#pda

[bubunotavailable]

oops my hand slipped

[steamberrystudio]

I think it's been asked before, but i can't find it. How are each of the WSC LIs with pda? what are they likely to do and not do?

Assuming it's not on the ship, where they have a unspoken rule about keeping it to quarters...

Asher - fine with it. Probably to fine with it. He'd be down to push some...legal boundaries in out of the way public spaces so you can imagine that he's pretty much fine with anything. Daaz - totally fine with mild pda (hand holding, arm around waist, forehead kisses, whatever.) He's fine with tame kisses in public and in the right situation maybe slightly spicy kisses - like it low lighting or a place where it's not fully inappropriate.

Kav - fine with most pda but probably wouldn't initiate anything more than hand holding/arm around waist/simple kisses himself. But if tragically *inflicted* upon him by an amorous partner, he would offer himself up as tribute in a truly selfless sort of way.

Noel - fine with normal levels of pda (again, the hand holding/arm around someone/tame kiss) level of pda. He would protest more than that but also be secretly a little excited by it...just saying.

Raif - fine with most pda in public but if it were to get a little too spicy, he'd drag his partner off somewhere private to avoid...arrest. Because if you get too spicy with Raif, someone is going to start losing articles of clothing.

Yren - sometimes fine with very minor pda but is just cautious with it and will put distance between himself and the other person if he starts feeling overwhelmed. So how much pda and how far he's willing to push that depends a lot on where he is mentally/emotionally.

[emdroid]

Hanif Abdurraqib posted this photo a while back with this backstory:

"this photo of Chet Baker and his second wife, Halema Alli, is one of my favorite photos ever (taken by William Claxton in 1956) - things did not end well for these two, Halema was later sent to prison for smuggling opioids for Chet from Germany to Italy and by the time she was up for trial, Chet had just, like...publicly started dating someone else.

Halema did six months and moved to California but couldn't track Chet down to divorce him until 1964. But uhhhhh...great photo, love the photo”

ᴄʜᴇᴛ ʙᴀᴋᴇʀ & ʜᴀʟᴇᴍᴀ ᴀʟʟɪ. 1955. From the book 𝙅𝙖𝙯𝙯 𝙎𝙚𝙚𝙣 by photographer William Claxton (Taschen, 1999).

[trin0dinz]

Damn chill no one's taking him from you

[calebauer]

simplistically sweet diptych for pride ♥️

[awwfulsounds]

Sony Clié PEG-NR70 personal digital assistant (PDA) 2002

[caexchii]

[Old art]

No PDA 🥀

[kaylovestwd]

hii dear, can you write something with daryl x reader in a relationship where he had just gotten used to receiving physical affection from his gf and since then he cannot stop holding ou being clingy with her even in public? it could be at the prison bc i miss earlier seasons daryl😭

We love clingy relationships .

Yesss the prison era was soon memorable it's been on my mind recently

The watchtower creaked a mournful song in the wind, a constant reminder of the precariousness of their sanctuary. But tonight, in the relative quiet of the prison block, the sounds felt distant, muted. Daryl sat beside you on the edge of your cot, the thin mattress offering little comfort but enough for the two of you to huddle together. The ever-present tension that coiled tight in his shoulders seemed to ease ever so slightly as his calloused hand found yours.

It was a marvel, really, how far they'd come. Just months ago, the idea of Daryl Dixon, the gruff, solitary hunter, initiating any kind of physical contact beyond a necessary pat on the back would have been laughable. Now, he sought it out. Not with words, of course. Daryl wasn't one for grand pronouncements or flowery language. But the way his eyes followed you, the way his hand instinctively reached for yours whenever you were within reach, the almost imperceptible softening of his features when you touched him… it spoke volumes.

The change had been gradual, almost imperceptible at first. A lingering brush of his hand against yours as he passed you a knife, a shoulder bumping yours a little harder than necessary as you walked side-by-side on a scavenging run, a fleeting touch to your back as he guided you through a crowded room. Each small gesture a tentative probe, a silent question: Is this okay?

And you, understanding the vulnerability hidden beneath his rough exterior, had answered with gentle smiles, a returning squeeze, a comfortable lean. You understood that for Daryl, physical touch wasn't just a sign of affection; it was a language he was only just beginning to learn. A language of safety, of trust, of belonging.

The prison, for all its grimness, had fostered a strange kind of intimacy. Shared hardships, the constant threat of death, the necessity of relying on one another… it had stripped away the layers of pretense and forced them to confront their rawest selves. You had seen Daryl at his most vulnerable, witnessed the pain that haunted his eyes, the scars, both visible and invisible, that marked his past. And he, in turn, had seen your strength, your compassion, your unwavering hope even in the face of despair.

Tonight, the silence between you wasn't uncomfortable. It was a companionable quiet, filled with unspoken understanding. Daryl’s thumb traced circles on the back of your hand, a small, repetitive motion that was strangely soothing. The gesture grounded you, reminding you that even in this broken world, there was still tenderness to be found.

He hadn't always been so open, so… clingy, as Carol had teasingly called it the other day, earning her a glare that could curdle milk. But that was the thing, wasn't it? Daryl wasn't used to having someone to hold onto, someone who wanted to be held. He'd spent so long pushing people away, building walls around his heart, that letting someone in was a completely foreign concept.

And now that you were in, now that he had finally allowed himself to be vulnerable, he seemed almost desperate to maintain that connection. It was as if he feared that if he let go, even for a moment, you would disappear, vanish like a mirage in the harsh desert of their reality.

The hand-holding had started subtly. A brief clasp of fingers during a particularly tense moment on a supply run. A comforting squeeze when one of the younger children had a nightmare. But lately, it had become almost constant. Walking through the prison yard, waiting in line for food, sitting around the campfire at night – Daryl’s hand was invariably intertwined with yours.

At first, you had found it endearing, a sweet and awkward expression of his affection. But now, you couldn’t help but notice the subtle changes in his demeanor when your hands weren’t connected. A furrowing of his brow, a slight stiffness in his posture, a barely perceptible unease in his eyes. It was as if a part of him felt incomplete, adrift, without that physical connection.

You had noticed this most acutely on a recent scavenging run to a nearby town. The streets were eerily quiet, the silence broken only by the crunch of their boots on shattered glass and the distant moans of walkers. Daryl, as always, was in the lead, his crossbow raised, his senses on high alert. You walked close behind him, your hand hovering near his, but not quite touching.

You wanted to give him space, to avoid being a distraction. He needed to focus, to be aware of his surroundings. But as the minutes ticked by, you could feel his anxiety growing. He kept glancing back at you, his eyes searching your face, a silent question in their depths.

Finally, as they rounded a corner and encountered a small group of walkers feasting on a fallen corpse, Daryl stopped abruptly, his hand shooting out to grasp yours. His grip was tight, almost painful, but you didn't pull away. You understood. It wasn't just about physical comfort; it was about reassurance. It was about knowing that you were there, that you were safe, that he wasn't alone.

He dispatched the walkers with brutal efficiency, his movements swift and precise. But even as he reloaded his crossbow, his hand remained firmly clasped in yours. It was only when they were back inside the relative safety of the prison walls that he finally released your hand, but not before giving it a lingering squeeze, a silent thank you.

Now, sitting beside you on the cot, you knew you had to address it. You couldn't let him continue to rely on you so heavily, to use physical touch as a crutch. It wasn't healthy for either of you.

"Daryl," you began softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He tensed, his eyes darting to yours, a flicker of apprehension in their depths.

"Is everything okay?" he asked, his voice gruff, his hand tightening its grip on yours.

You took a deep breath, gathering your courage. "Everything's fine," you reassured him, "But... I've noticed you've been... needing to hold hands a lot lately."

He shifted uncomfortably, avoiding your gaze. "So?" he mumbled.

"So," you continued gently, "I love holding your hand, Daryl. I really do. But I also want to make sure you're okay. That you're not relying on it too much."

He remained silent for a long moment, his eyes fixed on your intertwined hands. Finally, he looked up, his expression a mixture of vulnerability and defiance.

"It makes me feel better," he admitted, his voice barely audible. "Makes me feel like... like I ain't gonna lose you."

Your heart ached for him. You understood his fear, his need for reassurance. But you also knew that he needed to learn to trust, to believe that you weren't going anywhere.

"I'm not going anywhere, Daryl," you said firmly, cupping his face in your hands. "I promise. But you need to know that you're strong enough to stand on your own, even without me holding your hand. And I'll always be here for you, whether we're touching or not."

He searched your eyes, his expression searching, questioning. Then, slowly, a flicker of understanding dawned in his eyes.

He took a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "Okay," he said, his voice stronger now. "Okay, I'll try."

You smiled, relieved. "I know you will," you said, leaning in to kiss him softly. "And I'll be right here, every step of the way."

As you pulled away, he hesitated for a moment, then reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair from your face. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes. It was a sign of trust, of vulnerability, of a love that was growing stronger with each passing day, even in the face of the apocalypse. And as you leaned your head against his shoulder, his arm wrapping around you in a comforting embrace, you knew that even without holding hands, they were still connected. Connected by something far deeper, far more profound. Connected by the unbreakable bond of love and trust that had been forged in the fires of their shared survival. The prison might be a cage, but within its walls, they had found freedom in each other.

[sallyrooneygf]

Lucy Dacus, Most Wanted Man // Jenna Gribbon, Lunch Touch

[never-obsolete]

Computer Chronicles - PDAs (1998)

[femmeftal]

⠀. ּ ֶָ֢⠀⠀⠀₍ ^⠀. .⠀^ ₎⠀⟆⠀ ۟ ❨ ᥍͟𝗍͟𝖺͟𝗋͟𝗌 𝗼𝗯ׂ𝘀𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗲𝗱 ❩

۪ ⋆ 𝓅𝒶̄𝗂𝗋𝗌 : mark!variants x reader

𝗁ℯ𝒶𝖽𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗇 : what each different mark variants are into, and why they are into it.

𝓌𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀s : p links, kink listing, 18+ content

 .’﹙ ℳ𝗈𝗁𝖺𝗐𝗄 𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗄 ： 𝓅𝖽𝖺 ﹚

mark’s biggest turn on is PDA, the feeling of your soft delicate skin on his just flips a switch in him. mark’s lips are always on yours no matter what time it is or where you two are at, his favorite place that he kisses you is infront of him viltrum empire loving the feeling of eyes on him.

the same hands he had killed thousands with were wrapped around the curve of your throat do softly, applying enough pressure to make your eyes slightly blur. Mark did not want to lose a doll like you he claimed, being do possessive over his little nymph.

Bonus points if mark is able to convince his little blythe to match mohawks with him!! always pressing his forehead to yours and making out with you, his tongue wrapping around yours and sucking. The taste of him wasn’t foreign to you anymore the amount of times he kisses you, which is always..

but during sex is so much more..romantic, loves making you feel like the queen you are even sometimes setting up roses on your shared bed when he wants to have sex with you. his poundings are so ruthless and rough, always managing to pull screams out of your throat ( ♡︎ )

 .’﹙𝓈𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝓂𝖺𝗋𝗄 ： 𝒷𝗅𝗈𝗈𝖽 ﹚

you need to pray every time you start your cycle, and he knows exactly when too. so when he pops up randomly behind you groping your ass and tits while his bulge is pressed against the curve of your ass, you know EXACTLY what he is here for.

the sloppy wet sounds of your period blood and his saliva mixing together makes you cringe in embarrassment, he had you sprawled out in an abandoned hotel that he hadn’t destroyed just yet.

“fuck - keep these open. “ he was devouring your bleeding cunt like it was going to be his ever last meal, making sure no blood had slid down the cheeks of your ass. he was licking you raw at this point, and even if you tried to run from it he’d give you a harsh slap on your already sensitive pussy.

“ this pusshys mine to eat..mgh fwuck sho good “ mark had a habit of getting drunk off your pussy, always rambling on how if he ever caught you with someone else that person would be dead in a instant. mark always wasn’t a good sharer with his toys. ( ♡︎ )

 .’﹙𝓇𝖾𝗍𝗋𝗈 𝗆𝒶𝗋𝗄 ： 𝗉𝗈𝗐𝖾𝗋 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗅 ﹚

this mark is so bossy, always telling people about his empire, so its natural that he bosses you around too. just his orders are more.. explicit.

he loves it when you call him king or emperor it boosts his ego so much and he would probably reward you with allowing you to watch him stroke his hardened cock in front of your innocent naive face, his mewls and whimpers bring you to the edge all the time and even if you dare to turn your head away from the scene he is giving you.

he will punish you, slapping his member against you face and probably even smearing in against your facial cheeks. if you cry about how it hurts when he slaps you with his cock he’ll just do it harder next time, smirking at your pathetic cries.

he doesnt just ask for sex, no no no he demands it. he expects you yo be on your knees mouth wide open with your tongue hanging out when he wants his fat cock sucked, and if he wants to fuck you, he better see you in a wide mating press with your small fingers spreading your pussy for him.

retro mark is like those men on broadcasts who claim women have to only do 3 things, and your 3 things are to worship his cock, pleasure him, and give him your lovely attention and he probably has a collar and leash for you too when he is pounding you from the back. ( ♡ )

 .’﹙ℴ𝗆𝗇𝗂 𝓂𝖺𝗋𝗄 ：𝓈𝗂𝗓𝖾 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗄 ﹚

i can imagine that this mark is a little bit muscular than the others, always focusing and working out 24/7.

thats why when he is pressed against your body, making you stand on your tippie toes to kiss him, his mind goes extremely blank.

so blank to the fact that his cock is springing back to life, he sometimes wonder how’d you look in a chokehold while being fucked so good bye him.

mark has a big dick, everyone knows that but when he has his member hovering above your stomach to show you how deep he is gonna go your little face panicking just makes his dick jump and bounce against your stomach.

god you’re such a fucking vixen mark thinks, always distracting him when he works out and you just claim “ i wanna help you! “ but your tight yoga clothes say other wise. he wants to take you here and tower over your small frame bending your body into the desired position he’d like. and so he does, he can feel his tip trying to prod open your womb and force itself inside

your eyes were blown wide open, jaw slacked and drool smothered all over your chest and jaw. he loved you like this, destroyed and ruined from other men but him, the way your pussy could only accommodate to him after this would leave you shocked. ( ♡︎ )

[howlidae]

christmas! just a week away! woohoo!

and a bonus:

[opendirectories]

[trin0dinz]

Jayvik cuddles raaagghhh

[yodaprod]

1998