#i frequent!! and not in the ones i blocked!! im so tired!!

[buckys-arm-and-rios-dagger]

Look man I'm not a fan of Peggy in What If either but the ferocity some of y'all hate her with feels feels really excessive

and before anyone goes "tHen DoN't lOoK aT iT" it's not like I go fuckin looking for it the Bucky tag and the What If tag have been clogged with it recently in light of the show and i am. So tired.

[deathbyworm]

ohhhhh I am going in so unprepared tomorrow I'm going to explode

[shotmrmiller]

okay so maybe like angst/hurt comfort bc the boys are soft and i love that house indulge me thank you 😭😭😭 (tw unhealthy relationship, nothing descriptive but to each their own with how it goes/how dark you want it)

but say reader is with someone else, someone who frequents the boys usual bar. and they see you quiet often and come to look forward to seeing you, even if you’re with someone else. you’ve caught their eye a couple times and always send a shy smile back and have even gathered the courage to say hi to them every once in awhile when they come up to the bar for a refill.

and the more they go, the more rundown you seem. more tired, lackluster, smile straining at the corners. even if you’re happy to see them, look forward to seeing them, it doesn’t reach your eyes like before.

one evening they go out the side for a smoke and see your partner berating you (perhaps more, worse, etc) and they get involved bc how fucking dare they. they damn near tear the collar off with a knife and pull you away to protect you, and keep you safe from them.

TW: implied verbal abuse

"You talk to all your defenseless pets like that?" Mohawk man's face twisted in anger as he fiercely confronted your 'handler'. The guy was silent, choking on his fear, when he got slammed against the wall so hard his head bounced off of the surface.

The behemoth with a skull balaclava placed his palm right by his head and got within inches of your handler's face.

With a menacing tone, he growled, "He asked you a question."

Chilly hands cupped your face and turned your head, forcing your attention from your handler borderline pissing himself on the wall to the guy in front of you, that wore a hat with a UK flag on it.

"Focus on me, sweetheart. You alright?" he softly asked.

Too stunned to speak, you weakly nod.

"Good. Captain? Got a knife?" The man with a mutton chop beard answered him.

"No. Simon?" Without looking, the masked man threw his sheathed tactical knife at Captain. Hat man slowly moved, taking great care to not make any sudden movements, and grabbed the knife, and explained, "I'm going to cut this collar off, yeah? I promise I won't hurt you."

He waited patiently for your consent, and when you finally did, he gave you a tender smile.

"Good darling. Hold still now."

Swiftly placing two fingers under your collar, he cleverly used them as a barrier between the delicate skin of your neck and the blade.

As soon as it snapped off, a rush of air filled your lungs, and your eyes stung with the welling of tears. You were finally free.

Captain took off his coat and wrapped it around you, enveloping you in warmth.

"Let's get you outta here, yeah?"

In the secure embrace of Captain, you were swiftly carried away from the chaos, and when the unsettling noise of skin colliding with skin reached your ears, you tightly covered them— blocking out all sound.

--

why was this so hard to write? maybe cuz if i was one of the boys, im just pulling out the glizzy.

find peace in the embrace of the goddess, type beat.

[archie-sunshine]

you absolutely do Not have to answer if you dont want to but is there a reason why you dont like tfp request? too frequent? not your cup of tea? i know its super popular among fans but i was just curious-

I'm a good. and kind person. and i can tell you that because i had a very mean thing to say to this ask, but i didn't say it.

here's my faq that i told you to read so you'd understand before you sent this ask

and heres my completely honest answer:

I don't mind getting tfp asks, because i know its my blog and I don't have to answer.

i don't like TFP requests because then when i politely say no, I am demanded to tell you why.

It's easy to find on my blog that i don't like it and all my reasons why, but you don't bother looking for that. Because my time doesn't matter to you! I said 'my reasons are in my FAQ' on all the posts where i said i dont like it in the past day. and in my pinned post, you can find the faq. and in the tags you can find my faqs. and in my rules you can find my faq. But you didn't look for it. just like they didn't look for my rules, just like they didn't read through my faq.

I don't like tfp asks because the fact that i get them means there are people who only see my pen and not the person attached to it. it makes me feel sad. It makes me feel discouraged from drawing altogether.

I feel an obligation to answer because I'm a nice person, and i know 99% of the time nobody means anything about it, but its not enough to point to the sign. It's never enough to just gently state a boundary. you have to know why. and its not enough for you to know why, you have to ask WHY i felt like that. and its not enough to know WHY i feel that way, you have to have EVIDENCE as to where i formed my reasons. and that there is a whole day of me explaining. I have my reasons and I explained them. and none of you take the time to look for them.

you can understand how upsetting that is, can't you? i've had to do this like 8 times now! you'd be frustrated just as much as i am.

Because when I explain it to you, im not being mean, I'm being as nice as i possibly can. And I still get mysteriously reported, and my posts still get mysteriously flagged every time I express an opinion.

Because I don't want to have to block people that ask, because i WANT to give you all the benefit of the doubt. But I'm sick of it! it makes me tired.

I don't want to have requests open if people don't care about me enough to read my rules. i don't want to just be a porn printer. you understand how it makes me feel that way don't you? I was supposed to spend my evening drawing so people could have art they liked and i spent it answering this ask AGAIN because i thought maybe, MAYBE people will get it this time.

I'm not answering these anymore. I'm not giving this my time anymore. I've tried to be nice, i've tried to be funny, I've tried to be gentle, I've tried to be firm, I've tried to be honest, but it doesn't matter. It's the simplest boundary I could give, and you all still don't care enough to do that one thing. you can think this hill is stupid to die on, but you won't stop shooting arrows long enough for me to get off the hill.

requests are now closed until i feel like taking new ones. I'll answer whatever else is in here that i feel like drawing.

[carolb111]

Weeks went by without a single word from Gojo. You were slowly becoming yourself again. Going out places with your friends, moving into a new apartment, and trying to move on from the heartbreak that kept plaguing your mind. Until all of your hard work of trying to forget what happened was useless when someone showed up at your doorstep at 2 in the morning.

You were just laying in bed scrolling on your phone when someone was pounding on your door. Being really confused you go and walk in the kitchen to see whos knocking. You check your peephole first to see who it was (cause youre not a dumbass) and you see the person you least expected. Gojo fucking Satoru.

He looked like he hadn’t slept for weeks.

Eyes tired and hair a mess. It almost made you feel bad for him.

But you obviously didn’t  I mean how could you he broke your heart and disappeared off the face of the earth for almost 2 months. Deleting all of his social media and stopped going to the places he would regularly frequent. 

Standing awkwardly in the doorway of your new apartment you shuffle to the side to let him in. “You can have a seat on the couch I guess.” You say tiredly, He walks slowly towards your living room, almost seeming ashamed that he’s hurting you further by showing up so late at night.

You follow him before sitting on your couch. 

 “Do you need something? I think I left everything that was yours at your apartment I just took everything that was mine.” You say confusedly wondering what in the hell anyone would need at 2 in the morning. Especially after everything that happened, you’d assume whatever he needed back from you he could buy another one. 

“No thats not what I came here for” He said, still keeping what his intentions were hidden from you. “I came here to apologize for everything that happened. It was never my intention to hurt you as much as I did.” You could tell from the tone of his voice that he really meant what he was saying. He’s never tried to hide what he felt from you. Maybe thats the reason you fell so hard for him. But that love didn’t stop him from leaving you behind. Thats the reason the resentment in your heart can’t let you forgive him. He took everything from you.

“I can’t forgive you.” Was the only words you could say without screaming and crying why he did everything that he did to you with no resistance. And wordlessly he got up from his seat on the couch and left your apartment for the second time. But this time you were convinced he wouldn’t come back to you.

Part 1 Carols note: omfg im SOOO SORRY this didnt make it out of my notes app for so long i was having MAJOR writers block but i swear ur getting more soon!!

taglist: @dereoma @dereonana @nxgiswife @tqd4455 @eidalover @pinkbunnysblog @painted-hills @karmcrim15 @sillyfreakfanparty @tojipie @kahtherinee

i love all of u for being so excited for this mwah mwah and i tagged some of my moots cause why not😭😭 bye byeeee

[starry-bi-sky]

more cfau miscellaneous things because Childhood Friends Danny and Jason have my head and heart always and I need to finish rewriting chapter two dammit (and redo the half-finished chapter 4 because its just Not The Vibes). i'm almost through I need to get through the graveyard scene. (i just stubbornly refuse to have it be shorter than the original chapter and thats the little death. that is the mind killer.)

Danny and jason’s ghost forms both smell faintly like burnt flesh and cigarettes. However, Jason has a more smokey smell while Danny’s smells almost,,, electrical? In a sense? Like he just straight up smells like burnt flesh and sulphur while Jason smells like someone put him in a smoker first.

It’s very much an unpleasant smell but Danny finds an odd comfort in it just as much as he finds a comfort in the smell of nicotine.

(Jason post-revival smells burnt flesh once and is immediately offput by the fact that it brings him an instinctive comfort. He doesn’t realize its because it reminds him of Danny, and is uncomfortable by it.)

-

In an au of an au, Danny’s altercation with Rath ends with Rath regaining enough of his sanity to snap out of the grieving state and ends with him breaking down. Instead of being souped and imprisoned, Rath, who is permanently 14, decides to Move On into the unknown. He’s exhausted, heartbroken, and tired.

(Is this influenced heavily by the ParaNorman scene where he talks to Agatha and helps her move on? Yes. But it doesn’t fit with the Original Storyline so im shoving it into an Au of an Au.)

Rath tells Danny that Jason lied to them (which he genuinely believes), and that he’s tired of waiting/looking for him/grieving. Jason is gone. He isn’t coming back, he abandoned them. And he wants his mom and dad, and his sister, and his friends. And he’s ready to join them.

He leads Danny out to Gotham, which other than Amity Park might’ve been the only city left untouched due to Rath’s own mental block on the place. They go out to the park he and Jason used to frequent or up to one of crime alley’s rooftops, and there Rath lies down and goes to sleep. Only to never wake up again, materializing into nothing as his soul moves on.

Before Rath leaves, he forces Danny to promise him that he’ll only wait for Jason for ten years. After that if he doesn’t find him, or if Jason doesn’t show, then Danny has to move on. Whether that be like how Rath does, or if its inly mentally/emotionally, doesn’t matter. He has to move on. Don’t wait for him. Don’t waste his time any more.

(“Oh, and if you find him, kick his ass for me.”)

Danny reluctantly agrees, and Rath lies down. Danny sings to him as he falls asleep.

(Angsty points if the vigilantes including Red Hood caught wind of their presence and were silently watching from the shadows. Rath might know they’re there, but Danny’s too focused on Rath to notice.)

(If only so that Red Hood realizes that this is what happened to Danny, and that Danny is gone before he can make things right. The tragedy, folks. The angst. The initial realization that Danny was Rath, and then also that Danny was dead and has been dead for years, and that before he moved on, he moved on believing that Jason abandoned him.)

(like i said it doesn't fit in the original timeline/storyline hence why its an au of an au and isn't nearly a fleshed out, but i was largely just focusing on the tragedy of Rath moving on and Jason being alive to see it and realize just who Rath is.)

-

Just like how the Lazarus pits shot Jason's twiggy 4'6-5'4 (depending on what you find) feet tall and 86lb ass up like a tree an essentially fixed his malnutrition, the portal did the same thing for Danny.

(granted i forgot about malnutrition and danny's likely stunted growth at first -- his family lived in crime alley and despite both his parents working, I don't think they had enough food all the time. He probably wasn't as badly malnourished as Jason was, but he wasn't healthy either.)

Granted his ghost in its "natural" state (14) is short, and his growth spurts were slow at first, it did result in him reaching his dad's height. There were points where it just happened overnight, like a baby. He went to bed one night 5’6 and woke up the next day 5’10.

Jazz is shorter than him. Although I have't decided if she's even liminal at all (and if she is, it didn't cure everything because she would have also suffered childhood malnutrition, and since in au canon their parents didn't get their hands on physical ectoplasm until after they got to Amity Park. So the exposure is less.)

-

Danny's voice absolutely sounds like canon Dan's. It kinda just dropped one day when he was 16-17 and never went back up. Sam and Tucker sometimes ask him to just talk about anything because they find his voice soothing.

I'm not sure yet how Danny would feel about it at first considering Rath, but I imagine that Rath, when he did speak, would have had a quieter and scratchier/weaker voice considering he's spent the last decade shrieking and crying.

(and i suppose technically that shouldn't have any effect on his throat considering he's a ghost and idk if that would actually affect him, but i like the idea so im keeping it)

In the beginning you could hear him from a mile away by the sound of his loud, echoing wails, but ten years later you can only really hear him by the soft, shuddering sobs he makes. Like he's gasping for air that isn't there. The future is full of very quiet survivors.

And it's much easier to speak when you pitch your voice upwards (especially when whispering/speaking quietly) so he might've spoken in a higher, airy pitch in order to be heard. So Danny might actually find a comfort in having a lower voice.

[bitterbutblue]

november 1998 (上)

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

SORRY FOR THE LATE UPDATE CHAT it's been a longgg week and ill try to pre-write dec 1998 so it can come out next week because from oct 25 to nov 8 i will pretty much be dead on tumblr aside from reblogs because of coursework but after that i will be revived!!!!!!!

i feel like this is getting slightly messy im sorry i am ill and mildly burnt out writers block butim going o try my best

my inbox is always open for requests!! and i love getting messages from u guys so please do not hesitate to ask and i will respond as soon as i can <3

this chapter is split in 2 parts! november 1998 (下) and december 1998 will be released quite far apart icl ill try my best though...

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

Slide, roll, up and down- five, six, seven, eight.

The meticulous eyes of the trainers have her feeling weak in the knees, hawks with their eyes peeled for prey to stalk on. She wants to collapse to the floor, her feet are blistered and her knees are sore. She can feel her entire body slowly fading as she moves but she can't stop because she's so close. The last time she was in this position she gave in, collapsing onto the ground and panting. She wasn't good enough, she never would be. The trainers just sighed and told her she wasn't good enough and that she never would be good enough. The last time she was in this position, she swore she'd work hard. She'd work until her knees bruised and her muscles ached if it meant doing better than before. If it meant for them to finally see her in the light she wishes they could see her in.

She holds the ending pose, a bright smile on her face but everything that held her body together was threatening to break down in that very moment as her chest heaves and she offers them a polite bow. She strides out of the room with a put-together, confident aura that had the other people auditioning staring and whispering, saying that she will most likely pass the auditions, that she was the one they need to look out for. But she's fighting for her life to not collapse until she's outside the building, until she's away from everyone's eyes.

The second she exits with her bag in hand, she drops to the ground. Uncontrolled sobs flowing out as she buries her head in her hands. Everything hurt, her legs ached like never before and her lungs felt like they were collapsing. She could barely hear the sound of her own brother calling out her name as she dug her fingers into her scalp, head buried in her arms.

"Robin, Robin can you hear me?"

It felt horrible, feeling the sky and all its weight on your shoulders is a horrible feeling. She wants to melt into the ground, dissolve into the pebbles and rocks that are scattered beneath her feet. She feels someone grab onto her shoulders, feels someone pull her into their arms and she feels a familiar thump along with the scent of cigarette smoke. Three squeezes on her shoulder, an attempt to keep her grounded. Holding her tight, an attempt to stop her from trembling like a bomb about to explode.

These breakdowns have been happening more frequently, the worst one being the one right after her dad had to disappear and sent her to live with Sunday in a country too far away but also too close to home. A country she tried to dissociate herself from for the longest time, a country where you were in. Back to the city she left you in.

"Sunday?"

He just holds her tightly.

He's been smoking again, she can smell the tobacco on his jacket and breath, the scent that has her nose crinkling in disgust but she can't blame him anymore.

"Are you okay?"

His voice is as soft as always, a twinge of hoarseness coating his words now. He sounds older, as if he had aged a good twenty years in the span of six months.

"No."

She can't bring herself to lie because she's tired of lying, tired of telling people she's okay and that she's alright when she feels like breaking down all the time. Sunday could only swallow back the lump in his throat as he lets out a soft sigh, holding her close.

"It's going to be okay."

It's not. Neither of them would be okay.

Sunday offers to take her to a convenience store after, driving down the streets in his second-hand car that he got for cheap that is probably older than he is. Robin leans her head against the car window, feeling the slight bumps on the road, watching the city fade slowly into greenery and nature as they drive up the hill back to where they live. The familiar yellow and green sign comes into view as the car slows down, and she sighs as she gets out of the car slowly.

"C'mon, let's get something good." Sunday wraps his arm around her shoulder as they walk through the door. The little bell near the door dings and she was so lost in thought she didn't even realise that there were in fact 2 people at the counter and both of them quieted down the second she walked in with Sunday. She didn't notice as she walked down towards the drinks section to get her puffergoat milk. As she walks back to find Sunday near the counter, her eyes widen slightly. Stelle and you were sitting close, a little too close for her liking and she feels this pang of.. what is it? The same feeling she felt when she first saw you on television, on the news, everywhere. Jealousy. But not of you this time, of Stelle. Stelle must've noticed her staring because she quickly pulls her hand that was resting on your knee away and clears her throat. You had a light blush on your cheeks as you quickly stood up.

"Is that all?" You ask with a slightly forced smile on your face. She looks over at Sunday, who smiles at you with a genuine smile and not one of his old forced corporate smiles.

"Yes, that's all. Thanks, Y/n."

She hates how you look at him with a softer look, a gentle smile on your face that you have yet to look at her with. But to be fair she doesn't deserve that smile and she never will, especially not what she did to you. Sunday slides a bill across the counter and you quickly give the change back.

"You doing alright?"

She stands in the corner, fully aware of how herself and Stelle are purposefully trying super hard not to look at each other and it is incredibly awkward.

"I'm good."

She hears you click your tongue.

"I saw on the news about your family, I'm sorry."

You never told her that. She feels an ache in her chest as she looks down at her battered trainers, scuffed from hours and hours of training as she fidgets with the bracelet on her wrist.

"Don't be. Congrats on your win, by the way. War Dance at fifteen is an accomplishment you should be proud of."

"Hah, yeah, thanks."

She hears the cash register close, and her brother clearing his throat.

"I'll see you around, Y/n."

"You too, take care."

She doesn't look up when Sunday walks up to her, and just follows his footsteps out the door. She can hear the quiet whispers between Stelle and you and it bothers her how intimate the two of you are, how close you are.

Why is she so bothered?

Perhaps the truth is you were her first and only good friend. It was hard to make friends in a country like Penacony where she was the outsider, the one who 'got into the school because of her parent's money', the one who's always sitting alone. She never fit in well there, despite her best attempts to appear put together in front of you over text and email, she was breaking down slowly. Now, she's back and in the same position as before. Alone. Yes, she had friends, but how many of them actually cared for her? How many of them actually wanted to talk to her her and wanted to know her and her dreams and aspirations, instead of only talking to her so that they could date her for her looks? She sees the way some of them eye her, the way they whisper about her behind her back. Aventurine was a nice guy, but him and his friend group are so tight already that she is always just sitting in the corner and forcefully laughing along with them.

She misses you.

She misses the feeling of having a friend she could always rely on, who she always knew had her back even though they were oceans apart. Now she's left with those memories ruined, only haunting her each day as she has ruined all the good she had in her life.

Of course she did.

She didn't even realise they had arrived back into their home until she hears the sound of the car door closing. Upon arriving back into her own room, it really settles in how alone she is. Their family all split apart so they wouldn't be found or put each other in danger, only living with her brother in a small run-down apartment building at the edge of the city. A room with nothing of her own, a city she no longer finds comfort in. She crawls into bed, not even caring that it's 4pm in the afternoon because god she's just so exhausted. Physically from the auditions, mentally from everything else.

By the time she wakes up, the sky had darkened with only traces of the stars and moon illuminating her room.

4:32.

A full twelve hours later she sits in her bed, staring out the window and wondering what you were doing.

You throw your glasses down, rubbing your eyes as you let out a tired groan. The words on the textbook were barely coherent at that point and you just wanted to go to bed but the idea of giving up before you finished this final topic fills you with such intense stress it makes you feel like clawing yourself out of your skin. It's a trapped feeling, you want to break down but if you break down that's wasting your time.

You finally put your pen down, hand shaking as you finally let out a sigh you hadn't realised you were holding in. You check your clock.

4:33.

You rub at your eyes again, feeling your heavy eyelids threatening to shut when you feel your pager buzz. Looking down, you mumble 'what the fuck' to yourself as look down.

A series of numbers.

You tilt your head to the side, picking up your cell and dialling the number.

"Hello?"

"Y/n?"

The familiar but groggy voice has you feeling a leap in your chest.

"Stelle?"

"Yeah."

"Why are you calling me on this number?"

"It's a burner."

"What happened?"

You hear the shaky sigh, the tightening of the throat.

"Can I come over?"

"Yeah, of course." You lick your lips, worry filling you up to the brim as you lean forward on your desk, looking out the window. "Meet me outside?"

"Mhm."

Ten minutes later, you outside in the cold in nothing but pajamas and a coat, she shows up. Her eyes are red, cheeks tearstained. She's wearing not nearly enough clothes and she's holding a duffel bag.

She's holding a duffel bag.

Oh god.

"Stelle, oh my goodness, are you okay?" You whisper-shout as you run up to her, cupping her cheeks as she drops the bag. You yelp out quietly as you feel her pull you into a tight hug.

"My mom found out."

"Huh?"

Stelle begins trembling in your arms, and you swallow back the worry as you pull away to look her in the eyes. You see how her eyes are welling up with tears again and your heart leaps up to your throat in worry.

"What happened?"

She takes in a shaky breath, looking down as she squeezes your hand.

"I- I'm not straight. I'm a lesbian."

Oh.

Stelle takes your silence the wrong way, she takes the way you stared at her the wrong way. She begins to back away, a look of hurt evident on her face.

"What? Are you upset about that too?"

"No, no!" You quickly clear your throat, heart racing for no reason in particular. "Stelle, thank you for telling me, really. I- do you need a place to stay?"

She nods, sniffling as she wipes away at a stray tear.

"Please."

Your mom is going to kill you tomorrow morning if she finds out, but before you even think twice you open the back door and let her in. She follows you like a lost puppy up to your room. She looks so exhausted and tired, and you're worried thinking about what happened that lead her to use a burner phone at 4 in the morning. You tell her to sleep in your bed, and you find yourself curling up on the couch- unable to bring yourself to sleep in the same bed as her. The thought haunts you, your parent not accepting you, never loving you- because you know it's partly coming true for you. Your mom has always had just a singular set goal for you and if you don't follow along, it's bound to fall apart. You just bring your knees up to your chest as you hug the couch cushion tightly, closing your eyes as you let out a shaky breath.

"Y/n?"

You flinch violently, squinting as the lights are turned on and you see your mom standing there, bleary-eyed but visibly upset.

"What are you doing?"

It's exhausting. All of it. You can feel yourself breaking down as you pick up the cushion, swallowing back the lump that has formed in your throat but to your surprise your mom isn't actually mad. She sits down next to you, stiff and awkward but worry seeps through her and you can feel it coating you too.

"Why are you on the couch."

You sigh.

"Stelle is in my room. Her mom kicked her out."

You were surprised when your mom didn't say anything, when she didn't get mad or start shouting at you for letting a friend in so late. Instead, she just nods.

"Does she need anything?"

You try not to let your surprise show as you look over at her, and she's not looking at you but you see the concerned look on her face as she looks out the window.

"Just somewhere to stay."

She nods.

"Okay. Sleep in my room tonight."

You are too tired to disagree tonight, just following her to her room and getting into bed. She doesn't follow, switching off the lights and closing the door to her room as you lay in her stiff bed. It's uncomfortable, rock hard and hurts your back but it's the safest you've felt in a long time as you bury yourself into the pillows and close your eyes. It's been a long month, and it's about to get longer with exam season coming up next month. A sound of a phone buzzing has you groaning, blinking groggily as you search through your pocket for the phone you never took out.

"Hello?"

There is only silence on the other end.

"Who is this?"

The phone eventually cuts off and you curse angrily, tossing it to the side before burying yourself into the bed once more.

Please, you just wanted to finally get some sleep.

Robin stares at her phone, swallowing as she stares at the remains of the call that had just happened. Her heartbeat echoes in her ears as she puts her head in her hands, taking in the last of your voice. Your voice when speaking to her with no malice or venom, pain or hurt. It was all she wanted for now.

[laebrumme]

Arlefuri is Interesting, Actually

So I was put onto a twitter thread that's been circulating around the Arlefuri community, and I was feeling to be in a bit of a fighting mood and I found a couple points brought up by the author to be the starting point for some more interesting discussions regarding fandom culture, so I decided it wouldn't hurt to have a "little" discussion around this thread and the points that are brought up.

A quick reminder here that I am not going to link the thread or use the author's name anywhere in here because this is not an attack post. While I am here to defend a ship that I really like and see a lot of value in against a really silly twitter post, I am not here to attack or be aggressive to anyone. This is something we really need to understand and my least favorite part about twitter is how it discourages thoughtful and elaborate response, which is why I'm writing this on my tumblr instead of writing a QRT or something. I want this to be thought out and civil, and there's a very good chance that the thread was written entirely in good faith, however questionable some of the arguments made are.

the amount of arlefuri shippers ive seen that keep going "you just hate it bc its yuri" without actually seeing an explanation why its such a good ship and why they keep defending it like its so canon.

Something that I've noticed as someone who has only been engaging in fandom for about a year and a half now and who got to see Arlefuri pretty much grow from inception to now is that, after a while (especially on platforms such as twitter that are so thoroughly infected by hate and aggression) communities will develop defense mechanisms based on certain patterns of how they've been attacked before. Especially in communities which are highly antagonized for one reason or another, it's easier to have a short list of most-likely reasons someone is attacking their ship than to actually engage with the argument. One of the most reliable and effective canned arguments that one might find in a particularly combative yuri enthusiast's toolbelt is the "you don't like yuri," or, in more extreme examples, the misogyny argument.

I'm not going to get into the MLM vs WLW in fandom discourse here because, quite frankly, I'm not interested and it's completely not related to anything going on here, however the argument is common within WLW ship communities because of the tension that exists between MLM, m/f, and WLW communities, especially because in a huge number of fandoms, MLM far outnumbers the WLW. It's a reliable argument to so many because, more often than not, the anti's argument is coming from a place of anti-yuri sentiment.

In the case of Arlefuri, attacks are so frequent that, for those that decide not to block and move on, it's more efficient to pull out a tool from the toolbelt instead of engaging with each and every anti post. Arlefuri shippers are, to put it bluntly, sick and tired of it and just kinda want to do their own thing.

yes, this sounds very yuriphobic as smn who ships renheng but i do ship yuri ships like acheswan, bronseele, clorivia, eimiko, and many more. not that im against rarepairs, but arlefuri is hardly a rarepair anymore, and the way the shippers are defending it, makes it feel like its as implied as the ships i mentioned above

I mean, doesn't everyone do this? Something else I've noticed is that every single HYV ship that has even the smallest basis in the canon has people that consistently go on about how, because of certain observations regarding design/symbolism/voice lines, the ship is canon. It's important to remember, though, that lot of it is playful banter or reactions borne of excitement, and very rarely are people actually insisting that Arlefuri is canon or even implied to be canon. Because with the exception of HI3 bronseele, there isn't a single HYV ship (that I know of) that is downright confirmed. And yes, that even includes Acheswan.

I think the observation being made here is a result of two things: Arlefuri as a ship just getting bigger, and how fed-up Arlefuri shippers are of being antagonized. The first point is very obvious: the more people there are out there to talk about a ship, the more confident and loud those discussions are going to become. The second one though is more interesting because I think, as a community gets antagonized more and more, a very natural response to people talking poorly about a thing you like is to engage with it even more. A lot of people, instead of taking the fight back to those that are attacking the ship, instead back away from the argument and, as if almost spitefully, engage with the ship even more. Hell, I've even seen some of my fellow arlefuri shippers talk about how this discourse is going to make them ship arlefuri even harder. It's just a natural response almost.

Also I genuinely don't understand what rarepairs have to do with the discussion at hand. It's brought up again later in the thread, and even there I'm not sure what point it's trying to get across. There's a though process there, but whatever it is it isn't communicated in the thread, which is no fault of the thread author since twitter is stupidly restrictive as a platform for arguments and expressing thoughts (that's why I'm writing this on tumblr).

literally what is the 'flavor' and 'dynamic' in arlefuri other than 'happy and grumpy' and 'enemies to lovers'??? they barely have any backstory together other than "girl one traumatizes girl two and gives her cake as an apology because it doesnt benefit her to be on bad terms with girl two". there is nothing appealing about their relationship, and honestly i feel like furina should just be her own person without that romantic nonsense.

Well I'm glad you asked!

Arlefuri is a ship that has a lot of layers and a lot of different interpretations, and I think the only way to get a proper understanding of why so many find the ship appealing is to go out onto the Arlefuri tag on ao3 and read some of more popular fics that are out there. However, I'm going to offer my personal understanding of the ship and why I enjoy it so much.

In short, the allure of Arlefuri to me lies in a simple concept: safety.

I think a lot of the misunderstanding around Arlefuri and why Arlefuri gets accused of being proship so often lies in a misunderstanding of Furina's story and what Arlecchino represents in said story. Namely, Arle wasn't the only person that made Furina feel unsafe during the events of the archon quest. Literally everyone that was involved in that quest was doing practically the exact same thing that Arlecchino did: cornering her into a position which would force her to reveal her identity as "false" archon. So coming out of the archon quest in Fontaine, Furina has not a single soul she can trust in Fontaine anymore because of how thoroughly traumatized she was in those last few days of her run as archon. Every single person involved in discovering the truth behind the Oratrice betrayed Furina in every sense of the word.

Obviously, the game has to make Furina warm up to the traveler for marketing sake (which is one of the only gripes I have about Furina's story), but aside from that, she still has a distaste for people outside. Evidence of this can be seen with how she talks in two distinct vocal modes which I'll get into here more in a bit.

This is all to say that, one, Furina is starting from scratch relationship-wise and can trust nobody, and two, that Arlecchino is no more of an antagonist than anyone else. The only difference is that Arlecchino was more forward with it, and Furina had built her up in her head as the big bad that would finally out the entire operation (that's where Furina's fear of Arlecchino comes from).

Where this all gets interesting is when you consider Arlecchino as pretty much a symbol for all that betrayal that Furina faced. Arlecchino, just like the traveler and crew, cornered her in a position by complete surprise that would, with one more move, force her to either prove herself as archon in one way or another, before they discovered that there's more to the story and moving their attention elsewhere. When you consider Arlecchino as a symbol of that, then what a relationship w/ Arlecchino represents is Furina learning how to trust and feel safe in the presence of other people.

This is a dynamic I explore in my own fic, "What Do You Want?" and is something that is explored to even more depth in the Arlefuri bible, "A Fatui Harbinger in Lady Furina's Court." Hell, even the biggest chapter of my own fic which is the catalyst for the relationship that is explored for the rest of the fic is literally called "Safety." The entire point of the ship is for Furina to find safety in someone and, through Arlecchino, to learn for the first time in her 500 years of life how to trust and love people.

I could continue on about why I enjoy about Arlefuri all day, if you can't tell, and I could start discussing the nuances of their grumpy/happy dynamic and all the gender stuff and various other examples of incredible writing and interpretations of the ship, but I think you get the idea. There's depth here. You just have to look for it.

arlefuri shippers+ships are fine IF you acknowledge that your ship is barely even canon (maybe until more infois released) and that there is no reason to be defending them so hard over very very very little crumbs, when most of those crumbs are actually headcanons that you made up yourself.

Again, nobody is earnestly going out there and defending the canonicity of Arlefuri. We're defending something completely different which I'll discuss in the next section. But even then, why should we? Why is a ship okay only if we acknowledge the lack of canonicity in a ship? We all are taking part in a culture that was literally borne of taking one canon or another and doing really silly things w/ it. That's why our fandom ancestors borrowed the term "canon" from religious studies and applied it to fandom: they needed a way to differentiate the stuff that was officially a part of the media and what was being written by fans.

We're all here to have fun. We're playing with dolls and making them kiss. There is absolutely no harm in us doing our own thing and engaging in a ship just as, say, a renheng shipper would. Just because a ship isn't canon doesn't mean that the shippers have to wear big signs on their backs that say "our ship is not canon and we are aware of that." This point feels strangely targeted in that way.

im not an arlefuri hater, infact, i was indifferent to it because i knew many people would ship it eventually, but seeing the ship grow more and more and the shippers attacking nonshippers with NO explanation on why they are defending such a copium ship is starting to make me hate it.

Okay, here's where the main discussion point is, and this right here is why I'm writing this whole essay/response thing.

This is a strawman.

This is not happening.

Every single Arlefuri shipper I've personally talked to could not care less if you don't like Arlefuri. Not every ship is for everyone, and there's nothing wrong with that. But there's a very big difference between not liking a ship and antagonizing a ship.

One of the things I absolutely hate about fandom is how much power lies in the accusation of being "proship." If someone is able to accuse someone of being proship and that accusation sticks, whether it's true or not, that person is screwed. And the same thing goes for ships. If a ship is successfully labeled as "proship" then that means that everyone that might publicly engage with that ship is going to also be labeled as proship, and that means they're going to be antagonized, even if there is nothing wrong with the ship itself.

Because people misunderstand a single cutscene in the game, people tend to label Arlefuri as, at best, toxic, and at worst, proship. And after a while, this gets tiring, especially for a community that is relatively small.

As stated before, Arlefuri shippers are so tired of being attacked and accused of various things, and because of that, engaging with people that attack the thing that we like in a respectful way becomes really really hard, and at some point, these defense attempts have started to lean more and more aggressive.

This is where I think that perception of Arlefuri shippers being so militant come from: they're defending a ship that they like in a rather aggressive and fed-up way which is very easy to interpret as attacking people for just having opinions.

Like I said before, there's a big difference between not liking a ship and antagonizing a ship.

For some reason, so many people antagonize Arlefuri. And because of how much it happens, responses have become, more often than not, either canned as discussed before, or angry.

i am lgbtqia+, i support and love love lgbtqia+ ships (including hetero ships bht thats for another conversation) but i really dont see why arlefuri is such a popular ship.

I agree, that is a separate conversation, but I find it really odd that the author found it important to spend valuable characters pointing this out.

like i said before, rarepairs are fine and fun, go for it. but if youre going to mindlessly attack people without explaining your reason, you're going to be just like most neuvifuri shippers who like to see 'nonchalant tall person' have sex with 'smaller, more childish (mentally) and petite person'. its not the ship you like, maybe its just the image, the fantasy, the thought. or you're just projecting.

There is a lot to unpack with this last point.

First of all, setting aside accusing arlefuri shippers of attacking again which we've talked about, this is straight up infantilizing Furina. Again, I'm assuming this thread was written in good faith, but if it wasn't, that's an insidious thing to throw into the thread to make that implication. As much as I'm not a fan of nvfr shippers, even they don't deserve that.

Furina is bubbly and energetic, silly and a bit out there, but she is not childish. If you pay attention to any of the quests she's in post Masquerade of the Guilty, you'll notice that (at least in the English dub although I'm assuming it carries to other dubs as well) Furina has two vocal modes with which she speaks: one for when she's in public situations with people she isn't super familiar or trusting with, and one for when she's talking one-on-one with the traveler or otherwise in situations where she feels safe. That latter vocal mode is what almost all of her voice lines in the character menu are spoken in, and is what you can consider her true self (her Ousia version of herself) which is much more thoughtful, calm, and straightforward. When she is acting as her true self, she is incredibly mature and her 500 years of life and stress really start to show.

What I'm assuming the author is thinking of when they call Furina mentally childish is how she acts when she's around various people. This is an act. She still pretends to be someone she's not when she's out and about, and that version of herself (her Pneuma aligned self) is one that is designed to be as appealing as possible: energetic, silly, and slightly arrogant. Once again, it's a character, or if you're more partial to Autistic/neurodivergent Furina headcanons, it's her masking.

Another really weird implication that comes out of this last point (at least to me) is that any and all Arlefuri content is just smut. That's obviously not true--just take my corpus of Arlefuri work as three examples out of however many. And I think it's not fair to judge the morality of most ships purely on the smut. Yes, sex can be a very useful tool for exploring the dynamics of characters, and that is used quite often in Arlefuri (same as literally every other ship known to fandom), but, w/r/t Arlefuri specifically, so much more interesting discussions exist outside of the bedroom, and some of the most seminal and impressive Arlefuri works are those that do not focus around sex. "A Fatui Harbinger in Lady Furina's Court" by DarlingMistaken, yes, is rated Explicit, but only because of one or two chapters. The entirety of the fic is an exploration of Furina's PTSD and the safety dynamic I talked about earlier. Eris's "All Bark No Bite" is completely Arlefuri sex free for the first 16 chapters and has a lot of interesting discussions of Furina's loneliness leading up to the smutty chapters. "Embers" by ChonkCatto is a slow burn romance which dives even deeper to the psychological trauma both Arlecchino and Furina have faced, as well as an exploration of Furina discovering her sexuality. And while I'm not a huge fan of tooting my own horn like this, I'm personally really proud of the discussions I have about power, trust, agency, and how love needn't be loud and passionate in my sister arlefuri fics, "What Do You Want?" and "There Must Be Something Here".

And I also want to point out that literally every ship any of us likes is purely because of the image, fantasy, and thought. That's the point of fandom. I know the author is particularly talking about the sexual side of things, but even then, that's why we do what we do. We like the idea of our favorite characters smooching, and so we make them smooch. Sometimes it's for reasons that takes an essay 3k words and counting to explain, and sometimes it's because "I find both of them hot." There's nothing wrong with that, and there never has been. If you want to read more about my thoughts on this topic specifically, you can read my previous post on here, "A Short Discussion on Fandom Culture"

Finally, I want to leave y'all with a reminder that discourse like this a fire that only you can fuel. Twitter as a platform is designed to both encourage saying things that will bait a reaction and to encourage responding to said bait in as reactionary of a way as possible. And because of the character restraints built into the app, that makes communicating your full thoughts incredibly difficult, and starts forcing people to rely on gotcha's and mantras instead of properly discussing things. And when people start echoing the same things over and over, distain in those spouting those mantras is developed in people, no matter the intention. So just block and move on. Take a page out of the fuqing shippers' book and just move on, because unless we all engage in long discussions over thousands of words, nobody is going to listen to each other because twitter is designed for people to not listen to each other.

This is a war that nobody is going to win, and it's so much better to pack up your things and return home from the front lines. It's so much better if you let people like what they like and not like what they don't like and say what they will say. We're all just a bunch of random ass nobodies beefing about fictional characters.

Just block and move on. It's so much better.

Trust me.

[weretheones]

All You Got | Part 8

Part 8: Observant

Plot: Daryl Dixon hadn’t known much beyond anger and loneliness his whole life, until he found family at the end of the world. Everything he grew to care about was ripped away the day the prison fell; so when he recognized you, an enforcer of his loss, hiding in that cabin, he almost pulled the trigger. But after you end up saving his life, he couldn’t find the indifference to leave you for dead, even if you’d been on the Governor’s side. (Mid-Late Season 4) 

Series Masterlist | AO3 Version

Paring: Eventual Daryl Dixon x Reader Word Count: 7.6k (oops) Warnings: typical twd content. mentions of death. a bit suggestive wink wink. A/N: hi hi. apologies for the late posting (again). exam season is in full swing and im drowning a bit. butttt, I managed to get this little (its the longest chapter yet lol) part out for you guys <3 just cause I love u so much. ps. the gif is a hint ;)

Every step west of that cottage distanced you further from the cold front following yesterday’s rain. The day hadn’t started exceptionally hot, but the week’s gradual dip in temperature made the sun’s increasing beat feel more eager than you’d known it as of late. The further you got, the more frequent sips you took from the lukewarm water bottle in your bag, even tying that sweater you’d been cuddling for warmth in, just yesterday, around your waist. 

Daryl seemed alright, all things considered. His arm hadn’t proved too troublesome, but the area had proved relatively deserted anyway. The two walkers you came across were tired and slow. Not much of a threat. The heat didn’t seem to bother him, either; he hadn’t shed the flannel underneath his vest yet. 

The sun was at its highest point in the sky when you met the border of the next town, a few hours later. 

“You’ve been through here before?” You asked Daryl, pointing to your spot on the map while walking side by side down the first commercial strip of the town. The stores looked like something out of a movie, quant but full of country charm. If it hadn’t been for the boarded windows and rusted cars sitting in the road, it would’ve been a lively sight. 

“When we first cleared the prison. Made our way through all the places nearby, too.” 

“Couldn’t have left a little for us?” You teased, glancing up at him. 

“There’s still some left. Shit we didn’t need.” 

“Shit we might need?” 

“Mhm. Lemme see tha’.” He grabbed the map from your hand, raising one of his own to block the sun from his eyes. He glanced over the paper, squinting at the tiny roads, then at the street sign above. 

“We can take this to Red Oak.” He tapped the street lines on the map, then continued forward. 

“What's on Red Oak?” 

He looked over his shoulder with a slight smirk. 

“Somethin’ we need.” 

It wasn’t until halfway down Red Oak Drive that you realized what that was. 

When it clicked, you smiled. 

It was an auto repair shop. Daryl had been here before, briefly as he told it, but long enough to make note of a few vehicles still in good condition. One of which was an old, dark blue hatchback that only needed a new battery and some gas to get started again. It was still sitting in the backlot, bathed in the sun’s last harsh rays of the season after the two of you made your way around the building. 

Daryl popped the hood. It was in the same condition as it was when he first found it, with a dead battery and dusty windows. 

“Do we… recharge it?” 

You didn’t know much about cars other than how to drive them. 

“Unless ya got a generator I don’t know ‘bout,” Daryl quipped, to which you softly rolled your eyes. “We need a new one.”

“Well, there’s gotta be something here.” You looked back to the building. 

“Mhm.” He nodded, closing the hood again. “Come on.” 

He kicked the back door three times. You were surprised that hadn’t been enough to bring it down; it was a flimsy thing. They must’ve not worried much about burglars in a small town like this. The brick wall was sturdy, though. Ridged edges pressed into your shoulder as you leaned against it, one leg crossed over the other while the wait began. A breeze of crisp, much more seasonally appropriate air rushed by, fluttering your few loose pieces of hair; you’d have to redo that mess of a ponytail soon. 

Daryl readjusted his hold of the crossbow, rolling his shoulders back— as well as he could, the left one was still noticeably stiff. 

You weren’t subtle about keeping an eye on him. 

“How’s the shoulder?” 

His eyes squinted under the bright sun. “Fine.”

You raised an eyebrow in disbelief. 

“’S a bit sore,” he admitted.

“I tried to tell you.” The loose smile on your lips was sympathetic, rather than teasing. 

“I know.” Daryl chewed at his lip. “But, I know ya get why I couldn’t stay there, neither.”

You stood a bit straighter, and the smile slipped away. 

“I do.” 

Daryl nodded. The air was heavy, not only with the newfound heat but a lingering tension— knowing— between you. If there was anyone who could understand his urge to find what was left of his family, it was you. The night you told him about your brother was still fresh in memory. There had been a vagueness you kept about the whole thing, a tone that could have sounded like a casual acceptance of fate, but Daryl remembered that look in your eye. The tear that slipped past. He didn’t have any doubt that you’d searched as far as you could for him.

But some people were too far gone. 

The shared silence between you two had grown comfortable these last few weeks. This one was different. Stretching seconds, then a minute, it made his muscles heavy. His weight felt unbalanced, even with two feet on the ground. 

Daryl had never been good with words— unless you counted those snarky quips he made. He either didn’t think at all or thought too long. It made him snappy and surly, the type of man people would’ve avoided before this thing. Somewhere there was a list of names to prove it. And yet, he had something to say. He wanted to. 

“Thank you,” he finally mumbled. 

Your expression lifted at that. “For what?” 

“For keepin’ an eye on me. Takin’ care’a me the way ya did.” 

Still, you seemed confused. A knit of your brows and a sweet look in your eye as you tried to pick apart some deeper meaning. Of course, you helped him. That’s what you promised, back at the start. 

“Of course,” you replied. “What else was I gonna do?” 

“I didn’t think you were gonna leave or nothin’,” he said, recalling your conversation while patching him up. Loyal ran deep in you, like it did him, and he trusted that you wouldn’t just leave him to rot. “But a lot’a people would’a.” 

Maybe that’s what he meant. Thank you for not being that person. 

You blinked, readjusting your focus on his serious demeanour. He was reserved, his lips drawn in and eyes barely holding your stare. 

“Well, that’s not us,” you said plainly. 

A reminder that he’d given you that loyalty, too. You weren’t sure if there were words to express how it didn’t feel so difficult to give your attention and care to the health of the man who fought tooth and nail for you to live, even after all the harm you’d caused him. It wasn’t even that you felt you owed him, but you knew he deserved it. 

Daryl gave you a small glimpse of a smile. Soft and sweet, like he was proving to be— deep down, at least. It drew a lopsided grin from you too. Your temple rested against the cool brick wall, and under the sun’s golden glow, you looked quite pretty like that. It was a talent, how quickly you could turn the charm back on; nothing else seemed to grab his attention the same way.  

“After all, what are friends for?” 

Daryl scoffed. He hoped he didn’t sound ungrateful when he blurted, “Tha’s wha' we are now?” 

“I would say so. We keep saving each other’s lives and the conversation is half decent.” You shrugged, as if indifferent. But your smile had turned playful not long ago, about the same time he noticed a warmth at his cheeks.

He’d blame it on the heat, if you asked. 

A second or two later, a walker slammed against the door. 

Daryl’s shoulder wasn’t too restraining; he lured the lone monster out and freed his knife from its skull without breaking a sweat. You gave him a quick smile of acknowledgment before the two of you stepped inside. 

The garage was in rough condition. A sign that was probably falling apart even before the world did, cheap tile floors, and a thick smell of mildew mixed with something decomposing— you were, unfortunately, quite knowledgeable about that smell, by now. The nicest thing about the building was that big roll-down window in the front that let the storefront become soaked in sunlight. The summer must’ve been a lot more tolerable with that wide open.

When the sunlight sneaking into the abandoned building didn’t reach far enough, Daryl held a flashlight in his mouth and scanned the store with his bow. His left shoulder was still stiff, so he had to depend on his other arm to bear most of the weight. Of course, you’d already tried to get him to keep it on his back, if anything, and take the gun instead— but he refused. All but demanded you keep the gun for yourself. 

The two of you searched the aisles with quiet steps, waiting for another unfriendly face to jump out of the shadows. 

It didn’t come. 

Instead, you gathered the few supplies Daryl needed, even pocketed a pair of sunglasses that you were sure would be useless after today, and went back out to that warm autumn day. Sitting on that small bench by the side of the building, eyes protected from the sun, you watched Daryl pop the hood of the car. He was quick at work, dexterous fingers tinkering with different parts of the vehicle that you could barely label. 

Between sips of water, your sight caught on those fingers— now smeared with grease— perhaps a second too long. When he turned to wipe his hands along that red rag in his back pocket, he noticed your lingering eye and paused.

Hesitated. 

With the pair of you caught off guard, you tried to break the quickly growing tension and asked, “Were you an auto mechanic before?” 

Daryl shook his head, bangs falling in his eyes as he did. He stretched underneath the hood again but spared you a glance back. Eyes squinted under the sun, the shine of sunlight hitting the grease along his exposed skin; the scene before you was beginning to look like something out of those ridiculous male model calendars. 

“I jus’ know cars,” he rumbled, a slight smirk to match that thick accent.

It was getting absurd, really; the hot sun wasn’t the only thing making you blush. 

You swallowed another gulp of water. 

It turned out the battery issue wasn’t too complicated. Daryl recounted some of his steps to you, telling you about which wire connected to which point, and so on. It was valuable information, undoubtedly worth paying attention to. The only problem was that by that point, the sun’s beat had stripped him of his vest and hitched the sleeves of his flannel around his elbows. The fact that the top three buttons were undone, opening across that broad and bare chest of his, wasn’t lost on you, either. 

It felt like a tease. He did. 

All you could do was nod along with his rough drawl and lean against the cool brick wall while you tried to deny checking him out. But really, everything else came second place to the swell of that shirt around his biceps, and his tense, thick forearms. Muscles overworked after dealing with tight gears and heavy equipment. 

The shade of those sunglasses was dangerous, giving you the excuse to let your eyes roam free all while Daryl was none the wiser— or so you hoped. 

Thoughts you hadn’t entertained in a long time began to roam free, too. It hadn't bothered you when they left; survival was the top priority, not romance or desire. Of course, the lack of time and potential suitors was a factor, too— why would you think about that when there wasn't even a chance for it? But here you were now, staring at Daryl, and recalling that fluttering feeling of attraction in your gut all too well. 

He was kind and strong. Whatever brute strength and resilience he had was matched with that three-sizes-too-big heart of his. After all, who else would take in an injured stranger, nevertheless one that attacked you just hours beforehand? Daryl might’ve blamed it on getting even, after you helped him from the window, but you knew there was something more behind that harsh stare of his. 

Something delicate. 

For whatever reason, you’d been lucky enough to see that gold-hearted nature firsthand. It sliced through his rough exterior, sparkling like a piece of glass caught in the sun. It was fragile, but you’d seemed to weave your way inside, anyway. 

You inhaled— stop. 

It might've felt otherwise, but there was still parts of Daryl you didn't know. Sometimes you forgot he was a man you’d known less than a month, been friends (barely) with less than two weeks. Even if he proved to be a good person, and was clearly easy on the eyes, from the obvious display ahead, these thoughts were intrusive. Perhaps an outcome of an idle mind. A natural attraction after a string of moments free of tension; all those life-or-death events bonded you, for better or worse, and as the urgency and blood washed off, you were falling victim to the full extent of that tie. 

“Got tha’?” 

“Mhm,” you faintly hummed. 

He said your name— no, repeated it. Embarrassment snapped you back into focus. Here you were daydreaming and practically ogling the man, while he was trying to teach you something. Help you. 

“Asked ya to grab another jug.” He gestured to the empty distilled water in his hand. Thank God, you were able to ignore that flex of his arm— mostly— when he did. 

“Right, yeah, of course,” you stammered. He tossed you the small flashlight before you scurried back into the building. The dark, cool air was a welcome relief against your hot cheeks, and you hoped it’d bring down whatever flush had inevitably crept up your chest.

At least you had those sunglasses. 

Maybe Daryl could feel your eyes roam his bare arms, chest, neck— stop— but you still had an inch of dignity left; he couldn’t prove it past the dark tint of those glasses, now sitting at the top of your head. 

Strolling through those same aisles, you grabbed another jug and tried to shake the last of those thoughts from your mind. Like how his eyes were as blue as the pretty Georgian sky, and were quickly becoming a solace for you. 

You were starting to like the looks he gave you— like he had while waiting at the door. It wasn’t that he was easy to read, no, you’d probably be fighting for a glimpse into those thoughts of his for the rest of your life. But every time you met those eyes that were once so harsh, you remembered the forgiveness he’d shared with you. The kindness. Perhaps it was a bit selfish because when you thought about that, it made something bloom deep in your chest. Something warm and sweet and good. 

You wanted to share it with him too. 

Somehow. 

Helping him find his people was your first try. You hoped you wouldn’t need a second. 

You grabbed the second jug of distilled water and turned to head back. 

A thump came from behind. 

It was odd. Two years spent in this world and yet, in a week, you’d reverted right back to that jumpy girl at the start. The air became thin, and you had to suck in a deeper breath just to keep your head straight. Heart pounding against your ribcage.

The last time you were in a dark store alone, it ended up with three people dead and Daryl shot. 

You spun around, flashlight high. The light danced across the aisles, no walkers or living under the fluorescent glow. That wasn’t enough to soothe your anxieties, so you placed the jug on the ground next to you and grabbed your gun, instead. 

It was then that your light landed on an exit sign. You could see the frame of a door below, in the far corner of the store. You approached it carefully, previously neglected as the pair of you assumed it was just a fire exit leading to that back alley, but now, with your heart still beating fast, you suspected something more lying behind that door. 

You twisted the handle carefully, gun ready in the other hand, but it was locked. 

You checked the front desk, found a ring of keys, and tried two before you found the right one. By then, your heart had slowed a bit. An engaged lock between you and that warning was slightly comforting, but you were still on edge. Finger ready by the trigger, if needed. 

The door creaked open and you stepped inside. 

Immediately, you found the source of the thump. A lone walker. Long, thin hair that was missing chunks and skin like leather stretched across its loosely hung open jaw. Its eyes were wide, staring out to the door you’d just walked through, but other than that low moan that rasped past its throat, it barely moved. 

The walker was old and frail, decomposing in this backroom alone since, if you could guess, the start. It didn’t even try to crawl. It couldn’t, there was a heavy cast on its leg reaching up to its upper thigh. A mop lying on the floor— maybe the thump. A bottle of antifreeze sat next to it, a dried splash of something bumpy and red. 

Puke. 

She killed herself. Locked alone in a backroom, with a broken leg and no other choice. 

The various ways you found the dead often reflected their last moments. Guts hanging out and bits of muscle torn from their flesh meant the obvious. Bullet and knife wounds, too. At the start, the mourning had almost been unbearable. Suffocating. Sympathy never stopped, there were simply too many roaming the world. It became dormant after one too many tried— and almost succeeded— to kill you. Then, something you only ever thought about in silent moments like this one. 

You unsheathed your knife and stepped over the fallen mop. It was the least you could do. 

The room was untouched. It didn’t have many valuables. Not for this world, anyway. There was a stack of cash and a nice bracelet in the bottom drawer of the desk, but nothing other than a couple of mints and a screwdriver that was worth keeping. In the top drawer, you found a single key on a thick, metal ring.  

You pocketed it, just in case. 

Other than the desk and those wobbly shelves filled with client records and taxes— a whole lot of paper— there was only that lumpy grey blanket, draped over something leaning against the wall, left to check out. You peeled it off carefully, but a cloud of dust surrounded anyway. Between coughs, you recognized what was underneath. The somber tone of the room lifted quickly, then. 

From the front of the store, Daryl called your name. Apparently, you’d been taking too long and his suspicions had arisen. 

“I’m okay!” you called back, clearing your throat one last time. “Be there in a second.”  

Even though you knew even less about motorcycles than you did about cars, you smiled as you gripped the handles. You were betting Daryl knew about bikes, too. You kicked up the stand and moved the bike through the store. Twisting it around the aisles and picking up that leftover jug of distilled water as you did. 

“I found something.” You grinned as you stepped back into the sunlight. 

Daryl’s eyes widened when he saw what you were leading. 

“No way.” He said, wiping his hands across the red rag, before stuffing it back into his pocket. “Where’d ya find this?” 

“Backroom. We missed it earlier.” You pulled out the keys you found as Daryl quickly grabbed the bike.

His hands ran over the handles, then the seat. 

“And I think I found the key.”

He had a ridiculous grin plastered across his face. You hadn’t even realized he could smile like that. 

“Pass ‘em ‘ere.” 

You dropped the ring in his open palm as he straddled the bike, thighs on either side. He looked down at the beast of a vehicle between his legs like it was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen. 

And then he looked back at you with that same look, and it almost made those intrusive thoughts from earlier seem a bit less insane. 

You were sure you had a goofy grin of your own. “You know how to ride one of these?” 

He raised an eyebrow. 

“Sorry. Stupid question,” you chuckled, eyes roaming over his leather vest— back on— and patchwork jeans. You never liked stereotypes, but Daryl sure was one sometimes. 

“Jus’ a bit,” he quipped. 

“You know,” you mumbled, smile growing, “I’ve never been on one.” 

“Never?” 

“Nope.” 

“Well, come on, girl.” 

You certainly didn’t need convincing. He shuffled forward, giving you the space to swing your leg over the seat behind him. At first, your hands grabbed at the spot, maneuvering your balance into a comfortable sit— but the overwhelming sight of Daryl's exceptionally broad back, draped in that black leather vest, soon had you squirming again. 

“Ya gotta hold on to me, alright?” 

“Okay,” you mumbled. You placed your shaky hands on his sturdy shoulders, like handlebars of your own. It was lucky that he was wearing that vest now—an extra layer between your skin and his— because you were pretty sure your palms were slick with sweat by that point. 

“Not there.” Daryl’s hand wrapped around the bend of your elbow, gently pulling your hands down. “Don’t need ya diggin’ a finger in my scab.” 

Then he repositioned them around his waist. 

Like it had been nothing. 

It had— you reminded yourself. Whatever bothered thoughts that kept slipping into mind today were an exception. Maybe your period was coming back. Or maybe that hot sun had melted away every bit of self-control you had left. 

“Ya might wanna hold on a bit tighter. It goes fast.” 

Your lungs constricted. Suddenly this felt wrong. Dangerous. 

“Wait— what about your shoulder? Should you be moving it—” 

“‘M movin’ it less sittin’ on this thing than off’a it.” 

“Well, shouldn’t we be wearing helmets or something?” 

The vibration of his laugh echoed through his back, which you were practically pressed up against. You might've cared more about his flippant attitude if he hadn’t reverberated a particularly soothing warmth back into you. 

“You chickenin’ out?” 

“No. I’m just remembering every motorcycle crash horror story my brother told me.” 

“He ride?” 

“God, no. He was an ER nurse.” 

“Well, we ain’t gonna crash.” Daryl rolled his shoulders back, and your grip tightened already. Nerves overcoming you. “Promise.” 

His confidence was reassuring. His firm body, even more so. 

“Alright then.” You nodded and the engine roared to life.  

Daryl’s feet lifted off the ground, landing on the rests just in front of yours. He found his balance quickly, even with you wrapped around his back. The pace was slow at first, a steady crawl that seemed overpowered by the loud rumble of that engine below. 

Then, when he finally passed the lot, he shot down the street. 

You couldn’t even guess how fast he was going. The world around you started to slip away, a lost frame of reference. The trees lining the road blurred into splatters of green and red, like a watercolour painting, and the wind rustled through those strands of hair that hadn't made it into your ponytail this morning. Racing through the breeze, that chill came back. Cold, little shards of air splintering across your face and hands.

The sudden bolt of movement made your stomach drop, that fluttering feeling of emptiness finding its spot. It reminded you of riding a rollercoaster as a kid, holding your brother’s hand tight and putting on a brave face as the big sister. It might’ve worked all those years ago, but you were pretty sure he’d be laughing at you now. You squeaked like a mouse, digging your face into the warm leather at Daryl’s back. The threading of his angel wings tickled your face alongside your wild hair, and you felt that familiar rumble in his chest again. 

“Ya alright?” He yelled back. 

You sucked in a fresh breath of air and peeked an eye open. It felt like the bravest peek in the world— the blurry, fast world. Though still huddled behind Daryl, with a vice grip around his steady waist, you were sure it didn’t appear very courageous to anyone else. 

“Fine!” You managed to reply, “I just didn’t expect that.” 

His gruff voice was harsher when he had to speak over that deafening engine. You barely made out his next sentence: “Want me to slow down?” 

You thought about it. But by the time you understood his offer, your eyes had opened completely, almost adjusted to the speed of the world around you. You even sat up properly, looking to your left as he raced past a strip of abandoned cars. That floating feeling inside your chest began to feel less dizzying, like Daryl’s waist was a tether to gravity as the bike ripped down the streets. He was always positioned firm and steady, like that beat of his heart you could feel against your cheek. You trusted him to keep you solid, even as the wind picked up. 

“No,” you practically squealed with a newfound excitement. “Keep going!” 

Much to your increasing delight, he kept that speed until you noticed a group of walkers at the end of the long-stretching road. He slowed down to turn, the joy and carefree adventure stained with reality, once again. The engine was loud. You glanced behind as Daryl bolted back through the street you’d just gone down, the blurry heads of the dead turning toward you in the distance. It’d been as good a sign as any to head back, with the gas slowly dwindling too. 

When you reached the car garage again, the bike crawled back through the lot, allowing you to finally take a deep breath and catch that fluttering feeling in your stomach. The bike paused and the engine turned off. The stark difference in noise was shocking— some time down that road you forgot just how loud the engine was, and just how quiet the rest of the Earth was nowadays. 

Daryl sat back, hands limply grasping the handlebars, head bowed to the beast of a motor below him. He seemed content from behind. Relaxed. 

You leaned around his shoulder. “End of the line?”

He seemed to snap back into focus then, glancing at you. 

“Gas is runnin’ low anyway.” 

You nodded, but added hopefully, “Maybe we can find more?” 

“We should use it for the car.” 

You sighed, “I know.”

The engine was still warm underneath your legs. Your disappointment was just as fresh. That could’ve been your first and only chance on the back of a bike, for all you knew. 

“Good first ride then?” 

“Are you kidding?” You laughed. “I get it now. Horror stories be damned.” 

He chuckled, even throwing you another glance back. But the second after your eyes met, his grin fell an inch. He turned his face away, too, and it hadn’t only taken a second longer for you to notice how close he was like this. You still wrapped around his back. 

“Ya gotta move so—” 

“Oh, sorry,” you mumbled, climbing off the bike. Trying to steady yourself on the ground was harder than you anticipated; your legs felt like jelly, already missing the smooth leather beneath you.

Your eyes caught on Daryl's vest as he also got off. 

In front of you. 

The bike balanced on its stand, Daryl on one side and you on the other. Something caught his attention, just above your eyes. 

“Ya got…” He gestured with a lazy hand around the top of his head. 

Your eyes went wide, hand flying up to the wild mess of your hair. 

You patted down a patch. “There?” 

“Yeah,” he cleared his throat, giving you the ghost of a smile.

You felt it again. Butterflies. 

Fuck. 

---

By the time you finished siphoning gas from the other cars, Daryl was done fixing the blue one. Throwing your few bags in the backseat, you climbed inside. You in the passenger seat, him behind the wheel. He liked to drive. It seemed to calm him, from that loose expression he wore. 

“We’ll keep drivin’ west, see wha’ we can find.” Daryl gripped the steering wheel with one hand. The other lingered by his mouth, thumb occasionally gnawed at. “Can siphon gas from the cars on the road. Hunt for food, sleep in the back.” 

“A home on wheels.” You rolled down the window as the car began to drift down the same streets you’d just sped through. The wind was softer than it had been on the bike. You already missed that terrifying, joyful freedom. 

There was another way you could chase it, you realized. You started to dig through the glove compartment. 

“Whatcha lookin’ for?” 

“CDs, hopefully.” 

His eyes flickered over you. Hair now brushed, let loose from that ponytail and tucked behind your ear as you leaned forward. The sun was still strong late into the afternoon, direct rays landing across the dashboard and reflecting onto you. It explained that glow you had. 

“God, I’d listen to anything at this point.” 

Daryl glanced over to the road, but his attention didn’t slip off you completely. 

It never seemed to, anymore. 

“Here.” You popped the cd from its case and rubbed it against the soft fabric of your sweater. “Can’t believe this is the only one. Who the hell owned this car?” 

Daryl’s lip twitched up at your soft snark. “You a music snob or somethin’?” 

“No.” You rolled your eyes. “I was just hoping for something better.” 

With one hand off the wheel, he clicked on the radio. Static rumbled from the speakers until he slid the dusty cd inside. The dark melody was slow, something that reminded him of those nights in the same run-down bar in the early nineties. A favourite of his uncle, then his brother, and while the pair of them served a stint in jail, Daryl’s. 

It was strange, feeling better off without your family by your side. But Daryl had all his life to get used to that thought. It wasn’t until he made his own family, then lost them, that he felt the opposite. He missed that group more than he could say, missed that feeling of purpose they gave him. 

Though, as the days rolled on, you were beginning to fill that ache in his chest, too. 

“Sure there’s nothin’ else in there?” 

You checked again, but it was mostly a polite gesture. There hadn’t been much in there, anyway. A pair of old gloves that you’d already stuffed in your bag, some tissue, the lone cd, and a brochure. 

“Only this.” You flickered through the pages of the sale brochure. It was for the development of a small community, units starting in the low three hundreds. The prospective opening date was off by a few years, though. You doubted they’d even broken ground before everything fell apart. 

“You really don’t like it?” 

“Ain’t exactly a fan,” he grumbled. There was a flash of disappointment across your face, caught in the corner of his eye. His frown lifted a bit. “’S fine, though. Ain’t a big deal, neither.” 

“What are you a fan of then?” You tossed the brochure back inside the box. “Now that we have a radio, next time I’m scavenging I’ll keep an eye out.” 

Daryl thought for a moment. “I dunno. Only really listened to what Merle liked.” 

You blinked, brows knitting a centimetre closer. 

“You spent a lot of time with him?” 

“When he was around.” 

Something stung in your chest. No, your heart. From the sparse details Daryl spared about his brother, Merle didn’t seem the reliable type. Every story he told was followed with stiffness. Those memories were distant and cold— the type of coolness that grew from hurt, not time. 

You knew to tread lightly. 

“What’d you guys do?” 

“Whatever.” Daryl shrugged. “Drank. Went huntin’. Nothin’ special.” 

“So you hunted even before this?” 

“Mhm.” 

“Merle taught you?” 

“My dad.”  

“Oh.” 

Daryl had never mentioned a parent before. Given the age gap, you’d assumed Merle had probably raised him a good chunk of his childhood. When he was around, anyway. 

That cold tone Daryl had for his brother extended to his father, also. A part of you wondered if that hurt had been deep, too. Maybe as deep as those scars on his back. 

It was an insensitive thought. Unfair. Daryl didn’t owe you anything, and he certainly didn’t deserve you stuffing your nose in his family’s business. 

“Do you like hunting?” 

“I liked the forest. Liked eatin’.” It was better than being home. “But I didn’t do it ‘cause I liked it. Was jus’ somethin’ I had to learn.”

With a nod, you went quiet. A softly contemplative look on your face. It piqued his interest, a flutter of nerves catching in his gut. 

“Why ya askin’?” 

“Just curious,” you answered. “You’re the only person I’ve had out here that didn’t jump at every snap of a branch.” 

“Well I got practice,” he said. “Stuck with a lotta city folk, then?” 

You turned back to him then, a sly smile hanging off your lips. “I’m city folk.” 

“Yeah, I figured.” 

You laughed, “Oh yeah? Why’s that?” 

“Cause you’re jumpy, too,” Daryl scoffed. “Scared’a your own damn shadow.” 

“I like the forest,” you defended with a slight pitch to your words. It made Daryl smirk, too. “I just don’t like how dark it can get. It’s freaky. I’ll never get used to it. Maybe all those bright city lights mess with your brain after all.” 

Daryl nodded, and he knew the moment had presented itself. The tone shifted a bit serious when he finally asked the question that’d be pressing him. 

“Atlanta, then?” 

“Briefly.” You nodded. “My brother and I were visiting before everything happened.” 

“Heard it was bad there.” 

It was. It’d taken a long time to stop waking up in a sweat with memories of that night. 

Still, you shrugged. “It was bad everywhere.” 

“Yeah, but they weren’t droppin’ bombs everywhere.” 

“I got out before that.” 

Good timing.

“We were only there for two weeks. If the trip had been a month later, or earlier, we wouldn’t have been anywhere close to Georgia when this thing hit.” 

Daryl felt something fester in his gut. Anxiety? That distant, non-existent what-if made him shift in his seat. He could feel it looking over your side profile— the curve of your nose and lips, the soft flutter of eyelashes— and it hit him like that bullet had. Fast. 

It was true. You’d grown on him. He cared. 

“You’re not from Georgia?” 

You shook your head. “Nope.” 

“Explains the accent.” 

“Or lack thereof,” you countered. “I like yours though. It's charming.” 

Daryl scoffed, and you gave him a look. 

“What? I’m being serious. You have a nice voice.” 

A pretty shade of light pink scattered across his cheeks. You couldn’t help that loose smile you wore. It was nice to make him nervous, for once. Of course, you weren’t about to rub it in his face. You glanced away, eyes caught in the fast shades of green, orange, and red passing by the window. 

“What about you? Where were you at the start?” 

Daryl cleared his throat. “Same place I’d always been. Hometown.” 

“You never left?” 

“Nah.” 

“Not even for college or…” 

His grip on the steering wheel tightened, and he tried not to side-eye your reaction when he finally muttered, “Didn’t go.” 

Though that part of him that held all those pessimistic, self-doubts was a strong force to be reckoned with. He didn’t need to prove himself— never cared to before— but now here he was, sitting with that gnawing feeling in his gut, wanting to. 

And yet, you barely even shrugged. 

“I almost didn’t go, either,” you said nonchalantly, eyes running over the back of the CD case. “You ever wish you had, though?” 

“Nah.” 

“Fair enough. I think you could’ve been good at it, though. You’re very…” 

Daryl waited, brow hitched as you hummed. 

“Intuitive.” You’d decided. “You know, you have good instincts. Sometimes it feels like you know what’s gonna happen before it does.” 

He sat with those words a moment, then offered one of his own: “Observant.” 

“Yeah, exactly. Maybe you could’ve been a lawyer… Or a cop.” 

“Nah,” Daryl huffed. “Cops ’n I never got along well.” 

“No?” You teased. “You used to get into trouble, Dixon?” 

“Merle did. Guess I tagged along for the ride.” He shrugged. “Like I said, I was a dumbass.” 

“You being a dumbass— that’s hard to imagine.” 

“I didn’t have to,” he quipped. 

You smiled at the easy wit that always just seemed to flow from him. 

“So you didn’t leave town before this?” 

“Not really. Never even left Georgia.” 

“Seriously?” 

He shook his head. 

“Well, maybe after we pick up your friends we can go on a road trip.” 

Daryl gave you a look. It was questioning, sure, but gentle. “Plannin’ on stickin’ around then?” 

“Well, I uh…” you paused. Curiously, you hadn’t thought about it much. Since those initially tense first days together, the possibility of parting ways with Daryl, not because of a feverish worry or a herd, but because your shared journey had reached an end, hadn’t come to mind often. The two of you hadn’t been together long, but you’d already been through a lot. Patching the other up, too many close calls to count, sharing what little supplies you had… just to say ‘see ya!’ after everything felt wrong. Incomplete. 

“If you’d let me. I don’t really have anywhere else to go— anyone else.” 

“Alright.” Daryl nodded. 

It was a short acknowledgement. A single word. It still made you smile. 

Daryl wasn’t like most people. He was forgiving and insightful. He let you live when you probably deserved to die because he wasn’t like most people. All you knew about the others was that they’d earned Daryl’s loyalty at some point, and made their own way into his sentiment, too. If he trusted them, you hoped that meant you could too. 

Hoped. 

Worry crept back in. Maybe the others wouldn’t want you there. The stain of the prison could’ve been enough to taint your reputation, completely, even if Daryl vouched for you. And, if it came down to it, choosing between you and them, there was no doubt in your mind. He wouldn’t pick the girl he knew for a couple of weeks over his real family. 

It poured out faster than you meant. Words slipped, mumbled and stuttered, “You think they might— might wanna kill me? Or, I don’t know, cut me loose?” 

“Tha’ ain’t gonna happen.” Daryl watched the road. “They’re good people. Like you.” 

The weight of worry lifted off your chest again. He had a talent for that. 

You smiled. 

Good people. 

You tried to hide the flush at your cheeks and chest, glancing out the window. “How’d you find them anyway?” 

“At the start, Merle ’n I were in the middle’a huntin’. Didn’t even know ‘bout the walkers until I found one out there, ’n it tried to take a bite outta me.” 

“Shit,” you hissed. 

“Douchebag was all over me. Smelt somethin’ awful. I started yellin’, screamin’ at the thing. Punchin’ him. He jus’ kept coming, then Merle shot it.” He scoffed, “Thought I was ‘bout to serve hard time for murder, till Merle said he’d heard something on the truck’s radio ‘bout dead bastards comin’ back to life. We left for Atlanta after tha’.” 

“Refugee camps?” 

“Never made it. That was when we found the others on the road. We stayed up by a quarry for a while. It wasn’t safe, so we kept movin’, till we found the prison. ‘Bout a year ago.” 

“You stayed there a year?” 

Daryl nodded. “We lost a lot gettin’ there. Made somethin’ of it, though.” 

“I didn’t think anything like that could be real.” You shook your head. 

He met your look. It’d gone from smiling to serious in a few sentences. That slight bite at your lip, a quiver in your brow. 

“It was," he said.

“Do you think you could ever have that again?” 

Of course, he’d thought about it. Even if he tried not to, those memories of the prison and the community they built from a grey, desolate building— a prison— were overwhelming. It was the first time in maybe his whole life that he felt a purpose. People didn’t just depend on him. They accepted him. They liked him. 

He stole another look at you. That bloom of familiarity was deep in his chest, again. 

“Maybe.” 

---

Another hour passed. The sun was softer, a cold breeze shifting through that open window until you finally rolled it back up. You still stared outside, watching the trees slip by.

Daryl had traced the backroads back to the main road leaving the prison, and you’d been travelling west since. The same way he’d seen the bus go. It seemed strange that they hadn’t come up with an official rendezvous spot, just a last chance at loading on that bus together. But maybe a more detailed plan would’ve been useless anyway; places didn’t last long, nowadays. 

The car rolled to a stop. Your head lulled to face forward, finding a slight ache in your neck when you finally tore your eyes away from the window. A question sat at the tip of your tongue, about to slip when your eyes landed on the answer. 

Instead, you gasped, “Oh my God.” 

There, sitting in the road, was the bus. 

Splatters of blood painted the siding. A dozen or so bodies sprawled by the back door. Some were piled on top of each other, limbs mixed. Others lay alone. All of them had turned before they were put down for good. 

You could just tell. 

From the corner of your eye, you noticed his white-knuckle grip around the steering wheel. The veins in his hands popped out, muscle turned into stone, and there was no use in glancing up at him; you already knew that look of pain— despair— he had. Could practically feel him begin to bottle up every word, emotion, or care. 

You were the first one to exit the car. 

Goosebumps broke out on your skin as a cold breeze took hold. That chill sunk into your skin with the sound of the second door opening, and something stiff and heavy clouded behind you. 

It was coming from him. You knew that already. It made that pit of dread in your gut even heavier. 

Was it fury he was feeling? Grief? 

Even when you finally did glance back at him, lingering by the car's side, you still couldn’t say for sure. That glossy look in his eye was certainly bitter. Tense with emotion that you knew he was fighting to reign in. It left him with a dark glare as he stared at the dead faces of his people— the only ones he’d known for sure got out. He had practice keeping that type of anger silent. Not the one that made you punch some asshole at the bar, but the type that was born out of misery and regret. 

He’d been abrasive at the cabin. Then softer after the pharmacy. Even strained in the cottage, with you tending to his back. But he’d never forced himself numb before, not like this. You could tell he was holding back. A guttural scream, you thought, from the tension in his neck and that vein threatening to pop out where a swollen bump had been a few days prior. 

But his lips drew shut in a taut line, and he was quieter than the rustle of the trees. 

It made your stomach knot. Though, you were sure it was no worse than what he might have been feeling— if he'd let himself. His only lead: bloody, dead, and rotting in the middle of the road. If you’d kept driving, the tires would’ve ripped through decaying muscle and crushed bone. 

It wasn’t fair. 

The gas station. His wounds. The bus. These people, lying like trash on the road. No more significant than the withering leaves beside them. 

There wasn’t the time, nor the energy, to spend digging graves. But you dragged each limp body, one by one, to the side of the road. Right where the grass bled into the concrete, they laid. 

Sometime around the third body, Daryl began to help. He picked up the opposite limb with his good arm, then eventually his bad one too. 

Nothing but that gloss across his eye to tell you these people meant anything to him. He was retreating by the second. Crawling back into that ugly pit of animosity and cynicism that always seemed to have a spot waiting for him. Each body you moved reaffirmed it. Pushed him deeper as hollow eyes fell on the cold faces of the people he cared about. He fed. He protected. 

Or, tried to. 

It was never enough. 

-> part 9

A/N: so much happened in this part I mean... reader finally realizing she might have a lil crush on him... the bike ride... the car conversation... THE BUS

anyway. back to our regular scheduled bad shit happening to our fav fictional characters. if u have any predictions or thoughts, lmk :p

FYI: I'm expecting to miss next weeks posting. I have too much to do with exams, sorry! after that ill be graduated so lots of free time coming up lol.

if you’re reading this, thank you! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. please feel free to leave feedback, it helps so much and I love to read it. have a lovely day <3

[quanticq]

Hey Q! Sorry for bothering you, but for some reason I can no longer find any of your tik tok accounts 😭 Did they get deleted or something?

Hi this is Q! I’m coming out of the woodwork to address this, since I did went radio silent out of the blue so it’s not a bother at all

The short answer is Yes, I deleted my tiktok

Yes delete not deactivate, I’m not coming back to That app or IG or Twt, I deleted my socials except here and YouTube, I honestly felt so overwhelmed with everything, I realized I’m not even posting for myself anymore there. A lots of people crossed my boundaries time and time again I felt so helpless, bitter with myself. I guess I was just overwhelmed with the attention I got; both positive and negatives ones.

Im done and I want to start over so that’s why I’m here and on YouTube, I already posted some of these on my community tab on YT but here’s what I have in mind for the future of the content I want to create: more detail under the cut, and also;

CW: very brief mention of spiraling, harm inflict oneself or others, paranoia, etc

•Long-form content: my attention span is a bit messed up from consuming and making short-form content to the point where I can’t focus in university. I want to create something meaningful. It’s not that my previous content was not meaningful, no. I had fun and no time is wasted when I have fun, it was warm… but as I mentioned earlier, I just felt this lingering bitterness the longer I stayed making those short-form content. It really felt like I was on the verge of losing it. Especially with how the bigger following I have the less people think of me as a person than just another content creator you see on the internet,

I want to create long-form content, I’m so tired of forcing myself to generate 15 second content. On tiktok it just feels like I’m just creating and not really connecting. I want to try something new, maybe create an open space for meaningful discussion in the comments. I don’t think I can stand another copy-paste tiktok comment anymore. You know what I meant if you’re frequent on that app.

•Art Content with Commentary: and don’t worry this won’t be those petty artist drama issue, but I will still cover anything serious

it could be love letters or video essays ranging from fan fictions, fandom culture, the art scene and so much more. I may even share a bit of my personal life, this will be self indulgent after all! I want to make it fun for myself and as well to those who comes across my channel. I really REALLY want to create a genuine following.

On tiktok it’s so easy to gain following but not so easy to retain them, it’s mostly because of the algorithm and the FYP feature there.

On Tiktok most content that would get featured as an artist there would be creative work has to be either; more than exceptional which is pressuring enough already to consistent posters, straight up suggestive content shown to minors (tiktok doesn’t really have a blocked keywords feature but it’s so disheartening to see these creators intentionally not using the sensitive warning since it could limit their reach significantly) oh yes we can’t forget the negativity surrounding beginner artists or “art lore”

All of this cesspool of negativity, it’s a whole can of worms but it will be one of my prominent topics that I wish to discuss in my future art commentaries. I hope you guys are looking forward to those! I might bring in a few people or so to talk about it with me

and finally;

•Streaming: I used to do a lot of streams during the weekends on the clock app and it was super fun! I want to bring that back but that would have to wait since I’m unfamiliar with some features on YouTube, and I’m aware that YT does not have a discoverable feature for stream but that’s alright, I want to start something small first.

In short; I’ll figure it out! just need some baby steps before I start streaming again.

.

I apologize for deleting everything out of the blue, if I’m gonna be honest it was partially planned because I’ve been thinking about deleting my tiktok, twitter and Instagram for a while now but how it happened? In my breakdown I realized that I don’t want anyone to see me spiral, especially now that I realized how young my audience are, I’m not sure how that happened but I guess posting fandom contents does attract the young ones somehow inevitably, even though my content is nowhere near as suggestive, but I do talk about serious topics from time to time… but I digress, its not fair for them to deal with me if they see me spiral publicly,

it is especially not fair to them to console me. When I was younger than 14, I’ve been in a position where I have to talk down someone who was older, maybe 4-5 years older than me, from harming themselves or anyone, it was traumatizing and unpleasant. I don’t wish for anyone to go through that, it’s very painful.

It’s been… hard for me to ground myself. Ive been seeing things through a kaleidoscope of emotions; I was trying to focus on everything but it’s just too overwhelming so eventually I cracked. But please don’t worry I’ve been doing better now, after some time away from my online persona, and of course spending time with my beloved girlfriend, I see things much more clearly now.

Thank you to anyone who read this and much so appreciate those who understand where I’m coming from

Also now that I think of it can my stuff be considered as lost media now? Amazing! But please don’t be sad the fun I had was genuine!

Thank you again to those who genuinely enjoyed my content on tiktok but it’s time for me to try my hand at something new, I will still be dwelling in my creative headspace just.. away from public for now,

if you’re looking forward for my future post, make sure to check out my YouTube! I still have a lot I need to cook hehe, this is one of the few!

More post soon, Bye bye! -Q

[tauforged]

Are you okay?

in the grand scheme of things? yeah i’m chillin. what happened isn’t Serious serious. it was just weird. like i’ve been iffy about saying anything because i don’t wanna kickstart it into a major ordeal again but it’s just like. a couple weeks ago? at this point? i think? i got upset after someone id been following posted what essentially boils down to rape fic. i was really in my feelings about it in the moment because it honestly triggered the fuck out of me and i definitely lashed out a bit but it was late i was very tired and stressed out and ultimately not really thinking about the consequences of my actions, just ranting about something that really upset me. the blowback i got in response has been INSANE and kinda sobering. 90% of the other wf bloggers i know of and had up until that point been mutuals/friendly with all blocked and cold shouldered me overnight. i had at least one person combing thru my sideblog and alt twitter for dirt on me so they could send anons about how much of a hypocrite i was. i’ve been extremely cagey about posting anything personal at all, even stuff that isn’t at all related to what happened, because im suddenly aware that my blog is being checked up on frequently and anything i post can be taken as a slight and used to justify saying some really cruel and heinous shit about me. so much has happened that i don’t even have the words to explain in a neutral manner right now, and i don’t want to put anyone individually on blast either because i honestly don’t even have it in me to feel spiteful about it anymore. i’m just very tired. a lot of bridges got burned right out from underneath me and now im feeling kind of stuck and isolated.

i don’t post about it often because i’m aware of how easily it could be used against me, but to be entirely frank; i’ve struggled with paranoia around being stalked/surveilled as well as moral ocd and all the baggage that comes with both for a very VERY long time, and this is just all like. the perfect storm to trigger serious episodes. i’ve been really hot and cold lately and stressed beyond belief. i’m convinced there’s someone out there checking up on me and talking about me behind my back, but i can’t do a damn thing about any of it aside from continue trying to mind my own business and hope that everyone who’s stuck around thus far is doing so for the right reasons and not just out to get me. trying to redirect myself onto what usually helps me take my mind off these things isn’t really working because it keeps circling back around to huge reminders and i’m having a harder than usual time escaping those mental loops lately. trying to forcefully will myself into being Okay has been really tiring and i think i’m just gonna have to let myself be. not okay. for a while.

it’s a lot of stress to come out of video game fandom posting on tumblr, yeah, i know, and ultimately none of it matters. but it’s still a really weird situation. feels unsafe and precarious. i’m trying very hard not to completely and totally isolate myself and retreat into a bubble because to be frank i do really need to put myself out there and interact with people more, it’s just been blow after blow lately.

to answer your question - i think im gonna be fine. this whole thing has for sure done a number on my physical and mental health (not that i was a beacon of health and wellness before either) but i can say i’m certainly not going anywhere and i dont want to let this whole thing ruin something i love and that means so much to me. im in a weird place right now and will probably be kinda squirrelly for a while…. but ill be alright. i appreciate your concern 🫂❤️

[the-golden-comet]

Hi hello! I noticed you also write and i guess I wanted to ask, how do you manage to write when the words don't want to word? Like no matter how many times you write and rewrite the sentence, it doesn't seem to do the scene in your head justice. I usually just stay away from the WIP to give me time to construct the words, but then I feel kinda guilty bc then im not writing. Any advice would be greatly and graciously appreciated!

Hi there! Thank you so much for the ask! ✨

Usually if I hit a writer’s block, I try to read a chapter back to respark my motivation. Some people do a “ten-sentence prior,” but I feel that sometimes my brain needs a little more context. This also refreshes my memory as to what happened in the WIP before I get to writing again, and jog back the writing flow.

When I write, I plan out “major plots” (aka my fun plots) that I work towards in my writing. These can be a certain trope that you like, a chapter you REALLY want to get to, a conflict you want to explore, or an idea you just want to write about. This typically returns my writing flow as my brain spins ideas that lead to those major plot points. Don’t worry if the ideas are cliché, because you can fine-tune them in the editing phase. Or, keep the clichés if they makes you happy. Just get all those ideas out there ✨

If that doesn’t work, there is nothing wrong with wanting to take a little break. Forcing yourself to write will tank your motivation faster than Sonic on four shots of espresso. Writer burnout occurs when writers feel they have to push the creativity through, losing sight of why they wanted to write in the first place: because they enjoy it, and find joy, entertainment, and purpose. You can’t force the brain to think if it’s tired and screaming at you to get your other needs fulfilled.

Never feel guilty about breaks. They are healthy for you mentally, physically, and emotionally. If you’re trying to stick to a consistent writing schedule, what I do to help motivate is to watch one of my favorite movies to start forming ideas, or reading other people’s works. That way my body and mind are in a relaxed state, yet I’m still gathering ideas and motivation for my stories, which is all a part of the writing process. I found that engaging in other arts and media help inspire me to be creative, and I can then channel that to my stories too.

This goes without saying, but drink plenty of water. Brain fog and confusion occurs frequently from dehydration. Going on a walk, or sometimes even looking outside the window and looking for objects with certain colors (like green trees, red cars, yellow lights, etc.) is a nice brain exercise. Engaging in the five senses helps ground yourself and can refocus your mind back to your document.

I hope these tips and tricks help! Thank you again for stopping by my ask box! 💫✨

[prettyboykatsuki]

✮ this blog is 18+. i block minors and ageless blogs. yk the drill.

✮ please do not recommend me on any other platform, especially tiktok. i like to keep my mental illness contained

✮ every character i write is aged to be over 18 no matter what their canon age is, usually early 20's. if this makes you uncomfortable block me.

✮ putting dni if ur a bigot seems kinda pointless but ill block you if ur vibes r weird. terfs ESPECIALLY dont fucking interact you are not welcome here

✮ okay. the basics are out of the way. here's what else you need to know.

one ; i am a personal blog before im a writing blog. i post about my life and whatever i want. this is my diary and sometimes there's fanfiction in it. i shitpost like 100 times a day.

(this blog is in general, super disorganized. i have literally 30,000 posts. my bad)

two ; i post dark content frequently. im a gross freak so it's a lot of incest / yandere and dubcon / noncon will make the appearance as well. just block if you hate it but i will always tag with ___ cw (i.e. noncon cw, yandere cw, incest cw, stepcest cw)

three ; i am a top and a dom and i want to make men pregnant. i talk about it a lot. i am also a switch though so you'll see whatever im feeling at the time and it wont go tagged. sorry about that. just how it be.

four ; i get a lot of asks in a day (which im grateful for) but im only one person and responding makes me very tired so sometimes it takes a while. i also don't take requests.

five ; this is a big one but i am media critical and like analysis which means you will see me post a lot of meta about characters and worlds and my opinions about things. im pretty vocal about what strikes my mind so please approach with good faith

you're always welcome to disagree with me. im not infallible im just some guy with thoughts.

bonus ; any weird asks about my faith is an immediate block! it's only on my blog because it's a visible part of my identity!

i have other blogs you're welcome to follow.

@fang-wife - a general nsfw blog that you'll see me rb from sometimes.

@denji-s - my aesthetic blog

@bkgism - another nsfw blog but for more like not dom stuff lol

i also have a personal blog it is mutuals only. if u see another guy with my name its just me.

[therandomfaebean]

Hello! I'm requesting this anonymously because I don't want to be judged or anything (lemme know if you want my identity and I'll dm you)

Anyways, could I request some fluffy smut with Octavio and a human (afab) reader? I really want to see what someone can whip up. I see you have writers block, so I'll try to give a scenario. So basically reader comes home from work (I work at a McDonald's) and needs their bf/husband (being Octavio) to comfort them cus they're tired and it gets steamy

OML I totally forgot abt this im so sorry. Phantom Smells suck FYI

~*loading*~ #!SMUT WARNING!# OMG THIS IS SO KINKY IM SORRY

(Cervix fucking, size kink as always)

You slammed the door to you and your boyfriend DJ Octavio (or DJ)'s shared apartment. The DJ had appeared behind you while you wee playing on your Switch/Wii U and y'all had ended up in love. You shoved you bag on the table, "Babeee im Home!" you called to DJ. *BHWUMP* the DJ slammed you with a hug, *sigh* he was always like this after a double shift. You pushed him off since you had had a bad day and stormed off to the shower with a huff.

You ripped your clothing off in the bathroom not even bothering to lock the door and jumped in the shower feeling the warm water wash over you feeling much better. You dried off and put some comfy PJ's on. You walked out and sat on the couch, The DJ sat beside you and carefully put his arms around you pulling you onto his lap. (The DJ is 7'5 so you are like a little plush doll as compared to him). HE rubbed your back, your arms, 𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒍𝒆𝒈𝒔~ he gave your upper thigh a gentle squeeze and you made an embarrassing whimper. While he did this you told him your day and tried not to get embarrassed (Y'all had never gotten even close to this far although you frequently thought about it) He gently kissed you. "fuck it" you thought and kissed him even more deeply.

(SMUT)

The DJ shoved you down under him on the couch ripping your pajamas apart. "Is this ok with you?" he asked (you nod)

He rips you twos clothes apart. You had noticed the way he looked under his clothes before but this left you shook. He was of course 7'5 but he was also pure muscle and his dick was bigger than anything you had ever seen it was 12 inches probably and so thick you probably couldnt wrap your hand around it. Another thing his tentacles moved and one was currently stroking your cheek.

"Mhmmmm' he muttered "You look so tasty under this clothin'~"

"Im gonn' fuck you so hard you won' be able to walk baby~"

(He slips his hand between your legs) "So wet n' soft~"

he shoved three fingers into your cunt. "oHoO your so hot n' wet im sorry for not stretchin' you more baby but I need my cock in you as soon as possible~"

He shoved his cock into you with his dick kissing your cervix.

but he still wasnt in all the way he still had like 2 inches outside and he wanted those IN YOU~

He pulled out and shoved back in fitting all 12 inches in. His dick shoved passed your cervix and you groaned.

"Mhmm~ you're so hot n' wet" he groaned, "Uhhhh don' move to much your already tight 'nough without you squirmin'~"

He pulled out quite a bit and pushed back in roughly pounding you with his dick. So hard you were cumming all over his cock.

"OhOO~" he groaned, "i can feel your wetness soaking me youre gonna' make me cum. It alr' if i don' pull out baby?"

you moaned yes but it was too late he had cum and my god was there a lot you were all swollen and stuffed with his cum.

he asked, "So what upset you"

you answered that you couldnt even remember now.

[crows-of-buckets]

finally deciding to make an about me post yippee yay!!

Hi my name is Crow! Most of what I reblog is fandom stuff, and I jump between fandoms quite frequently <//3 I have a few that I tend to come back to regularly however (Somehow I manage to have a dragon age obsession at least once a year. it is very consistent)

If I don't respond to something, it is either bc 1) I genuinely don't know what to say and social interactions terrify me, 2) I was too tired to respond to something when I saw it then I promptly forgot about it or 3) got anxious and convinced myself that the person who sent it hates me or something. Deepest apologies I'm just awful at stuff like that and have pretty bad anxiety I do try though <//3

I block very very generously! If you do end up blocked by me it may not be for any actually bad reasons, you could have just worded something in a way that mildly annoyed me, please dont take offense to it lmao. Me and the block button are madly in love, and I do not hesitate to press it. This is mostly just to curate an experience that is fun for me, and also to avoid me getting overly mad about random bad takes i see. Bigotry of any kind is not tolerated and you will be blocked.

I tend to ramble on about my ocs a worrying amount. As of right now, I am rather focused on my dragon age ocs, but i also have personal ocs and ocs for other fandoms

About tagging

Generally I try to tag things appropriately, although sometimes i am not the brightest and forget. If I do that's my bad I'll normally notice before too long

I tag all my art as "#my art". If you only want my art stuff, I have an alt that is solely for reblogging all my art. That is @bucket-of-crows

My rambling tag is "#crow rambles" half the time this is me yapping about my ocs, other half is me complaining about something lmao

I tag my ocs using "oc: *oc name*" as a way to organize stuff. I also use "worldstate: *worldstate name*" for dragon age worldstates, since I have a few. Any posts I make about my ocs/oc playthroughs is tagged "#my ocs"

While I don't tend to reblog sexual stuff, anything with excessive nudity is tagged as "#nsfw" just to be on the safe side

I tag all Dragon age: The Veilguard spoilers as "#dav spoilers" I will probably continue to tag this as spoilers for a while. I also tag anything critical of the game as "#dav critical" Anything critical of other dragon age games / bioware as a company is typically tagged "#bioware critical" or "#da critical"

About my ocs

Im gonna ramble about my ocs a bit, so I'll put this under a cut so this doesnt look too long lmao

I accidentally posted this instead of saving to my drafts so this section isn't done my bad

Aviae Surana

(she/her)

Aviae is my main dragon age origins oc, and I talk about her quite a bit. Shes specializes in spirit healing/arcane warrior/battle mage. Technically she also takes a little bit of levels into keeper, but I don't really consider it one of her canon class since I never use it with her like I do the others.

She romances Morrigan, and does the dark ritual with her. She puts Alistair on the throne due to her distrust of Anora. She feels guilty about it, but she would do it again in a heartbeat. Her closest friends from Origins are Zevran and Alistair, but she considers all of the people she traveled with dear friends. From the Awakening crew, Anders is practically family to her (they grew up in the Circle together, and shes always considered him like a brother), and Nathaniel becomes someone she ends up relying on. Her and Justice also get along very well, even if they butt heads on occasion.

For important decisions, she sided with the mages, made Bhelen king of Orzammar, made a truce between the Dalish and the werewolves, helped Redcliffe and saved Connor without Isolde dying. She kept Avernus alive (I'm still in the air about whether she allows him to continue his research), let the Architect live as well, and saved Amaranthine. Vigil's keep stood its ground with the upgrades she had provided it.

This is my girl! Sadly I don't have a better reference for her current canon outfit (she has an old outdated reference sheet though), so this will have to do.

In some of the older posts, I refer to her and Alistair as exes. Sadly, while this is a fascinating dynamic, it is not canon anymore. As much as I love Alistair, Aviae would not trust him enough to fall in love with him due to him having trained as a templar. Eventually they become close friends, but never more than that. She is part of my "Mage rights" Worldstate. I tag all of her posts as "oc: Aviae Surana"

Wolfe Amell

(he/him)

Lucio Hawke

(he/they) (probably) (its not like hes figured it out yet lmao)

Selene Adaar

(she/her)

Revari Mercar-Surana

(they/them)

Tyrian

(he/him)

Varamis

(she/her)

Other Ocs

Some ocs I either don't have a lot of content for, or dont post about enough to warrant me giving them their own section, so I'm going to put their tags down here. All posts about my ocs are tagged as "#my ocs". Some of these ocs may eventually get full sections if I get the motivation for it

Athiman Mahariel (he/him) (Dragon Age)- Morrigan romancer who made the ultimate sacrifice. Tagged as "#oc: Athiman Mahariel"

Veloura Mahariel (she/her) (Dragon Age)- Leliana romancer who got Alistair to do the dark ritual. Tagged as "#oc: Veloura Mahariel"

Viara Hawke (she/her) (Dragon Age)- Merrill romancer who sided with the mages. Tagged as "#oc: Viara Hawke"

Yvette Hawke (she/her) (Dragon Age)- Isabela romancer who sided with the mages. Tagged as "#oc: Yvette Hawke"

Zel (he/him) (Dragon Age)- Part of Selene's mercenary group. Tagged as "#oc: zel"

Vashoth (she/her) (Dragon Age)- Part of Selene's mercenary group. Tagged as "#oc: vashoth"

Solmummer Adaar (she/her) (Dragon Age)- Josephine romancer. Tagged as "#oc: Solmummer Adaar"

de Riva (he/him) (Dragon Age)

Tyrian (he/him) (Pathfinder WOTR)- Tiefling, Daeran romancer, Lawful good turned Neutral good. Mystic path went from Angel to Legend path. I do actually have a lot of posts about him I just don't feel like writing a blurb about him <//3 I do adore him though. Tagged as "#oc: tyrian"

Uvara (she/her) (Pathfinder WOTR)- Dhampir, Arueshalae romancer, Chaotic Good, Azata. Tagged as "#oc: uvara"

Watcher Nyxtra (she/her) (Pillars of Eternity)- Pallegina romancer (the lack of a canon romance cannot stop me), tagged as "#oc: watcher nyxtra"

Arphae (she/her)

Grisvald (he/him)

Kaid (he/him)

Zayan (she/her)

[sleepingdeath-light]

lotus dragon smut hcs ; 18+

requested by ; anonymous (25/04/23)

fandom(s) ; cookie run

fandom masterlist(s) ; hub | specific

character(s) ; lotus dragon cookie

outline ; “Hihi!! Im not sure if I’m able to just Say my age but just to clarify I am 19^^ but anyways,, lotus dragon nsfw hcs if u haven’t already</3”

warning(s) ; exhibitionism, intoxication/drugging, sharing/orgies

minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

lotus dragon is more of a lazy lover — preferring to take things slow and prioritising the aesthetic of sex and arousal over the act itself at times

they’re very into decorative bondage and enjoy tying you up with rich silks and rope and just admiring you

in a similar vein enjoys showing you off to others during intimacy — like they’ll be pleasuring you and have all of their closest followers watch

on occasion they have been known to let the most loyal of their subjects join in and start touching you (which has led to a number of orgies)

they cover you in jewels and the finest of fabrics — though what clothing you’re given tends to be both intricately patterned and very minimal

their favourite pieces to see on you are: a set of lacy lingerie in their colours, a tiny thong with lots of jewellery covering your chest, and a silk robe (also in their colours) that hangs off of your shoulder and barely comes half way down your thighs

they’re also a big fan of intoxicated sexual intimacy and are incredibly attentive when you’re high — but they also tend to take advantage of the skewed power dynamic whenever you’re in such a compromising state

loves giving and receiving oral equally and has been known to encourage you to go down on them during meetings with the other dragons or even their citizens or visitors

is an expert at keeping you on the edge of release for as long as they need — or, conversely, keeping you in a state of perpetual overstimulation until they tire of it

free use would definitely be a thing in your relationship — skewed in their favour, of course — which would inevitably lead to things like somnophilia and public sex

mutual masturbation will be frequent as they love watching you pleasure yourself for them and want to reciprocate it

they’re a very selfish lover and take what they need or want from you irrespective of what you wish — but they will stop if you call the safe word or are being physically harmed by their actions in the moment

praise and dirty talk are one and the same for them and their skill at it is so proficient that they’ve been able to make people climax from their words alone

isn’t as big on physical marking as their fellow dragons, but they will brand you with their symbol just above your sex — more out of habit than anything else

tends to call you ‘my flower’ or ‘my pet’ or other such semi-demeaning, possessive names in bed

if you are particularly soft or larger bodied, then they’ll take a lot of enjoyment out of finding positions that show off your curves and swells the most (likewise for the clothing they buy)