back to the group’s shared residence, he slings his crossbow into place and makes for Alexandria’s gates. He’s got to get away from here before he pulls an even dumber stunt he’ll surely regret later. The lone guard stationed there looks about ready to give him a difficult time until he sees the grave expression on Daryl’s face. That’s enough for him to wordlessly grant passage to the outside world. 

Daryl opts for using his knife to take out the walkers prowling past the entrance. Adrenaline pumps throughout his body as the blade breaches a skull, then another, the bodies sagging to the ground with a satisfying thump. He cleans the gore off his knife and sets out for the woods, grateful to leave the oppressive community he’ll never fully fit into behind him. 

Out here, he’s in his element. Weaving in and out of paths he’s already started to memorize, hearing the coos of mourning doves and shrill chirps of cardinals. He isn’t meant to fraternize with some hoity-toity folks who still think carrying a gun around inside the walls is excessive. His previous anger simmers down into frustration with each step he takes. In his haste, he hadn’t grabbed that many arrows. He knows he shouldn’t be out here for long. 

However, the alternative is just as undesirable. He’ll man up and give Rick the apology he’s owed, but there’s no doubt his stunt today hurt what you’ve been trying to build. The folks wearing their polo shirts and khakis will probably go back to staring at him like he’s some sort of bogeyman come to life. He scoffs quietly to himself at the thought, bending over to inspect some fresh-looking tracks in the dirt. A deer must’ve come through here not long ago. Snagging a catch like that would do wonders for lifting his dampened mood. It’s tangible proof that he belongs, that he isn’t some freak like his brother would have him believe. 

It’s strange to care about what he’s gone his entire life ignoring. When you have a reputation like the Dixon’s did in the town he grew up in, ostracization was to be expected. He’d lost count of the times he’d have to bail Merle’s ass out of the county jail only for the process to start back up a few months down the line. They might as well have kept a parking spot with his name written on it, as often as he stopped by the place. The stares, the whispers. They followed him everywhere he went. He learned to stop caring, he didn’t really have any better alternatives. 

He thinks of you — how quick you are to fit in — how wide the chasm is that separates you. It’s been a while since he’s had to grapple with these misgivings, the farm must’ve been the last time. Daryl knows it’s shameful, but he likes when he’s the one providing for you. Not so he could lord it over you, he wouldn’t dream of that. It’s more so how it justifies him being in your orbit. Solidifies his place by your side. 

No one else can take it if it’s carved out in his shape. 

The sun begins its lull in the sky. Shades of brilliant amber and gold trickle in through the interstices of the trees overhead, cascading like embers. Daryl mulls over what you might be doing now as he gulps down water from his canteen. Are you having dinner with Reg and Deanna? Or are you back at home, encouraging Judith to eat her veggies and trying to convince Carl there are more things to read than comics? Have you noticed his absence? Or are you too preoccupied to realize he’s gone? 

His heart plummets down to his stomach.

Daryl crouches over, inspecting some flowers that have been chewed down to the stem. It’s still glistening with saliva. A deer’s doing, no doubt. This paired with the tracks he’s been following promises that he’s getting closer. Any other day, personal qualms would be the last thing on his mind when he’s about to land a deer, but you’re an apparition that won’t stop haunting him. He misses you. He sees you every day, yet it isn’t enough. He misses hearing your lame jokes that you laugh at (and he laughs at too, occasionally), the weird thoughts that occupy your pretty little head (seriously, who ponders over the origin of the phrase ‘elephant in the room’?), arguing over if Back in Black or The Dark Side of the Moon is the better album (he caught you humming Time to Judith once, trying to indoctrinate her early, no doubt). 

He misses you so badly it makes him physically ache. 

The crackling of foliage ahead temporarily releases him from his bitter rumination. 

He fastens his crossbow into place, mindful of his every step. He makes his way through a clearing. It’s the scent he notices first, the miasma of rot. Then there’s the sound of flies buzzing and wet, vicious squelching. Ripping and tearing. Daryl knows what he’s destined to see before he even lays eyes on it. A group of voracious walkers gorge themselves upon the fallen deer, too preoccupied with devouring the viscera to notice his presence. Rigor mortis hadn’t even set in yet, he’d just barely missed his window. 

It’s one of those days, he supposes. 

The trek back to Alexandria is noticeably devoid of thought. He gladly welcomes the reprieve, wanting nothing more than for his head to hit the pillow so he can sleep today’s events off. Alexandria’s walls loom in front of him soon enough. He calls over to be let back in. Without delay, the gate creaks to the side, revealing the last figure he expected to be greeted with upon his return. 

You. 

You stand a few paces ahead, relief visible on your features when you establish eye contact. You’re wearing a yellow gingham blouse, white denim jeans, and those sneakers from what he’d consider the best day of his life. Your hair that you’ve been complaining is too long is tied up in a high ponytail, revealing that neck he longs to smother in kisses again. You’re so fucking radiant it should be illegal. Intelligent thought flies out the window, though luckily for him, you almost never run out of things to say. 

“Are you alright?” Is what you decide upon, your voice sweeter than candy. He’d eat it up if he could. 

He nods, his body recalling how to do basic motor functions after a sizable delay. You secure the gate behind you, muttering some gratitude to the guard Daryl scowled into submission earlier, then jog to catch up with him. He swears he could distinguish the sounds of your footsteps in his sleep. As much as he’d love to, he doesn’t look at you, choosing to fixate on the road ahead. After the events of the day, he doesn't trust himself not to pull anything stupid. 

“Daryl, hello hello,” you say with a singsong lilt, “You do notice me, right? I’m not that short.” 

“Tired, s’all,” he murmurs. 

“Have you not been sleeping well?” 

He shrugs. “Guess not.” 

There’s a beat of silence. Unable to bear it, he turns toward you, immediately noting the uncharacteristic frown on your features. A deep pang resonates inside him at the sight. He knows he’s worrying you, causing extra strife you most certainly don’t deserve to deal with, but he can’t think straight. The culmination of two weeks’ worth of navigating foreign feelings he’s never experienced before is taking a toll on him. You mentioned having an ex-boyfriend to Maggie in the past — a notion he’s hardly surprised by, considering you got him of all people falling head over heels — so this must be familiar territory for you. 

“When I asked if you were fine earlier, I didn’t just mean physically,” you nudge him playfully with your elbow, although your expression is serious. “Is something up?” 

“Jesus, I’m fine, woman,” Daryl huffs. The tone he takes has you pursing your lips. He no longer hears your footsteps struggling to keep up, you must’ve stopped. He does too. Turning himself to face you is no easy task, yet he somehow manages. What remains of the sunset basks your features in a gentle glow. He can make out each fleck of color in your iris’, finding the distinct splash of color to be his favorite. You have every right to be annoyed with him, you should be, honestly — and still, there are no traces of irritation. That alone melts his heart. 

You’re just looking at him, trying to piece together what’s brought him to this point. You never assume the worst of him, you never have. Instead, you choose to carefully comb through the information available to understand what he barely understands himself. This is one of your strengths he’s always admired. 

When he once asked you why you gave others the benefit of the doubt, you compared it to his tracking process. 

“There’s more going on than what’s visible at first glance, right?” You reasoned. “You have to stop, slow down. Take time to inspect things a little closer. If you don’t, you risk missing what’s truly important.” 

Waves of guilt crash over him like the roaring ocean upon the shore. You’re so good — the epitome of everything worth preserving in this decaying world. 

“... ‘m sorry,” Daryl swallows thickly. “Just… bad day, is all.”

Your visage softens. “Hey, it’s okay.” 

He flinches. You’re far too quick to forgive. 

“Nah, it ain’t. I shouldn’t take it out on ya.” 

“Would you like to talk about it?” You offer, still refusing to hold Daryl’s shortcomings over his head. “I, um, actually had something I wanted to show you. It’s somewhere quiet. It’d just be us there.” 

He parts his lips, ready to reinforce the fact you should be upset with him, when he sees your smile. This is the kind you’ve only ever graced him with. There’s this innate understanding in your eyes, a compassion to the curve of your lips. A look of pure love. He’s committed every facet of you he can to memory, he knows no one else is the recipient of this specific tenderness. It’s reserved solely for him. 

There’s a gravitational pull around you that draws him close and refuses to let him go. 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah. Positive.” 

You hold your hand out. 

He hesitates, wondering if he deserves to take it. 

When he does, the way your smile grows tells him he made the right choice. 

It’s him following you now. There’s a pep in your step, he can feel the excitement radiating off of you. A few Alexandrians he hasn’t bothered learning the names of yet give a wave upon spotting you, an act you gladly reciprocate. You haven’t the slightest ounce of shame about the rugged man trailing behind you. An insecure part of him that stubbornly refuses to die suggested that as you integrate into the community, you might leave him behind. Find a man that fits in here rather than sticking out like a sore thumb as he does. 

He couldn’t have been more wrong. 

The guilt returns, slithering its tendrils around his person and preparing to bite down hard. He’s been weaving falsehoods about you because of his own problems. You aren’t that type of person. He needs to get out of his own head and accept that maybe, just maybe, this’ll be his shot at happiness. The concept is so surreal that his body has been rejecting it like it were a foreign invader. He doesn’t want to fall prey to his natural tendencies anymore, he has to fight it. 

He imagines it’ll be a slow and tedious process, uprooting the thorny vines he’s grown to protect himself. You’re worth the effort, reckons. You always have been. 

Suburbia surrounds you on both sides. This must be another residential area of Alexandria, one that is vacant from what he can tell. You pause in front of one of the homes, nestled toward the end of the street. It’s the picture-perfect representation of the upper-middle-class ideal. A two-story high house styled like the others, with beige siding and a light gray roof. After letting him take it in for a second, you pull a set of keys from your back pocket, then grin. 

“I bought us a house,” you twirl the jingling keys on your pointer finger. “My credit wasn’t the best, and we’ll probably have to do a reverse mortgage in a decade, but it’s ours.” 

Daryl squints, trying to deduce how much of what you’re saying is in jest. 

“I’ve been working with Deanna to get our group more settled in, since this looks permanent. We finished ironing out the details today, and, uh, yeah. We get a house all for ourselves.” 

Your voice grows smaller toward the end of your sentence, almost tentative. You’re gauging him just as much as he is you. 

“Ya wanna,” he takes a moment to find the right words, “Ya wanna live with me?” 

You shrink into yourself. “I do. O-Only if you want to, of course! If this is weird, or, I’m uh, being too forward, then just— oof!” 

You’re never given the chance to finish your sheepish ramblings, for he lifts you in the air, spinning you once then wrapping you in a tight embrace. You give him a breathless laugh and return his affection in kind. He nuzzles his nose into your neck, breathing in the familiar scent of cocoa butter and shea. In any other circumstance, he’d shy away from such a bold display in public, but he’s too damn ecstatic to care. Let anyone who happens by watch. See for themselves that you’re his and he’d sooner keel over than let you go. 

“I take it that’s a yes, then?” You hum as he carefully puts you down, treating you like you were made of glass. 

“Yeah,” he reassures. He huffs in amusement at the stars that are practically glittering in your eyes. “Guess that means the others’ll know ‘bout us.” 

You’re quick to fall back into your usual demeanor, now that you know he wasn’t put off. “Are you embarrassed of me, Mr. Dixon?” 

He rolls his eyes at your theatrics, replying lightheartedly, “Stop.” 

“I hate to break it to you, but I’m pretty sure the others already know,” you say. “Well, some of them, at least. Women have a sixth sense for these things.” 

Daryl raises an eyebrow. 

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I mostly plead the fifth. Rosita and Maggie keep smirking at me though. I think we developed some sort of witch coven-level bond while out on the road.” 

He lets out a ‘pfft’ at the phraseology that’s so distinctly you. He’s always loved hearing you talk, he swears you could make an instruction manual on how to set up a dresser entertaining. Aside from how unfairly pretty you are, your mannerisms are what caught his eye. You have this way of creating a comfortable atmosphere. Back at the quarry, you stubbornly worked to peel back his layers, one at a time. You somehow knew what conversations to broach and which to steer clear of. Before he knew what was happening, you became his favorite person to spend time with, and he actively sought you out; ignoring Merle’s disparaging remarks along the way. 

The rest is history, as they say. 

You both walk up to the porch, taking in every last detail. The spacious front yard, bushes that Daryl makes a mental note to trim later, and the little stone pathway which leads up to the steps. A soft breeze passes through, encouraging the rustle of towering tree branches. The scent of daisies and honeysuckle wafts in the cool evening air and he deeply inhales nature’s aromatic perfume. You trace the porch’s white pillar with your fingertips, seemingly entranced, disbelief written over your features. 

“From a prison cell to this,” you shake your head. “I’m not dreaming, am I?” 

“Nah. You ain’t.” 

You point at the closed garage. “You can park your bike there, turn it into a workshop or something.”  

Next, the empty garden. 

“And— and we can plant carrots, peas, zucchini… maybe find a blueberry bush. Flowers too. Oh, I love hydrangeas, they can be tricky though. We should also plant a fruit tree. What about apple? Yeah, let’s do that. The kids’ll love it. Apple pie, apple cider… did you know Carl’s never had apple cider? How is that even possible?” 

There’s a glossy tint to your eyes as you ramble on, so taken by the idea of a future that you don’t know what to do with yourself. He has to fight against a lump threatening to form in his throat. Daryl hugs you from behind, holding you against him as if you’d disappear like sand through his fingers should he let go. You feel so good in his arms. So right.

“We have to make this work, Daryl,” your voice is tight. “We have to. No matter what.” 

This serious declaration takes him back weeks prior, to the day your fates became permanently intertwined. You’ve been pushing yourself to fulfill what you said then and now. He’s sure you’d much rather spend time with your group, your family, but you’ve been building the groundwork for a future. The very same groundwork he’s been undermining by plotting outside the walls with Rick and Carol, well-intentioned as it may be. 

“I gotta tell ya something,” he murmurs, placing a chaste kiss atop your head. Your hair smells heavenly. “Has to do with earlier.” 

After feeling you nod, he continues, albeit hesitantly. 

“Me, Rick n’ Carol have been talking. ‘Bout Alexandria. What we should do here. They’re thinkin’ we might hafta take over, if worse comes to worst. These people… they’re weak. Don’t know a damn thing ‘bout what’s happenin’ outside them walls.” 

He loosens his grip as you twist around to face him. Once again, he braces himself for heavy rebuke; a confirmation that you’ll be as upset as he imagined upon learning about this. You place both your hands on the railing behind you while looking up, your head tilting to the side. 

“I already knew about that.” 

Daryl knits his eyebrows together, incredulous. “You— what?” 

“Not the specifics, maybe, but I got the gist of things,” you confirm. This further reinforces his belief that you’re perceptive to a freaky degree. “I mean… I get where you guys are coming from. What we’ve been through… what we’ve seen… God… I never let myself think about it for long. I can’t. I push that shit down as deep as it’ll go. Lock it up and throw away the key.” 

You sigh and give him a weary smile that tugs on his heartstrings. “I’m not going to say that you’re in the wrong, because honestly, I haven’t the faintest clue. I wish I did, but I don’t. All I know is that it doesn’t hurt to try. What’s that adage Rick is so fond of…? Ah, yes, let’s ‘see what we see’. If you do, and still think they’re a lost cause, then… I’ll trust your judgment. I always have. Always will, too. There’s no one I trust more in this world than you, Daryl. Not even myself.” 

You’ve stolen the air from his lungs and words from his mouth, it’s like he’s been sucker-punched. He tries and fails to string together a coherent sentence. It shouldn’t be too difficult, the assembly of vowels and consonants, yet every word in the English language slips his mind. He’s long since held the belief that you’re an angel incarnate — you might as well be, given your beauty — but thinking that way is ultimately doing you a disservice. 

You’re scared, you’re confused, you’re human. Blood pumps through your heart, not ichor. 

Daryl takes your pretty face into his hands, wishing he could smooth away the lines of worry. “I’ll try. Promise.” 

You kiss his inner palm. “That’s all I could ask for.” 

“What you said… ‘bout not trustin’ yourself…” he trails off, almost wincing at hearing the words spoken aloud again, “You should. Trust yourself, I mean. You're smart. Crafty. Made some damn good calls I never woulda thought to.” 

“Are you buttering me up, Daryl?” You teasingly suggest. “Flattery will get you everywhere with me.” 

He grunts. There you go with your tendency to keep things light-hearted when they get uncomfortably personal again. 

“... Really, though, thank you,” the inflection of your voice reverts back to sincere in record time. You almost give him whiplash with the ease in which you shift moods. “We probably should’ve had this talk sooner, right?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I’m sorry ‘bout that. I wanted… wanted to surprise you, and I got so swept up in that, I missed what’s really important.” 

Daryl feels his lips twitching into a smile at your subconscious elision — Carol once pointed out that you sometimes talk like him, and vice versa. She said you guys hang out together so often, it’s to be expected. He’s picked up your favorite idioms and rubbed off his tendency to curse on you, even if you don’t do it anywhere near as often as him. To think that two years ago, his preppy princess went from having the cleanest mouth around to dropping expletives without batting an eyelash. 

“‘S fine. Still don’t think ya did anything wrong.” 

“You’re a bit biased, don’t you think?” 

“Mm. Maybe.” 

You laugh at his candidness. “It just occurred to me that all our best conversations happen on porches. Is that why you lived out on the porch for our first few days here?” 

“Nah. Had to keep ya safe,” Daryl runs the pad of his thumb over your cheekbones. “Can’t let anything happen to ya, butterfly.” 

You preen at the personal touch to your infamous nickname, evidently liking it as much as he does. “I told you, I’m more of a caterpillar for the time being.” 

He snorts. “Coulda fooled me.” 

“Hm… a cocoon, then? Agree to disagree?” 

“Ain’t calling ya a fuckin’ cocoon, woman.” 

“Oh, but if it’s your voice saying it, I’ll get all hot and bothered,” you lean forward, pressing the swell of your chest against his. He swears he can feel his blood rushing south. “You could make anything sound good. Even… hm… let me think… the word foible.” 

Daryl scrunches up his nose. “The hell? That’s a word?” 

“Sure is. It might be the only one that hasn’t found its way into Eugene’s impressive lexicon yet.” 

“You couldn’t pay me ‘nough to say that.” 

“It’s a good thing the economy is in shambles then,” you wink. Then you stifle a laugh with your hand. “Huh. I really need to get better at flirting. I’m rusty… way out of practice. Mind helping me out with that, Dixon? If not, Maggie’s gonna get stuck dealing with the brunt of it.” 

The look he gives has you showing your palms in surrender. “I told you! It’s witch coven level stuff between us now. I’m waiting with bated breath for someone to suggest a blood oath.” 

“Don’t need no practice, all ya do is flirt with me, damn vixen.” 

He pinches your cheek, content to see how they’ve filled back out after two weeks of eating regularly. 

“Took you long enough to notice.” 

You guide his hands to your hips and he’s more than happy to place them there. Next, you secure your arms around his neck, then start swaying side to side. Everything about you is so magnetic. God, that expression is nearly lethal. You’re gazing up at him through lidded eyes, worrying your lower lip beneath your teeth. He feels his cock twitching to life. You barely need to do a damn thing and he’s ready to fall to the ground and worship you. 

Daryl has to fight off a debauched noise as you stand on your tiptoes, your tongue poking out to coat your lips in an enticing sheen. He feels your hot breath fan against his face and tightens his grip on you to keep himself steady. You pause, content to stay where you are, so close to where he wants you yet cruelly far away. You breathe in one another’s air for a few, agonizing seconds, your noses touching. Then you’re moving again. Right when he thinks he’s going to be treated to your taste, frustration boils within when you kiss the corner of his mouth instead. He could take whatever he wants from you — his immense strength speaks to that — yet there’s something so undeniably charming about letting you think you’re in control. 

He figures he can play along a while longer. 

“Do me a favor, sweetheart,” you whisper, the huskiness of your voice causing goosebumps to erupt all over his skin, “Grab what’s in my back left pocket.” 

Curious, he does just that. His fingers come into contact with a plastic serrated edge. He knows what it is before he even pulls it out. 

“This time, I can’t say I didn’t plan things in advance,” you take pride in admitting. 

He frowns. “Just have these on you?” 

Despite knowing it’s entirely unreasonable, he can’t suppress a sting of jealousy. He silently hopes you haven’t been carrying these things around for long. Not if you wanted to use them with someone else. 

“Mhm. I had some at the farm, then the prison,” if you notice how his expression darkens, you don’t mention it. “There’s this guy who caught my eye, you see, a very handsome one. I’ve wanted him to have his way with me for ages. Couldn’t work up the courage to admit that for the life of me, though. Until very recently.” 

He mentally sighs at the reassurance no one’s gotten to touch you while he was stuck silently yearning from afar. There were a few panic-inducing moments that drove him crazier than he’d ever admit, due largely in part to your friendly personality. You’re touchy-feely with those you care about. While he reaped the benefits of this, it’s a double-edged sword. You hug your friends, fall asleep on their shoulder, and dote over them at every chance. He once mistakenly snapped one of his arrows in half when he saw you run and jump to embrace Rick. 

Daryl knew it was wrong to feel possessive over a grown woman who he wasn’t in a romantic relationship with, yet his heart refused to listen to his brain. People were drawn in by your wit and charm, there wasn’t much to do about it. It wasn’t like he could station himself by your side every waking hour to scare off any asshole who thought they had a shot at you. 

… He has considered the idea, though. 

“That right?” He asks, maintaining eye contact while his hands go to give your ass a squeeze. He’s never felt the most confident when it came to flirting, yet you make him feel wanted, like you’re into him as much as he’s into you. 

“Right as rain,” you give him those doe eyes that make him weak in the knees. “It made me have to settle for the next best thing.” 

Daryl’s entirely under your spell and he wouldn’t want it any other way. “What’d that be, princess?” 

He bites back a knowing smirk at the way you shiver, your eyes glazing over with lust. Learning your little thing for hearing him call you princess was a piece of knowledge he fully intended on making good use of. 

“My hands,” you murmur. He knew what you were implying, but hearing you say it out loud almost makes him lose his fucking mind. “I’d think about how strong he was, how good he’d make me feel. I was always scheming, y’know. Wearing short shorts, low cut shirts. Think it may have caught his attention?” 

Oh, so that’s how it was, huh? He’d always get caught between feeling grateful for seeing so much of you and possessive when he realized everyone else got the same privilege. A few men and women back at the prison let their eyes linger far longer than he would’ve preferred. He’d spend balmy nights tucked away on his lonesome, wrestling his belt and pants down so he could relieve himself to the thought of you. Guilt would rear its head when he saw you the next day, running over to excitedly greet him, oblivious to how he objectified you in his mind hours prior. 

It comes as a mild relief to know that was what you intended. 

“Don’t needta think. Know for a fact it did.” 

You pout, upping his urge to kiss you by a hundred percent. “Are you sure? He hasn’t tried to touch me lately. It’s starting to hurt my feelings.” 

“Hard to touch a woman who ain’t there,” Daryl huffs, indignant. 

“Well, I’m here now,” you reassure. “Maybe you should make the best of it, hm?” 

You don’t need to tell him twice. 

He snatches the keys and wastes no time unlocking the front door, motioning for you to go in first. He enters immediately after. The lock is redone in anticipation of what’ll come next, you’ll both be needing your privacy. Daryl loves your little group, would die for them in a heartbeat, but he’s been waiting what feels like eons to get you alone again. He’s surprised with the amount of self-control he’s exercising, the urge to rip your clothes off and take you against the closest available surface is overwhelming. You bring out this animalistic side to him he never knew existed. 

You start making your way upstairs after leaving your shoes by the door. From this angle, he’s treated to a lovely angle of your hips and shapely ass. His nerves are set aflame by the mere thought of seeing you bare again. He damn near sprints to catch up with you, not caring to hide his desperation in the slightest. He scoops you up bridal style along the way — he really might have a thing for manhandling you, although he’s never rough — the ease in which he can maneuver your body just feels right. Satisfies what little ego he has when it comes to romantic endeavors. 

“I never have to use my legs when you’re around,” you giggle. 

“That’s the goal.” 

In more ways than one, he hopes. 

Daryl brings you into the first bedroom he sees. You’re gently laid down atop the plush comforter, while he gets to work ridding himself of his clothes. The condom from earlier is placed on the bed’s edge. He pulls his angel wing vest over his head, kicks off his boots, then his jeans. The weight of your gaze on him is tangible, you look at him as if he were a piece of art. He’s unsure if he should feel embarrassed or prideful by your unabashed staring. A blush dusts his cheeks when he catches you rubbing your thighs together, causing him to lean toward the former.

He freezes when he gets to his black button-up shirt. The last time you were intimate, it was dark enough that he didn’t feel entirely exposed. As much as he loves seeing you painted in warm hues of orange and red, that means he’ll be fully visible too. Every inch of his body and its testament to a life of hardships. You’d seen the scars on his back when tending to his injuries back on the farm, yet you didn’t dare to make a comment. The way he flinched and shrunk away told you everything you needed to know. 

Sensing his hesitation, you stand to your feet and approach him. Your fingers settle on the top button, though you make no movement past that. He can practically hear the cogs turning in your head. 

“If you don’t want—”

“I do,” he cuts you off, knowing what you intend to say. “I trust ya. Just…”

“Just…?” 

He shrugs, the tips of his ears burning. “Want ya to like what ya see.”

“Oh, darling,” you croon, the unexpected pet name makes his blush infinitely stronger, “Maggie used to call me out for drooling over you when you wore those sleeveless shirts. Made me wish I had a pair of opera glasses. You’re handsome. Unbelievably so.”

He doesn’t know what to say, caught in a swirl of embarrassment and delight over the praise you wholeheartedly offer. 

You undo the first button, then stop, looking up to check with him again. When he nods, you keep going, revealing the skin that closely hugs his defined muscles. You don’t recoil in disgust or give him pity-filled glances when spotting his scars, instead, you look mesmerized. He can hear your breathing pick up and see the way your pupils dilate. 

Daryl thought he was too old to get butterflies in his stomach, but there’s nothing you’re better at than revealing parts of himself he didn’t know existed. 

You smooth your palms over his pecs. “I really am going to start drooling.” 

He huffs and shrugs off his shirt, leaving him in nothing but his boxers. “Lay your ass back down, girl.”

You give a dorky double thumbs up and do just that. 

He joins you not long after, both his arms caging you against the bed. 

Daryl nods toward your still-clothed body and quirks his head to the side. 

“What? You don’t wanna be the one to undress me? I’m sure you’ve thought about it.” You provoke. His hands almost start trembling from the sheer excitement the prospect stirs up in him. You’re such a coquettish little thing, playing dirty whenever you’re presented with the choice. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t love it, though. You know how to rile him up. 

“Once or twice,” he replies, nimble fingers finding the hem of your shirt and lifting. You raise an eyebrow, challenging his purposefully low estimation. He gives a throaty chuckle, soothing your ire by kissing you on the forehead. “A day.” 

You look pleased with the revelation. “There. Much better.” 

He greedily takes in every inch of skin that’s revealed to him as he lifts your shirt. Heaven itself couldn’t compare to the beauty that is your body, he almost forgets how to breathe when he sees the start of your chest. His heartbeat rises in a crescendo as he slowly pulls the fabric upward. Finally, he gets an unobstructed view of your tits, wrapped up nice and pretty in a black bra. He wets his lips and bites back a groan. His large, calloused hands immediately set to work on kneading the supple flesh. There’s nothing he loves the feel of more.

“Ya really did plan this,” Daryl has to stop himself from rutting against the bed like an animal, the desperation you instill in him is unreal. “Wanted to drive me fuckin’ crazy, huh?” 

“Maybe a little.” 

He pinches your nipples then, earning a gasp so lovely from you that a guttural growl leaves his throat. He’s just as obsessed with your voice as you are with his. There’s a sweetness to it that tickles his ears just right. Whether you’re laughing, moaning, or simply saying his name in that way only you can, there’s this lilt that has him hooked. Nicotine be damned, you’re an addiction that surpasses all else. 

His fingers make their way to your back, undoing the clasp of your bra. “A little, hm?” 

You nod after a moment’s hesitation. 

“Ya never were a good liar,” Daryl muses. He’s always found this positively adorable about you. Once he taught you the rules of poker and you joined in on some game nights, it became clear that wasn’t your area of expertise. You’d squirm in your seat, glare or beam at your cards, your intentions practically announced for the whole world by your transparent body language. He’d lost count of the number of times he had to bite back a smile when watching you. 

He wraps his mouth around your nipple, alternating between suckling and licking it with his tongue. If given the chance, he’d sit here and do this for ages.  

“Is that— mm— a bad thing?” 

He pulls back from his important task long enough to reply, “Nah. Love that ‘bout ya.” 

While he contents himself by playing with your tits, you grow adorably impatient, wriggling in an attempt to get some friction where you want it most. He grabs your hips and holds you still to stop your indulgence, eliciting an irritated huff from you. He hadn’t anticipated this brattier side of you, but there’s something about it that gets him going. Electricity crackles between you, filling the atmosphere with thick tension.  

“There somethin’ you want, girl?” He teases, attention flittering between the coat of his saliva on your chest and the depraved curve of your countenance. He can feel precum leaking from his tip when you try to grind on him again, your frustration fucking delicious. 

Your eyes widen when he pulls away, much to his amusement. “Asked ya a question, butterfly. You best be answerin’ it.” 

“What do you think I want, Daryl?” The little whine you accentuate your words with works wonders on him. 

He shrugs, playing ignorant. “Dunno. A nap, maybe. Ya act all pissy if ya don’t get your eight hours.” 

“I told you, my beauty sleep is important,” you huff, directing a halfhearted glare his way. He exhales sharply, betraying his bemusement. You’re about as intimidating as a bunny rabbit to him. “Admittedly, while the prospect of a nap is tempting, I’d rather you fuck me until my brain is scrambled.” 

This vulgar side of you is a damn treat he’ll never tire of devouring. 

“That so, princess?” 

“Cross my heart.” 

“Take them pants off then.” 

You oblige without protest. You hook your thumb on the waistband, maintaining smoldering eye contact as you drag it down oh so slowly. He palms at his hardened length while you put on your little show, the throb of his cock close to constant. His eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets when he spots your panties. They’re the same shade of black as your bra, the fabric next to scant, hugging your curves tightly. He can see the outline of your folds against it, your wetness seeping through. His tongue slips out to moisten his lips when he remembers how amazing you tasted. He’s brought back to the blissful experience, the softness of your thighs around his face, how you wriggled and squirmed so delightfully for him… 

“My eyes are up here, Mister,” you hum. Normally, he’d have a clever remark ready to match you, but he’s completely at a loss. You’ve rendered him speechless. 

You were wearing this all day, just for his viewing pleasure? 

Maybe there is a God after all — some higher power has got to be smiling down on him. You could make a zealot out of the most impious man. 

By the time he manages to break from his reverie, your pants have been tossed aside. It’s you who approaches first, crawling over to where he sits still as a statue, looking up at him through your eyelashes. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows thickly, completely and utterly smitten by you. Your breath hitches in your throat when you notice the prominent outline of his cock against his boxers. If that visceral reaction does something for his ego, he’ll never admit it. 

You settle onto his lap like it’s where you belong most — he’d argue until he was blue that it is — both of you releasing a content noise at finally having contact where you want it most. Your lips are on his in a feverish kiss. His hands start at the dimples on your back, then move down, cupping your ass and encouraging you to grind against him. You use his shoulders as leverage to better control your movements. He groans when your fingernails dig into his flesh, and you take the opportunity to sneak your tongue into his mouth, getting drunk on the taste of one another. Today, you taste like lemonade. The tart flavor is best when sampled from you. 

His mouth smothers your whimpers and soft moans of his name. When you pull back, he’s initially disappointed, until he realizes this grants him the perfect view of each twist of your face. You appear hazy with pleasure, your bare chest heaving and glossy lips parted. There’s a telltale tensing in your thighs that catches him off guard. 

“You gettin’ off on this?” Daryl asks, his voice heady with lust. “Grindin’ on me, making all them sweet lil noises?”

“Yes,” you whimper, your shame long forgotten. Not that you ever have much when it comes to him. 

This is better than anything he’d concocted in his wildest fantasies. You wanting him as much as he wants you, chasing after your high without reservation. He faithfully does his part to help you along. He follows the rhythm you set, his eyes never leaving your face, deriving unmatched satisfaction from knowing he’s the reason you’re like this. It’s him who knows how to fire you up and cool you down, him who you’re humping against like depravity is your natural element. 

You’re gripping him tighter, nails digging deep. He savors the slight ache, intending to wear your marks like a badge of honor. 

“That’s it,” he encourages, his voice raspy. “C’mon. Show me how good ya feel. Wanna see it.” 

You’re nothing if not obedient, once in a blue moon. 

You come undone, throwing your head back, your eyes squeezed shut as you savor your release. He fixates upon the muscles of your neck, on display like a canvas ready to receive his designs. His lips hover over your racing pulse, the stubble of his beard against your skin prompting a fit of giggles. He mouths at your skin, humming low in appreciation at the saltiness coating it. You sure do get yourself all worked up over him. Knowing that does things for him, stokes the flames of an already raging fire. 

“God, I’m obsessed with you, Daryl Dixon,” you confess, moving your head aside so he can have better access to your neck. “You’re all I think about. We’re just— we were made for one another, weren’t we? You’re my best friend, my — I don’t know — does boyfriend sound kinda silly at this point, or is it just me?” 

Love blooms in his chest, temporarily overpowering his lust. Or perhaps the two are mixing to form an entirely new color. “I’ll be whatever ya like, so long as I get to see that again.” 

“Even my…?” You cut yourself off, and he pulls back, finding himself unable to read your countenance. That’s an exceedingly rare occurrence. 

“Your…?” He prompts, the both of you whispering like you’re exchanging precious secrets. 

“No, it’s—” you suck in a deep breath and shake your head. “Ahem. Too soon for that.” 

You try to distract him by pawing at his waistband. It is a clever move on your part, but he musters up the willpower to stop thinking with his dick for a few seconds. 

“Nah. Ya ain’t doin’ that. Finish the damn sentence, woman.” 

This is a rabbit hole he wants to explore. His intuition offers a suggestion that’d fill in the blank, yet he shrugs it off, scoffing internally. There’s no way you possibly meant that, his brain just isn’t working properly. No, a pretty thing like you couldn’t possibly want to marry an asshole redneck like him— 

“Marriage is off the table until we at least go on one date. Your treat. I’m ordering appetizers and a dessert, too.” 

Only you would essentially propose to him while throwing in a joke for good measure. Yeah, that’s the love of his life alright. A hot mess. Heavy emphasis on hot. Somewhat lighter emphasis on mess. 

“... Orgasm felt that good, huh?” 

You swat at his chest. “Shut up, I’m sleep deprived and not thinking clearly.” 

Daryl notices that you’re looking everywhere but at his face, embarrassment prominent. He props himself up some so that you’re able to pull his boxers off, his dick springing out of its restraints. There are about a million things he wants to say to you, some teasing, some entirely genuine, but when you wrap your soft hands around the base of his cock, he blanks. He pants your name as you start pumping him. Pearls of cum are quick to coat his length, making the process even easier for you. 

You bend forward, your tongue licking up everything that oozes from his flushed tip. Then your mouth starts taking him in. The warm wetness feels divine and he keens. The noise surprises you both, encouraging you to keep going. You hollow out your cheeks, then start sucking, all the while jerking off what isn’t in your mouth yet. Caving into instinct, his hands fly to either side of your head. He helps ease you up and down his length. 

Daryl wonders if he’s dreaming — he doesn’t want to pinch himself to find out, just in case that’d wake him up. 

The fact a girl as stunning as you is sucking his dick with unbridled enthusiasm simply doesn’t compute. His peak is growing more and more imminent. The tightness of your mouth, how you’re moaning against him like you’re the one being pleasured; it’s too much in the best of ways. He was already worked up to a frenzy after witnessing you come from grinding on him. 

Briefly, he entertains the thought of what it’d be like if he released his load in your mouth. He’d make sure you swallowed every last drop. Knowing you, however, you’d probably do so without his prompting, swallowing while looking him straight in the eye. You know what you do to him. That you have him wrapped around your pretty little finger. You know it and love it, maybe almost as much as he does. 

Daryl utilizes every last ounce of self-control in his body and pulls you off his weeping cock. 

A trail of saliva connects your lips to his tip, a sight he intends to burn into his memory forever. 

“Hey, I was enjoying myself,” you complain with an exaggerated sigh. 

“Me too.”

He reaches over to grab the condom from earlier. Ripping into it with his teeth, he rolls the plastic over his sensitive cock. Once it’s on, his hands go to your shoulder, gently pushing so that you’ll lay down for him. You pique his interest by shaking your head. You must have plans of your own, for you reclaim your spot on his lap. He’s plenty content to accommodate this apparent desire of yours and leans back. 

You line him up with one hand and tenderly cup his cheek with the other. 

Slowly, you sink down onto him, lulling your head back while you do so. He helps hold your hips in place so you can adjust to him at your pace. Instinct begs him to rut up into your accommodating warmth, but he values your comfort more than his own carnality. Your eyelashes flutter shut whereas he keeps himself trained on you. When you’re halfway down, he kisses your inner wrist, grateful for the pulse beneath your skin. 

“You’re takin’ me in well,” he praises. If there were ever a man capable of penning hymns dedicated to you, it’d be him. “Just like that. Nice n’ easy.”

A high-pitched whine leaves your lips when he’s fully inside you. 

“That’s it, good girl.”

You reopen your eyes, granting him the sight of what’s become his favorite color ever since he met you. 

“You’re spoiling me with all these compliments.” 

Your hands run over his jaw, then the tensing tendons of his neck, finally settling on his sun-kissed shoulders. 

“Ya deserve it,” Daryl murmurs. “Beautiful woman.”

Dizzying pleasure thrums throughout him when your walls clench, his words hitting your sweet spot. Sweat coats both your bodies in a light sheen. You rotate your hips, allowing him to stretch you out, the slight friction far from enough yet tantalizing nonetheless. Finally, after what feels like an excruciating wait, you lift yourself off him and come back down. The decadent pleasure builds and builds with each repeat of the motion. He’s close, painfully so, but letting you take what you want from him is given top priority. The sinful sounds pouring from your lips with increasing urgency hint that you might not last long either. 

Calloused fingers work to rub messy circles against your clit. This added layer of stimulation has you moaning incoherently near his ear, half-legible sentiments tumbling out. 

“Feels so good,” you whimper, almost delirious. “I wanna be yours. Please.” 

You’re growing increasingly erratic as your second high looms on the horizon. The telltale tensing of your muscles has him picking up momentum. One hand guides you up and down his cock, the other pleasuring you where you need it most. Your declaration envelops him, making him feel impossibly warmer. How you vacillate between uttering the naughtiest and sweetest things is a mystery to him he won’t bother solving. All he knows is that his adoration for you won’t ever stop growing, no; this is where a new chapter of it begins. 

“You are. Always ‘ave been.” 

Daryl knew it couldn’t have just been his imagination, the once-in-a-lifetime connection that formed soon after your paths crossed. It strung you both together. Whenever one wandered too far from the other, the rope would go taut, forcing you to stumble back where you belonged. 

Your walls tighten around him and you snap, back arching, pressing those perfect tits against his chest. 

He grunts at the sensation of you coming on his cock, thrusting upward to meet your stuttering hips. He loses himself in the aroma of sex and you. You go partially limp when you’ve come down from your high, which allows him to maneuver your body with greater ease. The release he denied himself minutes prior threatens to consume him once again. How could it not, when he got to witness your blissed-out face, hear the sounds of your gratification? 

Daryl’s hands latch into the soft flesh of your waist hard. He slams into you a few more times, the sound of skin slapping skin reverberating throughout the room. His cum spurts out into the condom’s plastic confines, filling you with his warmth. He faintly registers that you’re lavishing his neck in sloppy kisses as he basks in his high. 

Both your chests heave as you pant, greedily taking in the air you willingly deprived yourselves of during the act. 

Your shaky fingers comb through the mess that is his bangs. Daryl lets you do as you please, too busy admiring every inch of your face to care about anything else. You press a chaste kiss against his forehead, then his nose, and finally, his awaiting lips. He chases after yours when you pull away, an action that makes you laugh. He huffs at the return of your brattiness. When he sees how wide you’re smiling, however, it becomes difficult for him to maintain his disgruntled facade. Your joy is contagious. 

“Plannin’ on stayin’ there all night?” He nods at the junction where your bodies remain connected. His cock has gone soft and you’ve made no sign of getting off him yet, not that he’s complaining. He knows you’re real fussy about cleanliness (a concept that eludes his understanding, since it’s the damn apocalypse), so he’s pleasantly surprised you haven’t run off to wipe yourself down. 

“Would you be opposed if I said yes?” 

“‘Course not.” 

However much you’d both love to live in this little slice of reality, you know it isn’t meant to last. People will come looking if you’re both gone too long. He sighs when you climb off him, already missing the feeling of being inside you. You both get to work on making yourselves presentable, you more so than him. You smooth out the wrinkles in your clothes and fight with your hair while he perches himself on the side of the bed, lost in thought. 

“Did ya mean it?” Daryl breaks the silence. 

“Hm?” You glance over your shoulder, blinking rapidly. “Mean what?” 

He fights the urge to roll his eyes at you for acting innocent; you’re too smart to not know what he’s talking about. 

Although, when he struggles to get the two-syllable word out himself, he can sympathize with your efforts. 

“... Marriage,” he drawls, heat flooding across his face. He feels better when he sees you’re similarly embarrassed. You pad quietly against the hardwood floor (he’s always marveled over how silent your footsteps are, perfect for joining him on hunts), and sit beside him. Your arms come to wrap around his bicep. Taking a deep breath, you rest your head on his shoulder, as you’ve done multiple times prior. On the road especially. 

He pulls you in closer and lays his head against yours.

“It kinda feels like we already are,” you admit. He can hear the fond smile in your voice. “You’re my home. The person I depend on most, someone I can’t do without.” 

Your grip on him tightens. “However much life ahead of me I have… I want to spend it with you. If that’s alright.” 

Daryl feels so light he thinks he might be floating. 

There’s an underlying melancholy — the uncertainty which comes as a consequence to the world you now inhabit — yet you never let that stay the focus. You always find ways to plant seeds of tentative hope in what appears to be corrupt soil. Maybe it’s for the reason you said earlier, that you can’t let yourself dwell on the bad in fear of what it’d reduce you to, but he can’t bring himself to mind should that be the case. 

What matters is that you shine bright to illuminate him when he thinks darkness is all he’ll ever know. 

“‘If that’s alright’?” He repeats, incredulous. “I ain’t ever lettin’ ya go, butterfly.” 

You relax, knowing Daryl’s nothing if not a man of his word.

“You’d really wanna be my husband?” 

He looks at you like you have three heads. “Shouldn’t I be askin’ why the hell you wanna be my wife?” 

“Because I have good taste. Also, I’m secretly aiming for your assets. We’re not getting a prenup just for that reason alone.” 

Daryl snorts and shakes his head. Assets, this woman says. As if he had any in this world or the last. 

“Fine by me,” he kisses your temple. “You know I’d give ya anything ya asked for.” 

“... Even your crossbow?” 

“Last I recall, ya could only hold it for ‘bout ten minutes ‘fore complainin’ your ‘muscles were shriveling up.’”

“You make it look so easy!” You complain, lightly hitting him on the chest. He smirks at the roundabout compliment. Your fingers linger, splaying out and making their way over to where his heart steadily beats. “Hm… can I have this, then?” 

“Already do.” 

He’s certain you’re well aware of the fact. After all, you are his freakishly perceptive woman. 

Regardless, no matter how many times you may ask, he’ll gladly remind you, each and every time. 

Ah, the things you do for the ones you love. 

“We should probably head back to HQ before Rick sends a search party out for us, huh?” 

Daryl’s muscles go taut at the mention of Rick. You wriggle free from beneath his arm so you can examine his face, inquisitive as ever.  

“Didn’t part on the best terms with ‘im,” Daryl reveals. He takes another moment to collect his thoughts. “Kinda what started this whole thing today. Saw that Monroe kid touchin’ ya, it got me all riled up. Was aboutta make a scene til Rick stepped in. He said… said ya wouldn’t ‘ave wanted that. Thought ‘bout how he was letting ya cozy up to the folks ‘ere, knowin’ full well he planned on usin’ it to his advantage. I dunno. Made me see red.”

Your eyes hold an indescribable softness for him. “Thank you.” 

“For what? Makin’ an ass of myself?” He scoffs. 

“Always having my best interest in mind,” your way of wording things always sounds better. “It’s okay, though. Like I said earlier, I get why Rick’s doing what he’s doing, even if I don’t fully agree. Ultimately, we’re all on the same team.” 

Daryl shakes his head. “... You’re too forgivin’, butterfly.” 

You shrug. “Hafta be with family. Holding onto things never does any good in the long run. Which is why I’m sure it’ll be fine, once you talk with him.” 

He doubts he’ll have a lengthy heart-to-heart like whatever you’re envisioning, but he keeps the thought to himself. 

“Let’s get going, okay?” You stand and start pulling on his hands. He gets up with some reluctance, not entirely willing to leave this little world where just you and him exist. “Carol made this delicious lemonade, it’s to die for. Metaphorically.” 

He gives a crooked grin. “Yeah, I know.” 

“Oh? How’s that?” 

Daryl tugs you back to him in a mess of surprised exclamations and tumbling limbs. He secures you on his lap, fully intending to savor you a little while longer. It doesn’t take you long to relax. Not when he’s the one touching you. 

“Ya already gave me a taste.”

#i'm totally normal about him i swear #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead x reader #twd x reader #reader insert #not sfw #my stuff

[myanmy]

Unrequired feelings

I LOVE ANGST!!!!!!!

Summary: You fell for Jack and you thought he liked you too, only to be proven the contary.

Word count: 1720

Warnings: cheating? But not cheating because they weren't together. (as you can see I'm very good with warnings)

Your relationship with Jack had always been weird. In the beginning it was because you were a woman and he wasn’t used to having that just yet on his ship, but he felt obligated to help you, since he was partially the reason the house you worked so hard on building burned to the ground. You were rightfully mad and against all your survival instincts, went to have a talk with the famous Captain Jack Sparrow himself and let him hear a piece of your mind. When you somehow manage to find his ship the men on his crew refused to tell you where the goddamned pirate was, but you had previously heard a lot of stories about him and the most famous one was that he was a drunk who spent the majority of his money and time on rum and women. Luckily the rumors had been right and you found him in the second pub you search, mentally you ask yourself how the hell the hundreds of people searching for him didn’t already have him locked up, the man was as obvious as a rock. You ordered him to repay the damages for your house and he obviously didn’t have that amount of money on him, so instead he offered you a deal and now you are sure you weren’t in your right state of mind, because you had accepted. 

Eventually your relationship had gotten better, the nasty looks you gave him stopped and you had even grown to like the dumb and yet so lucky bastard. Your relationship with the crew had also grown immensely, at first they seemed skeptical and even disappointed in their captain for bringing a woman on deck, but with time some just learned to accept you while the majority had become your friends and at some point you had began to see them as a family, a family that supported each other, saved each other asses while also annoying the shit out of you.

Your interactions with Jack had become strange to say the least, you would spend the whole night on the deck while drinking rum, him managing to drown a whole lot more than you, but still. You would talk for hours and hours and when there was nothing else to talk about, you would stare at the sky, laying on the wood floor of the ship while lost in your own separate thoughts, the silence always comforting and never awkward. That was until the next morning, where Jack would avoid you at all costs, when you asked a question he would answer with short answers and didn’t even bother looking at you, when he felt hungry and was planning to get something to eat, he wouldn't call you to eat with him as usual. The urge to punch his beautiful face was always huge, but you also wanted to understand what was going on with him. How can someone be talking all night about their life stories and the next day just act like you are a complete burden? 

Then Elizabeth Swann came, you didn’t hate the girl, god knows she’s in a worst situation that you are, however you didn’t like the fact that now Jack had all the time in the world for this girl he just met. It was one of those nights, where the sea was quiet and for some reason sleep just didn’t seem to be your friend today, so you grab a robe beside the bed and wrap it around yourself. Jack had stolen the robe from a rich old woman’s house and gifted it to you, saying he thought of you as soon as he saw it. The rich fabric felt like clouds in your skin, making you warmer against the cold that was surely out on the deck. You make your steps as light as possible, aware that the wood creaked with the smallest of movements. You open the door to the main deck, only to hear voices on the quarter deck above you, two voices to be precise. One you had learned to like quite a lot, the other you were just growing accustomed to. You hear Jack telling Elizabeth one of his unbelievable stories he had told you, followed by her laughing and adding a few questions, only for him to answer them quite excitedly, just like he had done with you.

You feel a weird thing in your heart, the feeling traveling up to your throat and you felt like you were back to when you were a little child, holding the tears in while telling yourself how stupid you are and how you’re over exaggerating it. You stay there for a few more minutes, your body and mind telling you to stop and listen, maybe he would leave some details out while telling that story to her, maybe he wouldn't tell her the most sensitive topics he had told you, because he had said that he hadn’t told that story to anyone else and had only told you because he trusted you, right? Right?

You stayed long enough to figure he wasn’t leaving any part out and slowly closed the door, hoping they wouldn’t notice the sound of it closing. Luckily because you were a girl, the crew had agreed that it was better if you had a little place for yourself and didn’t sleep in the hammocks between the men, you thought they were being mean and just didn’t want to be close to you, however now you were totally glad they did it. You weren’t sure if they had done it because they just didn’t like you back then or simply wanted you to be comfortable and in the process make themselves comfortable, that didn’t matter now, but you sure were glad and thankful that you had your own small tiny room for yourself. You laid on the bed and let the tears fall slowly, telling yourself that it was okay to over exaggerate while you were alone. In the morning when you wake up you can go back to the non feeling and definitely not a sad person that had lost one of the most precious friends they had.

The next weeks kept going on like this, some nights you would awake late at night and open the door to the main deck slightly, hoping there would be no voices and while sometimes there weren’t, most did and you would go back to your room, each night crying a little less.

“What’s goin’ on lass?” Gibbs asks while you try to tie some knots to keep everything in place.

“Nothing.” You answer, swiping the sleeve of your shirt on your forehead.

“There’s definitely somethin’. You aren’t even looking at him with the angry stare.” He adds.

You sigh, talking about your feelings were not something you were good at, especially when you yourself wasn’t sure what exactly you were feeling. “It’s nothing Gibbs.” You feel his eyes on you for a few more seconds, making it obvious he didn’t believe you, but eventually gave up and walked away.

That night you couldn’t even close your eyes properly and decide to try the deck, praying to whatever god was listening that they weren’t there. When you open the door the slightest bit and don’t listen to their voices, you almost let out a long breath, only when you open the door a bit more and look up, you see them…kissing. One of his hands is around her waist while the other is on the back of her head and her arms are around his neck, their lips meeting in a hungry kiss. You normally would manage the tears until you were back in your room, this time however they flowed as you watched, watched as she had everything you wanted. When you come back to your senses, you simply turn around, not caring about the open door, a clear sign that someone had been there, though you were sure they wouldn’t figure it was you.

You always knew Jack had his affairs, I mean, he was Jack Sparrow. His life involved around rum, the sea and women, but for some reason this one felt different and it hurt, it hurt so much. You didn’t want to admit it, but you had fallen for the pirate, even with you knowing it wasn't a good idea falling for a pirate, especially one with so much of a reputation. 

That night you spend crying and writing letters to your closest friends, Gibbs and some men in the crew you had befriended. You tried writing a letter for Jack, only to write his name and not a word surging in your mind after, so after hundreds of tries you give up and throw all the wasted paper on the trash. Tomorrow the ship would stop in Tortuga and you would wait until everyone got off before you put all the letters in the specific hammocks and then…you would leave. Leave this life behind, leave all the running and stealing, but mainly, you would leave him.

A short time after the sun had risen, the ship stopped in the port. Your hands were sweaty, your breath was short, and your pulse was pounding in your ears. You were nervous, and there was no way around it. This was a big moment, something you had been dreading for hours and now that it was here, all you could do was try to keep your head on straight. Your nerves were frayed, but you were going to do this, one way or another. 

After all you could hear were voices from outside the ship, the soft wind and the calm waves is when you start doing everything you had planned. You place the letters, each one gaining a tear dropping from your eyes, then you grab the essential things you had already placed in a bag. You take one last look around, flashes of good memories appearing everywhere you look, but unfortunately memories aren't enough to keep you here. You step out of the ship, knowing this was the last time you would ever be seeing it and as childish as it sounds, you mentally say goodbye, goodbye to everyone and to everything involving pirates, but more specifically Captain Jack Sparrow.

I'm writting new characters yay. Don't worry, I'll still write for Rick, trust me when I say that my crushes always stay the same, so at some point I'll write for him again. I've noticed that there isn't a lot of Jack Sparrow fanfics out here and it's so sad, I mean, it's Johnny Depp, have writers really not seen him as Jack? Anyways, so I thought I'd give it a try. Hope you guys enjoy it. 💟

#pirates of the caribbean #jack sparrow x reader #no use of y/n #jack sparrow #angst #angst with a sad ending #betrayal #unrequited feelings #johnny depp

[sillygoose067]

Over the 7 Seas

Ch.18

Charles Leclerc x Reader

As you make your way to the dance studio, you give Charles a brief tour of the company building. “…And here’s the cafeteria, and here’s the hallway that has a picture of every world-famous artist ever, and…”

He simply follows whichever way your arm tugs his and provides the appropriate reactions for each new thing you point out. 

Finally, you reach the studio. As you open the door and make an attempt to step inside, you’re yanked off of Charles’ arm and immediately mobbed. “Aaaaaaah”, you yell as you’re bombarded by a multitude of colors and hands pulling you into the room, embracing you tightly. 

Standing up and brushing yourself off, you huff. “Yaaa! 죽을 뻔했어(I almost died)!”

You hear a murmur of mumbled apologies. Then you hear them do their introduction. “하나, 둘(one, two) Hello, we are Stray Kids!”

They must’ve finally noticed a stricken Charles at the door. “Guys, this is my boyfriend Charles”, you tell them proudly. 

“‘조기요 호크시 누나, 남자 친구가 있나요?(excuse me ma’am, do you have a boyfriend?)’”, you hear Jisung say teasingly, quoting himself from one of his predebut tracks. You stalk over to him and hit him upside the head. “Aah, sorry, sorry, Y/n!”

“와, 드디어 남자친구가 생겼네요…(wow you finally managed to get a boyfriend…)”, sighed Jeongin and Minho. 

You turn to them with a threatening glare. “행동(behave)”

You get introductions done and situate Charles on the sofa on the wall. “Je m'en excuse. Ils sont un peu comme mes frères, du moins à ce stade, et se comportent tous comme des enfants (Sorry about that. They’re kind of like my brothers, at this point at least, and all act like kids). You can sit here while I get their choreo done”

Still recovering from this culture shock, he nods complacently and gets settled. 

…

As you guide the boys through some stretches (and do your best to not goof off with them), Charles watches how well you’re able to connect with the idols, and finds more reasons to be entranced by you. You switch fluidly between English and Korean, as do they, so he manages to catch snippets of the conversations. “Have you guys filmed any new content?”

“Oh yeah. We went to Jeju Island, picked some of their famed oranges, had some amazing seafood, played games, you know the usual”.

“Wow, sounds like fun! I saw Hannah has been making some of her own music, I’m so proud of her!”

“Yeah, me too. I would never tell her this, but I do feel sorry that I wasn’t there for her when she needed me the most. So the fact that she’s managed to get this far on her own makes me strangely proud of her. But DO NOT tell her I said that”.

You walk over to the monitor and listen to the completed songs, brainstorming the possibilities of choreo. As you begin to teach the dances to the boys, Charles can’t help but notice your charisma and how lithely your body moves. Dressed in an oversized T-shirt with a loosened neckline, showing your collarbones and a single shoulder, and baggy dance pants, it was safe to say that a lot was left to Charles’ imagination. 

He also begins to understand why so many people like this genre of music so much. There are specific parts of the music that he catches onto. “Item, item, I ate them, Pac Man”, “Fingerlicking, yeah I’m cooking up a SuperBowl”, but the one that catches his attention the most is one that dropped and went, “Here, the people call my name, Here, I’m on the Hall of Fame…” Even though he didn’t understand all the lyrics, somehow the song spoke to him. He’d have to ask you to translate the song for him when you got to the hotel. 

Your body moved with a certain finesse, something that showed that you were confident in your moves, and you loved doing this. He watched as you compassionately instructed and fixed the posture of the “students”. This must be how you felt when he’d taken you to see his cars. 

When all of you decide to take a break, you come over. Panting and literally dripping with sweat, you plop down next to him and grab your water bottle. “Sorry, not my best look right now”, you cringe when you catch him staring. In fact, to him, you’d never looked more ethereal. 

#f1 #formula 1 #kpop #smut #fluff #f1 x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #jyp stray kids #skz #stray kids

[onceuponastory]

epilogue - ghost story - the winter soldier x reader

The final part of my Ghost Story AU - Find the series masterlist here

Plot: In the months since she saw Bucky, Y/N settles back into her old life, despite how much she misses him. Pairing: The Winter Soldier/Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader Warnings: Mentions of nightmares, and some angst. But there's a happy ending! As always, if I miss any triggers, please let me know. Notes: Well, here it is. The final part. Thank you all for loving and enjoying this story so much. I hope you love it as much as I've loved writing it.

Not beta’d, so any mistakes are my own.

As the days go by, Y/N slowly settles back into her old life, the one she wanted so badly to go back to. She tries to be as 'normal' as possible. Or at least, whatever that is now, after having her world turned upside down. However, soon she realises that this life isn't what she wants anymore. She wants to be back in New York, with Bucky, Steve and Sam. In her home. Despite the fear that occupied every waking moment, and the HYDRA agents hunting them down, she still wouldn’t change it for the world. 

It’s just a shame it took her so long to admit it.

She finds reminders of Bucky in the house almost daily, like the window he broke to get in, the books he pored over and the photographs he enjoyed hearing the stories of. And each discovery twists the knife that little bit deeper. Things are just so quiet without Bucky there, and the house feels so empty without his voice and laughter echoing through the halls. In fact, it’s empty because there’s no one else here. She’s never been this lonely before. Of course, she has seen both Sam and Steve since she left New York, and she’s even seen Bucky, too. Although, that was mostly through a screen. She wants to give him the best chance to heal, and she knows that to do that, she must take a step back from their relationship, although she misses him deeply, and the thought of losing him hurts even more.

And when she wakes up in the middle of the night with another nightmare, screaming out a warning to Bucky to watch out for the HYDRA agent that threatens them both, remembering that she’s alone is the worst feeling, a horrible, aching pain in her chest that won't subside, even as she curls up under the duvet. But this is her life now, and she has to accept it.

If only it wasn’t so painful.

Almost six months later, Y/N works through her regular morning routine. She still misses Bucky more than anything, but she's been trying to push those feelings down, refusing to dwell on her heartbreak. Suddenly, the sound of knocking fills the air and makes her stop in her tracks. This is different, not part of her usual routine. It’s so quiet and desolate out here, nobody comes to visit unless they have a reason to. She hasn’t heard from Steve or Sam in a while since they've been on a mission, but they're not the type to show up unannounced. So who could this be? Another knock, louder this time, sounds, and slowly, Y/N makes her way towards the door. She pauses before turning the handle, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Could this be another HYDRA agent, here to look for Bucky? If so, what does it mean for her? The knocking sounds again, more frantic. And again, Y/N hesitates, an anxious pit building in her stomach. 

“Y/N? Are you there? Please answer me.” A familiar voice calls. The one Y/N has been missing for so long. She pulls open the front door so quickly she almost rips it off of its hinges. Bucky looks up, happy and relieved. “Oh, thank god. I was so worried they’d found you, or worse.” But his words fade into static as Y/N stares at the sight in front of her. The man she loves. His hair is a lot longer than it was the last time she saw him, dusting the tops of his shoulders. But it suits him. He looks healthier too - the huge purple bags under his eyes are almost gone, signifying how much more sleep he’s getting. There’s also a lot more colour in his cheeks. He looks gorgeous. 

Y/N takes him into her arms, taking in every part of him.

He’s back.

He’s here.

He’s home.

“I missed you so much.” She whispers, her voice buried by Bucky’s jacket.

“I missed you too, love.” Bucky smiles. He cups her cheeks, almost as if he can’t quite believe that she’s there either. “But I told you I’d be back, didn’t I? Actually… if I remember correctly, I promised it.” Y/N beams, pulling him close into a kiss. The kiss soon deepens in passion as all their pent up longing and emotion is finally released. After a while, they come up for air, breathless and giddy. Y/N’s heart pounds once more, full of love for Bucky. She leans in, resting her forehead on his. 

“Welcome back Bucky.” She whispers. Bucky chuckles, his breath hot against her cheek.

“It’s good to be back.”

Later that night, Y/N and Bucky sit together on the couch, a blanket draped on their laps as he tells her stories from his stay in Wakanda, including the goats he was raising, and the times he spent relaxing with T’Challa, Shuri and Ayo, who helped break the conditioning HYDRA had over him. They even made him a new arm, the black and gold a stark contrast to his previous arm. Yet, Y/N loves this one a lot more. To her, it signifies growth and healing. As Bucky talks, a constant grin on his face, Y/N smiles too. It's wonderful to see him finally feeling joy and fulfilment with his life, being calm and free from fear and shame. Ella Fitzgerald’s It’s Only a Paper Moon plays softly in the background, and occasionally they sing along to a lyric together. Just like they used to do. Honestly, if this is all just a dream, Y/N’s not sure if she would care anymore. It's wonderful to have him back, if only briefly. 

Bucky kisses her temple, his stubble lightly brushing her skin. Since he came back, he’s been unable to keep his hands or lips off of her. Almost as if he can’t believe this is real, either. “Why are you staring at me?” He chuckles, slightly embarrassed.

“Nothing. It’s just, this isn't where I thought we'd end up when we met. But I’m so glad that we did. Meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to me.” Bucky grins, kissing her once more. 

“Same here. I thank whatever god there is every day that this is the house I ended up in.”

“So. What happens now?” she demurs. In response, he simply shrugs.

“Whatever you want.”

“No, I don’t mean right here, right now. I mean, in the future. Are we staying here? Or going back to New York?” Yet he shrugs again. 

“I told you. Whatever you want, we’ll do it.” He squeezes her hand. “I love you Y/N, and I’m willing to follow you to the ends of the earth. If you’ll have me, that is.” Y/N smiles, her eyes already stinging with tears. She nods.

“Of course I will.”

“Thank you for loving and supporting me for so long.” He whispers, lifting her hand to his lips and gently kissing her knuckles. “I say this all the time, but I’m so grateful to you, and I can’t wait to start this new adventure together.”

The End.

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