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fiercynn · 2 months

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okay, if you have ever made or reblogged a “hold your nose and vote for biden” post, this is for you.

here’s the fucking thing about these kinds of posts. i've been seeing them since i first returned to tumblr in, I think, late 2022? they've certainly increased in frequency since october 7, but they were there before too, ready to counter any kind of opposition to biden that has cropped up. many of them are not just trying to educate people about what positive things biden has done, which, like, at least I can understand the motivation behind those ones? but so many of them are directly in response to people criticizing biden, and their only real point is “sure you’re upset at this thing biden did, but have you considered the election?” starting YEARS before the next presidential election, mind you.

and october 7 only made that clearer. i don’t think it had been a week before i saw these posts cropping up. can you not see how fucking ghoulish that is? to look at the rightful pain and anger of those whose relatives and communities are being slaughtered with active american support, to respond to one of the few pieces of agency most americans have in influencing what their governments do – their vote – by saying “yes but trump would be worse.” as if the primary people you’re lecturing – palestinians, muslims, arabs, black people, indigenous people, disabled people, other marginalized people – don’t remember exactly how bad it was under trump!

and even if you think not voting is an empty gesture – something i, who studied political science at a mainstream american lib college, who has worked as a field organizer on a previous democratic presidential campaign and for several policy campaigns, who currently works in public policy in america, used to believe, but have absolutely changed my mind on – what is in no way an empty gesture is saying publicly that you will not vote for someone. the arguments people usually have about why simply not voting is bad are that you can’t tell why someone is not voting, so it is as likely to be apathy or disenfranchisement as it is a political statement. but saying publicly that you will not vote for someone, and why you will not vote for them, absolutely is a political statement, and potentially a powerful one! but you choose to negate and/or ignore that by trotting out the “lesser of two evils” bullshit.

and then there’s the whole “yes but people will DIE under trump”. PEOPLE ARE DYING NOW. even if you’re fucking racist and have decided that palestinian lives don’t count, have you forgotten biden’s ongoing covid minimalism and dismantling of the CDC’s covid research and prevention infrastructure? have you forgotten his increase in spending for law enforcement scant years after the murder of george floyd and his administration's surveillance of protesters, including cop city protesters? have you forgotten his recent ramp-up in deportations of undocumented immigrants, including the active continuation of many trump-era policies?

maybe you have forgotten all those things and do purport to care about palestinians, but you just think that biden is doing his best to influence netanyahu and is getting nowhere! but then you must have forgotten all of the things that biden and his administration themselves have done to further this fucking genocide, including:

continuing to send arms to israel

putting together a military task force within days of yemen’s red sea blockade and attacking yemeni ships

bombing yemen

bombing syria

bombing iraq

vetoing three ceasefire resolutions at the united nations

testifying to defend israel and its genocide and occupation at the international court of justice

refusing to rescue palestinian-americans stuck in gaza

halting funding to the united nations relief and works agency for palestinian refugees (UNRWA) based on israeli claims that 12 of UNRWA’s over 30,000 staff were hamas agents, even though u.s. intelligence has not been able to independently verify this

lying that he’s personally seen photos of babies beheaded by hamas when he hadn’t because they didn’t exist (and even when his own staff cautioned him that reports of beheaded babies may not be credible)

questioning the number of palestinian deaths reported by the gaza ministry of health (when even israel has not questioned them, since they are in fact proud of those numbers)

perpetuating lies about hamas having committed the attack on al-aqsa hospital

questioning united nations reports of adults and children raped by israeli soldiers while claiming to have proof (that no one else has seen) of hamas doing the same

honestly so many more things that i can’t remember them all but others feel free to add

or maybe you haven’t forgotten any of that, and think that you’re still justified in lecturing people about why they should vote for biden, because you genuinely believe trump would still be worse. if that is the case, you have still failed to see that by saying you will vote for biden no matter what, you are part of the problem of biden continuing to act like this. because biden is counting on fear of trump to win him this next election no matter what else he does. despite his appalling polling numbers, despite the knowledge that he is losing the palestinian-american vote, the arab-american vote, the muslim-american vote, the black american vote, the youth vote – despite all of that, he is secure in the idea that he will still win because he is better than trump. can you not see how that allows him to act without impunity? how it becomes increasingly impossible for his base to influence what he’s doing if he thinks that they will be with him no matter what? this is how you make yourself complicit to biden’s actions, by not affording anyone even the slightest power to hold him accountable for anything.

and in most cases, the “hold your nose and vote for biden” thing is the response of people who aren’t even being instructed by others not to vote for biden. it is their response to people saying they themselves are choosing not to vote for biden. fucking ghoulish.

#fuck biden #u.s. politics #free palestine #genocide #covid #immigrant justice #prison abolition #police abolition #ableism #from the river to the sea palestine will be free

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reasoningdaily · 10 months

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My former U.S. Track and Field teammate Tori Bowie, who was found dead in her home in Florida on May 2, of complications related to childbirth at 8 months pregnant, was a beautiful runner. She was effortless. At the Rio Olympics, I ran the second leg of the 4 x 100 relay. Tori was the anchor. When she got the baton, I remember thinking, “it’s over.” She just accelerated. When she crossed the finish line, I couldn’t wait to run over to her to celebrate. It was her first, and only, Olympic gold medal.

She also picked up a silver (in the 100-m) and bronze (200-m) in Brazil. The next year, at the 2017 World Championships in London, Tori won the 100-m title, earning the title of “world’s fastest woman.” Tori started out as a long jumper. So seeing her thrive as a sprinter was a huge deal. She was just such a bright light, and people were getting to see that.

Tori grew up in Mississippi and had this huge Southern accent. She didn’t take herself too seriously. You felt this sense of ease when you were around her. I last saw her in early 2021, in San Diego, where she was training. She gave me the biggest hug; something about her spirit was just very, very sweet. I felt her sweetness come over me that day.

Tori was 32 when she died. According to the autopsy, possible complications contributing to Bowie’s death included respiratory distress and eclampsia—seizures brought on by preeclampsia, a high blood pressure disorder that can occur during pregnancy. I developed preeclampsia during my pregnancy with my daughter Camryn, who was born in November 2018. The doctors sent me to the hospital, where I would deliver Camryn during an emergency C-section, at 32 weeks. I was unsure if I was going to make it. If I was ever going to hold my precious daughter.

Like so many Black women, I was unaware of the risks I faced while pregnant. According to the CDC, in 2021 the maternal mortality rate for Black women was 2.6 times the rate for white women. About five days before I gave birth to Camryn, I was having Thanksgiving dinner with my family. I mentioned that my feet were swollen. As we went around the table, the women shared their experiences during pregnancy. My cousin said she also had swollen feet. My mom didn’t. Not once did someone say, ‘oh, well, that’s one of the indicators of preeclampsia.’ None of us knew. When I became pregnant, my doctor didn’t sit me down and tell me, ‘these are things that you should look for in your pregnancy, because you are at a greater risk to experience these complications.’

That needs to change, now, especially in light of Tori’s tragic passing. Awareness is huge. Serena Williams had near-death complications during her pregnancy. Beyoncé developed preeclampsia. I hate that it takes Tori’s situation to put this back on the map and to get people to pay attention to it. But oftentimes, we need that wake-up call.

The medical community must do its part. There are so many stories of women dying who haven’t been heard. Doctors really need to hear the pain of Black women.

Luckily, there’s hope on several fronts. Congress has introduced the Momnibus Act, a package of 13 bills crafted to eliminate racial disparities in maternal health and improve outcomes across the board. California passed Momnibus legislation back in 2021. These laws make critical investments in areas like housing, nutrition, and transportation for underserved communities. Further, several pharmaceutical companies are making advances on early detection and treatment of preeclampsia.

Three gold medalists from that 4 x 100 relay team in Rio set out to become mothers. All three of us—all Black women—had serious complications. Tianna Madison has shared that she went into labor at 26 weeks and entered the hospital “with my medical advance directive AND my will.” Tori passed away. We’re dealing with a Black Maternal Health crisis. Here you have three Olympic champions, and we’re still at risk.

I would love to have another child. That’s something that I know for sure. But will I be here to raise that child? That’s a very real concern. And that’s a terrifying thing. This is America, in 2023, and Black women are dying while giving birth. It’s absurd.

I’m hopeful that things can get better. I’m hopeful that Tori, who stood on the podium at Rio, gold around her neck and sweetness in her soul, won’t die in vain.

—as told to Sean Gregory

#Tori Bowie #Black Lives Matter #Black Mothers Health #Black Maternal Health #Allyson Felix: Tori Bowie Can't Die In Vain #Black Lives of Children Matter #Black Health Matters

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renthony · 2 months

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[Image description: A photograph of a page from a spiral-bound sketchbook. The page has an illustration of the covid-19 virus and overlaid text that reads, "If I die of Covid-19 - forget burial - just drop my body on the steps of the C.D.C." A caption on the bottom of the page reads, "Ren Basel 2024. In memory of David Wojnarowicz and everyone killed by AIDS, COVID-19, and the government's negligence. Fight back!" End description.]

In 1988, AIDS activist David Wojnarowicz was photographed in a now-famous image, wearing a jacket that read, "If I die of AIDS - forget burial - just drop my body on the steps of the F.D.A.." I am far from the only person to adapt Wojnarowicz's words to COVID-19, but today I am feeling especially angry at the world. Holding the rage in my chest hurts--it hurts so fucking much--so instead, I've put it on paper.

Living through government negligence and community indifference during COVID-19 in 2024 fills me with rage and grief in equal measure, and as a queer person who studies queer history, I can see the echoes of AIDS in the way marginalized communities are being left to die.

As a disabled person who lives in a household that is very high-risk for COVID-19, the C.D.C.'s recent decision to shorten the COVID-19 isolation period feels like a slap in the face.

COVID-19 is not over, and it is vital to take steps to protect yourself and others. Please, follow the work of the People's CDC, an organization dedicated to COVID-19 safety, activism, and education.

Our government has failed us. Our communities have failed us. For those of us who are immunocompromosed or otherwise high-risk, we only have each other.

Remember us. Fight with us. Mask up, get vaccinated, get boosted.

Please.

#original post #my art #covid-19 #covid #coronavirus #disability justice #disability rights #disability awareness

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lucyoccupy · 1 year

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vaspider · 2 years

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Pete Buttigieg is just a faggot.

It's very important to me that younger queers understand this: to the people who you're trying to be more respectable for when you say things like neopronouns set the trans movement back or you're why the cishets don't accept us or including [aces/bi people with the 'wrong kind' of partners/non-binary people/kinksters/non-passing trans ppl/furries/polyam people] just hurts us, can't you wait until we get all our rights before we talk about some of yours? -- to those people? Pete Buttigieg is just a fag.

On Sunday at Pride Northwest, some kids -- late teens, early 20s -- asked what our button I survived Reagan for this? meant. All of the queer adults at the tables making up our ad hoc counter looked at each other and sighed a little. Emet and another adult started to explain the way that the Reagan Administration handled -- or didn't handle -- the beginning of the AIDS crisis. How many people died. How much we were ignored. The Ashes Action. The Time Magazine article which explicitly blamed bisexual men for passing the pandemic to the cishet community, playing on all the worst stereotypical bullshit. The way that even when the CDC started paying attention, they were so focused on gay men that they ignored AIDS in the lesbian community, leading to the "women don't get AIDS, they just die from it" poster. And so on.

I finished counting out change and passed the last Bear Pride raised fist pin over to a bear a little older than me, then turned my head and interjected, "they didn't care until it started infecting more than just the fags." I turned my head back and handed him his change. He laughed bitterly and said, "remember when they called it 'gay cancer?'"

That what I need you to understand. The people for whom you are folding yourself into smaller and smaller boxes will never see you as anything but a freak. A queer. A dyke. A tranny. A fag.

Never.

These are people who will stand by and let you wither away and die alone, gasping for breath in a cinderblock room, and not even claim your ashes, and they will say you deserve it, because of your lifestyle. If they speak of you at all it will be by the wrong name, with the pictures you hate the most. They will curse at your lover, throw him out of the home you shared, and steal the gift you gave last Christmas to throw it in the trash just so he can't have it and they'll say Jesus loves you! while they do it. They'll feel good and righteous and blessed and holy and pure for doing it.

And for them, you spit in the eye of your sister. For them, you disavow your sibling. For their sake, you trim away bits of your heart and lace yourself up tight. Never too loud. Never too queer. Never inconvenient or embarrassing, never asking for too much.

Pete Buttigieg is what happens when your Boomer dad turns out gay. Middle America. Parents still married. Suburban-sprouted. Valedictorian. Harvard-educated. Rhodes Scholarship. Military service. More power to him: I hope he and Chasten are very happy together. Genuinely, I do.

You couldn't create a more respectable gay if you grew one in a lab run by concerned voter focus groups.

But Pete Buttigieg? Is just a fag.

That's the part you don't seem to get: when they abandoned us, they abandoned all of us. Rock Hudson was a beloved movie star and even personally friendly with that horrid pair of ambitious jackals. Nancy Reagan refused to help him get into the only place in the world that could treat him at the time, and he died.

It was 1985, 4 years after the CDC first released papers on what would eventually become known as HIV/AIDS and 7 years after the first known death from an infection from HIV-2. Reagan hadn't even said the word AIDS by the time Hudson died.

Pete Buttigieg is just a fag, and so am I. Unless I'm a dyke, which seems to depend on who's yelling what from which window and what day it is.

Yes, there will be people who genuinely love and accept you. Those people are worth all the frustration of the rest, thankfully, and they're the ones who love you in a pup mask or a leather harness and a neon jock like the ones sold by the men up the row from us last weekend. They're the ones who laugh out loud when you tell them you hid the word "dyke" in your company name, the ones who love you in all your messiness and uncertainty and the way you don't fit into neat boxes all scrubbed up and clean.

Most cishets, though... well, they don't actively mean you specifically any harm, at least not when they have to look at you. Not when you're right there in front of them. Maybe they'll be okay with you, personally, especially if you're the kind of gay who makes a good rhetorical device, and as long as you remain a good rhetorical device.

They need people to know that they don't have a problem with the gays, after all, and there you are, being all convenient. You make a nice token, and as long as you do, well. You're useful.

But they call you by your deadname when you're not around, and they put the wrong pronouns in your medical record even though they met you years after you came out, and they won't put themselves out to save you. Not one little bit.

I didn't want to be here again. The year I graduated from high school was the worst year of the AIDS crisis. The world into which I became an adult was a world in which an advisor and friend to Reagan, William F. Buckley, openly advocated for forcibly tattooing the HIV status of HIV+ gay men on their buttocks (and IV drug users on their forearms), and in which my father not only told me that when I was 14 or so, but when was told me that he'd advocated for that tattoo being "over their assholes."

(Buckley wrote that in '86, but he doubled down on it in 2005.

Fucker.)

But yeah. I didn't want to be here again. I wanted my daughter to inherit a better world. I wanted Obergefell and Lawrence v. Texas and Hope & Change to really mean something. I work for it, today and all days. I haven't given up.

I need you to know that, too. This isn't a white flag. I'm not surrendering. This isn't over. To misquote Henry Rollins, this is what Marsha and Sylvia and Stormé and Leslie and Brenda and Auntie Sugar trained us for. This is punk rock time.

But I need you to understand that if Pete Buttigieg is just a fag, if that human embodiment of a Wonder Bread, mayo and Oscar Meyer bologna sandwich is not respectable enough for them -- and he's not -- then the rest of us have absolutely no hope of measuring up. Not even if we trim away every colorful, beautiful piece of our community, not even if the Sisters Of Perpetual Indulgence vanish into the ether, not even if we sacrifice the five elements of vogue on the altar of white supremacist cishet middle-class conformity: we can't trim ourselves down to something they'll accept.

The only other option is radical acceptance of our queer selves. The only other option is solidarity. The only other option is for fats and femme queens and drags and kinksters and queers and zine writers and sex workers and furries and addicts and kids and the ones who can look us in the eye and see all of us to say we're here, we're queer, get used to it just the way we did 30 years ago. It's revolutionary, complete and total acceptance of our entire community, not just the ones the cishets can pretend to be comfortable with as long as we don't challenge them too much, or it's conceding the shoreline inch by inch to the rising waters of fascism until we've got nowhere left to stand and some of us start drowning.

That's it. Either it's all of us or it's none of us, because if we leave the answer up to the Reagans of the world and all the people who enabled him in the name of lower taxes and Democrats who wring their hands, weeping oh I don't agree with it but we'll lose the election if we fight it right now, the answer is none of us.

The brunch gays can come, too, I guess.

#long post #uncensored slurs #slurs #homophobic slurs #ronald reagan's grave is a gender neutral toilet #lgbtq #queer #trans #transgender #fag #dyke #lgbt

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optimist-pine · 2 months

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Returns

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Warnings: None

Summary: Daryl finds something in his pack that doesn't belong to him... (ps. it's yours)

Era: Season 2, the farm

A/n: This is a silly little thank you for everyone who's been supporting my writing! If you've liked/commented/reblogged any of my works recently, this is for you. :)

Daryl digs around in his backpack, shoving aside arrow bits and extra clothes in the search for a clean(ish) rag he knows is buried in here somewhere. Ah, there, the glimpse of a red hue must be what he's looking for. He tugs it free, but as he brings it into the daylight it comes to his attention that this piece of cloth doesn't belong to him.

He drops it immediately, head swiveling to make sure nobody saw. But no, he's tucked far away from the rest of the group, not a soul in sight. He gingerly picks up the garment before realizing how ridiculous he's being and shoves it in his pocket. He'll slip into your tent, return it, and get the hell out of there and get on with the rest of his day.

Everyone's either dispersed to other parts of the farm or busy enough completing whatever chores they've taken on to notice him. Even if he didn't already know which tent was yours, it'd be obvious from the plethora of herbs and flowers hanging to dry by the entrance, and the dog-eared foraging guidebook waiting on a lawn chair for your return.

He peers through the screen window to assure himself that you're not around before unzipping the door and stepping inside. A moment too late, he realizes the amount of dirt he's just tracked into your otherwise pristine living space, and curses. Nothing to do about it now he supposes. He squats down, opening your pack and pulling the wayward item out of his pocket.

"Daryl? What're you doing in my-" Your voice makes him jump before your words falter.

His head snaps to you; you're bent down a bit, hands on your hips with sweat dripping down your temple. Your mouth is stuck in a cute little "o" of pure confusion. He's frozen, hand halfway between him and your belongings, lungs stuck mid-breath. He really should say something in his own defense.

"Is that my underwear?" You ask a little more quietly.

"I - uh..." He gapes. He's invading your privacy in so many ways, you're going to think he's a total ass if not a complete creep. And he actually doesn't mind you too much so he doesn't want you to think of him in that way. Not that you think of him at all. But now when you do you're going to hate his guts. "They - uh..." He tries.

"Ohh. I get it." You say, nodding, like this all makes total sense. "I've got something of yours I've been meaning to return, just wasn't sure how to make it not-awkward..." You kneel down beside him, fishing around in a side compartment on your bag. "Buuuut no matter. I believe these belong to you." You hold out a pair of faded boxers that've been rolled up neatly.

"Hey, Rick wants to know if-" Glenn appears in the tent opening and Daryl can practically see the gears struggling to turn in his head as he takes in the two of you so close together, each obviously holding the other's intimates. "Y'know what? Nevermind. Just go talk to Rick when you're done or whatever, okay?" He sighs, walking away.

Daryl wastes no time grabbing his boxers, shoving them in his pocket. You do the same but with more grace, standing to brush off your pants.

You let out a small chuckle, biting down a bit on your lip. "It was so hectic when we left the CDC; must've grabbed each other's stuff then." You step outside and he follows. "Thanks for returning them." You say, stooping to re-zip the tent.

The CDC is such a blur that it takes effort to remember. There weren't enough rooms for everyone and so you'd asked to bunk with him. Even though he was sufficiently intoxicated that night, he'd been lucid enough to appreciate not being alone, your steady breaths in the unsettling darkness had quieted his nerves.

He can't seem to make his eyes stay on you for long, though that doesn't stop your gaze from lingering - he can practically feel every place your eyes land as you study him. "S'no problem." He shrugs.

"Well, I guess I'd better go see what Rick wants..." you sigh, making no noticeable effort to go anywhere.

You're leaving a space for him to say something but he doesn't really have anything to add to that. "Yeah." He replies dumbly.

A soft smile grows upon your lips. "Don't be a stranger, okay? Some of us actually enjoy your company." You nudge his shoulder good-naturedly as you walk away.

He mulls over your words, trying dissect what that last little bit means. You were just being kind, right? He's pretty sure people have barely put up with his company, let alone enjoyed it. Realizing you've already been gone for multiple minutes he pushes those thoughts to the back of his mind and trudges off, noting that there's at least a few hours of good daylight left to make use of. But those thoughts are still there, nagging, toying with him.

---

A couple of days later, when Daryl returns to his camp after a successful enough trip into the woods, there sits your well-loved guidebook. It's laying on the ground where you must've set it when you stopped by earlier and forgotten it when the two of you headed out. He picks it up, flipping through the bent pages and your frequent notes when he passes one that makes him stop and turn back. Next to chanterelle mushrooms you've scribbled 'Daryl - pair w/ venison' . He hadn't caught game that big since back at the quarry, and even then the geeks got to it first. A small swell of pride rises within him at the thought of you planning ahead in this way, of you counting on him to provide.

The feeling follows him as he settles down for the night. Pulling out a flashlight he figures he might as well see if there's anything he can learn from your book... Or maybe that's just an excuse to search for more of your annotations. He'll have another return to make in the morning, but he can't quite bring himself to mind all that much.

#twd #the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #twd season 2 #optimist pine

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starshipsofstarlord · 5 months

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Pretty Eyes

Summary -> throughout the outbreak, after meeting Daryl Dixon the two of you had always clashed heads. However when you reach the CDC, convinced you had been saved, you decide it’s time that you get along (1.4k)

Warnings -> 18+ minors dni, smut, oral sex (fem receiving), nudity, swearing, fluff

There will be a part 2 to this piece, for all that wonder

daryl dixon // norman reedus works main masterlist

His hands tousled your hair as you straddled the tracker, lips encompassing in a starved bliss. You weren’t entirely sure how you had ended up in a room together, you had suddenly appeared in the white walled confines after having one too many drinks with your group.

Never had you expected to ever be this close to Daryl, let alone have his tongue down your throat, he was always short and tempered, however you certainly weren’t complaining.

It had been a time too long since you could recall getting laid, but it was definitely before the end of the world. But you were in a haven now, the CDC had taken you in, and the scientist had provided a meal for you all. It was nice to relax rather than just survive out in the wild of Atlanta.

The two of you had hardly spoken, apart from when you’d previously clashed heads over Merle and his crude antics and comments. But he was gone now, leaving sparse conflict between you and Daryl, the only task that he was battling was with his fiddling fingers struggling to undo the back of your bra. He was undoubtedly too distracted with the rhythm of your breathless kisses.

“You need some help archer?” You taunted at him, batting your eyelashes in his direction, causing him to roll his irises in reply and grunt.

A spark ran up your arm as your hands touched, and you aided him with undoing the teethed clasp, slipping the straps off from your shoulders, leaving you half bare for his eyes to drink in. “My eyes are up here Dixon.”

“Well I ain’t gonna wanna look in yer eyes if yer tits are out, am I?” He reached his rough hands up, chewing distractedly on his bottom lip as he ogled at your breasts, pinching your nipples with his forefingers and thumbs, causing your back to arch against him.

As your mind ran through random thoughts, you realised that you’d hardly had a mundane conversation with the burly man. If it wasn’t about your differing opinions on his vacant brother or surviving the horrors of the dead, the only other things you had spoke of were food and water.

And now he was talking about your tits! It was quite the escalation, but it finally a relief to release some of the tension that you’d pent up for one another in a safe reside, and with privacy none the less.

“I dunno Daryl. I have pretty eyes don’t ya think?” Another grunt escaped his broad chest, to which you placed your hands across the exposed skin from where you’d tackled the first couple of buttons open, and bit your tongue until he finally made eye contact with you.

It felt intense, and you cocked your head to the side as his pupils directly aimed into your own. They fluttered around as he took in each shade of pigment in your irises, and gulped. This was the most emotionally intimate he had been with a person, and he felt like shying away, although he didn’t want to.

And so rather than crawling back into his defensive shell, he skimmed his hands down until they were positioned unto your waist, dragging himself to be sat up more upright against the pristine couch.

“Ya do, they’re real pretty.” He seemed caught in the moment, however was pulled out from it and his invasive thoughts as you began to pepper small yet innocence lacking kisses down his throat to distract yourself.

He, despite his better judgement of getting close to people that would no doubt eventually die in the apocalyptic mess that the earth had become, brought back the memories of not long ago at the quarry. Even when you were angry and standing out in the sun beaming daylight, remembered the pissed off glares that you would give him, and how the heated ball in the sky would accentuate the colours in your eyes.

It was a foolish thing to remember, however he was extremely turned on, and when you’d either yell at him or make comments that he did not appreciate about his sibling, he still thought you were hot. Most men would if they were on the other end of your aggression, and not many people had the guts to stand up to Merle.

He sure as hell didn’t.

“Wha’ the fuck woman!” He gasped as you bit him, it was only quick but your teeth had pinched him to his surprise. He was frowning but you could only chuckle and stand up from his lap, spinning around to his confusion.

“I was just wondering when you were going to fuck me Dixon, otherwise I’m more than happy to take care of myself.” You raised a brow at him before turning away again, sashaying your hips teasingly as you shoved off your boots and bent over, undoing your jeans and pulling them off of your legs.

Before you could face him again he wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, instantly grabbing you and shoving you down on the couch, trapping you underneath him, completely nude which only made him harder.

“Stop being a bitch, otherwise I’ll fuck ya and won’t let you cum.” In retaliation and warning that went along with his threat, he bit your neck from the side, much gentler than you had to him, as he groped your ass.

You wanted to retort back, or knock his weight from where it laid upon your own, but you could only rest your head on the cushioned seat and keep your mouth closed. There was nothing you wanted more in the moment than for him to make you cum, it had been months too many in your calendar, and you weren’t going to waste the opportunity of finally cumming around a cock.

“I like it when you’re quiet, but I’m gonna roll yer over so I can see those pretty eyes.” And he did just that, manhandling you to his wishes, his darkened orbs tracing down every crevice of your body. “If I’d a known sooner having ya like this would shu’ you up, woulda done it much sooner.”

“Daryl… please do something. Anything.” You whispered, and he momentarily caught your eyes, finding it difficult to look away to continue with his previous intentions.

His palms encapsulated your thighs, squeezing the flesh in his grip as he pressed haphazard kisses along the skin of your abdomen, until his breath fanned across your awaiting core. Your hands threaded through his hair, allowing him all control that he wanted, as he leant in closer and pressed a peck on your clit, resulting in the lower half of your body to keen towards his affection.

He did it again, until his tongue ran along the length of your core, tasting your slipping nectar on the nerves of the muscle within his mouth. The man groaned into your warmth, half of his face buried between your legs as his eyes flickered between being closed and staring at your face and into your soul.

If you were honest, you would have expected Daryl to have been much rougher within the situation, not that you’d ever thought about it prior of course… However you were pleasantly surprised, that was until he unlatched his lips from the most intimate place on your body and hovered above you, awkwardly shuffling to kick his jeans off from their encasing grip upon his legs and erection.

He’d decided to leave his shirt on, and whilst you were unbeknownst to the reason why, it was one of the farthest things from your mind.

You needed him, shirt or no shirt.

Your lips collided in a rushed pursue of erotic passion, your naked bodies intermingling in a starved embrace. There was nothing that could ruin the moment, except from the blaring of an alarm that shattered every cell of your body in panic.

There was no time to continue, and so you and Daryl rushed to redress yourselves, throwing each others garments to one another as you ran towards the door, poking your head out into the hallway to see your surviving comrades doing the same.

It was an emergency, one that held your lives at risk, and it was certain that you would not be releasing your frustrations any time soon…

You had to survive first. And that was always the thin thread that kept you from feeling like you were living rather than just scraping by. You and Daryl looked at one another, and you hoped that if you made it out, you could pick up where you left off.

#daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fluff #daryl dixon fic #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon oneshot

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ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused · 6 months

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DAY TWELVE: Shower Sex w/ CDC!Daryl Dixon

a/n: Omg y'alls tags on your reblogs of my posts make me giggle. There's an equal amount of thirst to yall just being plain old funny! I love all my silly little gooses!! Thank you for the support!

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TAGLIST: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood @fandomsarelifee @theendofthe70s @nomajdetective @mgg-theprettiestboy @phoenixblack89 @murdadixon @hallecarey1 @zippertwat @alixwriter @dixonzzgirl @violettavirus

At first the CDC just felt like a fantasy, a great idea, but unreachable. But there was something about the way in which Rick spoke about it that sparked the last bit of hope that had been residing in your chest.

The fall had taken everything from you: you parents, siblings, relatives, a job that you had worked your ass off to get; but the worst part is, it put your relationship with Daryl on hold. You knew it was only because he was afraid of losing you, but it was like you missed him even though he was right there. So, when an opportunity to be a couple again arose, you took it.

"Why haven't ya showered yet?" He asked while walking in your shared quarters — which had been Daryl's insistence when you tried to claim one for yourself.

You looked up from the book you were reading on the miniature sofa in the room. "I figured we could shower together. I tried to find you while everyone else was, but I didn't know where you were." He only grunted, chewing on a hangnail nervously.

"Ya wanna shower with me?" He asked sheepishly. You smiled softly, setting the book face down and standing up to take his large, callused hands in yours. "Of course, babe. Why wouldn't I?" He just shrugged his shoulders. "I dunno… figured ya wouldn' want me to see ya… ya know… like tha'."

"Just because it seems like we aren't dating doesn't mean you're not my boyfriend." You reassured the archer. "Now c'mon before there's no more hot water left."

He allowed you to lead him to the showering quarters where you had begun to remove your clothes. He looked away bashfully, the tips of his ears turning red.

"D!" You giggled. "It's nothing you hadn't seen before. Now strip!" You commanded playfully. You kicked off your pants and panties, stripping off your shirt and sports bra before standing bare before him.

He had stripped down to nothing as you approached one of the enclosed showers. You twisted the knob and hot water sprayed down your sweat and dirt covered skin, drawing a blissful sigh from between your lips.

"Oh, Daryl! This is wonderful! You gotta get in here!" You cheered, standing under the head of it. You allowed the water to soak the front of your body, your head tipped back in relaxation.

You felt his warm body before you heard the door slide shut. You smiled gently when you felt his hands land on your plush hips, the hunter placing his chin in the crease of your neck. You squirmed at the feeling of his beard tickling your skin.

"It's been too long since we've been alone, huh?" You asked carelessly. You reached up an arm to massage at his scalp and he purred in delight. "Mhm." He agreed with a hum.

He let his hands wander up and down your body, his fingertips skimming over your nipple. You knew he didn't mean too, that he was just simply worshiping your body without any lustful intent behind his touches, but God, it's been so fucking long.

"Do that again. Please." You plead breathlessly. "Okay." His voice was gruff and deep as his palms cupped your breasts, twisting your nipples and teasing them just the way he remembered you liked.

You moaned softly, head falling back on his shoulder as he placed sweet kisses all up and down your skin. Your body heated up unashamedly, core dampening with each twist of his skillful fingers.

"'Missed you so much. Missed this."

"Missed ya too, sunshine." His hands descended down your torso to your weeping cunt. The rough pads of his fingers teased your labia, stroking it up and down in fluid motions before sinking two digits into you slowly.

"Ah! — shit." You gasped at the stretch of the intrusion. Your hips jolted out in an attempt to fuck yourself on his fingers; but with him, you never had to beg. He'd give you anything you'd ask for and tenfold.

"I gotcha, I gotcha." He cooed, lips settling near your ear so you could listen to his ragged breathing.

The only thing that could be heard over the splashing of the water was the squelch of your cunt followed by your ecstasy ridden moans. His fingers continually curled against your g-spot. You felt your stomach tighten, your grip on his hair tightening as well.

"I'm gonna cum, Daryl!" You gasped. You were on the precipice of pleasure, but you needed just a little bit more to push you over the edge. As if reading your mind, he inserted a finger and the pad of his thumb circled your clit.

"Cum f'me, sunshine." He demanded softly, a light rasp following his words. "Fuck!" You cried out, body quivering as your orgasm overtook you.

You could feel his hardness poking your back as he resumed his soft kisses to help bring you back down from your high.

"Don' gotta keep goin' if ya don' wanna."

"I wanna keep going, D. Please. 'S been too long." You begged, pressing your ass on his hard-on. He choked on a grunt, palms squeezing your wide hips. "Okay." He said thickly.

He turned you around, your arms instantly wrapping around his neck. He walked you back barely even a step before your back touched the surprisingly cool tile.

"'Wanna see ya." There was a sheepish look on his face at his own admission. "I wanna see you too, baby." You agreed, bringing your lips to his as they joined together in an amorous embrace.

He wrapped one of your legs around his hip, his tip poking at your folds. He reached a free hand down to guide his cock to your entrance where he slowly penetrated you.

You broke the kiss by your head falling back, your jaw slightly dropping at the intrusion.

"Fuck." You both called out in tandem when he bottomed out inside of you.

You spent a few moments catching your breath, but as need twisted in your gut, you squeezed down on him, pulling a bellowing groan from him.

"Please move, Dar."

You didn't need to tell him twice. He pulled out, before slamming into you, a loud slap resounding throughout the showers. You were glad that you decided to wait for him.

He tried to keep up a slow pace, but your noises and gummy walls beckoned him, sucking him greedily in an attempt to take him for all that he was worth.

You knew you'd be sore later with every smack of his toned hips to the insides of your plush thighs.

"Ya feel so good, sweetheart." He growled, his tip prodding at your g-spot with each thrust. "You feel good too!" You repeated back to him. "God, I missed you so much." You recalled once more, pulling the man to your body so there wasn't an inch of space left between the two of you.

"Missed ya too, sweetpea. 'Gonna make you cum real good, alrigh'?" You nodded fastly in excitement. "Need it." Your response was simple, but he knew it held a heavier meaning behind it.

You knew that you were going to cum soon, and if Daryl's dick twitching was any consolation, he was right behind you.

"I want you to cum with me, baby." He nodded, "I will, I will." He repeated breathlessly.

Your bodies worked in sync to bring the other to their climax, and when they were successful, Daryl was quick to pull out of you, jerking off before he exploded on the floor; whilst you rubbed your clit to completion.

"You okay sweetheart?" He asked. "Yeah," You responded with a heaving chest. "Just a little worried about the fact that the water feels a little chilly."

#kinktober #kinktober 2023 #kinktober day twelve #plus size reader #x plus size reader #plus size!reader #x chubby reader #chubby reader #daryl fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon kinktober #daryl x reader #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x plus size reader #daryl dixon smut #smut #fanfiction #nsfmeau

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damnikindadontcare · 2 months

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Sometimes I remember that no one in Carmy’s family ever really acknowledged all of his work as a Chef (except for Pete/Nat and that one cousin) and every thing it took for him to earn all of those accolades. They all seemed more upset that he left home rather than being proud of his success in his field. So when Syd came along, full of adoration for Carmy, his craft and all of the hard work he put into it, that must’ve been absolutely jarring for Carmy. Especially when she defended him against Richie when he called Carmy’s experiences in all of the different restaurants he worked in around the world stupid. imagine working in a field as thankless as culinary, working in multiple different restaurants around the world, receiving many awards, giving everything you have, being torn down every single day by your god awful boss telling you you’re not good enough and a million other terrible things, only to go home and be shamed for pursuing your passion and not even receiving an ‘I’m proud of you” or a “good job”. Until one person comes along and she admires you so deeply, she knows you as “the best CDC in the best restaurant in all of the U.S.”, and you made her the best meal she’s ever had. And all of the sudden for the first time in your life someone recognizes all of your hard work, all of your accomplishments, they acknowledge all of your successes in a way no one else really has, and they see you. This is what Syd did for Carmy, she saw every part of him, including all of his work as a chef when nobody else did and that shit makes me cry every time I remember it.

#just a reminder that SydCarmy admire and respect each other so deeply #the bear #carmy berzatto #sydney adamu #sydcarmy #carmy x sydney #jeremy allen white #ayo edebiri

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moments-on-film · 9 months

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Moments on Film: Carmy’s Vital Signs

One of the most fascinating things about The Bear is the full body acting from Jeremy Allen White. As with any performance, as an actor he makes many intentional choices, but there are several that I have noticed that are so in the moment and realistic, his body experiences them as his character. His actual vital signs—body temperature, pulse rate, breathing rate, blood pressure—are all a part of his character and are often visible onscreen, making it very hard to differentiate between the performer and the performance. He is so immersed in the character, you can’t help but worry about him and his health, both as a character and as an actor, to the point where his acting often feels dangerous. He surrenders himself and his body so fully, it is absolutely mesmerizing to watch. Below are several examples from season 1 and season 2.

Season 1:

Carmy and Sydney Meet

The scene where Carmy meets Sydney for the first time immediately struck me. Because of their undeniable chemistry, you very quickly get the sense that they just “get” each other. Sydney glides in and literally gives Carmy the breath of life he’s been missing. She wakes him up and reminds him who he is as much as who he could be. Carmy’s eyes show us everything in this scene and all that he’s been through leading up to this moment. It’s all there. The deep, deep sadness, grief, the exhaustion, how traumatized he is, beaten down, burnt out, sleep deprived, and desperately in need of help. He looks sick. When Sydney says, “I know who you are”, his face cocks to the side and his eyes lock into hers. He looks hypnotised by her. He says “oh yeah?”, but his eyes say, “No, I’ve forgotten. I’m exhausted and beaten down. Please help me remember. Let me be what you see.” And she does. Watch the scene again and listen to his breathy exhalation when she says “you’re the most excellent CDC…”It’s as if by being seen and understood by Sydney, the spell is broken and he can finally, actually breathe again. The relief of this moment, due to her belief in him and how she’s sees him is the first time we ever see him smile.

The Phone Call

This scene really made an impression the first time I saw it and it continues to. Carmy picks up the ringing phone and it’s a call from someone he doesn’t know named Nico. This person asks if Michael is around and in this moment Carmy goes through so many emotions. He is so caught off guard to be asked about Michael that he literally says, “Uh, uh, no. No, no. He’s not here this second.” If you watch closely, when he hears Michael’s name his pulse instantly elevates to the point where you can see the vein on the left side of his neck throbbing. As the scene goes on he starts to tense up and becomes weak and eventually has a panic attack that leaves him with a pounding heartbeat, so severe he has to sit down and then get out of there, as fast as possible. It’s an incredible moment of physical acting where the actors’s body is truly serving as a vessel for the character.

Fights with Richie

In this scene, Carmy is fighting with Richie over the C health code rating The Beef just received. Carmy believes it’s Richie’s fault since he left cigarettes by the burners, when in reality, it was Carmy’s fault. Carmy and Richie scream at each other and it gets physical. He’s so angry in this moment, his face slowly becomes completely flushed red, and his forehead stays pale. His pulse slams against his neck veins. I don’t know how many takes this scene took, but to achieve this level of body acting, even once, is incredible. The actor’s body doesn’t know that they are acting, it responds as if it’s a real moment they are experiencing.

In the scene above, Carmy and Richie are again fighting. This time, because Richie admits to selling drugs out of the back alley of The Beef and Carmy finds out. Is this what Carmy’s dad used to do at The Beef? Uncle Jimmy mentioned they last fought about drugs, among other things. The idea of selling drugs is so triggering for Carmy, it made me think there is a backstory here that has to do with his family. Carmy also finds out it was Michael’s idea to sell the drugs. This revelation both devastates and infuriates Carmy with such equal measure that he simultaneously looks like his going to burst into tears and completely explode. Look at the tears in his eyes. Look at the gripping tension he’s holding in his neck. You can just feel his heart rate rising as the scene progresses. It’s another incredible moment where this actor is literally giving his full body to service the story.

Sydney Quits

One of the worst moments in the series for Carmy is when Sydney quits. She’s calm, but she gets in his face with her final words. Given Carmy’s severe abandonment issues, and how much he needs Sydney and wants her there with him, this moment clearly devastated him. He practically doubles over. When Sydney walks out, so does his ability to breathe. He is struggling for air. His face, which normally becomes flushed and red in moments of extreme duress does something different here. He’s in such agony, his face completely drains of all color. He turns white as a sheet. This response, to me, signaled a different type of deep, deep emotional pain. How the actor was able to control his body to exhibit these internal emotions externally is remarkable.

Al-Anon Share

In acting, a performer always has to be thinking about their moment before—what were they just doing, what moment did they just come from, and how is that impacting them in this particular moment? When Carmen attends Al-Anon in the season 1 finale, he is coming from all the events that took place previously, including a traumatizing nightmare, which he awakens from violently and painfully. He’s regretting everything he did the day before, he’s hearing his brother’s voice, and he hasn’t slept well or rested, maybe in months, or years for that matter. Physically in this scene, it makes sense for him to look dishsheveled. He goes a step further though. In this scene, and often in the series, he literally looks like he’s running a fever. Once Carmy starts opening up, we see sides of him we have never seen before. One striking moment is when he’s sharing that Michael used to tell him “let it rip.” When he shares this, he almost seems a little embarrassed. In this moment of raw and open vulnerability, he blushes, and his face flushes, slowly. He then smiles, so sweetly. The fact that his character feels embarrassment and his actual face will flush, on command, as a performer, will never fail to astonish me. You can’t plan for your body to have that reaction. You can’t fake it either. He is living in all of Carmy’s moments with his own flesh and blood.

Sydney Comes Back

In the season finale, Carmy discovers the money his brother has left for him to pursue their shared dream of opening a restaurant together, The Bear. While Carmy and the team are opening the cans where Michael left the hidden money, Sydney appears. She again glides in and reminds him who he is and who he can be. But this time it’s different, this time she reminds him who she is too. Carmy then envisions what they could do—what they could be—together. Carmy has missed her so much, he regrets their last minutes together, but in this moment, all that fades away. He breathes, easily and deeply at the sight of her. Every cell in his body bends towards her. Carmy’s eyes invite her in to build the restaurant with him as much as his words do. His pupils actually dilate when he first sees her and looks into her eyes. Again, these are not physical acting choices that you can just plan or manipulate. Your body has to be going through these emotions for them to present themselves in the way that they do.

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Season 2

Season 2 of The Bear is different. To me, they have messed with the actor’s face in a way that has taken away a huge part of what makes him uniquely compelling. He lives in the moment, he acts with his whole being. He lets his eyes, body, and skin all tell the story. What they’ve done to his face this season is very noticeable to me. Carmy, as a character is stressed, exhausted and haggard. He doesn’t take care of himself and he’s not vain. It’s a huge disconnect to see him looking flawless in certain scenes, with no color showing through anywhere on his face, like he just had a facial. It doesn’t make sense for the character and it limits him and what he brings as an actor. His skin often looks like glass this season, and whatever fancy stuff they did to him took away his ability to have his emotions show through his skin at the level they did last season, which is a huge reason why the performance felt so visceral and real. They saw his emotive skin flushing and imperfections as a liability, when in fact, they are an incredible asset. He doesn’t look like anyone else, and it’s real and refreshing to see onscreen. I wish they didn’t take that away from him.

Despite what they did, he is such a good actor, he pushes through and can still physically convey the heart of what Carmy is feeling in each moment. Below are several moments that made a huge impression.

Scene with Claire

The first time I watched this scene I had to pause and watch again. Why does it feel so awkward? Among other things, it’s because Carmy is not breathing properly. Watch it again but this time only listen to his breathing. He is so distressed, talking about the fire suppression he can barely get enough air. You would think Claire’s presence would calm him down but she doesn’t. He can’t accept the moment. At times, he is subtly gulping air and his voice is shaky in a way that the scene doesn’t necessarily warrant. This was a huge indicator to me that something is wrong. It feels very off. He is so ill at ease and tense. Speaking of moments before, Carmy later reveals in this episode that the previous night he had a “gnarly panic attack.” So in this scene, he presumably had a very rough night and did not sleep well. He’s very worried about the test, waiting for the other shoe, and is self conscious about if what he’s saying is boring to Claire. All of these anxieties impact him and he’s having a lot of trouble stilling himself and calming down. We now know that Claire is not Carmy’s calm, or his peace, or his safe place—that’s Sydney. We don’t fully know that until the next episode. It’s as if the actor internalized that truth and is giving us a clue to it now. This is subtle, expert character work and an extremely difficult physical action to fake as an actor. He would have to be so keyed into the subconscious emotions of the character to let these nervous ticks run through his body. I’m telling you, watch the scene again and only listen to how much trouble he has breathing in certain moments. It’s not normal how tense he is here and an incredible foreshadowing into what we later learn he needs that actually soothes him and calms him down—Sydney.

Panic Attack in the Alley

In episode 9, cracks come to the surface, what’s done (literally) in the dark comes to the light, and Carmy is forced to physically deal with what he’s been suppressing emotionally. He experiences the worst panic attack we have ever seen him go through. He’s gotten so much worse and because of the incredible full body acting in this moment, it’s painful to watch. The conversation about this scene, rightly so, focuses on how Carmy thinks of Sydney to bring down his panic and breathe, but let’s talk about the physical acting for a minute. He’s shaking uncontrollably, every muscle is tightly wound and coiled. He can’t feel his hands. He can’t breathe. His skin is red and burning up with tension. He looks like a freight train is running through his body. His face contorts like he’s swallowing bile and is about to vomit. His acting is so real it is distressing to watch. Because he puts his body through so much, we are right there with him in every moment. We can truly feel what he’s feeling. He looks like he’s in real pain.

Eventually in this moment, Carmy focuses on Sydney—the first time he saw her face and when she came back to him, affirming words she’s told him about who he is and how she sees him. He’s kneeling at this point and is finally able to suspend his suffering, lower his panic, calm himself down and breathe. The flush on his face starts to lessen. The fever breaks and starts to come down as he focuses on Sydney and only Sydney. This is all conveyed without a single word from the actor. A montage shows us what he’s thinking, but the emotional stakes of this scene rely entirely on the actor’s ability to use his body to let us in so we can feel what he’s experiencing, and he delivers.

Carmy and Sydney Under the Table

The scene under the table is so tender and beautiful it brought me to tears. It’s a moment of truth, reckoning, concern, care, and yes, love, between the two of them. Carmy creates an environment that is gentle and safe, and Sydney softens and blossoms in a way that we have not seen before. There are moments that are so intimate, still and low it’s as if they are speaking to each other softly while laid out across each other’s chests. Sydney shares her fears and Carmy essentially tells her, “it’s ok. I’m here. We’re in this together. You’re safe with me and I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

Physically, in this moment, Carmy is so attentive, and so at peace with Sydney that time literally stands still. They are in their own dimension. We are so used to seeing Carmy in motion, thrashing around and stressed, that this scene and the way that it’s acted feels like a deliverance. He creates a sanctuary for Sydney to feel safe. The physicality and voice of the actor creates this moment. They are 25 minutes to open, and his eyes are gentle, his voice is as soft as it’s ever been, he’s breathing steady and easy. He’s gently moving his hand but not out of frantic energy. He can’t soothe her with touch so he soothes her with words. This scene is a revelation in how the actor shows us Sydney’s impact on Carmy. In her presence, his entire nervous system is completely and finally relaxed and at ease.

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All of what this actor gives and does as a performer engenders so much empathy for the character that his feelings become ours. We exhale when he does, and it actually hurts to watch him suffer. We worry about him, and his health, and care about his feelings. I think that’s why people have connected with this show so much. The rest of the cast is fantastic, but if we do not feel for Carmy and care about him as a character, the show does not work. He knows this, puts his body on the line, and gives it his all. He deserves the awards he had received for this role and I hope we get to see him continue this character in a season 3 and beyond.

Pay. The. Actors.

#the bear #the bear fx #the bear hulu #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #sydney adamu #carmy x sydney #sydney x carmy #sydcarmy #syd x carmy #acting #jeremy allen white #my thoughts

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