#the second library of alexandria

[headknight-oh]

Heyo plagued by concepts again, so y’all must suffer with me

Some sort of argument or scuffle or disagreement between Daryl and someone. Nothing serious, but feathers get ruffled and someone mentions fighting and then

Daryl: You really think you can take me?

Someone: Probably not in a fight, but definitely in bed.

And then he gets flustered and storms off, and they chuckle and claim victory in that argument. And then that interaction haunts Daryl for weeks because a) he’s now thinking about that someone in bed with increasing frequency and b) he’s not used to anyone talking to him like that and has like no sexual experience.

Anyways, flustered virgin daryl Dixon my beloved

[strryhaze]

jackie kennedy and bobby kennedy talking with the dancers at an american ballet theatre production. most likely done at the white house christmas party. december 19, 1962.

[one-good-word]

Myvidster shut down permanently, this is tumblr porn ban all over again except worse

[autoerotick]

I go back for my degree tomorrow I cannot wait to use the library it’s my favorite part about my uni ♥️_♥️ if anyone is interested in scans……. Lmk I can probably find what ur looking for if it’s art and design related ^.^ for free of course i should say. for the love of the sport

[judahmaccabees]

Alrighty I fixed your Spiritual plumbing.

[seat-safety-switch]

The future of food has finally arrived. We are freed from spending a couple hours a day cooking meals, thanks to the self-heating 3D printer. Efficient, tasty, healthy food is just a few button presses away, and if you are feeling really ambitious, you can stick in an SD card and upload some pirated French cuisine. Well, pretty soon you will be able to.

Sure, it's not perfect right now. I'll be the first to admit it sometimes freaks out and tastes like dish soap and burnt hair. Especially if you put it on "shuffle." No new technology is flawless, though. I'm pretty sure that through some kind of arbitrary future miracle, this thing on my countertop that makes the lights flicker in order to shit out a brick of "turkey" will only get better from here.

Hey, don't get too down on this so-called "inedible shitloaf" that you read about in the media. What does the media even know? If they were smart, they'd be trading futures in food-printing companies. Every technology produces terrible things that are unfit for purpose.

Think of cars. At one point you couldn't even charge your smartphone inside them. And then they caught up! Now you don't need to stop texting for anything, including pedestrians. I am certain that smart people will work hard to allow me to replace a million talented kitchen staff any second now, through a process of presumed continuous improvement that I barely understand yet revere as a religious belief.

Because if they don't, my stock portfolio is gonna go in the shitter, and that will be the moral equivalent of the destruction of all human intellectual wealth. Like burning the Library of Alexandria, which I'm pretty sure is the name of a fancy porn site. So when you come to my place next time for a "barbecue" so I can show off my new cooking model, I would really appreciate it if you stopped pointing out how the burgers keep pulsing with a terrifying unlife that reminds you of the fragility of conscious existence. We're trying to make the world a better place, and there's no room for that kind of downer talk around forward-thinking innovators like me.

[clitorphosis]

PINK CELLPHONE

Incel Leon S. Kennedy x OnlyFans reader | 18+ MDNI. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, INCEST, smut, female reader, reader is a little bit mean, creampie, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, teasing, Leon is submissive, nipple play, tits sucking.

notes: uhm, i didnt proofread this so... i want to remind you that english isnt my first language :3 also i imagined re2 og Leon, but whatever! also reblogs and any kind of feedback is really appreciated

tags: @withonly-sweetheart

There was something fundamentally wrong with Leon in female’s gaze.

Maybe he is unlucky or those girls are blind. Really hoping it is the latter, cause it is not flattering when guys with migrated hairline can get cute girls, while he can’t. And 4chan doesn’t help either, those advices aren’t useful when he can’t even talk to a real girl.

Yes, they are blind. He is going to set on that.

So after many years of solitude, his only company has become the blue gleam which most night was the only source of light in the room, while air was full with low noises coming from the old, poor laptop. Trying to survive after years of not being turned off correctly. Multiple tabs on his laptop’s screen, he doesn’t bother to close them anymore, hoarding them like some kind of treasure - Leon doesn’t give a shit anymore.

This century is perfect for a man like Leon, internet may be the second Library of Alexandria. A real paradise, so much colorful and vibrant sites with cute girls showing their bodies if he pays for that content.

Thank god Onlyfans exists. And he is a nice guy, supporting cute and sexy girls.

Paying for limited content can be considered as supporting women, right? Even if he was motivated due to his selfish reasons - to get attention and limited content. Something special for him. It was embarrassing how long he could browse a fair share of accounts and get or even interact with some girls without being rejected and they would not know him. There are a lot of them, all cute and nice, and they acted even better when he tipped them, so they would interact more with him, calling him a ‘pretty boy’. At least it made him feel special for a while. Still, not his fault that their, too perfect, videos or photos led him to lose his interest - their content felt lifeless, without passion or love put in it. Boring. It has become a routine already, finding an account - jerking off until he loses his interest and the cycle returns to browsing the site for someone new to obsess over.

Your account was like a treasure when he found it. Leon got attracted to it like a magnet, comparable to find a needle in the haystack. Sweet thing, really sweet, if he was ever to interact with you he wouldn’t be able to hide his grimace. But that was attracting, he doesn’t know how much money he has spent on your content. Your face was always hidden or cut out by the position of your camera, but there was no need to see your face when people paid to jerk off.

It was nice while it lasted.

Pink cellphone. The little pink cellphone he got his sister, after she nagged him about wanting it, that ended up left alone and not used. You have this pink cellphone, the furniture and a lot of things were identical to his little sister’s room; posters of her favorite bands or that specific blanket she had all her life, but this was quickly brushed off at first, almost all girls like cute stuff and this could be a coincidence. Also that not the first thing a guy notices when he is ready to jerk off. Leon isn’t sure why after seeing that pink cellphone it clicked so quickly, the guilt and shame fill him to the brim, coiling around his neck like a loose invisible tie knot.

This is wrong, wrong like touching his sister’s breast. Your breast. Instead, he was jerking off to your boobs for months. Imagining how they would fill his palms nicely.

The room is the same as before, but now it hits different to be here after discovering what you have been doing here all this time. It has the same smell as always, sweet and too much like you, tightening the invisible knot around his neck. He wants to throw himself out of the window, this is sick and he doesn’t understand why his legs brought him here after work, still wearing his uniform. There are plenty of almost empty and few full bottles of perfume he had bought you during one of shopping trips, while you were nagging him and begging for them. He eyes such little and useless items that in any other situations he wouldn’t notice, avoiding to look at you. His efforts were useless, he is a weak man after all and there is nothing to do other than to stare at your frame; sitting on the bed, confused at his behavior and expecting something - a reason to explain why he is acting like that, staring at you, almost fucking you with his eyes. He doesn’t need Freud to tell him that he wants to fuck his own sister. Were you preparing to do new content for your followers? The thought made his pants tighter, wanting to pull at the fabric to ease it but this would only bring your attention, wouldn’t it? Maybe he wants it.

“You look like shit.”

“Excuse me?” Did he hear that right?

“You look like shit, Leon” you repeat before raising an eyebrow “stop staring, you are going to dig holes into my face. What do you want?”

What a bitch, he would say, but,

“Uhm…” is the only sound he was able to let out, getting closer to your bed and sitting down on the edge. You scoot closer to him as you always do. A sweet habit he always liked, sometimes you even hug him. “Not lady-like, sweetheart. I wanted to talk”

You roll your eyes. “About what?”

“A friend of mine, he sent me a link of a girl, doing porn” his lies flow so fast and easily from his mouth, trying to shift this to someone non existent. “Her face isn’t visible but… her room and she had a pink cellphone, identical to yours… so I was wondering—“

“Maybe you are imagining things. Many girls have similar room to mine” you cut him, your hand lays on his shoulder. Perhaps this is hell, hell would feel like you mock him by pretending that account isn’t you, like those moans he heard weren’t yours while a guy or a dildo was pleasing you, making Leon envious and sour - why not him? The corners of your lips tug up, something good got into your head. “So you are paying for that stuff, huh? Jerking off to a girl similar to your little sister, you are so weird”

“Huh? No, I am not” Yes, he is, that’s actually his favorite hobby.

“Cut the crap, Leon. There is no friend. You probably imagined me, yeah?” He did, he won’t deny this - it would be a lie leading to another rejection, this time by his sister - and he is man, a desperate one. Also poker has never been his strong point nor he can lie well with his hard on. “Nasty, nasty boy”

His blue eyes linger on your mouth as you spoke, watching your tongue rolled sensually and slowly. Your tongue clicks, before applying more pressure on his shoulder with your hand, pushing him down. He is like a rag doll under your touch - his back hits the softness of your bed and now all he can see is your face looking down at Leon before finally sliding on his lap. Your legs straddle his hips, so nicely pressing down on his crotch and making this much harder than it should be. His cock is already painfully hard, straining against the warmth of your pussy which can be felt through thin fabric of your shorts. God bless them. He bucks up his hips, as his hands reach to hold your hips and press them harder against his aching cock while he tries to dryhump you needy - too bad that’s not on your list, slapping away his hands like it is a disturbance which makes him frown.

“Ah-ah, big bro. Don’t touch me” you purr as your head dips lower to press hot heated kiss on the skin of his neck, leaving soft bites and wet trail behind whilst your tongue traces around those bites, like a soothing touch before it starts going up down and up in torturous motions. Until you stop on his Adam’s apple to bite it softly to leave a red spot, your hands dive under his shirt, pushing it up to expose his stomach and making it easier to reach his chest - fingertips brush against his nipples, before rolling and pinch them to force more moans from him. A grown man getting already painfully hot and bothered over little touches and kisses there and then, this causes you to chuckle under your breath - don’t want to hear him complain how you hurt his ego. Man’s ego is more fragile than soap bubbles or the glass, one poke and he would not shut up and fuck your brain instead of your pussy. That won’t do. Your eyes dart up to look into his face - to see that sweet and needy expression, begging more than just teasing caresses from you. Your hips sit so well against his, sometimes creating some friction when one of you move and it feels like he is going to die if his dick won’t be buried in your pussy any time soon.

“I don’t like dirty hands on me” you add eventually with the same purring voice. What can be better than a man being submissive and shattering over nothing?

“Can you just… oh shit!” his sentence gets cut abruptly, when your lips reach to his earlobe, nibbling playfully and it would be really humiliating if he cum here cause of how his ears are sensible. Deep inhale, before speaking again, trying to keep himself at check and not to be so meek while you keep rolling his sensitive nipples in between your fingers. His next words are breathless and voice is shaky, almost at the edge to sound pathetically. Not really manly, but still your clit throbs, only now noticing how your panties are soaked now, uncomfortably clinging to your pussy lips. “…fuck me?”

You stop your assault over the skin of his neck to look down at him better, your hips press against his hard dick forcing a breathless whimper to escape. This little plea, he begs. Your clit throbs again, so uncomfortably wet, you want to dryhump him until he cum in his jeans like a virgin. Instead, he is one. If he was any other men you wouldn’t consider this good enough to comply but the sight in front of you is too much to ignore.

“Fuck.. you?” You echo his words, feigning a confusion, your eyes widen to emphasize the act. A cheap one, cause your hand already tugged down your shorts, leaving you in panties, he has seen them so many time on those videos and photos, his hips buck to press himself to your, still, clothed pussy. His attempt isn’t really successful, your hand unzips his jeans to free his cock. And finally to look at it. “you are so weird… I dunno, to ask that from me, don’t you have any shame in this body of yours, huh?”

“I don’t give a shit, just fuck me” he groans, looking down as you palm his cock, it twitches in your hand, already leaking with pre-cum and you can even notice a little stain on his boxers.

A light urge to roll your eyes arises deep down when you looked down, but it was quickly put down. Rather disappointing as a size, if someone would have asked you, but not everyone can have porno dick or customized one. You can still fuck with that. Leon swallows hard, taking a deep breath in again as he looked at you briefly - your tits are more interesting right now. He hopes you let him to suck on them. His fingers twitch, wanting to reach for your panties and tug to the side, to fuck you, but he is a gentleman. A nice guy.

Your hand pumps his dick, smearing his pre-cum along the flesh before tugging your panties to the side, your glistening pussy is fully exposed to his gaze and Leon almost choked on his saliva when you pressed your slick cunt on his cock. It is a torturous game, feeling you rub slowly along his aching length leading to drip more of pre-cum. You are so wet and warm, your slick coats his dick with every stroke of your pussy against it. This makes his eyes widen briefly at the sensation, he isn’t sure if he would be able to last long inside you. If it ever gets to that, of course.

“Please..?” Leon groans, bucking his hips to get more and press himself tighter for more friction than it is even possible right now. His sounds only encourage you to mess with him.

“What? I don’t understand” you taunt him with a light pout, another long and slow stroke, his cock’s tip was so close to slide into you. “Use your big-big words, Leon”

Your pussy kept grinding, enjoying the way his cock head bumps against your clit and making you wetter, forcing some noises from you too. Your fingers tug on his lower lip playfully - just to tease and annoy him. But he doesn’t let you withdraw your hand by grabbing hold of it. His lips catch your finger, sucking and nipping on it.

“Use me… please” like one of yours sex toys, Leon wanted to add, but, alas his dignity was still in tact, holding barely together by the tiniest thread. And as much as you want him to cum without even a penetration, to embarrass him, your own selfish urge to fuck him is much stronger.

“What a pretty face you have, right, big bro?” Also it is hard to ignore such sight in front of you, with blushed cheeks, his chest raises heavily as he let out breathless groans. “Pretty and pathetic, you would be a perfect sex doll”

Your wet slit kept rubbing, but this time savoring with the last stroke, before finally hovering over his cock - feeling his leaky tip nudging against your slick hole, begging to sink down, before his cock finally slides into you. He watched how your pussy swallowed his cock slowly inch by inch, before Leon thrusts up to meet your downward movement, forcing yours to slam against his, quickly burying himself as deep as he can right now. You moan at the rough motion, now ignoring how his hands reach to grip tightly your waist, not really caring anymore and now nothing stops him by touching you. Your slick inner walls wrap around his cock nicely, tightly clenching and he doesn’t think twice before bucking his hips again as yours started to roll against his - driving him deeper into your soaked hole. His dick hits the g-spot so sweetly, making you gasp and moan with him. His teeth catch the fabric of your shirt, trying to tug it down and expose your boobs to him - and you are nice enough to help him by pulling it aside, a clear permission to bury his face in between them. Sloppily kissing and biting on the flesh of your tits, while you are bouncing on his dick. His lips repeat your name as a prayer, catching a hard nipple into his mouth, his tongue brushes and rolls against the sensitive nub - sucking at it, nibbling messily and leaving wet marks before darting to give attention to another nipple, causing your pussy to flutter around his dick more, tightly engulfing deeper into the slick walls as the wet sounds mix with the skin slapping ones every time your hips meet after every deep and quick stroke that his cock drag against your walls.

“I-I want to fill you with my cum, please”his voice is breathless at the edge of whine even though he tries his best to not appear so desperate, but the plea behind his words is clear. His grip gets tighter, his fingers knead your ass as he grinds his dick against your cervix to intensify the pleasure for himself while his pelvis rubs against your clit as a nice touch. He really hopes you wouldn’t try to be a bitch and let him cum, if not then he is probably going to cry. “Please, please, let me cum… I need this, sis”

“You sound so fucking ridiculous” your voice is breathless too, but seeing him so needy and desperate for his release making this even better. Your hand tugs his hair, pulling away from your tits to look at his face even better - his lips are glistening with his own saliva and parted. Your clit throbs even more, aching for attention, velvety walls clench around him when you reach down to press your fingers on your clit, rubbing rough circles. “Come on, fill your little sister if you need this so much”

He whimpers disappointedly when he was pulled away from your sensitive and abused tits, but it was quickly changed into a moan when your pussy to wrap him tighter after adding your fingers in action. Your hips roll harder to meet his thrusts and wanting to see more of his stupid faces. Leon grinds up against sweet spot at every opportunity and every time it gets messier and messier as his balls tightens. His eyes slide shut briefly, now wetly meeting yours and looking more pathetic. What a freak, not like you are better than him.

Your orgasm approaches quickly as you kept rubbing your clit in rough circle motions, making your walls wrap harder around his cock. You arch as the flowing pleasure hits your body hard, having harder time to use your fingers to prolong your orgasm. Your pussy flutters at every erratic and messy thrust he kept making as he chase his own orgasm. It didn’t last long for him either, already a wonder he didn’t cum after sliding into you.

“Fuck- fuck” he slammed in to the hilt one final time, burying it deep and rubbing against your cervix before finally erupting deep inside you. Thick ropes of cum painted your insides in white, as your dripping cunt was milking his cock. Your body fell down against his chest, breathing heavily together and shivering.

“You stink like a wet dog, get out” you complain weakly, trying to push yourself away from him but it is effortless - he buries his head in the crook of your neck, again. His soft cock is still inside you, he won’t let you go. “and unsubscribe from my OnlyFans, creep”

“Later” Leon mumbles absently.

No, he is not even going to unsubscribe. In another life.

[headknight-oh]

The Second Library of Alexandria

Rust Bandana

Summary: Daryl doesn’t know about hanky code, but Finn sure does. In which the bandana in Daryl’s back pocket becomes the subject of teasing and tension

Rating: T

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, discussion of sexual topics but nothing explicit

I’m bad at summaries, but this is the flagging fic I’ve been concocting. Here’s a little rundown and useful table for anyone unfamiliar with hanky code. https://www.thesaintfoundation.org/community/hanky-code-bob-damrons-address-book

Finn noticed the bandana in Daryl’s back pocket almost immediately. The rust colored bandana. They knew it was probably a funny accident, but chuckled to themself about it occasionally. Once or twice, Daryl noticed them looking him up and down and smiling at their private little joke.

The first time he noticed, they had been working in silence near each other. Daryl was field stripping a deer he’d caught that morning while Finn painstakingly unpicked the seams on Carl’s jeans to open the waist a few inches.

Daryl could feel their eyes on his back even before he turned around; their gaze had a strange piercing sensation that sent shivers down his spine and blood to his cheeks. Taking two steps back, Daryl tilted his head, craning his neck over his shoulder. He was met with Finn’s smiling face. It wasn’t the gleeful, pleasant smile they wore when they told stories around the campfire or sang to the kids or looked at the stars. He’d seen that smile plenty of times in the past few months. He thought they smiled too often and with too much mirth for someone who could explode a walker’s skull from 70 yards away with a fist-sized rock and a lacrosse stick, but even that they seemed to take joy in.

The smile they wore now was a different one. Closer to a smirk, like they knew something he didn’t. And the way their eyes lingered on his frame made his stomach flip.

He felt his ears grow warm. “Fuck you laughin at?”

Finn just smiled again. “Wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy?”

He stalked over to them, grabbing the cloth from his back pocket to wipe deer blood off his fingers and sweat from his brow. “Yeah,” he said, spinning his knife in his hand, “I would.” He towered over their seated frame. He tried to look intimidating, scowling and puffing up his chest, but the way they unflinchingly met his eyes had him fidgeting and chewing the inside of his cheek.

Finn snorted a laugh. “Alright,” they drawled, leaning back against the tree behind them and kicking a leg out. They looked him up and down, lingering at his belt before meeting his eye line. “Then beg for me, pretty boy.”

Daryl’s mouth fell open for a beat. Finn cracked after a moment, breaking out into an amused chuckle.

Daryl exhaled angrily, spitting a terse “fuck you,” before turning back to his deer. He heard them laughing again as he walked away. He knew they were laughing at him, and he told himself he didn’t care. It was probably just teasing anyways, nothing malicious. And there was a playful glint in their eye that kept him from getting too pissed, a look that churned the strange warmth in his ears to move down his cheeks and neck. He was glad for the Georgia heat.

**

Some time passed, when they’d found the Greene’s farm, after Shane blew a fuse or two over the barn full of walkers, and after they’d buried Sophia.

They now had an injured man in the barn. After Hershel had patched his impaled leg up, they tied him up and let Daryl beat the shit out of him. Twenty minutes passed, then forty, then an hour and the blunt thuds and pained groaning still persisted.

Finn paced in front of the barn, angrily cradling a rotten egg in their lacrosse stick. They’d been told to cool down after Nova had gotten aggressive with Shane.

“The fuck am I supposed to do about her?” Finn had yelled. “It’s not my fault my dog hates fascists.” Shane hadn’t liked that much. Or when Finn had mumbled something about him being a fucking rapist and murderer without the decency to even come up with a believable alibi.

Finn growled angrily, winding back and hurling the rotten egg at the door to the barn. A putrid smell permeated the air.

“Thats it!” They yelled, stomping towards the door.

Dale rushed in front of them. “Woah there, son,” he said with a hand on their shoulder. He had always been kind about Finn's masculinity, especially after a two-hour impromptu lecture on queer theory that he’d asked for while they’d darned the holes in his socks.

“We have someone with a doctorate here. Might as well learn what they know;” he’d said.

“Doctorate student,” they’d replied. “Three quarters of the way there.”

But no one wanted to listen to the doctoral student when they said that torture never produced reliable results. Or when they said that the way they had bound their captive’s hands was dangerous and cut off blood flow.

Finn pushed Dale back firmly but carefully, saddling him with a look that elicited two raised hands. Finn pushed the barn door open, whistling for their dog as they went.

Daryl looked up from where he was hunched over the captive, knuckles bloodied and mouth snarling. From the opposite wall, Shane pushed forward and stalked over.

“Alright gestapo, give the guy a fucking break. You’re not going to get shit that way.” They walked towards the bound man on the floor.

Shane moved to intercept them, but Nova, the normally jovial husky mutt, stood in his way, growling low and menacingly. Her lips curled back to reveal her teeth, yellow with age but still healthy, well maintained. She barked a warning.

Rick hissed Shane’s name in warning from where he still stood from across the room. Shane stood fuming, nostrils flaring, but he held himself still.

As Finn neared, Daryl straightened up, standing in their path, looking down at them from his considerable height advantage. “The fuck you think you’re doing?” he sneered. His brow and hair were wet with sweat. Finn positioned their stick between them, backing up a step.

“I said give the guy a break. It’s been a fucking hour. His hands are going to fall off. If you don’t kill him first.” Finn moved to walk past Daryl, but he pushed their shoulder back quicker, roughly shoving them back a few inches. A growl filled the room as Nova turned with hackles raised. For a flash, Daryl’s face softened. Nova usually loved him; she would spend hours with him, begging for bones from his hunts or demanding pets. She’d never reacted like this before. He felt his throat tighten a bit.

He quickly skilled his face back into a scowl. His momentary confusion had allowed Finn an opening to slip past. They began assessing the poor job they’d done in tying this man’s hands up.

“Fucking hell,” they hissed as they began unwinding the knots.

“She can’t just let him out,” Shane yelled from the middle of the room.

“Shane, leave ‘em be. They got a point.” Rick had come up behind Shane, giving him a pointed look.

“I’m not letting him go, dumbass,” Finn replied as they massaged the blood flow back into the man’s hands. He whimpered through a mouth of blood. “I’m just making sure he doesn’t lose his hands. Or fucking dies from the kgb special.” They moved his hands down below his shoulders, winding the ropes back around his wrists in a way that wouldn’t constrict blood flow. Then they moved on to the other.

Daryl growled. “The fuck we care about that for? This asshole attacked us.”

“Yeah. After Rick killed his friends.”

“It don’t fucking matter. He’s dangerous.”

“I didn’t say he wasn’t. Just that torture doesn’t fucking work. And that we can give the guy a chance.”

Daryl laughed bitterly. “A chance to what? Lead his buddies back and kill us?” He took a step forward as Finn finished wiping some blood from the man’s cheek. He leered down at them.

“I didn’t fucking say to let him go, did I? Or maybe you can’t hear me through that guilty rage you got going on? Just be like a normal fucking teenage boy and go punch some drywall about it.” They stared up at him, eyes narrowing as they saw his face contort in rage.

Daryl’s hand shot forward and grabbed the front of Finn’s shirt. “I don’t gotta take this from a fucking dyke,” he sneered.

Finn just snorted. “You’re one to talk, Mr. rust bandana. I know my dick is silicone, but you can ride it all you need, cowboy. It might calm you the fuck down.”

Daryl saw red at that moment for a few reasons, but anger is the one that seized control of his body as his free arm rocketed towards Finn’s face. They were only able to move their head to the side slightly, taking a fist to the cheek instead of the nose. Finn responded by jabbing the butt of their lacrosse stick into Daryl’s stomach and grabbing the hand in their shirt. They aligned their teeth with Daryl’s thumb and bit down hard.

Before either of them had a chance to do anything else, Rick was grabbing Daryl, pulling his shoulders back and trying to get him away. Likewise, Dale, who had been watching from the door, had run forward to grab Finn, wrapping an arm around their center and wedging his fingers between Finn’s jaws to loosen their grip on Daryl’s hand. The two kicked at each other as they were pulled apart.

“Fuckin bitch bit me!” Daryl yelled, swinging his arms wildly as Rick struggled to hold him back.

“It didn’t even break skin, you fucking pussy,” Finn spat.

“Both of you just need to cool down,” Rick interjected, holding Daryl at arms distance as he paced angrily.

Behind them all, the captive man groaned in pain. Finn turned around. “I’ll cool down when this guy gets a break and some water.”

Daryl’s snide “we ain’t fuckin doin that” was interupted by Rick’s sharp “Daryl!”

They were kept apart for a few days after that. The guy in the barn was given water, but it didn’t much matter. Soon enough, he was dead after Rick and Shane’s failed attempt to leave him far away. Finn threw rocks at trees for a few days in a row after that.

A week or so later, as Finn continued their barrage on one particular maple tree near the edge of the farm, they finally talked again. As Finn wound up for a shot, they quickly had to adjust the momentum of the rock in their stick to avoid hitting Daryl as he emerged from the woods with an impaled squirrel.

“Fucking hell dude watch it,” Finn yelled as the rock flew wide, thankfully missing Daryl by a few feet.

“You watch it. Throwin rocks at me,” he replied, gesturing with the squirrel in his hand.

“You would have heard me for miles. I’m not exactly being quiet right now. You walked out there on fucking purpose.” They turned around and grabbed a water bottle.

Daryl began to argue with a stubborn “no I fuckin didn’t,” before he stopped. Now that he thought about it, that is what happened. Or more precisely, his body had walked towards the noise without him even thinking. He had been worrying over the way Finn’s dog had reacted to him the other day: the bared teeth and low growls. It troubled him. He liked that dog. He wanted that dog to like him. And she usually did. But now, as he approached Finn, Nova stood from her nap nearby to pad closer to her owner. Usually, he would be treated with excited husky grumbles and dog kisses all over. Now, she just eyed him warily, leaning close to her owner. Daryl found himself staring at the dog, eyebrows drawn together.

“What do you want?” Finn asked, reaching down to pet their dog.

“Nothin,” Daryl said on instinct. He felt them look at him, impatient and harsh. He took a breath. “Sorry,” he said curtly. “For punchin you.”

Finn shook their head. “I’m not mad you punched me, Daryl. I’m mad that you punched that guy for over an hour. I’m mad that you’re taking your lead from fucking Shane. I’m fucking mad that guy just died because Rick and Shane decided that they have a right to just decide who’s worthy of life. It’s fucked.” They growled in exasperation as they loaded another rock in their stick and began pacing, cradling in one hand.

Daryl was silent for a moment. Then he grunted and nodded. He didn’t necessarily agree, but he didn’t disagree either. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt. Instead he said, “You got some fuckin jaw strength on you.”

Finn paused and looked at the fading bruise on Daryl’s left hand. “I stand by what I said,” they said flatly. “It didn’t even break the skin. Don’t be a pussy.” When they looked up to meet his eyes, however, there was no malice in their gaze. Instead, they cracked a small smile. He followed suit soon after, chuckling a bit.

As the smile spread across his face, Nova's curled tail began wagging, almost as if a switch had been flipped. She barked happily and began sniffing at the squirrel in Daryl’s hand. Daryl’s chest felt a bit lighter then. He pet the dog a bit, a sense of relief washing over him. He was vaguely aware of Finn’s usual pleasant smile returning to their face. He liked it more than the pissed scowl that they’d been donning the past week. He stood again, much to Nova's protests. He nodded before turning and walking past Finn towards his tent. As he passed, Finn's eyes followed. A sudden giggle tore itself from their chest

Daryl turned quickly. “What?” He asked.

Finn snorted, gesturing to the new cloth in his back pocket. “No longer feeling rust, huh? Navy blue do it for you now? And on the right this time? Hate to tell you honey, but you’re not escaping the allegations.”

Daryl’s eyes widened. He’d switched the cloth in his back pocket a few days ago. Because it had been getting dirty. Not because of what Finn had said, he assured himself.

“Fuck do you mean?” He said, looking behind him.

Finn laughed again. It was bright and clear this time. When they looked at him, that same playful glint was back in their eye. “If you’re a bottom, you just gotta say it, baby. Like I said, my dick might be silicone, but she does the job just fine. I promise.”

Daryl felt his face flush as he stuttered for a response. He watched them step forward, as close as they had been a week ago in the barn. His whole body felt warm.

Laughing still, Finn raised a hand and tapped his cheek lightly. “I’m just messing with you,” they said. “I know you don’t know what they mean.”

Daryl exhaled shakily. “Yeah,” was all he could say as he tried to slow his heartbeat. Finn clearly noticed this and wore a big shit eating grin on their face. He took a step back to breathe. “You ain’t funny,” he said, clearing his throat and willing his blood to flow away from one head and back to the other.

Finn laughed again. “Oh I so am.”

Daryl grunted as he turned away. He threw a hand up to wave goodbye.

“Bye, Daryl,” Finn called behind him. “See you in your wet dreams tonight I guess.”

“Shut it,” he huffed without turning around. Their laughter followed him even after he was too far away to hear it.

**

Not very long after they became amiable with each other again, they lost the farm. It was a shame, really; it had been nice there. The following few months were filled with impermanent campsites, chilly nights by the fire, and a perpetual presence of a choking fear.

Every once in a while, when Finn tried to lighten the mood with jokes, the topic of bandanas would come up. If the two were on watch together or when they had more than five minutes in silence, they’d let loose a little jab.

“Oh gold today, huh? I don’t think Glenn and Maggie are looking for a third, but good luck to you.”

“Medium blue? I knew you wanted to fuck Rick.”

“Really? Black? Didn’t peg you for a masochist. Assumed you’d like to be fucked like a princess."

Each joke elicited the same scoff and an occasional “fuck off,” which, in turn, received a standard response of laughter or more teasing. And even though the teasing is all in good fun, it stuck with Daryl for days, sometimes weeks, afterwards. Their words would pop into his head at night before falling asleep. He wasn’t particularly used to people joking with him like that. Sure, he’d gotten his fair share of sex jokes from Merle, and Carol joked like that once in a while, but this was different. He wasn’t quite sure how, but it was.

Different enough, at least, that their words would keep him awake with a strange tight feeling in his abdomen far too often for his liking. Different enough, still, that they would worm their way into his fantasies on the few occasions that he allowed himself to masturbate. He didn’t touch himself often, unpracticed hands making for a rather underwhelming release, but sometimes, when the coil of warmth in his stomach became too much to bear, he would stalk off into the woods to take care of himself. As of late, Finn’s words followed him close behind. I know my dick is silicone, but you can ride it all you need, cowboy. That one stuck with him far more than he’d ever admit, even to himself.

Occasionally, Rick would make Daryl accompany Finn when they went looking for edible and medicinal plants. Daryl learned quickly that they didn’t know shit about actually navigating the wilderness but “yarrow helps stop bleeding. Soldiers used to chew it up and put it on their wounds during the Civil War. And honey. It’s naturally antibacterial. And it basically never goes bad. They found jars of it still good in the pyramids.” So he helped them find their way.

Daryl didn’t particularly mind chaperoning. Sometimes they would share a laugh together or walk in a comfortable silence. More often, they would make him flinch as they trundled through the wild with the untrained gait of someone whose time in the woods was spent in pursuits other than hunting. While they walked, they prattled on about their doctoral thesis that they’d never get to finish or lilted a song he didn’t recognize.

“Yer loud as shit out here. Gonna call every walker for a mile our way,” he grumbled, keeping his head on a swivel.

“Well,” they replied, bending to compare the picture in a field guide to the plant in front of them, “then it’s a good thing I have a big scary guard dog to take care of that for me.”

He huffed. “I ain’t no dog.”

“Oh really?” They muttered absentmindedly, beginning to gather what they concluded to be yarrow into a bag, “You’re flagging orange. I thought puppy play was on the table. Shame. Would’ve loved to see you in a collar.” They straightened up and brushed some dirt off their knees. “Alright. Keep a look out for a magnolia or a dogwood tree.” They turned to look up at him, finding him tense and flushed. “You ok?”

He shook the forming fantasy out of his head. “The fuck you gotta do that for?

“Do what?”

“Ya know. That!” He growled in exasperation when they shook their head in confusion. “The fukin, ya know, the fukin puppy shit. And the color shit. It don’t mean nothin.” He huffed again.

They laughed. He thought they did that far too much for the end of the world or the rapture or whatever hell they were made to live in now, but he didn’t usually mind; it was a nice break from the hushed tones of survival that everyone else took on.

They looked up at him. “I just think it’s really funny. And you’re cute when you’re flustered.” Daryl made a noise of dismissal, scoffing, and Finn chuckled. They began to scan the surrounding forest, choosing a direction seemingly at random and setting off that way. They whistled behind them. “This way, boy,” they called in the same voice they used with their actual dog. He grumbled, only a little glad that they didn't turn around to see the way his face burned.

As he followed behind them, Daryl’s mind couldn’t help but wander. To collars, to panting mouths, to tongues, to a leash pulling him in. He truly hated how easily Finn could get under his skin, into his head with words bearing barbed tips. They seemed to hit on things within him that he himself hadn’t known about. It was as if they saw the map of his desires, the map he’d crumpled upon finding and hid away in his adolescence before he’d had a chance to know it himself. He blinked rapidly to clear his increasingly explicit thoughts, focusing instead on breathing manually. It felt wrong to think about Finn like that, especially when they were only joking.

In his heated distraction, however, he hadn’t noticed Finn stopping in front of a tree. He walked directly into their back, knocking them forward onto the ground. They fell with a sharp squeak of surprise and landed in a flurry of white and purple petals, scraping their hand and arm on the rough bark in attempt to catch themself.

“Oh come on,” Finn whined. “This was my last shirt without blood on it.” Red bloomed from the scraped skin of their hand and arm, staining the fabric of their band tshirt. “What the fuck, Daryl?”

They looked up from the ground and saddled him with an annoyed glare. First, he let his brain assess the bleeding: a mild surface scratch. They weren’t seriously hurt. Good. Next, his shame took over.

“Shit,” he said as he bent to help them to their feet. He gripped their hands, ignoring the hissed ‘motherfucker’ when he made contact with the scrapes. He pulled them up then wiped their blood off his hands on the side of his pants. He looked down at their feet. “Sorry,” he said lamely.

“Well this is inconvenient,” Finn huffed. The pooling blood began to drip in rivulets down their fingers and onto the flowers below. “This is my sewing and stabbing hand. Can I get a towel or something? I’d like to stop exsanguinating.”

Daryl fumbled for the orange cloth in his back pocket, offering it up. Finn took it and pressed it to the scrape. When the pooled blood was mostly absorbed, they folded it over and pressed down a bit. They opened their mouth to speak, likely to complain or berate, but were interrupted by a shuffling of leaves and a throaty rasp off to the right. Both Finn’s and Daryl’s heads snapped towards the sound to find a shambling corpse making its way towards them. Daryl leveled a shot to its skull, arrow finding purchase with a wet thud through the eye socket.

As Daryl moved to retrieve his spent arrow, he felt a hand on his arm. He looked down at Finn; their eyebrows were drawn together, and their eyes flitted around as if they were searching for something.

“Wait a sec,” they said. Their head whipped around quickly. “Do you hear that?” They stepped around him to get a better look at the corpse, their face dropping almost immediately. “Fuck.”

Behind the slight swell of the earth, an undulating mass of rotting bodies slowly stalked towards the noise their fallen broodmate had made. Finn took a step back as the first few breached the height of the hill.

“Fuck.” Daryl grabbed their shoulder and began to run.

There were dozens of the things, all too close for either of their preferred dispatching methods. Not that Finn had brought their stick in the first place; this was supposed to be a short foraging trip. Regardless, the swarm was much too tall for Finn to get a good stabbing angle, especially with their off hand. And Daryl couldn’t get them all himself. So running it was. They crashed through the woods, whipping branches pulling at them as they passed. Outpacing the pack of carrion behind proved easy enough until fleeing led them to another group of dead. Daryl changed direction quickly, dodging the swiping arms of death as he did. Finn followed without question; directions were not their strong suit. They swerved out of the path of a smaller group of walkers, Daryl dropping the few that got too close.

The groaning behind them grew louder, increasing on all sides. Finn was looking around frantically before their eyes zeroed in.

“Daryl!” They yelled, directing his attention with a gesture. “Up there!”

A few hundred yards away, up in the tree line, he saw the camouflaged outline of a duck blind. A rope ladder swung in decaying disuse below it. He made a beeline towards it, Finn following close behind. The dead closed in around them as they approached the blind. Daryl stabbed through the skulls of a few that congregated around the ladder. Finn kicked at kneecaps of others, sickening cracks accompanying the descent of the corpses to the ground.

Daryl grabbed the back of Finn’s shirt, pulling them back effortlessly to the rope ladder. “Up!” He ordered as he pushed another walker back before closing the gap between his knife and its cranium.

Finn didn’t need to be told twice. They scrambled up the ladder, bloodied hand screaming at the texture of the rough rope. Near the top, one of the rungs snapped, worn wood decayed enough to crumble under Finn’s feet. They let out a distressed noise, flailing to regain their balance while keeping their grip on the ropes. Daryl looked up to see the rope ladder swaying precariously before Finn could calm it. He grabbed the bottom of the ladder to help steady it. They finished the last few rungs, hauling themself over the lip and onto the floor of the blind. After a cursory glance confirmed it was empty, they leaned back over the edge, calling out to Daryl to start his ascent.

Daryl killed one last walker, throwing its body into the path of a few that still lumbered his way. He scrambled up the ladder, making it past the broken rung with ease. His hands found the next one. With a surprised shout, the rung snapped under his grip as he began to fall backwards. Finn lunged downward, grabbing at Daryl to prevent him falling to the forming ocean of decay below him. The rope ladder swung wildly. Finn grunted and began to pull, to realign Daryl with the ladder. The blood from their hand dripped down their fingers and onto Daryl’s, dripping onto his face past his upraised hands that grasped for life. Daryl grunted, fumbling for the ropes as he helped Finn haul him up into the blind.

They laid there for a minute panting on the floor of the blind. Finn still held his hand tightly, as if afraid he were still in danger of falling. He felt the blood oozing from their wound, trapped between their clasped hands.

Eventually, Finn let out a breathless “yowza” and sat up. They retracted their hand from his and grabbed the discarded orange cloth from the floor. They rolled to the side, sitting up with their back to a wall. They slid their backpack off, pulling out some of the yarrow they gathered earlier and a bottle of water.

Daryl watched them from the floor, not quite ready to move with his heart still beating so hard. They rinsed the blood and grime off their wounded hand, bloodied water raining down on the corpses below in a macabre baptism. They patted the wound dry then began chewing on the herb. They ground it to a paste between their teeth, mixing the fibrous grains with their saliva before spitting it on their injured hand and spreading it evenly. Their face was screwed up in a disgusted concentration. They cleared their throat then spit some leftover yarrow over the side of the blind.

“Yucky,” they said simply.

Daryl laughed at that. “Yucky,” he repeated. “That your professional opinion, doc?”

Finn threw the bloodied cloth down at Daryl’s face. “My doctorate was gonna be in history, jackass. But yeah, doctor says yucky.” They laughed together, both in relief of nerves but also the absurdity of ‘yucky.’ The blood was fine, the viscera of others and the smell of rotted flesh didn’t earn a ‘yucky.’ But the wet herb paste did.

Finn dug through their bag with their free hand before producing a roll of fabric bandages. It became clear that they were using their off hand as they fumbled clumsily to wrap their wound.

Daryl didn’t know why he was moved to speak, likely because he’s been the one to cause their scrape. But he gestured from the floor, saying, “Want some help?”

Finn looked surprised, but answered, “Yeah, that’d be great actually.” They scooted to sit cross legged next to him, extending their hand. Taking the bandages, Daryl began to wrap their hand. They winced once or twice when he pulled too tight but otherwise sat still, which was a feat in itself.

Finn watched intently as his hands deftly wound the cloth between their fingers. His hand was still bloodied from when they’d grasped it earlier; his fingertips stained the bandages slightly as he wrapped. They watched the warped spirals, christened with their own blood, given by another, as they engulfed the weeping wound. It still stung slightly, but nothing serious. Daryl tied off the end of the bandage. When he’d finished, he rotated their arm, checking how the bandages fared during movement. He grunted and dropped their hand.

Finn flexed their fingers and rolled their wrist. “Thanks,” they said as Daryl took his place against the opposite wall.

He grunted again in response. Finn rolled over to the ledge, sticking their head out a bit. Below them, the throng of corpses moaned and shook the ladder.

“Welp,” Finn said, “guess we’re here for a while. This sucks massive dick.” They rolled on their back and sighed dramatically as they sat up to begin examining the blind further. It was old with creaky wood and a low ceiling. Finn could stand up just fine, but Daryl would likely have to hunch a bit. The windows and door were obscured by foliage, and a pretty extensive spiderweb was strung in the corner above Daryl. A small ledge held two partially used boxes of bullets and duck lure that looked homemade. They picked it up and blew into it, the subsequent noise sounding more like a broken recorder than a duck.

Daryl shot them a look.

“I won’t blow it again. I was just curious,” they said, packing the bullets in their bag.

“Yer loud is what you are,” Daryl grumbled. “And you ain’t even holdin that right.”

Finn considered the call still in their hand. “You want it then? It should be with someone who knows how to use it.” They walked the few steps over to him and offered it down.

Daryl took it after a moment and pocketed it. He hadn’t brought a bag of his own; this was supposed to be a brief foray. Finn looked down at him still, eyes studying as always. He began to fidget under their gaze.

“Told you you were gonna call walkers towards us,” he said after a moment.

Finn scoffed, seemingly shaken from their staring stupor. “Oh don’t even start. I wasn’t being that loud. Enough to call one or two stragglers, sure but not all those. They were already there.”

“Whatever makes you feel better.”

“Don’t be a douche. Or I won’t tell you about the spider on your shoulder,” Finn said as they turned away to search the crate in the opposite corner.

Daryl’s head whipped to his shoulder. Perched there was a little brown spider the size of a grape. He quickly swiped it off, yelling in surprise before shooting to his feet. He hit his head on the ceiling as he backed away from the corner. He hissed and swore, rubbing the sore spot.

“Guard dog turns to a puppy around spiders then,” Finn said as they sifted through the contents of the crate. “Noted.”

Daryl’s face reddened. It had been a bit of an overreaction to the spider. He saw it on the floor trying to reorient itself. It wasn’t anything poisonous, just a bit big. Not that getting bit by it would be pleasant, just not lethal. Daryl heard the clinking of glass then. Finn pulled a half empty bottle of whiskey from the crate with an emphatic “oh hell yeah.”

They stood up and patted Daryl’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, puppy. Me and Jack Daniel here will protect you from the spiders.”

Daryl felt his stomach flip and his face heat. His heart still raced from the momentary spike of adrenaline from the spider. He watched as Finn removed the cap from the bottle before sniffing it. Shrugging, they took a swig. Daryl watched their throat bob as they swallowed, and he had to look away. His head already swam with thoughts that he shouldn’t be having. He really didn’t like the way his stomach tightened when they called him puppy.

Finn sat in the door opening, one foot dangling off the side and the other propped against the frame. The red light of sunset outlined their frame, casting their silhouette across the floor. Daryl watched as they took another sip from the bottle, then muttered something he couldn’t hear before pouring a bit off the side of the blind. They then extended the bottle in his direction.

“Cheers and all that,” they said.

“Ain’t really the best time to get lit,” he said.

Finn snorted. “Now’s the perfect time. We’re gonna be stuck here for hours, I’m already bored, and you’re not much of a conversationalist.” They slid the bottle slowly in his direction. “Live a little.”

He scoffed. “Ain’t about livin. It’s bout surviving.” He grabbed the bottle anyway and took a swig as he sat.

Finn considered that for a moment. “Well what’s the point of surviving if there’s nothing to live for? There’s not much that makes me feel human. So why not live for the things that do?” They grabbed the bottle back. “Alcohol is one of those things. Makes me feel less like a computer. Slows my brain down. Quiets my thoughts.”

“Got anything that quiets your mouth?” Daryl grumbled.

Finn laughed at that. They were always fucking laughing, even when he was trying to be rude. It pissed him off.

“Oh sure,” Finn responded. “Pop a tit or a dick in my mouth, and I’ll be quiet enough.” Finn took another sip from the bottle, watching with a smirk as Daryl’s face reddened. They chuckled as they passed the bottle.

Daryl grabbed the bottle roughly and took a big gulp. He braced himself for another comment, but it didn’t come. Instead, Finn just watched him with that dissecting gaze of theirs, cataloging the way his arm moved, how he held the bottle, little bits of information that they would fit into the picture of him they had painted in their head. Everything was analysis, everything was data, and their brain wanted to store all of it. Daryl felt his skin crawl under their eyes. He extended the bottle to give them a distraction. They took it and began to hum a tune, eyes never leaving him however. He shifted uncomfortably.

“Quit fuckin starin,” he said, grabbing his bloodied cloth off the floor and fidgeting with it.

“Oh bite me,” Finn replied. “You’re the one who wanted me to be quiet. You can’t be pissed at how I keep myself quiet too. Unless you’re offering a tit to occupy my mouth, you either have to deal with the talking or the staring.”

They took another long sip from the bottle, clearly upset. They turned away from him then, both feet dangling off the side of the blind, head leaned against the frame to watch the last dregs of sunlight disappear. It was dark now, and it would be getting colder too. Daryl’s fingers were already starting to feel the cold. He watched as Finn began to sway to a tune they sang softly. They wordlessly extended the bottle back toward him without turning. It was nearly empty now. He took half of what remained.

“You’re gonna fall,” Daryl found himself saying after a while.

Finn stilled with an angry huff. They backed away from the ledge and rounded on Daryl.

“Are you gonna have a problem with every fucking thing I do?” They stalked over to him, bending to snatch the bottle out of his hand. They finished the contents before turning and throwing the bottle out the window with a grunt. Daryl heard it shatter against an adjacent tree. Finn dropped to sit next to him then, falling in a huff and dragging their bag over. They muttered emphatically under their breath. Something about bratty fucking puppies being so needy. Daryl caught a whine in his throat before it slipped out. The alcohol boiled his core, and his head reeled. All he could do was stare.

Finn pulled a thin blanket from their pack, unfurling it over their legs. As they fussed about getting comfortable, they noticed his staring.

“Fucking what now?” They threw their hands up in exasperation. “Is the blanket the wrong color or some shit? Is the way I’m sitting bothering you?”

Daryl cleared his throat, looking away. He could feel them fuming. He didn’t know what to say. Thankfully, the alcohol did.

“Nothin. I just… it’s… you said… things. Makes my brain feel funny.”

Ah the eloquence of inebriated honesty. Finn seemed to understand though. Their eyebrows scrunched in confusion before raising in surprised understanding.

“Oh. You like being called puppy,” they said plainly, as if discussing the weather.

Daryl could feel his face flushing. He was vaguely aware that he was nodding, and he cursed the whiskey in his system. He wrung his bloody cloth in his hands, feeling shame course through him. He was sure Finn would call him a freak or a loser or whatever. His chest felt tight.

“If that’s all it is, you don’t gotta look so sad about it,” Finn said.

Daryl made a noise of surprise. “That ain’t weird to you or nothin?”

Finn laughed. “I’m the one who mentioned it first.” They paused, noticing the apprehension still lingering on his face. “No Daryl. It’s not weird. People are into all kinds of shit. It’s nothing to feel bad over. I know people into way weirder shit. Hell, I’m into way weirder shit.”

Daryl shifted, biting at a nail. He grunted an acknowledgment, not quite sure what to say. He’d anticipated disgust, reproach, hostility even. He didn’t know what to do with benign acceptance. He chanced a glance out of the corner of his eye. Finn studied him as always, but there was a softness in their face he couldn’t place. He was glad for the mostly darkened state of night. He cleared his throat.

“Don’t tell nobody though,” he said. He worried at the cloth in his hands again. He wasn’t thrilled that Finn knew in the first place, or that he himself knew now; he didn’t need the rest of the group making fun of him.

Finn smiled. “Your secret’s safe with me.” They eyed the cloth being rung through his hands. “What color you gonna choose this time? Now that your orange is mostly the color of Finn blood?”

Daryl huffed a laugh at that. “Whichever one don’t have a freak meanin behind it,” he replied.

“Gonna be hard pressed to find one like that,” Finn said, adjusting their blanket to extend over Daryl’s legs too. He hadn’t noticed how cold he was getting until then.

“Which one do you think then?” He asked, scooting an inch closer, consolidating the blanket.

Finn thought for a moment, their shoulder now brushing against Daryl’s.

“Go back to rust,” they finally said. “Cowboy fits you I think.”

Daryl smiled a bit. He could feel his face flush, but not as violent as before, more a gentle pink. “Ight,” he said, relaxing fully against the wall. The body heat radiating from Finn’s shoulder mixed with the warmth of the alcohol still in his system like a sleepy siren song. He yawned.

Finn nudged him slightly. “You get some sleep. I’ll wake you up if anything happens.”

He shouldn’t have been surprised; Finn always volunteered for late night watch. “You sure?” He asked.

They nodded. “Yeah. I’ll be the guard dog this time,” they said, cracking a smile. Daryl just rolled his eyes and huffed a laugh as he shifted into a more comfortable position. “Goodnight, Daryl,” Finn said.

“Night,” he replied.

He didn’t sleep right away; his mind was far too tumultuous for that. He didn’t know how to feel or what to think about anything quite frankly. What he did know, however, is that he fell asleep eventually. He knew this because he awoke hours later to sunlight slanting through the windows and a quiet hum close to his ear. He quickly became aware that his head and fallen to rest on Finn’s shoulder at some point while he slept. He straightened up quickly, alerting them to the fact that he was now awake. Their humming stopped suddenly.

“Mornin,” they said.

Daryl grunted a response, looking down and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“All the moaning and groaning from the walkers stopped a few hours ago. I’m assuming the crowd dispersed a bit,” Finn said as they stood to stretch.

“You’re assuming? What? You didn’t check?” Daryl asked.

Finn peered over the side of the blind. “Yea there’s only two or three now. And no, I didn’t check. You were asleep, and I didn’t want to wake you. You looked peaceful for once.”

Daryl felt a tightness in his throat. “Whatever,” was all he could get out. He balled up Finn’s blanket and offered it over as they packed their bag. He felt how cold their fingers were when they took it, but made no mention of it.

He went down the ladder first, knocking over one of the walkers that still lingered at the bottom. Finn followed once he was on the ground. Daryl led the way back after that, only turning occasionally to make sure Finn was still there. He heard them most of the time, while they hummed or sang softly or recited any of the passages they had memorized. Only every so often, when there was a pause between songs and soliloquies, Daryl turned to check on them, making sure they were lost in thought only and not physically lost.

They made it back to the campsite in a little over an hour. They updated everyone on what had happened, and Finn got their chance to sleep in their car with Nova curled up next to them. They woke in the mid afternoon and went about their current task of making warmer things for the coming months. They’d raided a craft store a few weeks back, and the trunk of the car held more yarn and fabric than food at this point. At one point, Daryl returned to camp with a rabbit caught in a snare. When he crouched to field strip it, Finn caught a look at his back pocket.

They let out a breathy chuckle. There, in his back left pocket, was his original rust bandana from months ago. Daryl turned at the sound of their laugh. Finn gave him a knowing look, eyes trailing lower to the bandana then back up to his. Daryl turned red and returned quickly to his rabbit. Finn laughed again.

He really was cute when he was flustered.

[corvidcrossbow]

~•♡•~ Daddy's Little Dhampir

➳ Summary: All you'd wanted in life was to meet a real life vampire, and by some twist of fate, you got so much more than that (Dad!Vamp!Daryl x Fem!Reader)

➳ Setting: Alexandria, picking up at 6 years post outbreak – references to your childhood

➳ Word count: 2.9k

➳ C/W: Mentions of blood and vampire stuff, allusions to typical TWD gore

➳ A/N: I had to dump this rq while we're still on the vamp train, and thank y'all for all the love n 140+ followers I appreciate y'all ����

If you could go back and tell your little nine year old self that vampires were real, she'd lose. her. mind.

The nine year old who checked out every book from the library on them and other folklore creatures, and would sit immersed for hours, taking notes and educating herself before falling asleep in front of it all: but picking it all back up the next day.

The nine year old who urged her friends to come exploring with her in the forest after dark, and proudly said ‘Fine. I'll just do it by myself’ when they all declined. Who trekked over dead leaves with a dim flashlight, who's pulse spiked and excitement grew as noises rustled around her and her gaze shot up to the sky to see a bat fly overhead. Who had the widest smile in existence… just to turn and have a blinding light shone in her face and police officers announce ‘We found her!’ – and who pouted when her parents scolded her for sneaking out before wrapping her in tight hugs and saying they were just glad she was safe, and she snapped back with: ‘I don’ wanna be safe! I wanna find the vampires and I was about to and you guys ruined it!’

The nine year old who eventually fell out of her obsessive phase, but always maintained belief. Who retained every bit of knowledge, and would still step outside sometimes in the night, or veer off her path and wander in the woods while walking somewhere. Who traveled to major cities solely to explore nightclubs and hot spots. Who truly believed deep down in her heart and soul that vampires were real.

If you told her, 25 years from then, she'd not only know a vampire, but be married to him, and sit against the headboard in their bed at home with him beside her, head resting on her shoulder as they both stared down at the newborn infant in her arms… you think she'd pass out. Especially if you added the whole part about an unknown virus sparking a massive outbreak that caused people to rise from the dead and turn into rotting, flesh eating monsters, and in return cause the entirety of society across the globe to collapse, leaving only a fraction of the population alive, and that's how she'd even meet said vampire in the first place – and that it's already been 6 years since then.

But while she may pass out, you didn't. It was ironic, how everything you'd ever dreamt about came true in the one way you'd never imagined it. Despite all the negatives, everything you lost; you gained so many positives: the vampiric love of your life, and the daughter you shared.

The smile on your face was wider than the one in the forest that night so long ago, eyes glued to the baby in front of you that slept so peacefully despite the chaos that surrounded her existence. Simply conceiving her was a challenge atop everything else, given the crossing of your species. You tilted your head to the side, resting against the mans, and murmured an ‘I love you’.

To which he shifted his and brought lips to your jawline, returning the admission as a second nature, it having grown so much easier to express such since he met you. And how could he not pour his heart out and remind you every second how madly, crazily, desperately, needily and obsessively in love with you he was – the same way you were in love with even just the concept of his existence – now that you'd carried, birthed, and held his perfect baby girl in your arms.

The newborn wriggled in adjustment, subconsciously cuddling closer to the warmth of your body, fully reliant on you for survival.

“She's gonna be yer little dhampir, Daryl… Daddy's little dhampir,” You spoke softly, admiring the blessing of her life.

“Yea, she is…” He replied, reaching a hand to stroke the side of her face with a gentle finger, which lulled her back into rest. He lived for you, and now he lived for her.

❥-》》—————➣

You loved your daughter to bits, but those books didn't quite warn you how difficult raising a dhampir would be sometimes.

“God, Daryl- What do I do? How the hell do I feed her?!” You asked frantically as the baby screamed and cried so hard in your hold it was concerning. Breastfeeding didn't quench this thirst, yet she had no teeth to bite into you.

“Fuck, jus’-” Daryl sputtered, grabbing a bottle and a knife, and slicing open his palm, flexing muscles to drain it faster into the container before screwing on the lid and shoving it to you to feed her as he spat into his hand to heal over the wound. Crisis averted.

Luckily, she didn't seem to require blood often, and you two created a better system after that: Daryl building an enclosure in the yard and storing live animals he'd find there so you could drain them when needed.

When her teeth did eventually come in, she had the cutest smile ever – small yet pin-sharp fangs poking through the pinkish gums of her mouth.

“Yea? Yer’ah damn lil’ biter, huh?” Daryl chaffed, playfully flicking splashes at her during bath time as you both sat at the edge of the tub.

She giggled, edges of her mouth curling up as she slapped the surface of the water to try and get him back for it – and he'd always dramatically act like he was hit by a tsunami when in reality it was just a few small drops on his arms. Just to hear her laugh.

The moment she was walking, she was outside, stumbling around and soon running, that instinct to be out in nature clearly taken from her father.

“Poppa,” She whined as you set her down at the bottom of the steps outside the house, her turning back and reaching a grasping hand towards Daryl, the other holding yours, as he took a seat on the steps, sun on the other side of the home and shadow protecting him from the daylight, but not the yard.

“Daddy can only watch right now. Remember the sunlight isn't good for him, okay sweetheart?” You cautiously reminded her as her head looked back to you, too young to wrap her mind around the concept.

He'd watch and talk as you two'd sit in the grass and play, sometimes covering best he could and making the sacrifice anyway just to make his daughter happy. And you'd always go out and play at nighttime anyway.

Growing into a toddler and young child, she was an absolute menace, Daryl just fueling her every troublemaking behavior.

“What in the world are you two doing?!” You called from the stairs, wiping sleep from your eyes and catching Daryl and your daughter immediately freeze, having been loudly chasing each other around downstairs with their enhanced agility in the middle of the night – busted.

The child gave an innocent toothy smile, and Daryl a sheepish grin as she pointed at him. “‘Ts daddy's fault!” She always blamed him when it was 100% her doing.

You rolled your eyes and groaned, pinching your brow. “Dixon, get yer damn daughter to bed and your ass into ours.” It was nowhere near the first time they'd woken you up with such.

“Yes ma'am.” And he took the moment of distraction to grab the child as she kicked and squealed in the interlocking cell his arms created.

Then as she aged, she completely mirrored every aspect of his personality, practically a carbon copy of him.

“Shuddup! Yall'ere ah buncha assholes!”

“Ay! Ya better watch yer mouth girl! Ain't nobody tell ya you could be talkin’ like tha’!” Daryl called across the way, catching hints of her civil argument with some other kids – as civil as a Dixon could be.

“That one really is your fault,” You teased him with a smirk, gently elbowing his side as he rolled his eyes and groaned.

“They called me Lucille cause ‘ima bloodthirsty bat’!” She nor Daryl even possessed the ability to transform. That was more fantasy.

He vanished to deal with it before you could finish your blink, leaving just the energy of his protectiveness in his wake.

—

“Hey ma, I gotcha somethin’!” She practically slid across the edge of the kitchen counter, clasped hand held out to you.

“If this is another big ass bug-”

“It's not! It's not!” She opened to a large stone of jasper. “Found it while wanderin’ – inside the walls –, thought ya might want it cause dad always gets ya ‘em, ‘nd yer ring.” She motioned to the band on your finger, adorned with a jasper center. Daryl started collecting them for you after you'd liked the one he found back near the prison.

—

“Nah, ts'only 4.9. Mine's bigger.” Daryl beamed triumphantly as they each weighed cottontail rabbits they'd caught on a hunt. They always had competitions on who could catch more, or the larger game.

“Tha's not fair! Only weighs less now cause it lost more blood on tha way back than yers did!”

“Still counts. Gotta get'ah cleaner shot, babyfangs. Then ya won’ waste so much.”

So many moments were leagues better than what your imagination curated in your youth, full of that real laughter and care and love that you could only placebo before.

But… some moments of it were the hardest, scariest moments of your life.

“Do you have any traces of her at all? Can you smell her??” You asked worriedly through labored breaths as you ran faster than you had from any person or walker or thing before. Fear pumped through your veins, somehow pushing you to keep up with Daryl's vampiric pace as you sped through the forest, bow on your back and crossbow on his, searching for your daughter.

“Yea, she ain't far. Ts’jus’ hard tah pick ‘er out with tha walkers cloudin’ it,” He grunted back, straining his senses to try and focus in on where she'd be. Sunlight seared his skin, having left the house so quickly he had no time to dress in proper attire. He didn't care, he didn't even feel it over everything he felt for his perfect girl.

“Daddy?” That soft, familiar voice ripped you both from your rush, stopping so fast you nearly toppled over and mutually whipped to take hurdles towards your daughter and wrap her in your arms. Now you truly understood your parents – so, so many years ago; that burning, aching dread to do anything and everything for your baby, to exhaust yourself to find them when they were lost, how it felt to have them in your arms again after thinking the worst thoughts one could illustrate. But there were some situations your parents never had to worry about.

“What? What is it?” You asked in alarm, pulling back to look at your daughter's face as tears started to stream down her cheeks and her gaze flicked away, the teenager so reluctant to be honest. “Please baby, what is it!?”

To your every worst fear, she reached up and pulled the neckline of her shirt aside, revealing the distinctive imprint of a walker's bite carved into the flesh on the nape of her neck.

“M'sorry, m'so sorry- I dun’ kno’ what happened I jus’-” She stammered, unable to find the words or will to begin to explain herself. Your stomach dropped so far you wouldn't be surprised if it was down in the molten core of the Earth.

The neck. It had to be neck. If it was the arm, you could amputate it, maybe she'd even have the chance of regrowing the limb, and same with the leg. If Daryl had converted you to a vampire like you'd talked about once many years ago, she never would've been a dhampir, and would never need to care about the risk walkers posed to her – whole vampiric nature making it impossible for the virus to infect them, able to survive bites and just let them heal over. If you'd payed some more fucking attention to what she was doing and where she was going, she wouldn't even be out here. If this, if that. If-

“Am I gonna die?” She sobbed, looking between you two with the most terrified expression you'd ever seen. You couldn't even register her question before her dad answered. He was always better at those split second response times where every extra beat changed the confidence of a statement.

“Nah. Yer not dyin’. Drink.” Daryl tore away his shirt, craning his neck to expose a spot by his left clavicle, close to his heart so it'd pump the most blood the quickest, and he knelt to her level. She was hesitant. “C'mon. Now!”

You watched as she stepped forward and sunk teeth into him, drawing long siphons of his blood. You prayed the purity of it compared to hers would aid her system in warding off the infection, should a dhamir still be susceptible to it. You didn't know. You didn't know if this would even work. Your heart raced so fast you couldn't even feel it anymore, like your body was already trying to shield you from how it may feel if it breaks.

“Daryl, that's enoug-” You started after a long moment, worried he'd just end up killing himself too. You couldn't lose either of them, but especially not both.

“Nah. Drink till ya can't no more – don’ give'ah damn ‘bout how much ya take,” He barked at you, then lightened his tone for her. He was beginning to feel woozy, pressure building in his head as his body's efforts to replenish struggled to keep up with her anxious draws. But again, he didn't care. He would do anything for her. He would bleed himself dry should it mean even the chance of keeping her alive.

But eventually she retracted her fangs, guilt overpowering the rest of her emotions. How could she live with herself if she was responsible for her own father's death? “Daddy, m'sorry, I-”

“Ya needah… drink, moonshine…” He wavered, and you grabbed him steady before he collapsed, resting him back against a tree trunk as you and your daughter sat on either side.

“Shit, Daryl.. c'mon, drink somma mine,” You urged, tugging your own top out of the way and offering to him.

“Nah, m'not-”

“I told ya to fuckin’ drink it!” In the rare times you raised your voice at him, he'd immediately listen: now driving his canines into your body, but taking far less of your crimson than he needed. He was too selfless for his own good.

You brushed the matted hair from his charring forehead, looking back at your daughter who tried to quiet her cries as she couldn't bring herself to look at him, curling into a ball of her own pity and shame.

“Honey, look at me,” You reached out, sliding your hand to cup her cheek and bring it up, her glassy eyes meeting yours. “I need you to help me get him home, okay? Ts’not safe out here.”

She just sat there for a moment, silently looking at you. She didn't want to accept that any of this was actually happening.

“We're all gonna be okay, so long as we get home. I love you.” That motherly tone melted her, and she nodded a little, unwinding and helping you to hoist the archer up and carry him back to Alexandria.

You kept them both in bed with you, nursing Daryl's drained status back to the typical, and keeping close watch on your daughter for any symptoms of the infection. You stayed there hour after hour, only leaving for brief moments to harvest another rabbit or squirrel for your husband, and fluids for yourself to regenerate as you'd been having him feed from you in intervals.

Your daughter spent most of it distant on the other side of the bed, back to you both, but not asleep. And you frowned.

“Babygirl, come here.” She didn't move, prefering to still act like she had nothing to do with any of this. “Sweetheart…” You reached down and forcibly dragged her up to cuddle between you and her father, soothingly stroking her head as she broke into tears again and he wrapped her in a half-dazed embrace.

Daryl was fine, just a little droopy at this point, and you mutually watched and held your girl. You prayed and pleaded and begged more than you had as a child, for a completely different reason. And to your every actually important hope and dream, a fever never spiked. Her skin never grew sweaty and clammy, eyebags never sagged, never grew weak.

Whether being a dhampir alone saved her, or Daryl's healing components pulled the rest of the weight, it didn't really matter. She was alive, and she'd live, and neither of you would ever allow this to repeat.

That customarily fatal bite turned to a scar, then smoothed back out to the unscathed plane it was before. Daryl spooned her as they both drifted into a slumber, a faint smile cresting your lips as you gazed from the opposite side. It wasn't as big as that night as a kid, or when your daughter was born, but it held as much meaning. You were all okay.

You got your vampire, and he got you – and you both got your little girl.

©corvidcrossbow 2024. I do not give permission for my works to be copied, modified or adapted to other platforms. My work may be translated only if asked and with proof of given consent.

[lichqueenlibrarian]

A LIBRARY SECOND ONLY TO THAT OF ALEXANDRIA II

DIANE

[spoiledblogif]

Things I have learned about writing...

I'm generally of the opinion that writing advice on the internet should be avoided at all costs. Taste in literature is completely subjective and one person's Twilight is another person's Jane Austen.

Which is to say that this isn't advice. These are just general things I've learned and if you want to give them a whack, you're free to do so.

Read out loud to yourself. I have nothing to add to this, just do it. You'll hear the parts where you story clunks better than just silently rereading the same line six thousand times.

Research. You live in the age of instant information. The Library of Alexandria did not burn so that you could go onto reddit and ask a question you could have simply checked wikipedia for.

You don't have to introduce your characters all at the same time. This is something that is mostly an IF crime. I think people are terrified that some characters won't be as popular or as well liked if they don't get equal screen time so we always end up taking the Character Tour, as I've come to call it. The first two chapters of encountering literally everyone important like we're on a conveyor belt. Just fyi, some of the character I'm rabid about are center stage for approximately .5 seconds. The fandom will what it wills.

You have no power over the way other people interpret your story. So instead of paralyzing yourself with the need to wash clean every bit of your writing, understand that some people are just going to do what they want. You literally cannot please everyone and if you try to you will not finish anything.

Go outside and touch grass at least once a day. Getting wrapped up in online discourse is the surest way to completely skew how you see and interpret things. Which is why I say to never listen to writing advice. I once read earnest writing advice that said that a character sexually assaulting another character was okay if the other character was flirting. Because they "opened that option". Just say 'no' to stupid opinions, kids.

Trust your audience. I'm the first one to say that most readers are just a little stupid, while also encouraging you to trust that if they're reading something they care enough about it to figure it out. You don't have to describe or explain everything in excruciating detail. Avoid at all costs the urge to "as you know". If the characters know something, then no one should need to repeat it. If it's something the reader needs to know, it needs to come up more organically than three marionettes in a conference room reading exposition off cue cards.

It's just going to suck sometimes. You are going to feel really meh about some things and only want to write the cool parts you've scripted out in your head every night before bedtime. That's normal. It doesn't mean the writing is bad, it just means our society has the collective attention span of the average kitten. A lot of advice tells you to skip these parts and then work out the framework later, but I think that's probably what they did for the last season of Game of Thrones and we all know where that got them---incest and characters blatantly refusing to complete their arcs.

Embrace editing---later. It's easy to get cross eyed when you've reread the same thing ten times. You sometimes need to just let something cook for a while and then come back to it so you can see it with a fresh perspective. This includes the shitty framework from above. Write it out, make the logic flow, and worry about how it sounds later.

ok bye

[lovelylunasnow]

About the books:

A lot of you asked me about the books and where I got them.

Seeing your curiosity I will tell you all the story, but I got to warn you, it’s crazy and long.

Let me start by saying I live in a small town in the middle of nowhere. (Not joking, nobody will come here as a tourist, if anything they drive pass us without giving my town a second glance). It’s a very old town, kinda charming in its own spooky way as the town was built waaaayy back then in the late 1880’s and a lot of the old buildings are still standing and in use.

One said building is our old “public” library, a focal point for locals as we went there to read or use the internet or pass time as there is not much to do.

Sadly this changed when the old library keeper died, the library while it was use by the public it was technically private property owned and operated by the old library keeper and his family for many generations. His kids without telling anybody sold the library to a group without telling anybody.

Had they known that the town mayor was willing to pay double for the building to keep it being run as it was they would have probably changed their mind.

Sadly this is when stuff goes from bad to worse. The people they sold it to was a cult.

I am not joking, they claim to be people of god but their not, they are extremist who do some…. Very bad things I will not say here… but if I had to compare them to anybody I compare them to Warren Jeff and his cult. (I am not exaggerating).

They let their plans know about how they were going to turn the library to sell books that are “religious” and “safe” and they were going to “purge out” all the evil.

Knowing what they were going to do the town band together to complain even the mayor got involved and offered to buy it back but they refused.

So me and a couple of others knowing what was coming we banded together and made a little group to hopefully save the books as we knew they were planning to get rid of them.

For a couple of nights our group grew and we planned. The first few plans failed…. That being that we tried to check out as many books as we could before they did anything. Sadly they caught on and would stop anybody from taking the books.

Then the staff got involved and grabbed and snuck out as many books as they could and snuck them out before quitting. (Their words “We are not working for those wackos” ) The most smart was the janitor who stuffed as many books as he could inside his janitorial cart and left. He did it several times before he was caught and had to run away with the cart while the crazy people chased after him. (He got away).

Sadly it was not enough and there was still a lot of books left.

Even worse the cult got smart and basically locked the building, not letting anybody in or out as they “Performef a cleansing and got rid of all the words of Lucifer and Lilith”.

There was a chance that we were too late to save the rest of the books and manga but we wanted to take a last chance.

So some of the most bravest, myself included made up an operation which we called “Operation saving Alexandria”.

Me and several others with their pick ups would sneak into the building in the middle of the night, climb up the fence and look around hoping to find where they trashed the books…. Secretly praying they were not thrown into a shredder before being tossed out.

I, another and the driver snuck in, the driver would stay by the car, my partner would help me look around.

Eventually we found this large roll off dumpster, I got in with the help of my partner, at first I thought the books were shredded cause all I saw was white till I opened a bag and saw that they were not shredded, but rather the book binding was torn off and the pages were scattered.

This was salvageable so I began to take garbage bags and throw them to my partner who in turn ran them over and threw them over the fence to the driver who caught and put them in the back of the pick up.

Once the pick up was full we drove away and then the second team was dispatched. Did the same process till their pick up was full and drove off.

Between several of us we emptied out that container. Even though it took several hours and one of the group claims that his group got caught by the cops who then turned a blind eye and let them go, acting as if they saw nothing.

With all the bags placed in a neighbors house who was not only a former library employee but had a large storage barn we began the phase two.

Opening the bags we sorted out all the pages of the books and tried to figure out where they belonged to make the books whole again.

It was not easy work and it also further confirmed the cult was even more of lunatics than we thought as they literally threw everything away. All the history, science, math books ect, all of the manga and comics, fantasy, sci-fi, everything had been thrown out!

So ya, it took us a long time and the effort of almost the whole town (minus the cult) to piece the books back together, then we had a fund raiser to gather enough money to send the pages to bookbinders and such so the pages can be put together in proper hardcover books.

When it was done the storage barn was converted into local public library for all of us to enjoy. We even named the new building “Library of Alexandria” as a tribute for our operations with the people who used to work at the old library working there. (We even joked about how operation will eventually become local legend for us to share with our kids)

This hardcover Pokémon manga was one of the victims of the books that were thrown out and is now salvaged. Lovingly cared for everybody to read to their hearts content.

[vivmaek]

THE PLUTO IN SAGITTARIUS GENERATION Born at the start of Globalization, November 10, 1995 - January 25, 2008

I’ve been talking a lot of shit on here about the Pluto in Sagittarius generation. And while I still think my irritations are justified (lol,) I gotta make it up by doing a complete breakdown. After all, this is the generation I belong to. 

1995: NASA's Galileo spacecraft arrives at Jupiter

With Pluto in Sagittarius, this is a generation full of creatives, visionaries, academics, philosophers and rebels. We’re all about big ideas and moral philosophy. We’ve had the internet within our fingertips our entire lives, an unlimited database of knowledge and social interconnectivity.

We have a lot in common with the Pluto in Leo generation (Baby Boomers,) being that both generations are ruled by fire signs. However what differentiates us is that the Pluto in Leo generation is focused on the self (Sun,) and the Pluto in Sagittarius generation is focused on the collective (Jupiter.) We project a sense of optimism despite having such large ambitions. This will serve as an inspiration for future generations. 

Most of us have parents belonging to the Pluto in the Libra Generation. They raised us with values centered on equality and justice. 

We grew up amongst explosive world events: First Internet Meme (1996), Google (1998), Columbine (1998), The Second Congo War (1998), Kosovo Genocide (1999), Launch of International Space Station (2000), 9/11 (2001), Invasion of Iraq (2003), Darfur (2003), Boxing Day Tsunami (2004), Facebook (2004), London Bombings (2005), iPhone (2007), America's first black President (2008), Global Economic Downturn (2008).

Pluto in Capricorn frames our coming of age story. Our teenage years were harsh and depressing. It was an isolating experience that did not involve much fun. For many people born with a Sagittarius Pluto, their adolescence is defined by a Global Pandemic in which all movement was restricted. These years also put into focus old frameworks that must be destroyed and cast aside.

The Pluto In Scorpio Generation is coming through and uprooting all these frameworks before passing the torch onto us. We will be the ones to come up with blueprints for new ideologies and ways of thinking. We’re aiming forward and casting an arrow for future generations to follow. 

Past events that occurred while Pluto was in Sagittarius: The Burning of the Library of Alexandria (272), first novel published in Japan (1010), Sorbonne founded (1257), first use of eyeglasses (1268), Columbus sets sail (1502), the birth of Nostradamus (1503), invention of sign language (1749), the first encyclopedia (1751).  

Past figures born while Pluto was in Sagittarius: Constantine I (272), Dante Aligheri (1265), Goethe (1749), James Madison (1751), Alexander Hamilton (1755), Marie Antoinette (1755), Mozart (1756,) William Blake (1757), Robespierre (1758).

[lubnabowsandpoetry]

I accidentally deleted my work on ao3 and it felt like burning down the library of Alexandria.

Anyways here's the prologue while I go ahead and re-release it. Reader is a firefighter (I watch too much 9-1-1) and Ghost needs therapy.

Prologue (I didn't start the fire!)

The late-autumn air, harsh and unrelenting, seeped through the thin sweater of the lieutenant. Despite his stature his steps were quiet, his boots making little to no sound. His eyes on these streets were always darting around, observing. With his hand clenched in fists in his pockets, his right one wrapped around a combat knife, he started to walk more confidently. He was almost where he was supposed to be. The weather forecast in Manchester predicted heavy rain, yet there was no sign of that. Just the usual cold wind.

When the lieutenant finally reached the address that was written on a note in his hand he took in the abandoned residence. The roof looked like it was about to collapse, the door was barely attached to the hinges and outside walls were littered with graffiti. He payed no mind to the tiny garden gate and walked up the path leading to the front door as if he owned the place. Technically speaking, he did. Kind of.

Just to let out the smallest bit of frustration he kicked down the door. Unnecessary, but it did the trick. He stood in the foyer of the house as if he were a guest expecting someone to greet him and offer him a drink. The remaining furniture looked like it would explode to dust any second. His entire life was being a soldier, and maybe also some of his comrades. He was really beginning to enjoy Soap’s company. He’d never admit it though.

His old life taunted him whenever he came from another mission. There is no distraction that lasts long enough to make him forget.. His past ghost haunting his chambers. Therefore, he decided to dig up the grave of his youth himself. Since the spirits of his past were going to release themselves anyways.

Ever since he saw you.

You who reduced him to nothing but a teenage boy. Reminding him of the childish joys, making him feel giddy at the sight of you.

He just had to see you again.

Carefully pouring gasoline in every single corner of the house. Making sure the outside had its fair share aswell.

He grabbed his lighter out of the pocket of his jeans, the same one he had used countless of other times to light up a cigarette.

Then he set his past aflame.

He watched as the fire started to lick at every inch of his childhood home. He lived there until the age of six. No tasteful memories really resided there. Just an empty shell. He grabbed his phone and entered three digits.

‘’9-9-9, what’s your emergency?’’

‘’Send the fire department.’’ Preferably a specific firefighter

PS: It is out there again. 5th chapter out!

[darkwitchingflower]

Cabin 6 -Athena- headcanons

They all have amazing hand-writing

None of them can make it through the harry potter and the chamber of secrets film

Their cabin is entirely spider proof

They all love crime documentaries and shows and have a "friendly" competition to see who can solve it first

They managed to develop glow-in-the-dark and water-proof paper for late night studying and reading or reading while showering

Pencils in their hair is second nature

They can somehow sense when an owl is near

Whenever they need a bookmark one magically appears in their pockets

Like the Ares kids, they are EXTREAMLY competetive

Don't mention the library of Alexandria to any athena child, they are very BITTER about the entire thing

They cabin smells of peppermint oil so much you get a headache but the Campers have become nose blind to it

Since Athena only needs platonic love to "give birth" some of her children will have two mothers and this can cause confusion between Campers when they say "my mother" not knowing which mother they're referring to

This makes them laugh almost as much as puns

They LOVE puns

[sciencebecameouraddiction]

my lucifer headcanons

note: these are just my own head canons. things i’ve noticed, how i write lucifer, what plays into why i write luce the way i do… etc. purely my own opinion.

- i think michael was very fond of his brother

- when the time came though to listen to dad and fulfill his duty or be a brother to lucifer michael chose duty

- the betrayal is still a sore spot for lucifer

- during lucifer’s “youth” he was curious, always dreaming up incredible creations… it was why he was dads favorite.

- he made the star fish, “because the sea deserves its own stars!” and he also made the duck. the ducks first iteration was quite a bit larger… lucifer and god compromised on a smaller duck. (more like god bribed lucifer.)

- he watched adam be made…. so he was always fond of him and lilith… until he fell in love with lilith…

- he didn’t realize it was love

- but michael knew and michael was scared. so he would draw lucifer away from the garden every chance he got

- lucifer was very naive when he was cast down to hell. he knew so much, he had been alive for so long, but there was so much life experience he didn’t have.

- the first few years in hell were horrible…

- he had hope at first

- maybe it all wouldn’t be so bad

- it was really bad. like really bad. the people who came down to hell were unspeakable devils

- (this is based off a fic i read and i can’t find it, if this rings any bells pls let me know the fic name) but lucifer is continuously appalled and distraught by the atrocities committed in his name.

- it’s one of the reasons he so powerful. he has the angelic power but also the power from those who worship him and make sacrifices for him

he really hates it. a lot. makes him feel no better than the worse overlord (cough alastor cough)

- charlie has no idea and she’ll never know if he can help it

- lucifer smells like apples and vanilla musk, a hint of cinnamon and something floral or citrusy.

- the floral or citrus changes depending on his mood

- he has a huge library. he actually pops up to earth with Asmodeous sometimes and takes books.

- he saved the whole Library of Alexandria’s books before it burned down

- he’s great friends with all the sins

- arguably closest with Beelzebub and Asmodeous

- he loves claw machines. the lights, the sounds, the prize winning???? he’s so fucking happy

- he actually wears glasses to read. he doesn’t need them but he says they make him look smarter.

- is actually a pretty good leader, is not nearly as forgiving as charlie is, but he’s not inherently cruel

- his third favorite color is pink

- his first and second are yellow and red, obviously

- he has expensive ass, maximalist taste.

- he doesn’t use tech because he knows what vox does to said tech.

- he’s always wanted a dog

- he’s very touchy. shows love physically. is only this way if he likes you though

- he has nightmares almost every night

- coffee addict

- because after not sleeping he wakes up looking like death warmed over

- and that’s if he didn’t forget to eat the past few days except for random snacks and didn’t do a 48 hour blitz of staying up working on ducks or the bit of kingdom shit he does.

- he has a handful of servants who he trusts and they are the only one in the house. there’s no team. nothing like that. he keeps it very close

- this was after someone who was a servant tried to throw an angelic dagger at his head because really they wanted to kill him and thought working for him would get them close enough.

- he homeschooled charlie. he knows a lot of stuff and even knew the guy who created calculus!