#//I hate to break character like this and I hate more to be put in this situation. unfortunately it's not the first time i've been

[demodraws0606]

DRDT CHARACTER THEME PLAYLIST - My Personal Interpretation

Warning : This playlist was deleted by DRDTdev and thus this is mostly meant to be something fun, and also because people have posted a lot of interpretations that I don't agree with (and I've always wanted to make my own).

So a while back DRDTdev made a playlist that they've now deleted, however I've seen a lot of people making their own posts about who fits which song. However since I'm not "like the other girlsTM", i had mixed feelings on how certain songs were assigned.

Some songs will be exactly the same as some other posts, mainly because they make the most sense to me but I do have some interesting shifts here and there that I will try to explain.

However I want to get the obvious ones out of the way first

UNDEAD ENEMY : David Chiem

I think this one is the most obvious song in the playlist. The song talks about a person who has put on a mask and is miserable trying to addear to the expectations of that mask. There is a lot of pent up frustration and anger in those lyrics which also is very fitting for David.

There is also the hints of something more behind those feelings of hatred, despite how much he's learned to hate the world there's still a sliver of him that still wants genuine companionship.

YESMAN : Nico Hakobyan

This song already fits Nico purely from the introvert lines. I'm joking, that's not just why I considering Yesman to be Nico's song. This song fits really well with Nico's frustration with being a pushover (or you could say a Yesman) and just how society has always treated them poorly.

The song itself is about being forced to do something, like a boring job, and despite how much hatred you feel you still keep on trying to keep your head low and do what your told. I think all of that really fits Nico's arc and what we know of them so far. Someone who constantly is pushed down by other and has been taught that they need to accept it.

SHUNRAN : Arei Nageishi

This song could also fit Ace as another aggressive person who just wants companionship but I personally think this song fits Arei way better especially with the beginning line ("I won't pay attention to small fry" has a lot of Arei vibes).

This song fits Arei's desire to want love and the contradiction that comes with her aggressive personality. She feels that it's unfair how life punished her which fits a lot with the line "They say that praying to be loved is a sin" as she was constantly denied that love. The lines as well about your personality slipping and crying reminds me of Arei's breakdown.

Hi-Fi Evolution Theory : Veronika  Grebenshchikova

This song is very vague but despite that it is 100 pourcent a Veronika song.

I don't fully know what the song means in itself but the lyrics really fit Veronika's issues with boredom and her enjoyement of the killing game. There's a lot of lines about laughing and wanting to be entertained which just goes with her really well with her character.

Cartoons : Rose Lacroix

Ok, I think I lied when I said Undead Enemy was the most obvious song, THIS is the most obvious song. I don't think there's much analysis to be done to convince anyone that this is would Rose's theme.

This song reflects well Rose's depression and pain surrounding her talent and just how her life turned out in general. It kinda has that dissociative numbness in the lyrics that just fits her really well.

Sing Along : Teruko Tawaki

This song really fits Teruko extremely well especially her abandonnement issues. The song itself sounds aggressive but it oozes of longing and sadness.

A lot of the lyrics fit her feelings of being betrayed by Xander and Min, people she's gotten close to in a short time but immediatly ended up betraying her. It also fits her feeling towards her brother who ended up leaving her as well.

Now let's take a break and tackle the Instrumental songs !! This is where things start to change from other posts so get ready.

Spitfire (05 Version) : J Rosales

This one just fits J's vibes quite well. It's aggressive but also isn't too serious or intimidating, it just sounds like something J would listen in the car.

It also just has this...manly energy (?) or punk-ish energy that J has, it fits her rejecting the traditional feminity her mom tried to force on her.

Main Theme, Diamond is Unbreakable : Xander Matthews

This song is literally Xander vibes and you can fight me on that, it has a very dramatic and grandiose sound (especially when the piano comes in) that just fits how Xander holds himself (as you can see with that pose).

It's the exact type of theme I would expect from someone being the Ultimate Rebel. There's also more actively aggressive parts that I think also fit Xander, as we see he's got a short tamper when his ideologies are challanged and he also just is surprisingly quick to resort to violence.

desk rotation by RQ laji-2: Charles Cuevas

You can fight me again because you cannot tell this Bill Nye intro ass track doesn't fit Charles. Again it's hard to argue considering assigning instrumental tracks is really just based on vibes however this song really has a huge science show feel to it.

I could imagine hearing it while Charles is doing chemistry stuff or theorizing during the class trial.

Now let's go back to the lyrical songs, and this is where things start to go a bit crazy and I might need to justify myself a bit more.

asymptotic : Min Jeung

I know Charles is considered the resident nerd guy but you cannot NOT give the song about math puns to Min.

I think this song works really well for Min's relationship with Teruko. It especially reminds me of what Teruko says to Min before she gets excecuted that they "should've never gotten attached to one another".

This song is about a romantic relationship that could never happen, which I think represents Min's own feelings towards Teruko. About how they could've been closer but now they'll always be drifting apart.

How Min in a way sacrificed her life for Teruko but again she'll always be "out of reach". A relationship that could never happen under the killing game's circumstances.

RUNAWAY : Levi Fontana

I think this song especially with what Levi revealed to us latest episode REALLY fits him.

A song about a person who is repeteadly failling to try and "become better". The lines about "searching" and "tripping" goes in line with Levi's behavior in chapter 2. He's awkwardly trying to reach an ideal of the person he's supposed to be. He wants to be a "good person" but from the day he was born he was completely denied that ideal (aka "Dreams of who i want to be I'm seeing every empty page")

But there is a silver lining to all of this, the lyrics work with the moral of Levi's character. He doesn't need to run away from who he truly is, that what he considers an obstruction to his goal is simply just a part of himself he should accept. He doesn't need to "run away".

tip toes : Hu Jing

This song already just screams Hu purely from the line "I'm reaching for something more than this feeling of being important". She's a person who wants to protect others, be someone who others can rely on but in part it's very much driven by her own ego.

The lyrics are slightly vague but the parts about her "future" I feel like really gives vibes about how she used to be someone who had givne up on her own life but now is determined to persue it no matter what.

I didn't put this lyric in but "Take this ghost of me with the tide to die" again really feels like it references Hu's past and how she's ashamed of it. The song's lyrics give me a lot of feelings of regret but also determination which I think encapsulate Hu's character well.

Polygonal : Ace Markey

I've never seen people consider this one for Ace which is really surprising but also not because this song is very vague. Despite that, I do think this song 100 pourcent fits Ace purely because of some lines that really fit neatly with Ace's character.

The repeated mentions of how anyone would want to be loved/have someone to laugh with, it reminds me a lot of how Ace reacted to Levi saying he didn't care if he died. Ace desperately someone to give a shit about him, he'd rather take pity than nothing at all but he's also a self sabotager who drives anyone who gets close away from him.

"Your increasing honesty, I hate that about you" Honestly really feels like it's Ace saying that to Levi ? I wouldn't know fully how to explain it but it just really gives that vibe.

The song also seems to go on about a person's suffering about how their life is "full of failures" which again goes unfortunatly with Ace who seems to just have lived a pretty miserable life. Having only one person he could call a friend, being forced into an Ultimate Talent that both ruined his body and mental health .

Drawing Pins : Arturo Giles

Ok this one is probably the most farfetched pick, i'd say ? Considering, however, how little we know about Arturo I feel like this song has a lot of room to fit his characters and certain lines already do in multiple ways.

The parts about not being able to fit in, both makes me think of how he's kind of just, openly mocked within the group. However it also really makes me think about Arturo's family, him wanting to distance himself from them and his apparent disdain from them as well.

"Tell me what you did it for" "Cause I can't figure it out" I honestly think those parts really fit well with Arturo's sister committing suicide. He doesn't know why she did it something like that and he refuses to see it as his fault, it haunts him, he can't figure out why she did it because he can't fathom the idea that in reality it truly was because of him.

The "what do i have to do to be loved by you" parts I think are where things get a bit weird. My thought process would be Arturo's feelings towards "pretty people", him becoming obsessed with J because of her mother really makes me think that he's looking out for some kind of validation in a way.

Good grief : Eden Tobisa

I'm sorry this song is not fucking Whit, it's Eden, y'all can suck it /lh

This song really just fits way to well for me with Eden's feelings about Arei (weither she's the culprit or not even if I don't think she is anymore). The entire of the trial of chapter 2, Eden is struggling with the fact that she lost Arei and what could have been. This song really makes me think about how she tells David that she "knows she's dead and that she's never coming back". The slight upbeat-ness of the song really fits as well with Eden's attempt to try and stay cheerful despite how sad she feels.

I think Arei's death will be a very big sticking point in Eden's character.

Also the time motif with "Every minute and every hour" just fits way too good for it to be ignored.

In terms of other lyrics, I agree some of them fit Whit a bit but there are certain things that click way too well with Eden (and also none of the other songs fit Eden at all). I mean Eden's secret quote literally is "You can't go back no matter how hard you try" so clearly her character is heavily tied with grief as well.

"If you want to be a party animal, you have to learn to live in the jungle...." Really feels to me like Eden having to learn to be stronger and stop blaming herself ? It really just sounds like advice that would be given to someone like Eden who wants to be upbeat and confident but just simply is too prone to be insecure.

"Get drunk, call me a fool. Put me in my place" Again those lyrics really just feel like they fit Arei and Eden's relationship. Arei calling Eden a "fool" and "putting her in her place", it just ends up really matching perfectly in my opinion.

Mistaken Belief of Love : Whit Young

AHAH ! You have fallen into my trap of this post actually being secretly propaganda about how "Mistaken Belief of Love" really fits what's hinted about Whit's character so far !!!

Yeah, no, this song really does not make sense with anyone else other than Whit ? Both the lyrics and vibes do not match with anyone. The song's whole thing is about "love" and Whit's a fucking matchmaker, thematically it just fits like a puzzle piece. Not only that but Whit's whole thing (that actually hasn't rlly appeared in the series itself all that often) is that he seems to not be able to find love himself and is doomed to be single. It reinforces this idea that, yeah Whit's song would be about love in some way or another (I talk about love in general, this song is not a love song despite what you'd think)

It also works really well with Whit's secret quote being "We often idolize the dead" meaning Whit probably saw his mother as someone she wasn't. Perhaps she was abusive or neglectful, or she hid something from him that truly shows that she may not have cared about him at all.

There are also lines that just fit Whit really well like the "deception, boasting, saying "I openly laughed at it"", just really gives giant Whit vibes for me ? Same with the mention of "peekaboo" since we know Whit kinda holds on to childish things like that (his socks, the fact he uses fruity shampoo for kids).

Anyways, this was mostly for fun and also because I desperatly to make my own list because I had some Hot Takes Tm.

[heathermason6060]

Daryl Dixon x f!Reader: Together Apart Ch. 6

(Hes sitting next to you in this pic :D)

Warnings/Mentions: History of abuse, neglect, strong language, mentions of character death, alcohol and drug abuse, ptsd, shared trauma, reader is cold, angst, fluff, eventual smut, slowburn, angst, SMUT Summary: You search for Daryl after Negan's lineup. You didn't understand the trauma he went through, and eventually you decide enough is enough, and you leave. Notes: The last chapter! Somewhat proofread. Filled with tensions overflowing and then some sex. I had a lot of fun writing this and want to thank @louifaith again for allowing me to write out her idea. It's also pretty long because I didn't want to break it into two chapters, it didn't really make sense that way. Longish read, but longish smut at the end if you're just here for sex and want to skip ahead.

When you found out he left on some halfcocked revenge mission, you were pissed. And then you learned nearly everyone else had gone too, you were pissed and confused. 

The rare presence of the others had become more common than the familiar presence of Daryl. He was gone more often than not now, either out with Aaron or off with Rick. Even when he was home, he was never really there. He didn't laugh at your crude insults about others anymore, he didn't want to spend all day with you out hunting in the woods. It looked like was also making an effort to smoke less, often declining your outstretched cigarette. He was the one who got you to smoke once. You used to hate it, but eventually associated the smell of tobacco with him, and you grew to love it.

You couldn't read him like a book like you once did. He'd become overly serious, distant, and uncharacteristically concerned with the well-being of others. 

You had half a mind to just leave. The only reason you hadn't left months ago was Daryl, but the way he was treating you felt like a slap in the face. It hurt. For the first time in so long you hurt. You felt utterly and completely alone, leading you to once again close yourself off from the others, spending all your time hunting or scavenging for substances in the city that could make you feel better. You scored an unopened bottle of painkillers, something you once hated, and drowned your sorrows with a stuffed nose and a foul post nasal drip. 

The savior issue never really seemed like a big deal to you when it first arose. Some asshole raiders trying to make a point, you didn't give a shit. Rick and Daryl would handle it like they always did. 

You took a deep drag from your cigarette as you watched the front gates being opened, two heavy duffle bags over each of your shoulders. You’d come to terms with it, you were leaving, and that was it. You weren't some obedient housewife that didn’t mind the absence of Daryl, you were his best friend and you couldn’t put up with the dramatic emotions anymore. You were fully prepared for the conversations that would ensue, a list of reasons you should stay, maybe some light pleading, so when you saw what came from those gates you froze. 

The muscles in your jaw throbbed as you listened to Rick's pitiful attempt at retelling you what happened, his eyes red and puffy, his hair wet and matted to his forehead. He couldn't, so he gave up, and drug his feet into the house, moving in a way that closely resembled the dead. Carl followed, and you realized Maggie was missing too. Your heart dropped. 

“What the fuck is wrong with him? What happened?” You gaped, looking from face to face, searching desperately for an answer, only to be met with the ghosts of their former selves. You spotted Aaron and realized he was almost never out without Daryl, and your confusion snapped violently to panic. Michonne was really the only one who wasn't too shocked to speak. She told you everything in great detail, her words cold and harsh as she made her anger towards your insensitive behavior well known. Each word she spoke felt like a curse, spitting at you with such venom you'd never had directed towards you before. You deserved it. 

You weren't a good person like them. The deaths of Glenn and Abraham didn't make you cry, go through all the stages of grief and have a mental crisis, in the moment she told you they just felt like problems you’d deal with later, you didn’t have the time. Not when you still had no idea where Daryl was. 

Despite not being a good person, you reacted to the news in a way that was very impressive by your standards. You didn't scream at anyone, or punch Gabriel in the face, you just threw your already packed bags in the car and set off. 

You chain-smoked an entire pack of cigarettes the first hour of searching. You never did find the saviors home, even though you didn't stop searching to sleep the first few days. You found the location of the massacre, a few shredded pieces of clothing and blood stained dirt. You were brought to furious tears at the thought of the scenario where you were in Daryl's position, and him yours. Your first assumption was that he would've already tracked you down by then, him and his one man army breaking you out and taking you far away from the entire state. Then the second, and more daunting assumption, would he even look? Would he be too busy taking care of Rick and the others, the task of rescuing you put on a back burner? 

You told yourself maybe you were just impulsive and stupid, maybe Daryl in that scenario was just being smart and careful, you were just a guns blazing idiot who didn't think far into the future. 

It felt like you'd been out there for weeks, living off a diet of cigarettes and various illegal substances. You nearly stuck a knife in the face of  a woman who was unlucky enough to walk into the same store you were in. 

“No, please, don't.” She sniveled pathetically, her hands raised to the sides of her head in surrender. “I don't have anything. Please. I can take you to my camp, we've got food and water and medicine-”

“Dude, shut up. Just thought you were a walker. Goddamn.” You sheathed your knife and stood back, the tip of your tongue held between your teeth in thought. “But I'm hungry as fuck!”

She took you back to her camp, which was extremely impressive. And just in time, too, your stomach growled noisily and you felt the small waves of hunger nausea begin. 

“Put your gun away, please.” She pleaded in a hush whisper as you stood in front of the wooden gates. 

You looked to her with furrowed eyebrows, your cheeks hollowed out as you pulled on your twentieth cigarette that day. You really needed to cut back. “No.” You muttered around the cigarette, eventually sighing and slinging your rifle over your shoulder with a dramatic eye roll. 

The sight of Rick and Maggie chatting outside with a small group of others felt like you'd been slapped in the face. They looked just as stunned as you were, pausing their conversation. You stood there for about ten solid seconds before the silence finally broke. 

Rick opened his mouth to speak but you raised your hand, stopping him. “Don't have time. Just gonna eat and leave.” 

“Daryl's here.” The sound of Maggie's harsh voice halted your route to the front of the mansion. You couldn't hide the look on your face, an intense ‘this better not be a lie’ mix of anger and disbelief. She pointed up to your previous destination with raised eyebrows and you took off. 

He almost punched you in the face when you jumped him. He was still wet from a shower, littered in various sized bandages and bruises, wearing a fresh set of clothes. He smelled like laundry detergent and cheap flowery shampoos. 

“Holy shit I thought they killed you. Holy shit. Mother fucker.” You babbled into his chest as he squeezed you so hard your back cracked. 

It felt indescribable being in his arms again. It also felt incredibly different. You'd hugged him hundreds of times but something about this particular hug stood out. It was desperate and deep, you didn’t worry about coming off as soft or being too much. Your fingers dug into the sleeves of his shirt around his biceps, your face buried into his chest, and his hands were all over you. He couldn't decide where to touch you, your arms, your face, your hair, your back, they would move from place to place as he cemented into his mind that you were really there, there in his arms, holding and petting him like you'd always done before. His mind flashed with images of him back in that cell and his throat tightened, the slightest whisper of a whimper sounding in the back of his mouth. He held you tighter and kissed the top of your head, rocking you in his arms for a few silent moments as you pulled yourself together. 

“Where the hell you been? Rick said ya left with all your shit.” His voice was tight, the way it would get when he would try not to cry, along with raising in pitch a little. 

You looked up and smiled softly, seeing him through a sheen of wet tears. “Doesn't matter.” You hummed as you stroked his cheek. “Really. It doesn’t. I've been looking for you, only reason I'm here is because some bitch thought I was robbing her and told me about this place. Couldn't keep looking if I was starving.” You buried your face back in the fabric of his shirt and sighed deeply. 

“Told ya, I ain't leavin'. I ain't dyin’ neither.” His warm words in that deep rumble resulted in your racing heart finally slowing its pace. 

“What happened? Are you okay?” You pulled back from his chest to look up at his face. He looked miserable, it broke your heart. He looked away from your gaze, unable to keep eye contact, which was something he never struggled with before when it came to you. “Daryl?”

His head immediately dropped and his forehead collided with your shoulder. Your heart banged against your ribcage and you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, stroking the back of his neck and kissing the side of his head while he stifled his soft sobs.

“Let's leave. C'mon.” You parted from him, only to be pulled back by his grip on your wrist. 

“Y’jus’ got here.” Daryl furrowed his brows, his eyes wet with tears that he quickly blinked away.

“Yeah, to eat so I could keep looking for you. I've found you, so let's go.”

“Go where?” 

You gritted your teeth as his grip on you loosened. “Anywhere else, I don't care.” You said through clenched teeth, your gaze intensifying. “We're done with this shit. Not our problem anymore. Let's go. I'm not letting these people get you hurt again. Never, Daryl.”

Daryl had never been the reason you cried, at least, that's what he thought. So when you started cracking at his rejection, his heart shattered. Every bone in his body yearned for him to hold you, bring you back into his arms and make the pain stop. It hurt even more to see that you weren't just upset, you were pissed, disgusted at the fact that you were showing such weakness in front of the same person who made you cry. 

“I gotta. ‘Jus need to do this.” He attempted to comfort you after your rage at your perceived betrayal faded into tears of defeat. “M’doin’ it for us. Ya gotta trust me on this.” 

There was a small glimmer of hope then, and you allowed yourself to feel it. You were desperate to believe him, and desperate to believe everything would turn out alright. Rick and everyone else would deal with Negan, you'd scratch that burning itch for revenge, and everything would be okay. 

Rick did deal with it, that much came true. At the cost of his son's life, he defeated the saviors.

You were more than willing to fight. You’d been dying for a purpose, and being a soldier in the war against Negan was exactly what you needed. You looked like a cheesy action movie protagonist with two long arm guns on your back and two pistols in each hand. You used more ammo that day than you had in your entire life. God. You wished Merle had been there to see you and Daryl. 

You didn't get the revenge you so desperately craved. You absolutely lost it when Negan was defeated. After Daryl decided against killing Dwight, you lunged at the man like a rabid fox, fully prepared to end his life with just your teeth and hands, only to end up clawing and wriggling in Daryl's grasp. You could've gotten over that eventually, it would take a really long time, sure, Dwight was a brainwashed cult member and did what he did because he was told to. And he'd get his, even if you had to restrain yourself. Fine. It’s fine.

But Rick sparing Negan? 

No. Your reaction to that earned you the reputation of the group's feral animal. You shared the same reaction as Maggie, but unlike her giving up after a while of being held back, you ended up earning a matching set of rope bracelets and anklets.

“You'll have to kill me.” Your throat burned as Daryl tossed you in the back of a blue Toyota camry. He nearly had to force Dwight into the passenger seat at gunpoint, the terror in the backseat scaring him more than the thought of death. 

Your spit was red and thick as it smacked onto Dwight's battered face, blending with the blood that made him unrecognizable. He was barely able to get to his feet after Daryl's threat of death if he was to return, blindly picking up the car keys in the mess of blood spattered leaves. 

The relationship between you and Maggie quickly became a deep friendship as you plotted to kill Negan. Neither of you were allowed to see him in his cell without someone to stand guard, but Maggie even moreso. With enough time you were able to get down there alone, gun in hand, only to be stopped by Michonne, who had apparently come for the same reason. 

“I haven't seen you much before. What's your name.” Negan's eyes followed you as you paced back and forth in front of his cell, seething from the fact that Michonne wouldn't let you kill him yet. She had her own unknown motives, which didn't really matter to you, but all this talking was driving you insane. 

“You don't need to know my name.” You muttered, cutting your eyes at the man. “You look so much smaller than I remembered you looking in that field.”

He winced at your words, placing a hand over his heart in mock offense. “Oh, sweetheart. That hurts. Actually, I've been told I'm pretty impressive.”

He watched you as you continued pacing, your hands sweaty and your eyes wild with rage, confusion, and confliction. A smirk spread on his face. “Look at you. Like a lion in a cage. Well, I’m the one in the cage, but. Coulda used a psycho bitch like you. If you were on my side that day, phew!”

You pulled your gun from your waistband and pulled the trigger. Negan raised hands and jumped. Your heart dropped when you were met with an empty click. You inhaled sharply through your nose and pulled out the clip, which was completely empty. 

Daryl. He dragged you out of the basement, thankful he’d unloaded your guns the night before. He wasn’t stupid, he knew what you were planning. He didn't care that you were pissed, Rick wanted Negan alive, so that's what he was going to stay, even if he did want the prick dead.

It didn't take long for you to pick up on Daryl's trauma. He was good at hiding it from others, nothing much had changed aside from him being quieter. But once your selfish rage had settled you noticed small differences. He slept closer to you at night, no longer on the other side of the mattress, and his nightmares became more violent. He'd thrash in his sleep, tossing and turning and sweating, you found yourself waking him up more times than you could count. Each time he'd get real quiet, maybe from shame, and walk outside to smoke a cigarette. You'd follow him each time and sit quietly on the porch steps, not caring that he didn't offer you a hit. He looked like he needed all he could get. 

You saw him crying with Carol once. His head dipped down and his forehead pressed against her shoulder. If it had been long ago you would've felt hot at the sight, assuming he obviously must've felt closer to her since he hadn't cried like that with you since his capture, but you weren't as shallow and selfish as you once were. Your heart ached for him, wishing he would open up and tell you what happened, you could comfort him too, you wished you could tell him that. 

“Wanna go hunting?” You asked one day, picking up your new hunting rifle, a Savage model 99 that you'd replaced your broken bow with. Daryl shrugged from his spot on the chair beside your bedroom table, not looking up from his work. He was almost always making new bolts in his free time then. He had a pile of twenty-two sitting next to him. 

“Come on, I'm craving venison.” 

He inhaled deeply, his shoulders sagging. 

“Seriously, we haven't hung out in forever man.”

“Hang out?” He said it like you asked him for a ‘playdate’. “What're ya, twelve?”

“No, I'm an adult who misses you, jackass.” You muttered, kicking one of his boots across the floor closer to him. “You've made two hundred arrows in the past week man. I think you can take a break. Yeah, don't look at me like that. I've counted.”

It was when you were alone in the woods that he broke down. You hadn't even asked, he just told you after you took down a buck. He didn't cry at first, he gave a vague retelling, it was only when he felt your arms wrap around his shoulders from behind that he cried. His head hung low as his chest shook with quiet sobs, his hands laying idle and nervous in his lap, his eyes looking down at the stump he sat on. You rested your head in the crook of his neck and held him for a while, your fingers occasionally giving his biceps a reassuring squeeze if his breathing grew too ragged. 

“I'll kill him. I promise. I'll find a way.”

When you were fifteen you skipped school for the first time. Your freshman year, Daryl's too. It was one of the only times you hung out that wasn't just the right time, right place. He was the one who talked you into it, since the two of you shared a history class. He brought cigarettes and a wild assortment of drugs, no doubt nabbed from Merle. 

“We should do this more.” Daryl had said as you walked the power line trails in the woods behind the school. He shrugged when you looked at him, his gaze falling to the grass in front of him. “Hang out, I mean.” 

“Yeah, we should.” You flashed a rare smile, earning one from him as well, the purple skin around his eye wrinkling. 

You never did. You were too busy with school work and getting beat on by your withdrawing mother. Daryl wasn't really busy, in fact, he was alone most of his teenage years. Always alone out in the woods. Sometimes he'd miss school for a week, living in his father's tent deep in the forest, spending his time learning to live on his own. His father never noticed, not until the school called and he got one of the worst beatings he'd ever gotten. You saw him at school a few days after that, one of his last days before he dropped out. 

He looked awful. Busted lips, bruises all over his arms, light purple handprints on his neck, and deep purple blotches around his eyes and jaw. The school called the police, but nothing ever happened. Daryl told them it was from a fight with some kid, and they happily accepted that answer, eager to miss out on the paperwork. 

“We should just leave.” You said after he pulled the cigarette back away from your lips to take a drag of his own. 

“I would.” He muttered as he held the smoke in his lungs, watching the kids in the far off soccer field chasing the ball. His legs dangled off the edge of the school roof, occasionally swinging a bit. 

“I would too.” You wouldn't. Not until you got your brother back. You looked at him, feeling an unfamiliar twist in your heart when you saw the way he flinched under your sudden gaze. “I'd kill him if I could.” 

You truly meant it. Even though Daryl was barely an acquaintance at that point, you would have killed his father if you got the chance. Daryl didn't mean much to you to be brutally honest, you didn't care to form a deep friendship with anyone, but you shared the bond of trauma from parental abuse and that was deeper than any normal friendship. He could leave, never see you again, and you wouldn't be upset, but if you ever had to witness his father touch him it would shatter your soul. 

You promised yourself you'd kill anyone who ever hurt him after that. You almost murdered Andrea when you found out she shot him. You risked being eaten alive by walkers just to make sure the Governor was really dead. You beat Dwight until Daryl dragged you off, if he hadn't done that you would've killed him. 

Things got a lot worse after the day of your failed assassination attempt. Daryl was never home anymore, either at Hilltop or Ezekiel's kingdom. You had reached the point of considering leaving again. The emotional rollercoaster you were going through was taking a heavy toll on your already fucked mental health.

He could see the effect his absence had on you, and it made him feel like shit. There wasn’t much he could do, he had so many responsibilities and he would never ask you to come with him and Rick every time they packed up and went on long trips every five seconds. It felt selfish to him, he didn’t know that you’d be more than happy to accompany him. 

His hands on your tense shoulders as you sat on the edge of your bed did wonders to loosen you up. You set your gun down beside you and looked up to him, forcing a smile. 

“C'mon sweetheart. Wanna show you somethin’.”

He took you on a long walk in the woods to a secluded pond that once belonged to a fisherman, obvious by the raggedy dock and small wooden shack filled with all sorts of fishing tools. There was still homemade canned fish in his cupboards. 

“Gonna stay here for a few days. Jus’ you an’ me.” 

You watched him over your can of trout, chewing slowly. “Really?”

Daryl shrugged and stabbed his fork into his own can. “Yeah. Ya need it.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “We need it.”

Your heart swelled with warm joy, a smile spread on your face and you tried your best to contain the satisfaction his gift had given you. You missed your best friend more than anyone you’d ever missed before after your baby brother. You’d come to terms with the more than likely possibility that he was dead, and so were your parents. It took a long time and many different weeks spent searching when you were back in Georgia. 

You had a fantastic time with him. You fished all morning, talked all afternoon, and ate your fill of fresh and canned fish. It wasn't long before you set up your bedrolls in the middle of the shack and blew out your candles. It felt amazing to sleep next to him again, you couldn't properly put into words how much you missed him. The feeling of his large warm body next to yours as you fell asleep had you thinking that it was all worth it. He was making an effort to spend time with you again, and with that effort came the sparks of hope, hope that you were getting your best friend back.

You woke up the first night spent with him in the fishing shack to see moonlight seeping through the holes in the tin roof. You rubbed your blurry eyes and sat up, propping yourself up with an elbow on the floor. 

“Daryl?” You murmured sleepily as your eyes came to focus in the dim light. His bedroll was still beside yours, albeit empty. You waited a few minutes before walking outside, assuming he just had to go piss or something. 

Ten minutes passed before you walked back into the shack, now carrying a small candle to light the room, cursing when the wax dripped down your knuckles. The amber glow illuminated his bedroll, bringing attention to a small white square. You leaned down and picked up the piece of paper, squinting in effort to read his handwriting. 

The pain in your chest was deep and dark. Growing up you had grown used to being disappointed by your parents and people around you. It never surprised you. Even now you didn’t expect much from people, but Daryl was that exception. So when you read his little apology, claiming Rick called on him through his walkie to request his help in the Kingdom, you decided you’d had enough.

He had been in the Kingdom for about two weeks until you heard from Rick that they were back.

“We're leaving.” You seethed the moment you stepped into your new shared bedroom with Daryl. It was upstairs in one of the apartments in Alexandria, no longer the basement in Rick's house. You had a nice king sized bed, lots of dressers and shelves, a big ass tv, and even a gaming console that once belonged to Carl. Daryl had only slept in that bed three times since you moved in months ago.

He sighed your name and stood from his seat at the table, setting down the disassembled gun he'd been cleaning. “No we ain't. Cut that shit out.” 

“I can't be here anymore. I can't. I can't.” You began hyperventilating as you ripped the dresser drawer fully out, falling to your knees and quickly grabbing the clothes that spilled out. 

“Stop.” When you didn't comply he made you stop, grabbing your wrists and forcing you to look at him. He spoke in that serious tone that felt like a stab to the chest, his eyes burning holes into yours. “I'm not leavin'.” 

You froze at his words. Your mouth opened and your lips trembled, your breath catching in your throat. The words never came to you. You just stared at him with wide eyes and a horrified look of disbelief.

Daryl didn't speak either. He stood his ground, maintaining a firm gaze, his grip on your wrists slowly loosening. 

It hurt. And that made you angry. 

“Who even are you anymore?” You hissed, tearing your hands away from him and shooting up on your feet. “I never see you anymore, you're cold, distant.” He got to his feet, accepting each blow of your words with this calm face that turned your anger into lividness. 

“You promised me you'd never leave me. You promised you'd always be the one thing Daryl, the one thing that wouldn't change, wouldn't leave, wouldn't hurt me, I kept my promise!” Your finger hammered against your own chest in reference. “You say you're never leaving but you already left! I can see it in your eyes, don't look at me like you have no idea what I'm talking about.” Your face burned. “I can see it. The pity, the disdain. The only reason you haven't just kicked me out is cause you feel like you're obligated to me now, or maybe you're scared I'm some loose canon and I'll burn this fucking house down-”

Daryl had heard enough, he lurched forward until he was inches away from you, his nostrils flared due to his increasingly heavy breathing. “You're fuckin’ delusional!” He spat. “You don't think this is hard on me too? Don't think I'd rather be out there livin’ in some cabin with you? That shit ain't happenin’, these people are family. I ain't leavin' ‘em neither. Shit don't mean I don't care ‘bout ya anymore. We ain't in Atlanta, ‘ts not like that anymore. Ain't just me you ‘n Merle.”

“We should've just left. We should've just left.” You repeated in a breathy whisper, your glazed over eyes locked on his chest. 

“Yeah? Well, we didn't, now we can't. Now I won't.” The purposeful enunciation of the last word was the straw that broke the camel's back, and he immediately regretted it as soon as your eyes squeezed shut. “G’damnit.” 

“Fine.” Your breath was shaky, and you resumed packing. 

He found it impossible to stop you, impossible to move. In reality all it would take from him was a simple request for you to stay, but he couldn't even manage that. It felt like watching a fire you started get out of control, he knew he still had the power to stop it, but he was too stunned to move. 

You zipped up the same second duffle bag you'd packed with the same intention on leaving, just as you'd done before. This time though, it wasn't the same. It felt too final. You knew it would be the last time. Daryl did too, and he still didn’t stop you.

You’d set up camp deep in the woods down a dirt road that led to a pond. You slept in your car with your campfire a few feet away, a pot of wild carrots and rabbit simmering over the coals. It smelt amazing due to your stolen beef bouillon cubes, but you didn’t really have the motivation to eat. You flicked away the first cigarette of your last pack and stared into the red hot coals, watching them ebb and glow until the flash of something large and dark caught your eye. 

You stared in disbelief as you watched his figure move through the thick trees, making his way over to your little camp beside the car you'd stolen from Alexandria. He had a heavy bag with him. 

He plopped his bag down next to your fire and sat down, helping himself to a bowl of your stew. He said nothing, not even looking up at you as he finished your supper.

“The hell are you doing here?” 

He looked up at you and sucked the grease from his fingertips, the empty bowl now discarded at his side. You had no idea how he’d managed to get his fingers coated in rabbit fat, it was fucking soup and he used a spoon. “Ts’it look like?”

You couldn't move, your feet glued to the debris of the forest floor. Your mind spun with questions. If he was actually willing to leave with you, leave all those people behind, why had he shut you out? Why had he changed? What changed? 

“I don't want you here. It's an obvious act of charity.” You finally spoke, watching as he lit a wrinkled cigarette. “You told me yourself-”

“Will ya shut up?” He squinted up at you through the burn of smoke. “Jus’ walked six  damn days to find ya. M’not leavin'.” 

You sat on the opposite side of the fire in silence. He scooted around to sit next to you, and held his cigarette up to your lips. You took a weak pull and sighed. After a while of not speaking, you broke the silence. 

“You're so different. Changed so much”

He nodded at your words, his head tilted down to stare at the leaves between his legs. “Had to.”

“Why?” The question burst from your lips so quickly that it surprised you. 

“You.” He took a deep pull off his cigarette and blew it out the opposite side of his mouth to avoid blowing it directly in your face. “This ain't the kind of life you deserve. Tryin’ to get that for ya. That little house ya dreamed of living in, one with a screened in porch for plants ‘n shit. Life that ya ain't spendin’ hungry, cold, scared.”

He paused for a moment, taking another long drag. “Wanted me to be better too. The kinda man to pick ya flowers, take ya on dates, all that stupid shit.” He flicked the spent cigarette into the fire and leaned back against your car door. 

If it was possible, you were feeling every emotion all at once, in such a rapid and disorienting fashion that it looped back around and made you too shocked to feel. 

He delved deeper, explaining that he felt you deserved better than who he once was, Merle’s echo, a loud and angry asshole, then turned into a cold and traumatized shell, never allowing himself to feel vulnerable with you again. When he finally broke out of it and realized exactly what he wanted, he worked on himself in a determined attempt to be the man you dreamed of marrying as a kid.He worked on your surroundings as well, making sure to eliminate any possible threat in every colony that had even the slightest chance of risking your livelihood. But more importantly, he wanted to be yours. The type of husband you described when you were thirteen years old, cleaning the blood from his swollen ear one of the nights he slept on your back porch. 

“I'm not gonna be like my mom.” You had said firmly, tossing away the bloody tissue paper. “I'm gonna get a good husband and I'm not gonna mess it all up like she did.”

“A good husband?” He questioned curiously, wincing as you dabbed his ear with rubbing alcohol. 

“Yeah, like…. He'll take me on dates, open doors for me, buy me cool stuff, uh….” You trailed off in thought. “He's gonna build me a house too. With a screen porch that I can put a hundred plants in, and he won't be allowed to smoke in it. Oh, he won't smoke, actually. Or drink, or do drugs. He'll never hit me or yell at me like my mom did to my dad, and to me. He'll be handsome too. And smart.”

You were brought to the present with a jolt as Daryl’s hand touched your knee, making you jump. You didn't notice your eyes had started watering and you quickly went to discreetly dab them dry. 

“Guess I fucked up. M’sorry. Was a real piece of shit.”

“No,” your voice broke as you stopped him, grabbing his hand on your knee and giving it a squeeze. “Complete opposite of a piece of shit. I had the wrong idea, I should be the one apologizing.”

“Tsh. Nah.” Daryl waved you off and shook his head. “Should’a told ya. Wasn't thinkin' right.” 

The two of you sat in thoughtful silence until the embers began to grow dim. The forest was thick, so even though the sun was visible as it sank lower and lower, it soon became too dark to see properly. 

“My…” you broke the silence, searching for the right word. “Aspirations have changed since then.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Several seconds of silence.

“How'so?”

“Well, I don't care if he smokes, or does drugs, or curses or can't take me out on a date. He doesn't have to build me a house, but that's still an option.” Daryl snorted, and you went on. “But he does have to own a crossbow, ride a motorcycle without a helmet even though I tell him to, and he definitely needs this,” your finger tapped on the skull tattoo on the back of his hand before sliding up his arm to stroke a line down his back, “and these tattoos. And this.” You touched the mole over his upper lip. “And he definitely has to slur all his words together because of his accent.” 

“That's all, huh?” He joked softly, watching you draw your hand away from his face. “Y’got some low standards for a husband.”

“Oh, right, I forgot. He also has to go back to his family, because that's where he belongs.” There was a quick flash of hurt on his face, his lips parting and his eyes narrowing, so you continued. “And because that's where my dream house is going to be built.” 

In all your years knowing Daryl Dixon, you'd never been sexually intimate. You'd never had sex, flirtation only being reserved for playful teasing banter, you'd never really kissed, aside from that one night at the Greene farm. You'd laid with each other multiple times, more often than not sleeping curled up together in the woods or on the floor of some house. Despite never being sexually intimate there was an unspoken mutual understanding of your relationship, you were together, but not in the traditional standard sense. Neither of you ever had interest in a relationship with anyone, that was simply out of the question. Why have a partner when your best friend is everything you need? 

He became your partner at some point, maybe that's why it caused so much anguish to the both of you when you left. But it was only that night that you solidified it. And the next morning, and in the back of the car on your way back, and on the hood of the car, and after your shower back home, and after dinner, on your bed, on the floor, a second time after that, right before bed, and again the moment you woke up. 

It started with a kiss, which just so happened to be his second ever kiss, the first being you in the back of Dale’s RV. You wouldn't have ever guessed, the way he kissed with so much passion and vigor felt akin to a man kissing the same pair of lips he'd kissed his entire life. And you would have never guessed he was a virgin. 

Each touch was as if he was handling precious glassware. He never took off any of your clothes, he'd just gently tug at your shirt until you got the hint and undressed yourself. 

At some point you moved to the back of the car, he laid you down and closed the door behind him. Your soft pants and gasps quickly led to the windows fogging over, and by the end of it there were beads of precipitation dribbling down the glass. 

He led graciously. His fingers were gentle but firm against your clit through your panties, working hard and with determination to give you the orgasm you deserved. He obeyed your requests for ‘circles, ah, softer, to the left, more’, and before long he was a master in the art of making you come. 

Daryl wanted to give you oral, but you quickly pulled him back up, shaking your head as you gasped for air. “N-no, please. You. Need you.” 

It was shocking that he didn't feel embarrassed when he came early. You'd reached down to stroke his cock, only getting in a few strokes before he pulled away with a strangled gasp, spilling his hot cum on your bare stomach. He didn't have time to feel embarrassed because only seconds later you were taking him in your desperate mouth, giving it your all to make him hard again. 

He didn't take long. After stiffening in your mouth he eased your head away, maneuvering you on your back in such an effortless way that it made you look like you weighed nothing. Due to your wetness and unimaginable arousal it didn't hurt at all when he finally pushed in after rubbing his cock all over your desperate slick flesh. 

You cried out anyway. Your jaw dropped and your eyes rolled back, clutching at his bare shoulders when you felt his pelvis fully connect with you. 

“F-fuck.” You groaned as your eyes rolled back, digging your fingers deeper into his skin.

He let out a moan then, a light and vulnerable sound. You could feel him shaking on top of you as he fought not to finish again. It broke your heart, knowing he wanted to have sex with you so badly, to please you like you had him. 

You stayed as still as humanly possible while you waited for him to move. 

Daryl’s breath slowed and he moved, finally. He fucked you slow at first, slow and deep thrusts that managed to bury his dick further and further inside you each time. With each thrust he let out either a shaky whimper or a deep grunt, and soon he was picking up the pace, fucking a moan out of you each time he drove his throbbing cock back inside. 

When his hand connected with the warm skin of your torso you whimpered, tossing your head back against the car seat. His hands stroked your sides, rough and dirty fingers scraping against your nipples and breasts. He gave one a firm squeeze, eliciting a sharp moan from you, one that he eagerly swallowed down with his hungry mouth, kissing you deeply and feverishly. He was breathing heavy through his nose, hot puffs of air sending waves of heat across your upper lip and cheeks.

A rough slam of his pelvis against yours sent the tip of his cock so deep it was almost painful, your gasp choked in your tight throat, your thighs squeezing the life out of his torso. He groaned at how responsive you were, his hot wet lips sliding down your face to start kissing your neck. 

Daryl was quiet in the sense that he didn't say much. He groaned and whimpered, sure, but he hadn’t said a word since entering you. Which was totally fine by you, but you were a sucker for dirty talk. It was one of your favorite parts of sex.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” You whined, hoping to get a response. He just grunted, a possible returned compliment, his head not moving from the crook of your neck. 

A noticeable increase in his pacing had all thoughts vanishing from your mind in a puff of smoke. You could feel the side of his jaw clenching against your neck, the skin hot and prickly with stubble, the friction eventually becoming uncomfortable. As if he could read your mind he raised his head and looked down at you, the tip of his tongue peeking between his teeth, looking like a man in deep, oh, deep, concentration. 

“Fu-uh-uck-” You babbled, your heavy eyelids shutting against the brutal force of his thrusts. You grabbed onto his biceps again and held on for dear life, giving them a squeeze each time he gave a really deep thrust. 

“That’s it.” Your heart jumped in your chest at the sound of his voice, it was gravely and sounded from the base of his throat. You felt your lower stomach do that delicious flip sensation, your clit throbbing in response to his voice. 

“Mmm’god.”

“I know. I know.” He breathed, taking a second to readjust himself between your legs before going back to his artistic thrusting. He was grinding against you then, barely pulling out, using the full weight of his hips to force himself as deep as possible while he ground into you. You couldn’t speak, could barely breathe, it was a miracle that a virgin could fuck like that. He was a savant at something he’d never done before. You came hard around his throbbing dick, your walls clenching down so hard that it ripped his orgasm straight out of his body. 

You gasped, your fingers tightening around his flexed biceps as your orgasm shook through you in violent waves. You moved your hips on your own, grinding up and against his pelvis to draw your pleasure  out for  as long as possible. 

Daryl wasn't expecting it, he just came. His jaw dropped and he held onto the nearest body part, which just so happened to be your neck. He didn’t choke you, which came as a slight dismissible disappointment, he just held onto you with his large hands as he finished. It was so sudden and unexpected that he couldn’t control the sounds he made, better for you, he let out this beautiful high moan that sent flashes of Daryl in Atlanta behind your closed eyes. His body shuttered and jerked as every single rope of his cum flooded your insides, coating your vice like walls like spilled paint. 

You didn’t give him time to recuperate. You squirmed under him, swapping your positions, and took his softening cock in your mouth. He groaned under you, grabbing you by your hair to pull you away, only to shudder when he felt his cock growing hard again. You smirked against the tip as he gently pulled you back down.

Halfway through he tugged you off of him, the two of you switching spots once again. You whined when you felt his lips connect with your puffy clit, your mind swirling as he used the flexed tip of his tongue to drift between your slick folds. 

“Oh god, daryl.” You panted and ran your fingers through your sweaty hair to push it back over your head. You were either extremely sensitive due to the two orgasms, or he was an extremely skilled pussy eater. Either way you came fast, clenching your thighs around his head to clamp his mouth tight against you. He didn’t ease up as you came, his tongue and lips pulling tricks you didn’t think possible, drawing out your orgasm longer than any time previously. 

He slid up between your legs, planting kisses from your wet mess up your stomach to your chest. He suddenly bit down on one of your nipples, gentle at first, but the moan that came from your lips had him tightening his teeth.

You were under the impression that he would ease you down from your high with light kisses and soft touches, but apparently, he had other plans. His cock plunged back into you before you had any idea what was happening, and he quickly set a fast and intense pace. His hands slipped around both of your wrists and pulled, using the leverage to both fuck you deeper and keep you firmly in place.

If you could’ve seen the state you were in, you’d be a red hot embarrassed bitch. Your mouth was hanging open, your eyes fluttering between open and closed, sounds coming from your throat that envied any moan and whine to ever come out of a woman's mouth. Your hair kept falling back in your face each time his hips slammed into yours, no matter how many times you hastily pushed it away or tucked it behind your ears. You looked at him for as long as you could, but you were too stimulated, it was too hot, he was too beautiful, you had to let them fall shut as you came again.

As cliche as it sounds, your final orgasm, for that night at least, was world shattering. You didn’t care how loud you were or what types of faces you were making. Your body was completely out of your control, your brain on pause as it struggled to deal with the flood of dopamine and oxytocin. 

Daryl wasn’t looking any better, he’d ran miles before and came out looking more put together. He huffed as he came inside you yet again, his dick twitching with each spurt of cum. He braced himself on his elbows on either side of your body, his head drooping down as he managed a few sloppy thrusts. He muttered something then, something you were too fucked up to make out through his thick and slurred accent.

When he finally drew his red and tender dick out of you his heart seemed to skip a beat. The two loads spilled out the second he withdrew, trickling down your folds and over the swollen head of his dick. That was a sight he’d remember till the day he died.  

You fought to catch your breath after he all but collapsed on top of you. It was pure bliss for a few moments, and then it was too hot and too close. Before you could say anything he lifted himself off of you, still waging his own war against his lungs. 

“Getting old there, huh?” You teased, sliding up into a sitting position after grabbing your panties. Yeah, he's old, it's not the fact you just did the same amount of exercise as swimming across the atlantic ocean.

“Shut up.” He breathed as he wiped his damp hair from his face. 

After a few moments of silence, apart from the sounds of your breathing, you dressed yourselves and began loading all your shit into your car. 

“You really walked six days? No bike, no car?” You questioned as he plopped down into the driver's seat, the flame of his lighter illuminating his face. The smell of cigarette smoke had you leaning over and he pressed the filter against your lips. 

“No bike.”

“That’s kind of stupid.”

“Huh. Rich.” He smirked around the cigarette at you before glancing over his shoulder to watch the dirt road as he reversed.

“Yeah, true.”

Your life wasn’t magically fixed after that night, and neither was Daryls, but it did get a lot easier. You zipped up your coat but your shoes were still full of snow, that kind of better. A lot of shit happened, you had your arguments, but no fights. After RIck died you ran off together looking for his body, for Daryl’s closure, living off in the woods somewhere with a dog that liked to growl at you. He was over possessive of Daryl, and so were you, so the two of you were butting heads often.

He never did build you that house, but you moved into one of the newly built homes in Alexandria. He did build you a back porch, which looked great for someone who’d never built an entire screened in porch before, even if it did look a little raggedy in some spots. He even brought home pots for you to plant ‘shit’ in, as he said. 

Daryl wasn’t home often, which didn't bother you anymore, because you were out there with him. 

@ophelialaufey @carlgrimesgfofficial @theskinniestjackson-denny @dilfish-daydreams @louifaith @my1fx @jinx-nanami

[zxxccx]

Fumigation Part 2

This is a work of fiction. All characters are 18+. Contains male fart fetish content.

I was jolted awake by the smell of rotten eggs assaulting my nose. My friend was squatting over me laughing. It's times like these that made me think getting an apartment together after college was a mistake. Yes splitting rent made things more affordable, but at what cost? I couldn't even take a nap on the couch without putting myself at risk of falling victim to his gassy ass. He knew I hated his gas, but he farted on me anyway. He knew anytime I smelled his farts it brought me back to the traumatic prank he played on me, but that only seemed to make him want to fart on me more.

After school ended, he went into the fumigation business full-time. He was apparently so good at it that the owner of the company he had been working at part-time during college offered him a full-time position as soon as classes ended and before we even officially graduated. Of course he gladly accepted. I, on the other hand, went the more traditional route of going through a painful job search before finally getting an offer for a job tangentially related to my major. The work was mostly menial, but it was remote and the pay was decent so I really couldn't complain. It was nice to have to house to myself for most of the day and be free from my friend's gas.

Working remotely was nice, because it allowed me to flex my schedule and take breaks/naps as needed, which is exactly what I was trying to do before my friend so rudely awoke me. Apparently he forgot his lunch so he stopped home to grab it between job sites. He saw me napping on the couch and couldn't resist. I groaned.

Me: “Don't you need to save your gas for work?”

Him: “Nah, I have plenty to go around - more than enough for work and to blast you whenever I want.”

Me: “Why do you do this to me? You know I hate it.”

Him: “You just answered your own question.

Me: “You do it because I hate it?”

Him: “Duh. It wouldn't be as fun if you didn't.”

He laughed. I didn't think it was funny.

Him: “Anyway, I better head out and get back to work. The termites aren't going to exterminate themselves and I can't afford to slack off now. The company retreat is coming up and rumor has it that I'm a shoo-in for the employee of the year award.”

Me: “Employee of the year, really? Don't you just fart into an A/C and have it blow your gas around? How do they even decide who does that the best?”

Him: “You underestimate me. I haven't had to use an A/C on a job site for ages now. All my training and diet changes have really increased my gut strength and helped ensure maximum fart output. I'm one of the few employees that can gas out an entire house just by letting rip into the vents - no A/C or other assistance needed.”

Me: “BS! Your gas may be powerful, but no one can fully gas out an entire house by themselves. You have to be using a fan or something to help spread your gas around. It would take too long otherwise and you'd lose business.”

Him: “Is that so? Why don't you take the afternoon off and come with me to the next job site and see for yourself?”

Me: “Nice try. I'm never going near another one of your job sites, not after what happened last time.”

Him: “I'm serious! Why not put your money where your month is? I could make it worth your while.”

Me: “What do you have in mind?”

Him: “We make it a bet. If I can gas out the entire house with no assistance or aides like I said, then I win. If not, then you win. You can be there to observe and make sure I don't cheat.”

Me: “What do I get if I win?”

Him: “I give in and won't fart around you anymore.”

Me: “For how long?”

Him: “Forever.”

Me: “And what do you get if you win?”

Him: “You have to shove your face in my ass and inhale my farts directly from the source for 10 minutes.”

Me: “Dude that's brutal. That would absolutely suck!”

Him: “Obviously. You're not supposed to get off easy if you lose.”

Me: “……so you would really never fart around me again if I win.”

Him: “I'm a man of my word. I've never welched on a bet before.”

Me: “How big is the house you have to fumigate?”

Him: “Pretty big……”

Me: “………ok, you're on!”

And with that, off to the job site we went.

…

When we got there my friend started to get set up. He was right about the size of the house. I noticed that instead of the harness he had last time that filtered his gas into the A/C using a hose, he had a new harness that hooked right into the air intake vent that would allow him to create an airtight seal between the vent and his ass. This got me a little worried, but I was still confident that I would win. There's no way a single person could fill an entire house with gas, especially one this big. He finished getting his harness set up and said there was one thing left to do before starting the fumigation. Before I could ask what it was, he picked up his tool bag with one hand and hoisted me over his shoulder with the other. I protested and asked what he was doing, but he didn't answer. Instead he carried me right into the house. I tried to wriggle out of his grip, but he was stronger than me and was able to prevent me from getting away. At this point I knew exactly what he was planning and I was pretty pissed. He put me down at the bottom of a staircase and, before I could even react, he pulled out a pair of handcuffs from his tool bag, handcuffed me to the railing, and the stared down at my grinning.

Him: “Walked right into that one didn't you?”

Me: “Come on man, you can't do this to me again. It's not funny!”

Him: “It's freakin hilarious!”

Me: “This wasn't part of the bet!”

Him: “I mean we did agree you would observe, we just never specified where you would be observing from. How are we gonna know if the house is fully gassed out without having some sort of judge? It's the only way to keep the bet fair.”

Me: “Seriously. I'm not kidding. You need to let me go!”

Him: “I'm not kidding either. This is gonna happen and you're not in any position to argue otherwise. Now we need to do something about that mouth of yours. You're really starting to annoy me.”

I tried to argue more, but he pulled out a roll of duct tape. He also produced a little pill seemingly out of nowhere. He shoved the pill in my mouth and then wrapped the lower half of my face with duct tape. I yelled at him as loud as I could, even though it was now muffled, and started kicking him. He responded by taping my legs together. I was now fully immobilized. I couldn't believe I was in this position again.

Him: “In case you were wondering, the pill is a stimulant. It'll prevent you from passing out. Figure you'll enjoy this more if you don't miss half of it. I also have one more surprise to make things even more fun for you. I was thinking, what could be worse than being subjected to my gas again like this? Then it hit me, what if I forced you to get off to my farts. That would really suck, wouldn't it?”

He grinned again and pulled something else out of his tool bag. Then he showed me what it was: a vibrator. He grabbed my dick through through my shorts and duct taped the vibrator to it. I was so shocked by all this that I gave up on fighting and just looked back at him with pleading eyes. He laughed and turned on the vibrator. A jolt of pleasure went though my body and I moaned.

Him: “There we go. That shouldn't be enough to fully get you off, but it'll definitely keep you aroused the entire time. Not exactly the state you want to be in when you're huffing farts, but it's not like you have a choice. Who knows, maybe this will make you fall in love with my gas. Only one way to find out I guess. Time to get this show on the road. You may not enjoy this, but I know I will!”

He walked away laughing, leaving me there dreading what was to come. After a few minutes, the loudest fart I've ever heard came through the vents. Unlike last time, I didn't have the A/C kicking on as warning that he was about to start, so the sound of the fart made me jump (as much as I could in my position). Then there was another fart that was even louder and longer…and another. They just kept on coming. It wasn't until the smell hit me that it fully dawned on me that this was happening again. It was even worse than I remember it being. It seemed almost inhuman for a person to have gas this intense.

Maybe the stench was getting to my head or maybe it was the horniness from the vibrator, but it almost seemed like his gas was so powerful that it was causing the walls to shake. Having learned from last time, I closed my eyes before the stinging started. His gas seemed to smell worse and worse with each breath. My dick started to leak precum and I felt disgusted with myself. I shouldn't be able to stay horny in an environment like this. Yet here I was. I felt so stupid for letting him put me in this situation again. The sudden realization that I was gonna lose the bet made me feel even worse. The stimulant did its job and prevented me from passing out. With nothing else to do, mind went numb and I just sat there choking on his gas with my dick leaking like a faucet…for 2 hours.

…

After it was all over and my friend let me go, we drove home in silence. He tried to laugh it off and brag about winning the bet, but I didn't even respond. I wanted nothing to do with him right now and decided to give him the silent treatment. Like last time, the stench of his gas was imprinted on my sense of smell for weeks and it took even longer for me to be able to go out in public without people gagging when they walked near me (no matter how much I showered). I was finally able to ditch the smell and I did go back to talking to my friend, but I was still really pissed at him. The least he could have done was apologize and admit he took things too far, but that never happened. I was pleasantly surprised that he at least didn't bring up the fact that I lost the bet.

I almost thought he had forgotten about it completely until Labor Day weekend. It was Friday evening, and one of our mutual friends was throwing a party to celebrate the long weekend. I was chilling on the couch when he got home. We chatted for a bit and he explained that he just finished fumigating an entire office building. He was really proud of himself because this was the first time he had tackled a building that large without the help of the A/C. I gave him a half-hearted congrats. He said he was feeling so good, that he thought now was the perfect time to collect on our bet as a reward. I told him that he got enough from me when he fumigated me against my will for the second time. He was insistent though and said if I didn't honor my part of the bet, he would tell everyone at the party tonight that I was a welcher. He also said that he would tell them about my second fumigation experience and how I got off to his gas. I knew that wasn't fair, but I definitely didn't need my other friends to find out about that humiliating ordeal so I relented. After all, it would only be for 10 minutes.

Right when I was about to get into position, he said he needed to get something first. He came back with a weird looking harness. He must have sensed my confusion because he explained that he intended to harness me in place to ensure that I didn't back out. I told him there's no way that was happening so he said that we should probably head to the party then so he could reveal all to our friends. Feeling like I had no other choice, I begrudgingly agreed. He pulled out a roll of duct tape and said he was going to gag me. Tired of arguing at this point, I let him do it in hopes that we could get this over with faster. Then he handed me a pair of kneepads saying they would make me more comfortable. Without further ado, I got into position behind him. He was wearing tight jeans and he slowly rolled the back of them down, revealing that he was wearing equally tight boxer briefs that really hugged his ass and highlighted the crevice of his crack. I barely had time to take it all in before he grabbed me and shoved my nose directly into that crevice. He tightened the harness around my head and started the ten minute timer.

His ass stunk worse than I expected. That’s when it occurred to me that he hadn't showered or changed his clothes since he got home from work. Then the farts started. Each one was massive and literally rattled my skull. And the stench was unreal. I had survived two fumigations and been farted on many times by him before, but nothing compared to smelling his gas straight from the source. This was a whole other level. My eyes flooded with tears and I thought my nose was gonna fall off. When the timer finally went off, it felt like it had been ten years instead of ten minutes. I waited for him to let me go, but instead he said that it was time to head to the party and walked towards the door. I started freaking out and slapping his hips with my hands, but he kept going.

Next thing I knew we were outside. I couldn't believe this was happening. My friend was actually walking down the street with me harnessed to his ass. Anytime people walked by us, they would laugh and make jokes at my expense. I tried as hard as I could to pull out of the harness, but it was no use. Even though the sun had set, it was still pretty warm out so it wasn't long before my friend’s ass started to sweat. Feeling his ass sweat on my face was gross - the constant farting made it even worse. After a half hour, we finally made it to the party. Everyone there burst out laughing as soon as we walked in. My friend lied and said that I had a thing for his ass and begged him to do this for me. People kept on coming up to him and asking him to fart to which he gladly obliged. The host even gave him leftover Taco Bell from the fridge, which only made things worse for me. At one point, people asked if they could take pictures and videos of us. My friend said no to my relief, but then followed that up with “not unless you make sure my face isn't visible and tag him in whatever you post online.” I screamed into his ass. This was hell. My life as I knew it was over.

After hours of absolute torture, which included my friend drunkenly dancing with my face in his ass, the party died down. My friend said his goodbyes and then walked home (with me still strapped to his ass, of course). I had given up complaining. I was ready to just get home so he could let me go and then I could pack my stuff and stay in a hotel for a few days until I could find a new apartment in another state. However, when we got home, my friend didn't let me out like I expected. Instead, he started going through his bedtime routine. Finally, I struggled hard enough that he acknowledged me.

Him: “Yeah, I know tonight was pretty rough for you. I've been planning this for a while and I had a feeling you might not fully enjoy it. That said, let me tell you how things are gonna be from now on. First things first, next week you're gonna call your boss and quit your job. Then, you're going to sign a contract with the fumigation company to become my assistant. Per the contract, as my assistant you'll have to be inside every building I fumigate and you'll also have to sniff my gas between jobs whenever I ask you to. The contract also stipulates that your salary will go into my bank account so that I can use it to help pay for rent, utilities, groceries, and whatever else I want. That will also help ensure you never have enough money to move out and get a place of your own. As an extra bonus, we added a clause that makes it so that quitting within the first ten years of signing the contract will be considered breach of contract. Doesn't that sound great?”

I screamed into his ass and pounded his hips with my fists.

Him: “Yeah, I knew you'd like it. I imagine you'll need some time to think it over though. It's Friday night now and since Monday is Labor Day and we're both off, I figured I'll keep you strapped to my ass until Monday night. That way you'll be in the perfect environment to process all this. By then, I'm sure you'll want out of my ass so badly and be so thirsty and hungry, that signing the contract will be a no brainer.”

I went ballistic. There's no way he could keep me strapped to his ass for three days without food or water. I had to get out, but the harness was unyielding.

Him: “Hey, settle down! It’s time for me to go to bed. If you don't stop screaming and hitting me, tomorrow I'll eat an entire can of baked beans and go for a run to get nice and sweaty.”

That shut me up. I was trapped. He pulled down the back of his underwear and tightened the harness more, sealing me between his bare ass cheeks.

Him: “Well good night! Just so you know, my night farts are the worst…”

I shuddered. Deep down I knew I had no choice. Come Monday, I would sign that contract and begin my new life dedicated to him and his gas. As the first night fart blasted me, I began to quietly sob into his ass…

[prinzrupprecht]

The Competition (Part 1)

This will be two or three part one shot. Takes place during his time alive. Y'all can still send me requests of characters you want done as well as long as the plot is good and nothing too crazy.

Pairing: Okita Souji x fem!reader

Synopsis: You were from another dojo that hated the Tennin Rishin-ryu dojo and there is always fights between your dojo and theirs. You didn’t want to get involved in any of the fights and thought it was all pointless. Your dojo was failing, people were dying daily and your dojo wasn’t getting recognized by the Aizu clan either. It put you down a bit that you weren’t getting any recognition. Yet, that all changed when you were nearly saved by one of them by ruthless ronin trying to kill you. The best swordsman of their dojo… Okita Souji.

TW: violence, swearing, and death mentioned

WC: 1935

March 1860

“Agh! He fought with them again! What an idiot!” Your dojo master yelled while stepping outside to see you sharpening your blade.

“Oh, you’re here?” Kino Yoshida was in his mid-forties and was growing angry by the day. You said nothing and turned your back to continue what you were doing.

“Shino-san is going to get killed like the others, he’s lucky he’s alive.” You spoke up but your master scoffed.

“We’re just ronin in this day of age. After all, we should’ve been the ones promoted to samurai—"

“We will never get promoted at this rate…” You interrupted and couldn’t deny the truth of the Tennin rishin-ryu dojo that was infamous in Edo for cutting down ronin with no effort. They were already gathering a reputation of being a nefarious group, even the three big three dojos in all of Edo failed to beat them numerous of times. Your dojo wasn’t one of the big three of anywhere close.

You were from the Tamiya-ryu dojo that specialized in Iaijutsu. Your dojo was just a few blocks over from the Tennin rishin-ryu dojo. Something about them made you grow more curious and wonder why they were so infamous in Edo. The rumours circulating around them made you wonder if they were actually assholes like everyone else and killing is second nature to them. You wanted to find out for yourself.

It was the truth and you hated saying it. Your dojo was crumbling and people were leaving as they were afraid to die next on the streets. “I’m done for today, take a break as well,” your master was growing irritated lately and it was making you wonder if you should eventually leave as well. Were you happy there? All they do is fight other dojos and you were starting to wonder if it was your dojo was starting the fights and not the other way around.

You decided to leave for a bit to clear your mind. You saw another member of your dojo who was battered but alive thankfully. He smiled with broken teeth as he laid on the tatami mat getting treated by a doctor for his wounds.

Yet, you were contemplating on stopping by the Tennin rishin-ryu dojo to see if they are ruthless. It was a bit of a walk but your heart was growing concern. Your master was talking to some of the Choshou members a few times but never told you what they were talking about. Kusaka Genzui was one creepy guy and you didn’t trust him at all.

You found their dojo and noticed the sign that said Tennin rishin-ryu. You looked at your cloak to see if you stood out. This was it? You could see how run down the place looked. You heard a man counting numbers not far from where you were standing. You quickly went to hide behind a large cherry blossom tree. You saw an older man in his mid thirties swinging a large wooden bokken. He can lift that?!

You quickly turn to leave but he notices you and asks what you were doing behind a tree spying on him. “Huh?! Me? So— Sorry! I was just looking around and got lost.” You couldn’t hide your curious nature anymore. You couldn’t help but notice the scar on the left side of his bottom and upper lip. All he offered you was a genuine smile. He looked tired and worn out from the day after practicing his swing probably for hours. Was he training?

“You’re from that Tamiya-ryu dojo, right? You wouldn’t be here if there’s not something you want.” The man had placed his massive bokken aside.

“No— no I’m not, uh, sorry I’ll take my leave!” You wanted to leave so badly and regret spying on them even if it was harmless. You turned to leave but a small boy was walking towards you two with a black cat in his arms. He didn’t even pay any attention to you but he did notice you right away ignoring your presence.

“Oh, you’re back Souji.” That’s his name? Then it hit you. The user of the Godspeed three-stage thrust? You remember some of the girls fawning over him at how amazing his swordsman skills were. This was outside of your dojo. He was apparently incredibly strong and a sword prodigy who took down multiple of your dojo’s members.

This guy was someone you never wanted to get into a fight with. You’ll lose and probably be easily killed, but he seems so… not like what the rumours say. Unless there’s another side to him but he looked bubbly and reserved around the other man. He didn’t even acknowledge you. And the older man must be the peerless ronin Kondo Isami.

“There was a bit of commotion in town between some of the ronin causing mischief with the commons again, I went with Yamanami-san to resolve it.” You were about to walk away but Kondo said your name. Your name?! How did he know?!

“That’s— that’s not my name! I’m leaving, I’m sorry I was here,” your face was bright red from embarrassment.

“You’re very good at iaijutsu, right? May I see?” Kondo asked and you noticed Okita was sitting on the porch petting the same cat while his eyes were on you.

“I— I guess. I’m probably nowhere near as good as you guys.” You were known as the best with iaijutsu at your dojo, but you lacked actual combat experience. You took a step back to demonstrate your sword drawing techniques. You motioned your upper body to draw your sword and sheath quickly that created small vacuum slashes that were barely noticeable. You were incredibly fast and could beat your opponent up close. You had impressed Kondo with your drawing speed, but that was it.

“How about I spar with you?” Okita clapped his hands gleefully, but you quickly declined. You didn’t want to get defeated in a few seconds if the rumours of his speed were true.

“Why don’t you join here? You got the talent.” Kondo crossed his arms but you shrugged. You were supposed to be an enemy but so far they were kind and not ruthless as the rumours made them out to be. You ignored his question and turned away.

“I— I should head back. Maybe we’ll meet again!” You looked down and as much as you wanted to join the better dojo. You didn’t want to be targeted and called a traitor.

.

.

.

Later that evening, you returned and noticed a sign out in the front. A for sale sign? You were panicking and ran inside where the dojo was quiet and empty. Your master was gone and you were alone… once again.

You sat outside on the porch as the sun was setting and businesses were closing up. Were you going to be out on the streets?

You stood up and went to look around in case some of the other members were nearby so you could ask them why was Kino-sensei closing his dojo. The streets were dark and quiet. You heard some swords clashing from the distance and shouting. You were worried and clutching your shirt tightly to your chest. You didn’t want to get into a fight right now.

You went to run the other way but accidentally caught winds of another rogue ronin in the streets most likely from the Tosa domain or Choshou.

“Huh? Shouldn’t you be indoors sleeping at this hour?” His sinister eyes were full of hate and wanted to kill someone. He tilted his head and was close to dashing forward to strike you.

“Hakai-san, I’ll take care of the rat.” Another man with a bulky build exclaimed while unsheathing his sword. You couldn’t remember a day when you had to fight for your life. Normally you never had to experience a life or death situation.

“Who are you calling a rat?!” You felt insulted. Did they think you were spying? Agh, why couldn’t you have ignored the fighting and gone to sleep?

“Shut up little girl, you're lucky I feel generous in killing you instead… but I do have other ideas I would do to you,” the man smugly said while unsheathing his blade.

Just as you were clutching the hilt of your blade ready to strike up close using your infamous iaijutsu technique to cut down an enemy at a certain distance. Your sword drawing was fast so you had to calculate where he would strike. He went to strike first but he noticed your drawing technique off the bat and your blade was already clashing with his.

“You know? I hate killing pretty things,” he was already causing you to stumble back from the way his eyes were lusting over your form. Gross, gross, gross!

“How about we stop and we can—" he was trying to suggest to take you somewhere, which caused you to push your leg up to kick him back with enough force. He was weaker than you had expected with how you can push him back. You used your drawing technique again to slash his side causing a massive gash from your sword. He started to gag and heave in pain.

“Fucking bitch, you’re asking for it! I'll kill you for this!” He lunged forward at you and kicked your shins with much force causing your katana to fly out of your hands. You tried to reach for your katana but his foot was holding your arm down. You were for sure finished.

“Too bad, you would’ve been fun to play with some more…” he raised his blade over his head as he was going to strike you down. At least dying in the moment is better than your body being violated. You were thankful for even trying to fight and there was nothing left for you anyway. No friends, no family and your dojo was gone.

You expected the blow to kill you but it never came. He was gagging to breathe but you failed to see that his neck was slashed open. Huh?! Instead of still kneeling you grabbed your sword and looked around to see who killed him. Did someone save you? You would’ve been dead just now. Your head jerked backed and you saw a familiar figure standing before you.

Okita Souji.

He looked annoyed, but he wasn’t staring at you. He was looking ahead at the ronin that was running down the street towards you two. “Get out of here, I’ll take care of the rest. If you stick around and get in my way, I’ll cut you down with them.” His words struck you like poison. You’re joking? He’s calling you a liability?!

“I’m not a hindrance you—" you were going to insult him but his eyes snapped back at you which told you to stop or else.

“Fine, whatever!” You took your leave running down the street, but you still witnessed from a distance how he handled the rest of them very easily compared to your swordsman skills. His attack speed was insanely impressive. You wanted to see him again. Learn a bit from him as well.

Maybe you could still join Kondo’s dojo and follow their beliefs and footsteps. Okita was incredibly different now when he is fighting than when he’s not. It’s like a totally different person. He is fast, incredibly fast.

You had hoped to see him again and thank him for sparing your life. It should be the least you can do.

After all, you’re technically still a part of another dojo considered competition to them.

Note: something new for once. Wanted to make reader a swordswoman here.

[thewrothode-if]

Uhh, small rant about your characters?

So...

MC's dad went through great emotional suffering when his wife died, and he let his pain manifest into anger towards MC.

MC went through great emotional suffering when their dad started acting like he hates them, and they let their pain manifest into anger towards gungir.

MC didn't make their mom go crazy, they had no control over their mom's behavior.

Gungir didn't make MC's dad start treating them so coldly, he also had no control over MC's dad's behavior.

Both MC and their dad went through something that was emotionally damaging to them, and they both coped the same way, by directing the pain outwards at a different person who actually had no control over the situation.

So, MC didn't cause their mom to go crazy, and Gungir didn't cause MC's dad to start treating MC like trash, but both of them get blamed for it anyway.

The parallels between MC and their dad are just delicious, especially a more angry MC.

The irony is that the reason why MC hates their dad is because of something that they themself are *also* guilty of. MC hates that their dad unfairly puts the blame on them for something they can't control, but at the same time, MC unknowingly does the exact same thing to gungir.

Maybe both the MC and their dad unconsciously have the mindset that they NEED to cope by blaming someone else for the bad things that happened to them, because if they COULDN'T blame it on someone else anymore then all the pain would be directed back inwards at themselves and it would just tear them apart.

The angst is delicious is all I have to say is: Like father, like child.

It's so fascinating how MC doesn't realize they're essentially doing the same thing to other people that their dad does to them.

I think if one person pointed it out in-game, how MC is basically acting like Dad 2.0, then that would be my character's major "Oh shit" moment and it would be the push I would need to do self reflection. Because it would be a huge realization for MC, and obviously I don't WANT to be like my dad, so that would be the turning point where I would notice the flaws in my own behavior.

Also is völva pronounced like vulva because I keep reading it like "she's the vulva of her village."

I was scared this rant was going to be negative and I'm very glad it's not. 😭🙏

There definitely will be a scene where Gungir confronts you with the mistreatment he dealt with, even daring to compare you to your father. This will be a very dramatic scene especially if you're doing his romance. How you choose to respond will either make or break your chance of romancing him though, so be careful.

And I feel like if you say völva enough, it will start to sound like vulva so I'm sure you're pronouncing it right, but seeing it switched out with the actual word makes it look so funny.

[three-headed-monster]

It really bugs me when people say that since Quinn and Jack own the lake house in Mich but not Luke then that means he’s not as close as them or that they don’t want him there

Idk to me it always seemed like common sense that the reason he didn’t buy the house with them was because he was 1 too young and 2 he wasn’t in the nhl yet and probably didn’t have the means to do so

i agree anon, that it's strange that people question why he wasn't apart of the buying process (cause yeah you're not putting a 17-year-old on a housing lease even if he did have the means).

when it comes to luke, i fear a lot of those headcanons stem from not understanding the difference between independence vs not being close to your brothers/not loving your brothers. in my view, luke is very very independent person. he likes the person he is away from the influence of anyone else in general, and he likes being just himself. it's why he chooses to live at home with his parents, why he acts differently sometimes around his friends vs his family, why he seems to hold a lot of his own unique interests. it's not a bad thing! it's just who he is, but it also leads to people thinking he isn't close to his brothers (when it's more about wanting to do his own thing rather than them not wanting him there)

obviously he loves them, they helped shape into the person he is and taught him everything he knows. and they love him for being their little brother and a good person to be around. but being around other people who have such big personalities sometimes, like the whole of the ntdp 2019 training group, can be stifling ! i don't blame luke for like wanting to chill out and be less involved atm.

and also people often forget when headcanoning, things aren't as black and white as they seem! people are more than their one character trait and there *can* and *should* be nuance in talking about things about this. just because luke isn't at the lake house a lot doesn't mean his brothers hate him, it could quite literally mean he could just need a break from living with them 24/7 lmao

[allwormdiet]

Arc 6: Tangle, Concluding Thoughts

Lotta emotional highs and lows to get through here, so let's not dawdle

Okay, from the top now

Brian Laborn is actively evading all of my attempts to understand him. I will discover what makes him tick no matter how long it takes, and I will know whether the furniture building was meant to be a date or not

Speaking of which, my God 6.3 was fucking awkward. Some of that I'm certain was intentional, and good job at that, but holy shit I was actually uncomfortable with the way Aisha is described on her first appearance. Like I guess that can be chalked up to Taylor being awkward and mean but I'm gonna be real, I'm eyeing Wildbow on this one, if there's ever a fucking Worm Revised Edition that had better be on the rewrite block

Uhhhhh, lessee, what n-ahh. The gallery job.

I'm torn on this one, honestly. The build-up was solid, the entrance was delightful, and in the moment-to-moment stuff the fights were fun, but... the Undersiders went in with like half the Protectorate's numbers, and then proceeded to fight a wholeass PRT squad and then every hero there, and beat almost all of them. The Wards didn't do jack shit before being taken out, Assault and Battery got one cool team move and then were dusted, Triumph got downed by a dog, Velocity... Velocity found out a critical flaw in what gets sacrificed in the name of full power efficiency.

Someone on Discord pointed out that Miss Militia using the machete against Regent was actually a good way to discourage him from making her arms move, which is honestly smarter than I initially gave her credit for, but she still wound up puking inside her own costume so it's not like she's coming away from this smelling like roses.

Armsmaster and Dauntless are the only heroes who come out of 6.5 to 6.7 not looking like complete chumps, and Dauntless doesn't have a whole lot of personality on display so he barely counts as a character.

Overall it feels like the Protectorate heroes lost a lot of their bite with this entire sequence. The Undersiders are getaway specialists, thieves who don't pick fights unless they're sure they can win, and they just challenged like one of the highest-rated heroes in the Protectorate and his entire squad and came out of it in one piece. I'll grant that between the ambush conditions and the functionally unmatched battlefield control provided by Grue and Skitter that they tilted multiple factors in their favor, but that still doesn't feel all the way sufficient.

It should've been a lot closer, I think, and in some places it was already pretty close.

I hate Coil's entire vibe so much, I hate hate hate this dude. Smug motherfucker with his choreographed limo rides and coin tricks and shit. I'm gonna have to put up with this for a while, I can fucking feel it, goddamn him.

Somewhat relatedly, Tattletale... I don't like her less but I'm keeping a closer eye on what she says and does. If she's actually vibing with Coil and not just working with him as a matter of opportunism then that. Doesn't reflect great on her.

Hebert family continuing to break my fucking heart. I swear to god these two are gonna take fucking forever to mend the rift between them, and it's gonna involve at least a half-dozen more near-death experiences, goddammit

Edit: fuck me forgot the interlude

Birdcage scares the shit out of me, I think what makes Dragon’s role as architect and warden even worse is that she clearly takes no joy from the act.

Bakuda died as she lived, with bombast and sudden, violent cruelty.

Ahh, fuck, what even is supposed to be next in the story. Leviathan is close, right? I don't know if he's showing up the very next thing but I've been wrong before. God I hope there's, like, a second to breathe before an Endbringer rolls up.

[cerealmonster15]

i want jamiazu + idikei to go on a double date so badly i think the vibes would be So Very Turbulent

[bbnibini]

I find it so painfully heartbreaking that Solomon just...laughs off all the derision, the name-calling, and possibly even did "evil" things on purpose because it's expected of him at this point. (He had not always been like this as Thirteen pointed out before). There was a time when he was "innocent". When his soul sparkled. When it resembled the kind of soul everyone in these god forsaken (pun intended with spite) three realms seemed to associate with the ever loved MC. He's just...worryingly carefree. And because he's like that, he feels even more of a tragic character to me.

Sometimes it even seems that he himself would seemingly make up excuses on why he's hated. Oh, it's because I'm a sorcerer this. I might have won a war against Devildom single-handedly this. I have forgotten. But maybe, I did something bad, that. Hon, you were doing that to SURVIVE. You don't have to be a faultless person to deserve compassion. You don't have to be MC to deserve to be loved.

[pokemonranch]

//Sorry for interrupting Adoption Sundays, but something happened and I need to talk about it publicly.

Apparently, an alt-right blog has been reposting my (pokemon) art without my knowledge. They have NO relationship with me or my main blog, and I have already blocked and reported them.

Most of my art seems to have been deleted from there after I went through the appropriate hoops to do so, but while combing through their blog I saw they interacted as well with other Pokeblr RP blogs such as @pokemonshelterstories unfortunately. You might want to block and check if they reposted your art as well.

Suffice to say, I am pro-palestine, pro LGTB and would never condone any transphobic, racist or misogynistic behavior

Blog and @ under the cut.

Don't interact with the blog, harass them or anything of the like. Block, Report them for Hate speech and move on

They post a TON of content to hide the reposts and the bigotry. I don't recommend searching through the blog directly but through looking for your @ or image search

Thank you @spooky-enthusiast for letting me know all of this

[wickmitz]

I decided to start talking about Wick and Rocky's relationship because I like their dynamics too, I like seeing Wick scared of Rocky and Rocky being aggressive with him, which is unusual because Rocky is rarely aggressive with anyone, but of course Wick is an exception to rule

Also my mini opinion about their possible relationship, I think that if Rocky didn't have to fight for his place, then he and Wick could become friends, or at least tolerate each other a little, I also see some superficial similarities, their gentlemanly and romantic natures, and their common love for explosions (remembering the quarrymen chapter), but this is my assumption, I think that I don't understand the characters' personalities well, so I can be wrong in this assumption, something like that. So, what do you think about their relationship?

for starters, i cannot thank you enough for this ask! as i’ve said previously, i have many thoughts on these two, so it’s nice to finally be able to share some of them. although given the extent to which i think about them, i apologize in advance if this is sloppy and sort of everywhere … while i’ll try to structure things the best i can, i cannot promise i’ll succeed! but hopefully this is an enjoyable reply nonetheless.

one of my favorite things about rocky and wick’s relationship is absolutely how aggressive rocky is towards the aristocrat ; he is prone to glares and cruel jokes and borderline hissing whenever the man is within his line of sight, or can be brought to a wailing-fit over the mere mention of his name from miss m’s mouth. there is a childishness to it, but a very prominent threat as well in spite of rocky’s usual incompetence. so he goes out of his way to posture around wick, readily lying and adorning himself with the gangster drapes he so badly wants to wear, in the hopes that it intimidates … will even badmouth wick’s family and make fun of his name and rock related obsession to mitzi, and so on so forth! yet all of this is very reminiscent of schoolyard bullying rather than anything too severe, though we as the audience understand rather quickly that rocky would bash wick’s head in with a tire iron if he could. ( translation : if it wouldn’t earn the tears or hate of a certain beloved mitzi may ) and it’s all very intense despite the absence of actual violence! and i understand why many fans see this as unusual for rocky and believe that it’s only wick who makes him act so aggressively, but i’d argue it isn’t really wick at all that prompts such scary reactions from him … and that rocky is a deeply angry character who’s a.) been boiling quietly for a long, long time and b.) has turned wick into a punching bag of sorts for this inner world of resentment and hurt. basically, when he’s judging the well-to-do or poking fun, his eyes don’t look at wick and actually acknowledge him as sedgewick sable ; instead this is a being, something vague and metaphorical, who threatens to upseat rocky’s permanence in the lackadaisy and steal away his savior, and he’s had a hand in the violinist’s misfortune for a long time.

obviously, rocky doesn’t think wick robbed him of his family twice over and made him homeless, but he is channeling the fear and anguish of those events into his loathing for wick, if that makes sense? it’s easier that way -- to finally have an outlet for everything bleeding inside of you, to be able to bite and claw at something without feeling conflicted or having to take personal accountability for your own mistakes … which is something that i think rocky does struggle with to a degree. he is sort of a finger pointer! his pain has to be worth something, it has to be for someone else ; spending years homeless and losing his last bit of family was for freckle, and the scrambling of his literal brain was for mitzi, and that means he can’t ever be angry with them! well, except that he is, somewhat, but he buries it deep down instead of feeling it. with freckle there is a sense of strain between them -- an air of ‘you owe me’ from rocky to freckle as he uses freckle to appease miss m, and he constantly pokes fun at his cousin too. it’s lighter than his jabs at wick, but there’s a constant pestering, a reminder of how good freckle has it : how he’s got the mom and the house and the job and the girl most notably. i don’t think rocky is intending to come across as mean, and to his credit he hardly does! but it’s rather clear to me that some part of him, some hidden and deeply hurt part, is rather indignant about taking the fall for freckle all those years ago. which he can’t understand, because how could he? he made that choice, he decided to take accountability for something he didn’t do because he loves freckle and knows it’d be so easy to believe this family tragedy was roark’s fault ; the devilish child he was, all troublesome and too broken to properly fit anywhere. so there is a disconnect born here, where rocky can’t comprehend that he’d be angry at freckle, so instead these not so great feelings are placed elsewhere and silently boil over time. and with mitzi … i don’t think he’s angry at her per se, but there is a frustrated and desperate chorus of : why him and why not me, when i’m the one out here dying for you? which is certainly unpleasant. of course, rather than allowing those feelings to be more aimed at miss m, whom he feels unloved by, he ( again! ) represses these emotions and allows them to fester into his greatest fears and fantastical complexes. i think there is a lot of other miscellaneous anger he could have towards others too … perhaps some part of him is sore upon seeing ivy’s normal lifestyle, watching her go to university and knowing that’s been taken from him. or an ache felt when hearing stories from zib and the band and how they used to travel successfully, living as nomads, and rocky is all too reminded of his similar lifestyle and how he couldn’t make it work as effortlessly. people with immense trauma are more prone to irrational anger and jealousy, to viewing everything around them as unfair and believing it’s even more unjust that so many people get to live comfortably while they’ve suffered. a situation that gets more messy when you’re someone like rocky, a man who’s willingly made choices that have harmed himself and wants to continue on with his smiling, bumbling fool of an act. he does not want to be angry, does not want to see it within himself, i think, which leads to an accidental increase of it.

all of this is to reiterate that wick is a scapegoat for rocky and nothing more. it’s why he’s rather hypocritical whenever it concerns the man. for example, it was stated by tracy that he looks down upon wick for his excessive presence at the bar, yet he appears to enjoy hanging out with zib -- who drinks just as often! he makes fun of how all wick ever talks about is rocks, when he himself is prone to poetry rambles that people find irritating or boring, and etc etc. this is also just a human nature thing, to critique someone you heavily dislike and even going as far as to belittle things you love or do in your own day to day because you just hate them that bad! but given rocky’s willingness to befriend anyone, it more so reeks of a dehumanization element. wick is every obstacle in his way, every divine force that threatens to send him packing again, so he is equal parts unnerved by wick’s presence and angry about it. it is mostly a fear response we are seeing, an emotion that’s morphed into long held resentment and anger. so his actions are extremely defensive, with him trying to push wick far away and keep him and mitzi separate, like some sort of animal attempting to ward off a threat that’s come too close to their home. despite the loaded animosity there, this hate has hardly reached its peak … but it shall only grow more intense as things continue onward i’m afraid, since as it stands ( in the comic at least ) rocky is at an all time low … and is ten times more desperate. i’d honestly say wick has become so warped in his mind’s eye that he can only strive towards ‘winning’ over the other man, because that’s all he can see anymore. i think mitzi implying that wick willingly helped her out, the intense head injury, and rocky’s fragile emotional state is exactly what pushes him towards premeditated murder in look-see. i don’t know how people perceive that arc, but to me it’s very clear that rocky actively sought to see the deaths of wes and fish that night. going as far as to lament that he’d be, “very disappointed if ( he ) dreamed them,” and purposefully luring the marigold duo away to have freckle pick them off. while you could argue that this was a smart move, in a gangster sort of sense, there’s still no denying that rocky is oddly chipper about the whole thing and is now seeking death out ; whereas before his methods of vengeance were just, well, ruining people’s livelihood but ultimately leaving them alive. this isn’t to discredit the fact that rocky is going through something! he is in a very muddled and dark place, mentally and physically, but even tracy has said that the head injury hasn’t changed rocky’s personality -- it’s only brought things to the surface.

source : q&a with tracy .

which, yeah! makes sense! head trauma can cause a person to become a wreck emotionally ( think mood swings, irritability, etc ) but it doesn’t completely morph someone either. personality changes may occur, but it’s not like you’re being rewritten entirely, you know? and given tracy’s old statement, it’s clear that ‘personality changes’ aren’t a side effect he’s suffering from. something that adds to my beginning statement, which is that rocky is a deeply angry and troubled person, more so than fans give him any credit for.

however, to touch upon your mini opinion about these two, i actually wholeheartedly agree that rocky and wick could become friends if circumstances were different. they do in fact have many superficial similarities, but one of the more prominent things they deeply share is never really belonging in the groups they frequent. this is more overt with rocky’s character, yet wick faces it too in subtle ways. the well-to-do crowd, seen through the investors, find the gentleman to be lacking in about every place imaginable ; to them he is an obsessive freak who cares too deeply for meager rocks, something they constantly mock him for, while he’s also being noticeably set apart from the rest of them … he seems younger than the investors, more excitable, passionate, and a little less experienced, and doesn’t seem to care for money or reputation as much as them either. there is a constant rubbing between him and them, where what he enjoys is seen as wrong, such as his love for the lackadaisy and his choice in paramor, a grieving widow with extremely dangerous ties. we also know that wick doesn’t have many friends at all, with the only two he has being lacy and church ( church is listed as such on his character profile, in a sort of tongue-in-cheek way ), both of whom work for or with him. they are obliged to hang around, and while they care in varying ways, they are prone to judging him just as much. honestly, it’s not shocking that wick seeks refuge at his chosen speakeasy! but even there he is rather distant from everyone else. he doesn’t speak to zib ever in the comics, nor seems all too close with viktor, ivy, or horatio … it is merely mitzi he is close to, even if he knows of the other people who work there. and, once again, wick very obviously doesn’t fit in. he is not gangster material, could never be an atlas may replacement, much less someone who could get his paws dirty in such an active way. so he has his feet in two different worlds and doesn’t know how to fit into either of them, or which one he actually wants to fit into more. i think in many ways rocky could relate -- these are two very lonely people who wish to belong somewhere and be accepted by some group or another but go about it in all the wrong ways. wick, who is too hesitant to fully commit to what he wants and is worse off for it, and then rocky, who obsessively throws himself against what he wants until he breaks every bone in his body. they also have explosives to bond over, lol, and other miscellaneous things like their taste in women i suppose … but this potential bond adds to the tragedy of lackadaisy, where we see two people who on every level should get along but we’re burdened with the knowledge that it’s an impossibility anyway, because there’s no removing the circumstance of which they’re in.

though i like to believe that despite wick’s fear of rocky, he maintains a kindness towards him regardless. i think his worries about rocky are rather surface level … he doesn’t know the boy at all, really, and thus can’t make heads or tails of him, hence him believing the lie in balderdash. so when i’m feeling particularly self indulgent, i like imagining a world where they’re forced together and sort of ‘stuck’ together ; to which rocky finally breaks and exposes his wounds to wick, in every sense of the word, and wick finally gets him. the aggression, the possessiveness of mitzi … it is all fear and desperation and a profound sadness, things he’d sympathize with. if rocky was able to explain that he loathes wick because if he saves the lackadaisy then mitzi won’t need him anymore and that it’s not fair that wick gets to so easily fix things when rocky would give his soul for his home, for her, and how wick could render every sacrifice he’s already made for naught by smoothing things over with some greenbacks and he can’t lose this, he just can’t --! … which, well, wick is too kind of a man to be able to do anything except feel awful, even though it’s not his fault at all. here we have two people who could coexist! and they should, since rocky logically can’t do every speakeasy job ( band member, rumrunner, mitzi’s shadow, also the guy who gets the money for the hooch ) by himself, just like how wick can’t save the lackadaisy with only his cash and limited booze stash. it’d be a joint cooperation, a collaboration between them, both equally important in the grand scheme of crime’s every turning wheel … but rocky’s rage and fear won’t let him see that, and likely never will. still, in scenarios where everything ends up alright for the lackadaisy and the people involved in it ( which is not how canon will go, by the way ), i fancy wick and rocky getting better within their relationship. rocky will always be prickly and quick to upset around the other man sadly, but perhaps he could see wick in a softer kind of light. or at least understand vaguely enough that he isn’t out to get rocky, so to speak. and then maybe wick learns that pancakes soothe rocky’s ire and poorly makes them anytime he wishes to talk to the man, and other fun things like that! but you should have more confidence in your character analysis skills, because you were spot on ( at least in my eyes ) about them potentially getting along if things were different. it’s certainly a fun aspect to play around with, and is important to note when discussing their relationship so you can fully understand just how warped rocky’s perspective on things are. and how unstable and traumatized he is too, of course </3 sidenote, but i also hope that throughout everything i’ve said here, or anything i’ve said before on my blog, that my love for rocky and my own sympathy for him comes across well enough. while he’s deeply flawed and i have no qualms discussing said flaws in depth, i also don’t think of him as some insane freak who’s evil at his core or anything like that. honestly, i adore analyzing him so much as a character because of how far down his issues go! he’s very well written, i’ll say, as is wick and many of the other characters, but i digress.

once more, thank you for the ask! i’ll end this here because i fear if i don’t i’ll start going in circles, since their relationship is so vast and very important for rocky in a character sense. hopefully i shed some more light on it though! i love these two to bits and pieces and i wouldn’t be half as invested in lackadaisy if their dynamic wasn’t so monumental -- at least to me.

[toobusybeingdelulu]

something something about billy teaching little kids how to swim, and being good at it (otherwise their parents would have not let him); something something about his tendency to keep throwing good advice at people even while being a dick about it (max and steve, for example) something something about him apparently having a natural predisposition for helping people out and-

[dukeofthomas]

I will forever maintain that Jason would've been fine and Not a vigilante without Bruce making him Robin

[oscillating-fan-whore3]

Anyways there's a lot of constructive criticism for the season but I am hungry for any content a producer will dump in my hands for a show I like I could honestly care less

(Mini rant in tags)

[snakes-on-skates]

a while ago i saw this human bill design on tiktok and omg i love it so so so much 😭 i freak out every time i see it my thoughts immediately switch from normal to AUGGHHHH STOPPPPPPPPPP I HATE HIM SO MUCH HES THE WORST HES AWFUL WHAT A FREAK

[littlegalerion]

As a homesteader, I can say 100% Halsin needs some serious help. He is all about "nature has a balance, where all are cared for", meanwhile here I am, having to pull two drakes off one lady duck because, by nature, both will attempt to breed her as roughly as possible, even if it ends up injuring/killing her.

Also, by nature, my chickens have a strict pecking order. A good few get bullied as they are the lowest in the order. I attempted to introduce some young ladies to my less than a foot tall Sebright Rooster, and he was brutal with the bullying. I had to pull them out, he was so bad.

Nature is not a beautiful, idealistic lifestyle. It is survival of the fittest.

Perhaps Halsin needs to seriously rethink civilizations' role in nature. That we, as people of all races, differ from animals in that we can choose to rise above our basic desires and urges if we so choose. Chaotic change is normal among the wilds, but we can actually bring good change, despite however much evil is in the world.

That is our role.