#typical southern experience

[alliswyattonthewesternfront]

i kind of scared the new hire today (oops)

we were swapping medical lore, and i mentioned my scarlet fever and lack of antibiotics growing up, etc. her healthcare background is even more extensive than mine, so she immediately recognized the potential complications and asked me if i had a heart murmur (she specifically mentioned the mitral valve, hell yeah). i explained yes, and that it's gotten worse per my last physical 2 years ago, but no cardiologists that i've talked to thus far take our insurance. so i can't get in for an echocardiogram to see if i actually need surgery, but everything i read about rheumatic fever/rheumatic heart disease matches my symptoms.

she looked aghast and asked me how i'm not worried all the time and desperately trying to figure out how to pay for an echo. i told her i decided not to stress too much because even if an echo shows i need surgery, i couldn't afford it anyway, not with our current coverage. all it would do is confirm death is coming for me young, which i've always known and been fine with. she was mildly appalled by this, but thankfully, still thinks i am cool and a good teacher. so that's a relief lol

[xiaq]

I know it’s really hard to be hopeful right now, and I’ve shared a couple big-picture articles about “hey, people are doing things, people are fighting back, but legal and political shit takes time.” But if you want some small hope, some personal experiences of things changing, I can tell you about my FB timeline right now as someone who comes from a conservative Christian, southern background (and who typically avoids FB at all costs unless I’m looking to buy something on Marketplace).

People are angry. Trump voters are angry. About government layoffs that impacted people who they KNOW were performing their jobs with distinction, about the removal of support for their disabled kids in their schools, about the halt of cancer research, about food prices and recalls and the spread of disease, concerns about national parks’ longevity for future generations, about the suspension of aid.

People are angry. The same people that voted for Trump, or stayed silent about their political leanings until this point, are posting videos of Trump and Elon and calling them liars. They’re posting videos of impacted workers talking about the important, widely overlooked, jobs they do that contribute to the underlying foundation of American’s health and safety. I’ve seen reposts of Methodist, Baptist, and Catholic church statements condemning Trump’s actions and reminding him of the “moral imperative to assist those in need” that all humans should have regardless of faith.

People are angry and they’re saying “this isn’t what I voted for,” or, if they were of the quieter minority in these deeply republican communities, they’re saying, “Hey, look what you voted for. Look what you’ve done.”

This is a big deal. People are angry. And while I wish that this recognition could have come sooner, it reassuring to see that people are, at least, admitting that shit is on fire. Recognition is the first step.

[transmutationisms]

ive been saying this for Literally Years Now but the most direct medical comparison to covid probably is never going to be HIV on any metric, overall it's probably the SARS outbreak of the early aughts (related viruses, similar transmission, what appear thus far to be similar rates/experiences of post-viral conditions and disability) and politically i do understand why people reach for HIV but like you really need to understand that our current situation is similar to how EVERY SINGLE pandemic / epidemic / outbreak has 'ended' in recent / capitalist history. these are political designations, that tend to get made once the ruling class considers itself safe, and it is typical that workers, global southerners, racialised people, &c continue to bear the brunt of diseases that would be treatable or preventable, were imperial countries and their ruling classes to care. we should be furious every time this happens and in every case where it is still happening: flu, TB, malaria, ebola, zika, plague, on and on, even the smallpox eradication campaign championed as a definitive triumph for public health occurred unevenly and the US and europe allowed the disease to continue to exact its most brutal toll on people in the Horn of Africa and southeast Asia until it was finally eradicated. covid is not unique in its medical OR political properties or ramifications, if you think it is you sorely need to do some more reading and this is why it is both unhelpful and yes, often homophobic to see how often 'covid communicators' jump straight to making alarmist and poorly contextualised comparisons to HIV, Specifically.

[mystic-writings]

we’re just fine | daryl dixon

PAIRING — Daryl Dixon x Fem!reader

SUMMARY — after the fall of the prison, you find yourself in alexandria, alone. two months later, your family finds their way back to you. 

WARNINGS — angst, canon-typical violence/situations, pregnancy, fluff 

WORD COUNT — 5,000

NOTES — idk what happened to me all i know is i blacked out and then this was made. enjoy i guess

masterlist | navigation | requests are open!

Despite the pure monotonous routine you’d gotten used to during your two months in Alexandria, you couldn’t say that it wasn’t sometimes extremely boring. Your only saving grace was the mealtimes you had with Aaron and Eric at the end of the day. At least they had the sense and experience outside the walls to be able to carry out a conversation that wasn’t about what food you were eating or how the weather was. 

It was why you hated when they went out on recruitment runs. As their roommate, you felt awkward being in the home by yourself when they left the walls; as though you were intruding. You felt that way in a lot of aspects. An intruder on a perfect life that these people had grown used to in the wake of the apocalypse. A life where their only worry was whether or not Aiden and Nicholas would find the right ingredients for the food they’d planned on cooking during their supply runs. 

But there was nothing to be done aside from making a meal for one, eating alone with only a soft classical music CD to fill the silence, and to wait for the couple to come back home so you would have normal people to talk to. 

You were glad for them and the runs they went on, though. Or they never would’ve found you, and you’d likely be dead in a ditch by now. 

Your hand shook as you gripped the handle of your blade, wide eyes searching the pharmacy for any signs of walkers, or people. Being on the road alone for as long as you had been was making you feel like you’d gone crazy. Maybe you had already. 

Sweeping the small aisles, you found no signs of life. Most of the shelves were already empty, likely having been raided during the early days. Still, you grabbed whatever was available to you, shoving it into your bag before ducking into a corner, knees pressed to your chest as you rooted around for one of the final few cans of food you had left. 

You’d been rationing out what used to be a plentiful supply for a few weeks now. One can of food per day, nothing more. A lot of what you had was thanks to the traffic blockages on the highways and interstates you’d wandered along on your way out of Georgia. What used to be two cans a day for almost three weeks turned into one for the past week and a half, bordering on two. 

The lack of food wasn’t your only issue anymore. With no signs of life from your former group, you had every reason to believe that they were all dead. Logically, you knew they weren’t. You’d seen some of them escape in the firefight, yourself included. But without any real way of tracking them down, they were as good as dead. Not to mention the sudden and constant fatigue that the southern sun seemed to give to you, making traveling more difficult than you had originally planned. 

Even with no end in sight, no real indicator that the man you called your husband was still alive, and no true hope for your future, you still persisted. You found places to sleep for the night, whether in abandoned cars or gas stations off of turnpikes. You found just enough food to supply you for a few more days if you managed to stretch it thin enough, and you kept going. 

Just as you were about to crack open a can of corn, the crunching of glass and shuffling of footsteps alerted you to the body that had just entered the pharmacy. Its footfalls sounded too heavy and spaced out to be anything but a human. 

Gripping onto your knife, you held your breath and gently placed the can on the floor. With your bag still on your shoulders, you kept your body crouched and your ears peeled, moving around the person — no, people — moving around the pharmacy. 

“I’m telling you, we’ve already been here. There’s nothing left to take,” a voice reasoned. 

The footsteps ceased for a moment, and you paused, praying they hadn’t heard you. “I know. Doesn’t hurt to check, though, right? I mean, we can’t exactly go back empty handed. Aiden’ll have something to say about it.”

“But we aren’t out here for supplies,” the other stressed, “we’re out here for people, remember? New members?”

“I know,” their partner chuckled, footsteps resuming as they rounded the last aisle. You ducked between the shelves closest to the door, hoping to just outrun them and not have to fight them. There was a pause, a palpable beat, before he spoke again. “But I think we might not be coming back alone.”

A cold chill ran through your veins at the former’s words. He knew you were in here. He’d seen your can of food, or heard your shuffling around the pharmacy. In an instant, you were at your full height, eyes wide as your fingers clutched your knife tighter and you ran, against your better judgment, toward the pair. The blond was the one closest to you, his back facing your front. With as much energy as you could muster, you hooked your arm over his shoulder, dragging him to your chest as you pressed your knife to his throat. It wasn’t hard enough to do any real damage, but you knew that if you absolutely had to, you’d apply pressure. 

“Who are you?” You spat, hand shaking as it gripped the knife. “What do you want?”

“Woah, woah, calm down. It’s okay. We’re not here to hurt you.” The brunet immediately jumped into negotiation mode, putting his hands in front of him. The position reminded you of Rick, oddly enough, and your heart twinged as you adjusted your grip on the knife. 

“Then what are you here for?” You spat. “Like you said, there’s nothing worth taking here.”

The faintest of whimpers escaped the lips of the man you held hostage, dragging both yours and the brunet’s attention to him. “We’re just—” the blond gulped. “We’re recruiters. We have a camp not too far from here. A safe one. We’re looking for people to join us. People who have— have experience, out here.” 

His words, as stuttery and fearful as they were, confused you. 

“I’m Aaron,” the brunet said, keeping his arms up in surrender as he slowly slid the backpack from his shoulders. “That man you have is my partner, Eric. Everything he’s saying is right, and I can show you. I have pictures and a brochure in my bag, if you’ll let me get it.” 

Hesitantly, you nodded. Even if he had a weapon, most of your body was blocked by his partner — Eric. There was a highly likely chance that he wouldn’t try to harm you while you kept his friend in your grip, however weak it was becoming. 

Slowly, Aaron reached into his bag, pulling out exactly what he said he would. With Eric still in your grip, he showed you pictures of the place he and his friend called home — Alexandria. “Look,” Aaron sighed, stepping back a bit. “You seem like someone we could use. You have experience that we lack. Plus, it seems like you’ve been out here by yourself a while. We have walls, food, running water, and proper shelter. And if you decide to come with us, our leader, Deanna, will interview you. If she allows you in and you don’t like it, you can leave any time you want. We won’t keep you there if you don’t want to be, okay?”

With a shaking nod, you let go of Eric, nudging him toward Aaron, who enveloped the other man in a tight hug. “I— I can leave if I want to, right?”

“Of course, you can. No one will stop you, and that’s a promise.” 

It took a bit of getting used to, but you were glad that Aaron and Eric had found you that day. You’d been skeptical of things in Alexandria for the first few days, but you warmed to the entire situation a lot easier than you thought you would. You supposed it was because of how things were at the prison, but even then you weren’t alone.

Aaron and Eric, while not pushing the topic often, had managed to get to know enough about you and where you came from before they’d found you that they considered you a close friend. 

You’d only told them the briefest of answers. That you were with a large group in Georgia from the beginning, that you’d been with one of them for most of that time — even, at some point, considering yourselves to be married, though the symbol you’d had to show it had been lost months ago — and then another group came along and took everything away from you, simply because they could. 

The safety and privacy that the couple provided was something you were more than grateful for, even if you were sure you wouldn’t be able to have it forever. 

Because while Aaron and Eric, along with the rest of Alexandria, provided a structure and a sense of normalcy for you, you couldn’t shake the grief that fell upon you every time you were alone. 

The thought of Daryl being out there, combing every inch of Georgia for you while you were so far away, was enough to bring you to tears. It was another thing to think about the possibility of his rotting corpse roaming the woods in search of something living to eat. The thought that you’d never see him again, dead or alive. That you’d just push through life — however much longer that would be for you — without him, even though he promised you’d never have to go through something like that. 

The thought of your baby never knowing who their father was, and their father never knowing who they were, either. 

You could go an entire lifetime without ever seeing Daryl again, and the idea of it nearly killed you when he was still around. It hurt a hundred times worse now that it was practically a reality. 

The night passed without word from or the arrival of Aaron and Eric. It was common for them to be gone a while at a time — this particular trip lasting almost a week — but you hated sleeping in the house by yourself now. You were so used to waking up to Eric clattering dishes in the kitchen that waking up midday when they were gone only proved how fatigued you seemed to feel nowadays. 

Waking up to a knock on the door wasn’t unusual as of late, but it was certainly unpleasant. You were, however, grateful for the fact that when you were given a room at Aaron and Eric’s, it was on the first floor. 

Rolling out of bed got harder and harder with each passing week, but you managed it anyway. The knocking persisted, and you sighed as you made your way into the living room, shouting out, “I’m coming!”

The knocking ceased, and you pulled on the fabric of your shirt before answering the door, only to find Jessie. “Oh, hey,”

“Hi, hon,” she smiled, and you felt bad for being upset at her moments before. “Pete sent me over, said you were supposed to see him this morning?” 

“Oh, shit, Jessie I’m so sorry,” you said, brushing some stray hair from your face. “I overslept, normally Aaron—” 

Jessie smiled warmly, reaching out and putting a gentle hand on your arm. “I understand, Y/n, no need to worry. Just get dressed and head over to the infirmary. It’s not like Pete’s in any real rush.” 

“Alright,” you nodded, bidding Jessie goodbye and closing the door as she headed down the porch steps. 

Padding your way through the home, you went back to your room, pulling on some fresh clothes before freshening up in the bathroom. Routines like these were simple, but they kept you sane. You’d had something a little closer to it at the prison, but it was nowhere near as nice as it was in Alexandria. 

After eating a small breakfast, you were out of the house and on your way to the infirmary. The streets were quiet, as always, and the sun was anything but forgiving. People smiled and waved, and you did the same, even if you didn’t know half of the people in this place. Even after being here for two months, it was hard to remember such trivial things about so many people. Plus, putting names to faces was never one of your strong suits. 

Stepping into the infirmary, you were grateful for the burst of air conditioning that fell over your body. Smiling, you greeted Denise and Pete, the former of the two sitting on one of the beds as she pored over the book in her lap. 

“Alright, let’s take a look at you. Sound good?” Pete smiled, and you nodded back. 

While you hauled yourself onto the bed, Pete readied the ultrasound equipment. Pulling back the loose shirt you wore, your eyes glued themselves to the obvious, albeit still small, bump you were sporting. 

“Hey, I’m about four months along now, right?” You asked, eyes darting up to Pete, who confirmed with a nod. “That means you can see the baby’s gender, doesn’t it? I remember hearing that somewhere,” 

Pete chuckled, powering on the machine and taking the gel from its holster. “Most of the time, yes. If you want me to look around for it, I can do that. After I make sure everything’s okay.” 

“I really wanna know,” you said, wincing at the cold gel making contact with your skin. “It’d mean a lot. Then I can go full nesting mode. And so can Aaron and Eric, really.” 

The ultrasound went off without a hitch. According to Pete, your margins were clear, and everything looked healthy with the baby. It was always a relief to hear. There was little room for error with these things now that you had scarcely little supplies to work with. Finding the ultrasound machine early on in the apocalypse was a miracle in itself. 

“Okay…” Pete hummed, the wand moving and pressing over your skin. “The kid’s giving me a hard time with this one. And…” he pressed a few buttons, eyes focused on the screen before him. You watched his features intensely, as though his expression would give the answer away before he could say it. Pete’s eyes broke from the screen as he smiled, lifting the wand. “You’re having a little girl. Congratulations.” 

Your heart swelled, a wide smile overtaking your features as Pete handed you a towel. “A girl,” you whispered, eyes locked onto your belly. 

Before you were able to stop yourself, you were once more reminded of the likelihood that you’d never be able to share this with Daryl. Tears welled along your waterline as you sat up, swiping the scratchy cloth across your belly. Whether Pete noticed or not, he made no indications. You were thankful for it, and for him leaving the room to put the ultrasound equipment away. 

When he came back inside, he pulled Denise from her books and into the kitchen to talk, but you paid no mind to them. They were talking too low for you to listen in, anyway, and you were too busy trying to quell your emotions on the makeshift examination table to want to eavesdrop. 

By the time you were ready to leave, Olivia entered the infirmary, eyes scanning the room before landing on your frame. 

“Y/n, they’re on their way back,” she smiled, and you nodded gratefully. 

“They’re okay?”

The woman nodded. “Eric’s a bit banged up, hurt his leg I think, but otherwise they’re fine. And they brought a group. They should be getting here soon.” 

Exhaling a relieved breath, you slid from the bed, bidding goodbye to Denise and Pete as you followed Olivia onto the street. You walked side by side in silence, mulling over what she’d said. 

“You said they brought a group?” You asked, following Olivia up the steps to the house that held all of your inventory. “How many?”

Olivia huffed, brows cinching. “Deanna said it was a big one. That they had a lot of weapons, been on the road a while.” 

Your eyes widened. “A while as in the entire time, or?”

“Not sure,” Olivia shook her head. “All I know is I gotta get the weapons cart to the gate, if you wanna help?” 

“Sure. Should probably be there to get Eric to the infirmary, anyway,” you decided. 

And, sure enough, Aaron helping a limping, sweating Eric through the gate was the first — and for now, only — glimpses of the new group you would get. Aaron smiled apologetically as he spotted you, tucked out of view from the newcomers. 

“What the hell happened to you?” You said, looking pointedly at Eric, who grimaced as you took his arm from Aaron. 

“Roamers,” he sighed. “It’s broken, I think.” 

“You think?” You asked, eyeing the bruising flesh. “I can tell it’s broken. Come on, let’s get you to Pete.” 

Aaron thanked you as you wrapped an arm around Eric’s waist, helping him up the road and back into the infirmary. 

As Pete worked to wrap Eric’s ankle, you couldn’t help but ask questions about the trip. 

“It was a disaster,” Eric groaned. “There were roamers everywhere. Plus, this group, they’re headstrong. Been out there a while.” 

“How many of them are there?” You asked. “Olivia didn’t tell me.” 

“Fifteen,” Eric hissed, squirming as Pete positioned his ankle properly. 

Your eyes widened, throat going dry. “Jesus,” you huffed. “That many of them and they’re still going?”

“With a baby,” 

“Oh my God,” you gasped. Your mind flashed with images of baby Judith, heart clenching. The fall of the prison meant that you never found out exactly who made it out alive, and you never dared to venture the thought of whether or not she did. “They must be some lucky sons of bitches.” 

Eric laughed. “Not only are they lucky, but they’re tough. And really close. I think, once you get used to them, you’ll like them. They remind me of you when we found you.” 

“So, scrappy, hungry, and tired?” 

“Yeah, pretty much,” Eric laughed, and you couldn’t help but do the same. 

“If you need me, I’m four houses down.” Aaron pointed, Rick and Carl following his line of sight. “If I’m not there, Eric or Y/n probably will be.” 

Carl’s eyes snapped back to the brunet, a mixture of confusion and skepticism floating within them. “Y/n?”

Aaron’s brows furrowed at the boy. “Yeah. She’s a friend of ours, came here a few months back. Why?”

“We, uh…” Rick stepped in, a hand scratching at his beard. “We used to know someone named Y/n. that’s all.”

“Oh,” Aaron nodded, stepping away and heading back home, where you and Eric were sitting at the table, sandwiches in hand as you giggled about something he wasn’t aware of. 

Upon his entrance into the kitchen, you stood excitedly and hugged the man. “Glad you’re back okay,” you said, heading back to your chair. “I heard the group you brought was tough.”

“Yeah, they are.” Aaron chuckled, still mulling over the puzzle pieces in his head. “You said you were with a big group before, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

Aaron huffed, glancing at his shoes. “I brought up your name to one of the new members — just a name, nothing else — he said they used to know someone with the same name.” 

Your heart stuttered in your chest, limbs freezing as you were bringing the sandwich to your mouth. Clearing your throat, you forced yourself to put the food back down, looking up at Aaron with shining eyes. “This man, what’d you say his name was?”

“Rick. Rick Grimes.” 

If your heart had been fluttering before, it was banging like a drum in your chest now. Your stomach fluttered, your hand coming to rest on the swell of your belly, hoping to quell the anxiousness. 

“Where are they?” You asked, and Aaron’s mouth only remained agape. “Aaron, where are they?”

“Down the street,” he finally said, voice cracking. “The house on the curb, the one you said you liked.” 

Within moments, your food and friends were abandoned as you practically ran from the home, shooting down the porch steps and down the street. You were thankful that no one was out and about right now, or you were sure they’d think you looked crazy. You didn’t even register a person in your path until you’d already bumped into them. 

“Oh! Y/n, are you alright?” Jessie asked, her hands on your shoulders as her eyes searched your wild ones. 

“‘M fine, Jessie.” You muttered. “I’ve gotta go.”

You gave the woman no time to respond before you were wriggling out of her grip and hurrying down the street. Up more steps, you were greeted by the charming yellow door of the home you’d wished you lived in, knuckles rapping frantically and unyielding on the wood. 

The door finally, after what felt like decades, creaked open. Your heart stopped in your chest as you took in the sight of your husband’s best friend, clean shaven and hair dripping from a recent shower. 

Rick’s eyes flooded with tears as they met your own. In seconds, you were pulling him into your arms, grateful that you weren’t the only survivor of the Governor’s wrath. 

You sobbed into his shoulder, gripping tightly to the clean white shirt he wore. “Rick,” you croaked, “is he—” 

“He’s fine,” Rick whispered, heart breaking when your sobs worsened out of pure relief. “He’s just fine.” 

When you finally found the strength to let go, Rick led you inside. “We thought you were dead,”

“There were times I wished I was,” you said, taking a seat at the edge of the couch. “I was by myself for just over a month. Found some train tracks, lost ‘em, then stuck to interstates, mostly. Got lost in the woods, found a small town, and from there, Aaron and Eric found me. I’ve been here for two months.” 

Rick huffed a laugh, disbelief filling the sound. “Sounds like you had one hell of a trek.”

“I had a car, for a bit.” You shrugged. “Walkers ruined that part. I crashed it into a tree. Stuck to walking after that.” 

“When did you…” Rick glanced down at your swelling belly, forcing a laugh from you. 

Shrugging, you smoothed your hand over your belly. “Four-ish months ago. Didn’t find out until I got here. Been terrified ever since, really. Not knowing if Daryl was out there, if I’d see him again.” 

“You’ll see him soon,” Rick assured you. “He’s talking to Deanna now.”

“And the others?” You asked. “Beth? Judith?”

“Judith is just fine,” Rick said, eyes leaving yours as he sighed. “Beth got caught out in Atlanta. A woman in a hospital killed her.”

Your stomach churned at Rick’s words, guilt crushing your lungs and bile rising in your throat. “Oh, my God,” you whispered, pressing your fingers to your mouth to try and stop yourself from throwing up. 

Rick nodded, resting a hand on your knee. He watched you stand, your arm resting over your belly, beginning to pace the floor before him. 

“I have to… I need to go see the others. Daryl.” And without another word, you were leaving Rick behind in an unfamiliar home, nearly running down the familiar path to where Deanna and her husband lived. 

The group milled about in the small courtyard in front of Deanna’s house, hidden behind the brick walls that fenced it in. Everyone was either sitting or leaning against something, sticking to a tight group, and completely blocking your path to the inside of the home. 

With your mind so set on seeing Daryl, on simply getting close to him again, you failed to register Carol saying your name. Once again, you were pulled from your thoughts only when someone was right in front of you. 

This time, Carol was pulling you into her arms, her grip on your body tight. You hugged her back, despite the sweat and grime that covered her. Soon enough, Glenn, Maggie, Michonne, and Sasha had joined her. You were surrounded by your family, all overwhelmed at your presence, but happy nonetheless. 

When you finally requested to be let go, they obliged, and you finally spotted Judith in the arms of someone you didn’t know. Relief flooded you, seeing the baby healthy and happy as she could be. 

“What happened to you?”

“We thought you were dead!”

“Are you okay?”

“Guys, I’m fine, I promise.” You chuckled through tears. “I’ve been here almost the whole time, and I’m perfectly healthy. The doctor said so this morning.” 

You smiled as Carol’s eyes drifted from your face to your belly, shock overcoming her features, before her smile matched yours. She said nothing, but you were sure everyone else was either figuring it out or partially aware, just based on the interaction alone. 

A loud scoff echoed from the porch door, followed by low, gravelly muttering. Your heart stopped at the familiar voice, before thrumming in your heart like a rapid drumbeat. There, walking with careless ease, picking at his thumbs, was your husband, covered head to toe in layers of dirt and grime. You choked a sob as the group seemed to part around you. 

“Daryl,” you croaked, just loud enough for him to hear it. 

Daryl paused at the top of the steps, his eyes locked onto yours through the hair he’d let grow too long. In a flash, he was down the stairs entirely, rushing to pull you into his arms. You met him in the middle, colliding with his body and bringing you both to the ground. With one hand cupping the back of your head and the other splayed between your shoulder blades, Daryl cradled you close to him, rocking you as you clutched to the leather vest on his back tighter, sobbing in his embrace. 

“I thought ya were dead,” he whispered, fingers digging into your back. “I thought I lost ya,”

A choked sound escaped you as you shook your head. “Never,” you promised. “You could never lose me.” 

“Yer necklace,” Daryl croaked, tucking his face into the side of your head. “I found it, on the tracks in Georgia. Thought ya were gone…” 

“It fell.” You said, words hushed and shaking, as though they were a desperate plea. “Walkers were coming for me, too many for me to take on myself. It snapped off in the fight, I couldn’t go back for it.” 

By the time you felt okay enough to stand on your own, everyone had departed from the courtyard, likely into Deanna’s home. With a vice grip on his arms, Daryl helped you stand. His eyes raked over your face, tear-stricken and flushed with emotion. No matter the state you were in, Daryl could never see you as anything other than utterly beautiful. 

“You’re okay?” You asked, hands gently brushing the hair from his dirt-caked face. “You’re not hurt?” 

Daryl shook his head, leaning into your delicate touch. Hands smoothed over cloth, over skin, dedicating the feeling of your body beneath his touch to memory. He watched your eyes flutter closed as he did so, relishing in the slight pressure of his palms against your skin. They slid down your hips, your waist, and Daryl’s brow furrowed. He’d committed your body to memory long ago — every curve, every bump, every scar. Slowly, and with a hand that was less steady than it had been a moment ago, Daryl’s fingers drifted delicately over your front, eliciting a small gasp when he found what he’d suspected. 

The sound forced your eyes to open, meeting the bright blue of his own, widened in shock. Immediately, your stomach churned and you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, a habit you’d been unable to shake since high school. 

“Daryl?” Your voice shook. 

“Yer…” he breathed, eyes darting down to where the backs of his fingers rested, the slight swell of your stomach confirming what he’d been about to ask. “When’d you… did you know?”

“No, no…” you whispered gently, shaking your head. “I had no clue when… I didn’t know until I got here. I suspected it on the road, but… no, I didn’t.” 

A shaking breath fell from his lips. “And yer okay? Yer both— both okay?”

“We’re just fine,” you smiled, resting your palm on his cheek. “I promise. Your girls are just fine.” 

Daryl’s breath caught in his throat, a new wave of pure emotion rolling through his body. It seized his muscles, freezing him in place as he struggled for breath and blinked away tears. Girls. He was going to be a dad. He was going to have a daughter. 

“Ya have no idea how much I love ya,” Daryl muttered, his head dipping low, forehead resting on your shoulder. 

“I think I have a clue or two,” you joked, voice as soft as you could make it.

Daryl scoffed, lifting his head and pressing his lips to yours. It was short, shorter than you would’ve liked, but it carried as much love as all the other kisses you’d shared and stolen with the archer over the years. Still, he was here, and he was safe, and so were you. Nothing else mattered except that. 

The horrifying reality you’d thought yourself to be in was nothing but that — a mere thought. For now, you and Daryl were safe. Together. As a family. 

And you knew that, as he slipped the necklace back onto your skin, this time on a leather rope tied tight, there was nothing either of you wouldn’t do to stay that way. 

forever taglist: @mazerunnerrose @theboldandthebootyful @miraclesoflove @heliads

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taglist form here!

[vigilskeep]

i found the mortalitasi a little hard to grapple with as part of cassandra’s backstory, considering her perspectives on mages are extremely southern chantry typical, and having long experience—and a close family relationship, even—with such an atypical mage faction seems antithetical to that. but given that the mourn watch doing the real work are only a small and dedicated part of the mortalitasi, and the rest of them are busy having hooks in nevarran politics like you wouldn’t believe, i do sort of begin to understand why her negative feelings about magic + corruption + her homeland + her family all go hand in hand

[serpentface]

Amarzi Kos nomad showing off his eagle.

---

'Kos' as an ethnonym groups a set of closely linguistically/culturally related peoples who make up most of the population of Kosov, one of three omas (a large territorial division with its own regional government) of the contemporary Burri Republic. 'Amarzi Kos' refers to a group of nomadic pastoralists who occupy southeastern edge of the Grajyi plateau steppe that effectively forms Bur's western border.

Kosov is the largest of the Burri omas, encompassing the easternmost edge of the Daginarya mountain range and a small portion of the high altitude Grajyi plateau. Kosov is landlocked and sparsely populated across much of its territory. The majority of its people and cities are clustered along the Hsuke river valley system, its tributaries, and the lush, rainy southern foothills (all of which are highly favorable for agriculture). At higher elevations, most people practice seasonal transhumance to and from mountain pastures, alongside terrace farming of hardier high altitude crops.

The Grajyi plateau is a different story. Its entire span falls into subtropical latitudes, but it is substantially cooler year-round than the lowlands, and experiences much less rainfall. The vast majority of the plateau is wholly unfavorable to agriculture (being mostly grassland with areas of cold desert), and subsistence depends almost entirely upon the herding and grazing of livestock for dairy, blood, wool, and dry dung fuel. Amarzi Kos pastoralists mostly rear horses and khait, and do not typically slaughter their livestock unless as an act of desperation. Almost all meat in their diet comes from hunted game, and most hunting is accomplished with falconry.

Falconry is of significant cultural import across much of the broader Burri sphere, largely as a leisure activity for nobility and the otherwise wealthy. To Amarzi Kos nomads, it is instead a matter of core subsistence, providing meat during harsh winters and furs for warm clothing and trade. The two raptor species most commonly used on the high steppe are the golden eagle (shown here) and the black falcon (similar to a gyrfalcon in size). The golden eagle is often used for its great size and strength to catch fairly large game such as jackals, the niive cat (a dogsized predator), migratory geese, and even (small) gazelles. The black falcon is used predominantly to hunt mid-sized birds, especially grouse and pheasants.

Men do the majority of the hunting during the winter while most women and young children attend to the livestock, cooking, and weaving. Women participating in falconry is culturally acceptable, though they will usually be given falcons as handling golden eagles is considered to be men's work. A boy's first successful eagle-hunt (which they will begin participating in as a teenager, using one of their father's birds) is a hallmark of coming of age and indicates that they are ready to trap their own bird.

The god Gen Yanna, a very minor deity of falconry in the broader Burri pantheon, has an expanded role in the religious practice of Amarzi Kos nomads (and some other groups on the plateau). Here he is re-contextualized as not just a falconry god, but the patron deity of Grajyi steppe and father of its people. Ethnic Amarzi Kos claim to directly descend from him, via a lowlands Kos woman he abducted as a bride long ago. He is the one who taught his descendants how to capture and train wild birds for falconry (and gets credits for teaching some other facets of high-steppe culture as well, such as an alcoholic fermented horsemilk drink, and the flying of dragon kites to ward off evil). He himself owns ten legendary birds, including a fearsome dragon he bound with a divine bridle and uses for hunting and as a flying mount (dragons in the Burri sphere are gigantic birds with 2-4 reptillian legs, feathered wings, and the head of a cockerel).

Across most of the greater Burri sphere, shrines to the gods have fixed locations within homes and town/city temples. This isn't practical for nomadic pastoralists, who instead build shrines along migratory/trade routes and visit as they pass by in their yearly journeys. These shrines are cairns (structured as a low outer stone fence surrounding an inner rock pile) upon which offerings to the shrine's assigned deity can be placed. The biggest shrines (built up from centuries of travelers adding stones) become de-facto focal points of religious practice and are referred to as sky temples.

The great sky temple to Gen Yanna is visited by most families on a yearly basis as they pass nearby, in order to pay respects to their divine ancestor and request his boon during the lean winter months. In addition to sprinkled offerings of milk, yogurt, and alcohol, a falconer will leave some of their bird's feathers at the shrine. This temple is surrounded by tall wooden stakes to which visitors tie their offerings, and the god's presence is felt in the sound of hundreds of feathers fluttering in the breeze.

[misctf]

I love your VR drone tf so much. Being transformed and controled by the hive mind is just so hot!

A sequel to Careful with VR (hypnosis, muscle growth). Glad you liked it! I have a few asks to still get through, but slowly working on them!

“I ain’t gay.” Joey whispers to himself, “Jus’ curious.” He continues, staring closely at the VR headset, “Fuckin’ Derek.” He grumbles, his words garnished with his typical southern accent, “Nobody’ll find out.” He reassures himself.

He was taken aback when Derek came out as gay. In hindsight, there were signs. Even Joey couldn’t help but admit that his buddy was attractive- he should’ve had no issues hooking up with some sorority bimbo at all the frat mixers. But he always brushed them off, never really trying with women.

“You better not be pullin’ my leg.” He thinks, placing the wrist and ankle cuffs on, “Gosh darn, this feels gay already.” Joey holds up what looks like a waist-trainer and chuckles, “Paid all this for Hive X and this is the best they got.”

It was only a few days prior when his buddy came out and Joey couldn’t seem to comprehend it. He berated him with questions, “are you sure?” and “why would you fuck around with men? Haven’t you ever squeezed a pair of tits?” And they kept coming. Derek was never the type to get angry, but Joey could tell his questioning was bothering him.

“Trust me,” Derek finally said, “men are 1000 times better at sucking dick than chicks. And don’t even get me started on the male G spot.”

Joey couldn’t believe that- the very thought of letting some guy wrap his mouth around his dick... it felt wrong. He didn’t even want to get started on anal. But as he sat in his room, thinking more on Derek’s words, he grew more curious. Derek wasn’t gonna suck him off, and the idea of letting some actual guy in real life do it felt wrong. But it kept nagging at him.

“Can’t believe they got it here so quick.” Joey picked up the headset, “Only two hours after I ordered it. Talk about efficiency.”

If he felt put off by the real deal, he figured a VR experience would suffice. Besides, once he proved it to himself, he’d know Derek was full of shit. And with a smirk, he entered the world of Hive X. It was strange- Joey realized that the cold air of his apartment no longer bothered him. Instead, he was greeted by the warmth of a fireplace.  

“Oh god.” He quickly went to cover his junk, realizing he was naked, “Seriously?” He looked around and sighed, “Guess ain’t nobody around, besides...” He let his arms rest at his sides, “Sure they’ll appreciate the show.”

He wandered down a lengthy hallway, walking past various numbered rooms. There was no indication of anything that went on behind those doors- he was just glad he hadn’t bumped into anyone yet.

“Welcome to Hive X.” Joey jumped and turned to see a normal looking, fully dressed man standing behind him, “You appear lost. I am NPC 202. I am programmed to assist guests find their desired location.”

“I ain’t lookin’ for anything special.” Joey replied, “Just gotta prove to my gay friend that men don’t know how to treat another man right.” NPC 202 cocked his head, “Jesus, I’m sayin’ gays...”

“On assessment of user preferences and subconscious, I’ve determined your ideal experience and NPC.” NPC 202 replied, “Please follow me to room 506.”

“Subconscious?” Joey raised an eyebrow, “And what...” But the NPC was already walking off, “Ain’t nothin’ in my subconscious” He reassured himself, before following behind his guide.

“Please enjoy.” NPC 202 says, standing outside room 506.  

Joey nods, his heart pounding in his chest. Was he really about to do this? Was he really going to let some guy suck him off? He could feel his dick getting hard at the thought, part of him feeling ashamed at his response. But with a heavy sigh, he entered the room. He nearly jumped when the door closed behind him, but he tried to keep his cool. The room was nothing special- it looked like a typical hotel room. But then he heard it- the lumbering footsteps.

“So you’re the guy.” Joey’s eyes widened when the NPC made its appearance, “I’m NPC 719.”

Its voice was gruff and commanding. It was taller than Joey, and far bulkier. A mat of body hair covered its chest and abdomen- its beard framing its face. Its eyes were dull, drinking in the sight of the leaner, toned man in front of it.

“You don’t think a man can make another man cum, right?” It approached Joey, and Joey could only stare, “You wanted to prove that to your friend, right?”

“Yessir.” Joey whispered as NPC 719 pressed him against the door, its musk invading Joey’s nostrils, his dick now stirring even more, growing harder.

“You’re in the right place.”

It happened quickly- the man picked Joey up and threw him onto the bed. Joey’s eyes widened as the NPC’s mouth wrapped around his cock. It was aggressive, and Joey couldn’t help but moan as his dick throbbed with pleasure. Joey’s mind was in shambles- he never... he never felt this good. There was no comparison. The sensation around his dick was so intense, his eyes rolling back in his head. And this went on and on... and on some more.

“Pl-please...” Joey gasped, his balls aching, “I need to...”

“This NPC and room are designed for edging only.” NPC 719’s voice was monotone now, “This was determined to meet your needs.”

“But I....” Joey couldn’t finish- another moan escaped his lips as NPC 719 continued to suck him off.

And in the intensity of his pleasure, Joey could feel his legs being pushed up over his head. His eyes widened as he watched NPC 719 line its massive cock up with his virgin hole. Part of him wanted to say no. To resist. But another part of him... another part of him wanted this. He wanted to feel what Derek meant by the male G spot...

“Oh fuck....” He gasped as NPC 719 entered him, its hips rhythmically moving, sending wave after wave of pleasure coursing through him, “Oh god... fuck... please...” He never felt this way- this stimulated. Yet he couldn’t cum. His balls ached bad now, his cock throbbing desperately.

“Conclude experience or initiate NPC trial period.” NPC 719 said, while still pounding Joey’s ass, “This will allow user to experience climax and additional unlimited NPC sessions.”   

Joey could barely process the words or understand what they meant. But he did know that it sounded like whatever this trial period was would let him finally release. He needed this. He needed to feel release. Fuck it- didn’t matter if Derek was right...

“Trial period.... oh god please....” He moaned.

NPC 719 stopped and Joey looked up at it with needy, desperate eyes. Before he could ask why it stopped, he felt a searing pain in his arms and legs. He grabbed at them to no avail, writhing as his body was slowly digitized. But what scared him even more was the apparent changes. As the digitization process moved along his arms, he watched as they lost their muscle- becoming slender and more feminine. His abs becoming smooth, his pecs deflating.

“No please... I didn’t!” He grabbed at his neck- his voice. Gone was his south twang- his voice higher, desperate, and slutty, “Oh god I don’t....”

He moaned again as pain exploded from his backside as his ass expanded- inflating into an irresistible bubble butt- perfect for squeezing and fucking. NPC 719 grabbed a fistful of his new ass and grins, watching as his body hair and facial hair vanish- Joey’s face and lips shifting into that of a pouty, desperate slut.

“Initiating directives.”

Joey’s jaw goes slack and eyes dim as the mainframe connects to his mind. Memories are sifted through and repressed. His repressed homosexual desires unleashed. His pleasure receptors enhanced to mind numbing degrees. Joey can feel his name vanish from his mind, replaced with his new designation- NPC 904. His directives clear. His ass was to be used by visitors to Hive X. He would serve them obediently and in doing so would be allowed to cum. Any sense of resistance or fear being overcome by devout obedience and pride in his servitude.

“I am NPC 904.” It said, “Serving is pleasure. Being used is pleasure. I am loyal to the Hive.” It continued.

NPC 719 watched as NPC 904 was led away, a wave of pleasure from the Hive rewarding NPC 719 for a successful acquisition. Meanwhile, NPC 904 was led into its new room, the warm water from the shower caressing its sensitive body. It grew familiar with itself, squeezing its juicy ass, teasing a sensitive nipple. It couldn’t want to meet the first guy who entered. And luckily for NPC 904, it wouldn’t be waiting too long.

[leth-writes]

Distance (Yandere tim drake x reader)

SUMMARY: Tim Drake is a fucking asshole, but at least you're moving.

WARNINGS: 18+ as always on my blog, though the work is safe for work. Typical yandere shenanigans.

MASTERLIST 

Requests are open!

“Have you ever noticed anything… weird with Tim?”

Your voice breaks the cozy silence that had fallen in Stephanie’s room. The blond looked over, face the picture of confusion.

“What do you mean?” Your other friend, Conner, asked.

“I don’t know, I just… Sometimes he’s kinda creepy, ya know? Like he knows more than he lets on. Like he’s looking through you, into your soul.” You explain.

Stephanie cocks her head to the side, pretending to think.

“I mean, he can be a lil’ weird, but I think it’s just cuz he was socially stunted growing up…” She hums. What could that possibly mean? You thought, confused. 

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s cuz of his parents; they like, left him alone all the time when he was younger.” Stephanie continues, turning back to her homework. She seems satisfied with herself.

“I-”

“Hey, maybe you’ll just have to ask Tim, he won’t bite, ya know.” Conner says, not even bothering to face you.

The three of you fell back into silence.

You liked your friends. You didn’t have much experience with friendship, especially growing up moving around constantly because of your dad’s job. You’d met Conner completely by accident; you just so happened to be going to the same school, he just so happened to be walking down the hall, you tripped, he caught you. The two of you hit it off after that. That had introduced you to Steph, and later to Tim, and just like that, you were no longer alone.

Conner was kind, despite his outward appearance. He had dark, ruffled curly hair and a slight southern accent, and he always wore his stupid black leather jacket, the one with the spikes on the shoulders. Sometimes he even wore a dark pair of sunglasses, even inside, like an asshole. Despite his arrogance and his snarky attitude, he was a good friend, defending you from the schoolyard bullies that had plagued your life.

Steph was in some ways, his polar opposite. She had long, slightly wavy blond hair, down to the middle of her back, and the most bright blue eyes you think you’d ever seen, the color of a cloudless summer day’s sky. She was boisterous, constantly laughing and joking around, a sharp contrast to Conner’s cool, calm demeanor.

TIm was an entirely different story. He was… Quiet. Weirdly quiet. It was the first thing you’d noticed, the first time you met him, sitting down for lunch next to Steph and Kon. They’d happily introduced the two of you, and Tim. Shook your hand. You’d never met another person who shook hands, except for uppity businessmen who treated you like a baby.

His eyes were a cold, cruel blue, almost grey. They stared into you, never leaving your form, even as you turned to talk to Steph. You could feel him staring, like he was trying to cut your skull open for a peek inside. You felt like a bad lab experiment every time his attention fell on you.

His hair was always perfectly mussed, like he’d spent the entire morning debating about where to place each strand, and his clothes were impeccably prepped. All in all, he looked more like a doll than a person.

It was creepy, off-putting. Despite all of that, you were in desperate need for friends, especially friends your own age, not your annoying little cousins that you were forced to babysit when your Aunt was away on vacation, which she seemed to always be.

You were willing to put up with him, if it meant being Conner and Steph’s friend. You weren’t willing to give up that first taste of freedom from your overwhelming family.

Even if you hated him.

Tim was perfect, was the thing. Any time you had a problem, he had a condescendingly offered solution. Homework troubles transformed from a normal, if slightly irritating, part of your life into an embarrassing and awkward time for Tim to show off his expertise. Conner and Steph, both seemingly prodigies in their own rights, didn’t have nearly the same problem as you. Sometimes, in fact, you felt like they had some sort of telepathy, reading each other's minds and knowing the answers before you’d even begun.

Tim was also the perfect child, as your parents were constantly berating you. He helped his family, Tim cared for the company his adoptive father would one day be giving to him, Tim had perfect grades, Tim was perfectly behaved. Everywhere you turned it was Tim, Tim, Tim. You couldn’t even escape him on social media. If he wasn’t peering out at you with those icy eyes from Steph and Conner’s feeds, he was staring holes into your skull through pictures of him accepting awards and attending important events.

As you got to know him, the disparities between the two of you only became more clear. He was annoyingly flawless, and you seemed to be built of nothing but flaws, at least according to most of your teachers and your parents.

The constant comparisons were grating on your nerves, and you knew that if you never saw Tim again, it’d be too late. The damage to your fragile self-esteem was already done.

Luckily, today, Tim had to be with his father for some stupid gala, leaving you to hang out with your two normal, non-superhuman friends, who would never rub their perfections into your face. Even if they had plenty of them. You knew the two of them toned down their gloating when you were around, and they were always trying to hype you up, to get you to brag about your accomplishments. To hear about it from them, you’d think you were the most talented person in Gotham, if not all of America.

You were pretty sure that particular award could go to Tim.

Everything was perfect, all three of you working on your own individual homework. Steph and Kon weren’t in the class you were working on. Tim, of course, was, and he was top of the class, as you were constantly being reminded. God, he was pretentious.

Everything was perfect, of course, until Tim walked in. Steph and Kon lit up, smiling and welcoming him in. His hair was, once again, perfectly tousled, and he had clearly changed back into his normal clothes.

“Ditching, pretty boy?” Kon teased, reaching over to ruffle Tim’s hair.

“Awe, don’t tease him, you know he’s a daddy’s boy,” Steph said, laughing.

Tim just batted Conner’s hands away, before turning to face you all.

“I got out of the gala early. My presence was unneeded.” He said, face completely blank. God, he even talked like a fucking robot. You turned away, rolling your eyes.

“Oh, are you working on homework? I can help…” He began, looking over your shoulder. You turned slightly to look at him, baring your teeth in what barely counted as a smile. “I’m. Okay,” you said, teeth grinding. Tim winced at the sight. “A-alright. I’ll just…” he gestured to where Steph and Kon had migrated to Steph’s bed, now painting their nails.

You finished your homework in record time and stood up, eager to just make an excuse and get home.

“Sorry guys, my parents must be worried… I have to get home,” you said, smiling tightly.

“Oh, it’s alright, you can stay. Your parents are still at the gala.” Tim said, not even bothering to look up from where he was concentrating on painting Steph’s pinky.

Shit. He couldn’t even let you leave in dignity, could he?

You gripped the handle of your bag even tighter and turned around. “W-well, still. They don’t want me out too late.” Steph and Kon nodded, saying their goodbyes with ease. Kon waved, his newly painted black nails shining in the dim light.

Tim simply. Stared at you. It’s like he knew you were lying. What a fucking asshole.

You left without another word.

The next day, your parents dropped a bombshell on you. You were all moving. Again. No amount of protest seemed to change their mind. The date was set and your house was sold; you had until the end of the week to say goodbye to your new life.

You, of course, immediately told your new friends. You hadn’t even known them for a month. You should’ve known this would happen; your parents would never let you be happy, and neither would the universe. The mood was solemn as you all sat around your designated table. Even Tim looked upset. More upset than you’d ever seen him, in fact, you think this was the first time you’d ever seen him show an emotion.

Steph looked over, eyes pitying. She squeezed Tim’s hand. What? Geeze, you were the one who was fucking leaving, and he’s the one who was getting comforted! He didn’t even like you!

Kon leaned over the table and grasped your hand, blocking Steph and Tim from your view.

“Hey, kiddo, you okay?” You simply shook your head, biting on your trembling lip. Sure, you didn’t like Tim, but you’d miss your friends!

“Is there any way to change your parents’ minds?” Steph asked as Kon leaned back. All hint of emotion was gone from Tim’s face. He couldn’t even pretend to be upset for the rest of lunch?

“No, no. They already sold the house…” You sniffled.

“Oh…” She said, looking down at the floor. You could hear the defeat in her voice, even as it wavered.

“Well, maybe you can come over tomorrow? One last hurrah, you know? We can spend the night together, do each other's nails, watch a movie…” She asked, voice hopeful.

You nodded. “Yeah, yeah. That sounds okay…”

“You’re crying.” Tim stated, voice cold and hard. Your hands flew up to your face, shocked to find tears slowly running down your cheeks. Fuck. Fuck him for saying something. You were fucking done. You were done! He couldn’t even pretend to care for a few minutes, and now he was mocking you?! You felt your anger boil up, faster than it ever had.

“Jesus, I’m sorry for fucking expressing emotion, not like you’d know anything about that!” You said, voice cracking. You slammed your hands down on the table as you stood up, grabbing your backpack and slinging it across your shoulder. Tim looked up, startled by your outburst, mouth agape. Steph and Kon wore similar gobsmacked expressions. If you weren’t so pissed, you’d find it almost comical.

Still, you were incandescent. You fled the room, rage boiling underneath your skin, masking the hurt you were burying deep inside.

You ignored Tim the rest of the day. As a consequence, you were unable to talk to Steph and Kon. The distance pained you, but you knew if you had to see Tim’s smarmy face, you’d punch his teeth out. Neither approached you alone, though they did shoot you guilty looks from across the classroom. 

The pain was the worst part. Tim’d been an asshole, he’d made fun of you for as long as you’d known them, and they were choosing him. Everyone always chose Tim; your parents, your teachers, the press… You were stuck in his shadow, doomed to never meet his fucking mold. You were done. You just couldn’t deal with it, not while losing your two best friends, the best friends you’d ever had.

Steph texted you that night, asking you to still come over. She’d assured you that Tim and Kon wouldn’t even be there. The knowledge that Kon was still choosing Tim was painful, but you could deal with it, just to see Steph that one last time.

So, you’d agreed.

The next day came with a fresh wave of grief, pouring off you in waves. It was exhausting, so exhausting that your parents asked you to stay home, concerned you would pass out and be injured right before the big move.

You’d agreed, and spent the day catching up on some much-needed sleep.

That evening, you waved goodbye to your parents, bag slung over your shoulder, and began the walk to Steph’s place. Her family was middle class, not as wealthy as yours, but still quite well-off. You had never seen either of her parents, but Steph assured you she had a very competent housekeeper to help her out when she needed an adult.

You were almost to her house when it hit you. What the fuck were you doing? You shouldn’t be doing this. You were being naive. You’d only known them a short while, they’d forget you in a week! It would be best to just turn right around and go home; that way, you’d be spared the pain of a slow, petering off relationship. You didn’t want to watch as they made new friends, replaced you, slowly stopped responding to your calls; you couldn’t bear the pain.

So, you turned around and walked right back home, not even bothering to text Steph. You’d call her at home, when you were safe in your bed, and you had the room to cry all you wanted and eat as much ice cream as you could handle.

As you walked home, shivering, you couldn’t help but look up. The bat-signal was up, projected against the cloudy night sky. If there was one thing you wouldn’t miss, besides Tim, it was the constant crime. The constant need to carry a gas mask or a taser, the constant preparation to be kidnapped or maimed or tortured. It was tiring, always being on edge.

You kept your eyes on the rooftops, hoping for a glimpse of one of the bats. You couldn’t help your slight fascination with them, despite the way your frie- former friends constantly laughed at you. Tim had looked weirdly smug after he’d wheedled you into admitting Red Robin was your favorite, though you thought the newest superboy on the scene was your favorite hero in general. You just liked his hair (and the way he reminded you of Conner).

It was only once you were back in your neighborhood that you noticed the feeling of being watched. You whipped your head around, looking every direction and clutching your taser. You couldn’t find anyone.

Shrugging it off as needless paranoia, built up over your stay in Gotham, you continued.

The lights in your house were off. The lights in your house were off, but your parents had promised they’d leave them on for when you got home. Did the fucking forget about you?!

You grumbled and stomped up the driveway.

The door was open. A sense of unease began to build, tension keeping your stomach in knots.

You slowly pushed it open, taser in hand.

The house was dark, and empty. Even the curtains were gone. You stepped further in, anxiety beginning to build.

“Mom? Dad?” You called, walking through the living room and to the stairs. You checked each room; each was as empty as the last, both devoid of any furniture, and your parents.

You made your way up the stairs, searching each room, all empty, until you came upon your room, tucked away in the corner away from your parents’ room. The light was on, shining through the cracks in the door and barely illuminating the dark hallway. You snuck closer, taser out and ready.

Finally, you were in front of the door, and you kicked it open.

Inside, your room was perfectly preserved, the overhead light shining down.

Sitting on the bed, head buried in his laptop, was Tim fucking Drake.

“Wha- Tim?” You said, tensed shoulders drooping.

He looked up and smiled, though it didn’t reach his stony eyes.

“Hey, come in.” he gestured to the bed. Confused, you wandered over and plopped down. 

He sighed and turned to face you.

“I’m sorry it had to come to this. I never meant to upset you, but I’m afraid it’s simply inevitable.”

You stared at him. “Tim, where-where are my parents?”

He sighed again, looking out the window.

“I thought we’d be able to avoid this. I thought I’d have time. I’m sorry it had to happen this way.”

“...”

He turned the laptop to you and clicked play on the video queued up.

On screen, your parents appeared.

“I know about the assistant.” Tim’s voice came through, tinny from the low quality of the   video.

“Wh- I don’t know what you’re talking about…” your father’s voice was shaky, shakier than you’d ever heard it.

“There was an accident, wasn’t there.” Tim.

“N-no. No!” Your mom, anger clear on her face.

“It only takes one push and the story gets out.” Tim, voice and face clear. His eyes were stony, glaring down at where your parents sat on the couch.

“We’re leaving town, it won’t matter. We’ll leave.” Your dad said, voice sure. He stood up.

“Sit down.” Tim commanded, and your father did, fear flicking across his face.

“It doesn’t matter that you’re leaving. The Daily Planet is an internationally renowned paper.”

“Please, that would ruin us, you can’t!” Your mom begged, tears springing up.

“What do you want.” Your father said, face stormy. You knew he was picturing hitting Tim, and you knew he was calculating the risk.

“I want you to leave, right now, and we’ll pretend nothing ever happened.”

“We will, we will! Just let me call my daugh-”

“No. Right now.”

“...” 

You could see the acquiescence, the relief, on your father’s face. He nodded, determination slowly creeping onto his features. Your mother just sighed and rubbed her forehead.

“And what of our things?”

“I’ll have them sent to your new address.”

“How-”

Tim just stared at your mother, face grim. She closed her jaw with a sharp ‘clack’.

The video ended.

You stared, speechless. Tim simply looked over at you, face blank.

“W-wh- I don’t… I don’t understand?” You said, voice cracking.

“I’m sorry, but when you said your parents were moving… I had to move quickly.”

You stood up and began walking, feeling as though you were pushing through cotton, like you were seeing yourself in 3rd person. You could barely hear Tim calling your name as you walked down the stairs, toward the door, slowly walking faster and faster. You pushed the door open hard, barely flinching as it slammed into the frame, and burst into a sprint.

You didn’t get far.

A red blur streaked through your peripherals before coming to a stop in front of you. There was superboy, staring at you with guilt in his eyes. No, not superboy. It was Conner.

Just like that, your heart fell. 

“No.” you said, voice shaky with disbelief.

“No!” you backed up, raising the taser. Conner moved closer, hands raised in placation. You flicked the taser on and let it connect with his side. He didn’t even flinch.

“Get the fuck away from me!” You shouted, dropping the taser and whirling around to run.

Arms like steel wrapped around you and picked you up. Suddenly, you were thrown over his shoulder, your vision upside down. He marched you back into the house, plopping you back on the bed where Tim still sat, the laptop on your nightstand.

Conner shot you another guilty look, standing guard by the door, his arms crossed over his muscled chest. You’d never noticed how buff he was; you guessed the jacket was there to prevent you from noticing.

You were crying in earnest now, tears running down your cheeks.

“Please,” you begged, voice cracking.

Tim looked at you, blew out a breath, and wiped your face gently, hands cool. He cradled your face, bringing it closer.

Gently, oh so gently, he kissed your forehead, then brought your head into his shoulder, as you continued to cry. He shushed you, patting your back comfortingly.

“Why?!” you cried.

He gave no answer.

Finally, your crying slowed, then stopped. You pulled away and wiped your eyes with your sleeves.

“You’re going to come with me. We’re going to go back to my place, and you’re going to meet the rest of your family.”

You looked up at Conner, pleading with your eyes. He looked away, grimacing.

“Tim, I- I don’t want to do that, I want my parents, you get that this is fucked up, right?!” You questioned, voice cracking.

“I’m sorry. I had no choice.”

[cy-cyborg]

Tips for writing and drawing amputee characters: Stump Scarring

This was something I had originally intended to mention in this post but felt it deserved its own separate post.

A lot of people, when drawing and designing amputee characters, draw their characters with these big, gnarly looking scars all over the stump. I get why people do this, but in reality, most amputees have stumps that look more like this:

The only scarring that is inherent to amputation (meaning most amputees have) is a very thin line right at the tip of the stump that comes from where the stump was sewn shut. After 5-10 years though, these thin incision scars will fade to be nearly invisible in most folks other than the indent it usually leaves in the skin.

Of course, there are exceptions! My own legs are covered in heavy scarring like the pictures below.

but typically, you only see this in amputees who lost their limb in ways that required them to also need skin grafts, such as from a burn (fire or acid), gangrene, some types of rapid-onset sepsis, or particularly brutal animal attacks.

For context, I used scars from meningococcal as reference here.

I think this is another reason a lot of people, particularly in 2D comics and animation, cover their amputee character's stumps, because they think all amputees have scars like the ones in the second image and I'll be honest, that's a lot to draw when you're drawing it over and over again, but unless your amputee also needed skin grafts bcuase of their injury/illness, their stumps will look more like the first images.

Fun fact: on particularly pale skin, scars can change colour depending on temperature. scars have less circulation and the blood vessels are closer to the skin, which means if you don't have a lot of melanin, your scars can turn a grey-ish purple colour like so:

This information is brought to you by an especially pasty white person in the southern hemisphere (where it's winter atm) who's scars haven't seen the sun since june lmao.

A quick final note: If you look up "burn scars" or any other similar type of large scarring on google a lot of what you get are fresh scars, so they're going to look different than the ones here. On pale skin, large scars like the ones above start out very dark red and will fade to look more like the images here. The same is true for dark skin, typically fresh scars will be much darker in colouration and will fade to be closer to the natural skin tone with time, though on both, they will always be very visible. Some types of scarring on darker skin tones can cause the skin to become lighter, but they don't usually turn entirely light pink like I've seen some folks draw. This is why it's so important to look up references of the type of scar your character has AND how that looks on their skin tone.

And as always, listen to POC and seek out the recourses specifically made by them, especially if you're drawing characters with darker skin tones. Their lived experience will always beat my "what I found through internet research and from talking to friends"

[k-hippie]

CHAMPIGNAC : A NEW SIMS 3 WORLD

Champignac is a fully living Frenchy suburbia World based on Champs-les-Sims and has nothing to do with a vacation place ... Well, nothing is not really the right word ;)

Back in 2016/2017, when we began to think how we could remade Champs-les-Sims, we didn't know really what kind of world we wanted to do. We named the project : Sims de Nimes. Then, because we were on other projects ( such as sims 4 k-mods ) we left Sims de Nimes somewhere in the pipes.

We made Oaksoak Hollow ( based on Mystic Falls ), we made Eureka Valley ( a world between tech and classic life ) and we left behind the Sims 4 because, well ... too long to explain. :D

So, it was time to get out of the box our old project of Sims de Nimes ... During this time, some talented creators re-made Champs-les-Sims with their own vision, more oldy or more city life like, or more like Sunset Valley ... All those versions are interesting, but we wanted something else. And so, is born Champignac !

If Champignac is a true living suburbia world, it is too a quite rural world, almost a village with :

37 Community Lots

36 Residential Lots

10 Medieval Towers all around the town :)

:)

In addition, it remains few Empty Lots, differently sized to suit whatever you wish ... So, let's say Champignac is a french-not-so-little-town where life is slowly flowing and dynamic at the same time, perfect for families and Sims looking for a different lifestyle :)

A typical downtown and outskirts, full of old buildings and southern architecture, a joyful mix between south-east and south-west housing, with a touch of something more northener ( but don't tell the citizens; it's a sure way to be frowned upon ) ... After all they worked hard to keep Champignac as it is!

People living in Champignac are quite glad of it. Sure, teenagers dream of foreign lands, but they are not too eager to leave.

Once, the townies of Champignac were grumpy because Champs-les-Sims was so more popular than their hometown ... After all, everybody went to Champs-les-Sims, stayed there, made nectar, drove a Kenspa, flirted with locals, or … anyway! Tourists had a full experience in Champs-Les-Sims and weren't interested in visiting any other city. Champignac, the official twin city, didn't benefit from any international exchanges, and was left anonymous, far from fame and glory. As unreachable as the Eiffel Tower seen from Champignac ... until ...

In February 29th of a certain year, a distant descendant of Marquis de Landgraab lost his way on the road to Champs-les-Sims and landed in Champignac. Instantly, he fell in love with the town.

He saw an always growing vegetation, a Monastery full of secrets, the familial beach ( yes, there is a beach in Champignac ), the forgotten obelisk, the shop keepers full of stories, the well preserved houses, the green fields and the paved streets, the true Café Catane and a remaining wild fauna running here and there ... He saw perfection !

For a time, the townies of Champignac experienced fame and glory. But how exhausting it was! Tourists not really caring about the legacy of the kiosk owner, the monks overwhelmed, the museum director who couldn't find enough teenagers to help ... Even the fishes were exhausted! Hard times indeed ... Happily, this descendant of Marquis de Landgraab met someone, somewhere, and moved out, far far away from Champignac. Celebrities said their last goodbyes and slowly, life, as it should be, was back :) The townies and City Council learned from that experience that they very much preferred not to be as famous as Champs-les-Sims ...

Life in Champignac was relatively calm again when suddenly, a global health crisis emerged and the Simvid-18 pandemic hit many many people ... Anxiety swept through the villages and the small towns, including Champignac of course ... With an aging population, residents became increasingly concerned about the well-being of their neighbors and the future of the city.

Shop owners and farmers who were already considering retirement were now faced with the daunting task of deciding whether to continue their businesses in such uncertain times. The entire world seemed to come to a halt, leaving everyone in Champignac wondering who would carry the torch and ensure the future.

Surprisingly, the youngsters that only came sporadically for holidays, moved back to Champignac. Fearful of living in a crowded city and eager to gather with family members, they came to the old town with friends. After all, there were spare bedrooms in most houses!

When the restrictions were lifted, many were reluctant to leave. Going back to a stressful life and fast-paced city wasn't enticing anymore. Most decided to turn their lives around. They took up the florist shop or asked for a job transfer ... So, life emerged again :) Champignac is now a thriving town where you have everything you wish for and nothing more.

Champignac is blessed with old churches turned into bars or wineries, old palazzi that are inspiring, and small boutiques as gathering places ...

Winters and autumns are short, while spring and summer are long. Come and live among thousands of old buildings, walk on streets Roman soldiers once trod upon, see treasures from foreign campaigns, and benefit from the perfect blend of country living and town living.

Remember ... With its unique blend of history, culture, and natural beauty, Champignac offers the Sims a captivating and enriching experience. From the stunning architecture to the delectable cuisine, every aspect of this town reflects the South of France’s intoxicating charm.

Are you ready to move in Champignac ?

blackgryffin \o/

IMPORTANT : We advice STRONGLY to begin with the half-populated SavaGame provided in addition to the World itself ...

DO NOT FORGET to download the CC of Champignac we provide on our website too ! for more information, see the 2 posts below ;)

Have fun !

DOWNLOAD HERE

[plumpybread]

Asking because of the previous ask, are you not a fan of Ethan anymore? If so, why?

It's complicated, I suppose (rant where i talk abt ethan but then also my OCs in general)

I really do not like the first version of Ethan I made like 3 years ago. Obviously I like indulging in devilish ideas but I don't know, it ended up turning into something I didn't really end up liking too much.

Then I revisited and sort of rewrote his story a bit a while back when making the OC archive site (I'm aware the site is not available anymore for the people who asked, I took it down myself) and was much happier with it for a while.

Don't get me wrong, I like Ethan, I know he's the OC people seem to like the most, but it's still like a personal mental battle of like maybe it's too effed up? Even when I draw characters going through unwilling/accidental extreme weight gain, I make them either ambivalent or accepting of their situation, but for Ethan it's kind of like torture, and I can't bring myself to get like..aroused and excited to draw more of that *personally*.

Changing up his lore wouldn't really work either since his story is based on helplessness and stuff, and it'd be disingenuous to make him be happy with his situation, so I've just sort of subconsciously decided to leave him as is and treat his content as its self contained story more than nsfw art to goon to, if that makes sense. I don't know, maybe I'm just thinking about it too much, but just wanted to say what goes through my head.

I also don't really revisit Ethan for the same reason I don't tend to draw much of all the past OCs I've made, as I see each of them as a way to explore different facets of how weight gain can manifest and adapt into a character's life to create a story around it, and I feel like I've covered most of the ground around them already.

All of my OCs come from a sudden short prompt that pops up in my head, usually out of nowhere. I suddenly wanted to make a big-hearted southern farm guy who was super massive and I immediately ran to draw Rudy, for example.

I draw them a little reference, with my typical bullet points next to them with basic info to get an idea of what their dynamic is like, and a more lengthily written backstory or description if I'm feeling fancy under it, and then for the next week or two it's all art of them and answering questions about them... and then another idea pops up, and a new OC comes in.

It's not that I get tired of them, but I just simply do not know what to draw with them. Ethan is the biggest outlier in this case, since he is my fattest OC and half immobile, you just don't really know how else to bring something new that's not him laying on his bed at a slightly different angle.

I guess that's why I always do OC asks, I sort of need them to be able to know what to draw with them, since I struggle coming with things like that by myself, and you know I always like avoiding drawing a character in a void with no context.

The Genshin Obesity AU is my longest running like "project"?? thing just because there is an endless amount of content I can pull from since there's all these characters, places and possibilities I can write from. My OCs are obviously much more self-contained and moreso serve as individual experiments to explore different people and scenarios, so after the 10th drawing of them... I genuinely do not know what else I can add to them.

I hope that was a bit insightful. I know most of you guys love Ethan, and I love him too! But I don't know, I guess this is why I don't tend to have immobile/near immobile OCs, since the potential art ideas for them drop to just them sitting on a mattress or sitting on the floor and I'm just left confused on what to do with them.

Maybe Ethan in his college days is something you guys might be interested in? Or I don't know, I'm just writing this post as my thoughts enter my head.

Sorry for the rant, I sure do love typing, hope this clears up some questions people might've had

[justabrick]

It perplexes me that all the other Winds have their motivations and reasoning aknowledged and analyzed, meanwhile Sundowner's gets habitually reduced to just "when you kill civilians lmao". I mean, it IS funny, the man is the embodiment of the incoming ham trope, after all.

Mistral and Monsoon have incredibly tragic backstories and Sundowner technically doesn't. It's not tragic on account of him being... well, no explanation needed, but it is still quite fucked nonetheless.

He had a basic bitch childhood compared to his squadmates. Poverty sucks no matter where you are, but it's nothing compared to the absolute horrorshow the other two went through. Instead, I think the formative experience that really created the monster that is Sundowner came way later in his life.

Lemme quote Kevin here: "Anyway, an IED put him out of action for a few years, but then cyborg tech brought him outta retirement." Nice and casual, easy to pass over, Sundowner himself doesn't even talk of it at all, as compared to Mistral and Monsoon who explain their past with appropriate gravitas.

But I'll give it a bit (a lot) more attention because I think it's the definitive thing that made Sundowner who he is by the time we see him. So what did exactly happen to force him out of the battlefield? If you're not squeamish, proceed to put in "dismounted complex blast injury" in your search bar and navigate to the image tab. If you don't feel like ruining your evening, which I wouldn't blame you for, I'll describe somewhat briefly. It's highly likely he lost both legs, and nearly as likely sustained massive injuries to the pelvis as it's the typical scenario. Not a small chance that he had either one or both arms ruined as well.

That covers "put him out of action" part of the quote, now I must highlight another important bit - "for a few years". You don't normally say "a few years" unless it's at the very least three. So by the end of it what we have is Sundowner, hopelessly disfigured and helpless, left to stew in his misery for years.

For a man who lives and breathes battle like him, it must have been a living nightmare, the absolute worst possible scenario in which his career could have ended in his eyes - left to slowly rot away while being pitied. And it is stated in one of the optional CODECs that disability pay outs are a joke, so it's a pitiful existence even on the financial front. I bet he wished that explosion actually just killed him right then and there.

Is it any wonder then that Sundowner glorifies war as much as he does? He's spent his entire life in it, it has given him the feeling of control he lacked initially, money, plenty of opportunities for power trips, and a home away from home. The two periods of life he was a civilian are marked by a feeling of powerlessness, and his time fighting - a feeling of power.

And it's just war itself he glorifies, too, not any pretty reasoning for it like "freedom" or justice, which I think is important. May be an odd opinion, but I think the guy is the opposite of a patriot of his county, which is pretty amusing considering the extremely stereotypical southern accent. It's even in several aspects of his design, as well. He's a full blooded American, but his body is designed to resemble a Japanese shogun, he fights in a Chinese sword fighting style, his song title is "Red Sun". Just one of these would be a fun detail, two - a curious coincidence, and three is just piling it on in my opinion. Compare and contrast with the other two 'murrican characters - Armstrong and Khamsin which have nothing mixed in that would contradict their national identity.

And aside from these "hints", he straight up celebrates the worst terrorist attack in American history. And a curious detail. His quote: "Demand for PMC's is about to skyrocket. Like the good ol' days after 9/11!". Assuming in mgs universe it happened in 2001, Sundowner wasn't in a PMC to really feel these "good ol' days" himself, as he only became a merc in 2008.

He may have been a lot like Khamsin prior to the injury actually, dressing up his sadism and bloodlust under the guise of some higher purpose. But after getting chewed up and spat out by the machine he'd have a lot of time to ruminate on why exactly he did what he did and wanted what he wanted. At least three years to have an epiphany on inherent human cruelty. An accurate observation in my opinion, but he chose the absolute worst route by believing that it should be embraced rather than fought.

Why better yourself when you can justify your shortcomings as just following an instinct? It's pretty pathetic when you think of it.

But yeah, I think there is an interesting character hiding under all the ham. He's just not very talkative about it unlike his colleagues. Interesting and utterly monstrous. He does have some positive traits though, two in fact - it's them juicy thighs.

[gravity-what]

I…look, I know this is supposed to be for OCs okay? But I was doing my Chinese practice so here we are…

(My practice was just colors and animals so there is a good chance that the other stuff on here is wrong, but I did my best. 😵‍💫)

Anyway, all of these are very specifically for the trio while they were together/before Chase’s betrayal. Including the songs which I put way too much research into. Hadn’t had the reason until now to read ancient Chinese poetry…

Translations and heavy details (fair warning, it’s a lot) under the cut:

Dashi

風/风龙 = Wind Dragon/Dragon of wind. Although there is a reason it’s so heavily obscured/faded.

大熹 = Dashi. Original named ‘大师’ (literally ‘Grand Master’) but he purposefully changed it upon joining the whole Dragon mess because he didn’t like the implication of his name and what it seemed to insist upon him. Instead he chose to replace 师 (shī) for 熹 (xī) meaning warm/bright. Dashi has no sir name per Zhang Zhung tradition.

银色 = silver (color). [all of the OG trio is represented by a precious metal in my stuff] in this case represented by Tibetan prayer wheels which are originally driven by wind. For Dashi in particular I tend to go with the Tibetan/buddhist symbolism of things so silver represents purity, protection, and ability to dispel negativity.

茉莉 = Jasmine. While in Chinese culture it represents long-lived love and loyalty, in Buddhism is actually is seen as a symbol of compassion, empathy, and showing kindness to all living beings in this world along with purity of intentions.

猪 = pig. While typically the pig represents abundance and happiness, and symbolizes honesty and generosity, in Buddhism it is also a symbol of ignorance and one of the three ‘poisons’ that cause suffering.

毽子 = Jianzi shuttlecock! Essentially a toy and one of Dashi’s favorite games to play (in my mind). Representing his playfulness and one of his main means of connecting to someone.

陌上来 = a yuefu poem called ‘Mulberry on the Path’ about a beautiful woman who gets hit on while on her way home from collecting Mulberry leaves for her silk worms. My choice of this particular piece for Dashi comes from a very specific analysis of the poem which says: “This poem depicts the image of a beautiful, chaste and intelligent mulberry-picking woman in a humorous style and comedic artistic technique as she turns down a man’s advances.” which I think Dashi would appreciate.

空 = Empty. It can also mean leisure or free time. This one’s a little complex because, while I chose 空 here, that actually isn’t considered a negative emotion. I chose it both for the initial western interpretation that comes with the concept of feeling ‘empty’ but also the deeper Buddhist/taoist interpretation of a ‘feeling between breaths’. A state of potential, openness, and the ability to receive new experience.

Guan

山龙 = Mountain Dragon (there are headcanons that go with this label but the gist of it is that the title of ‘Dragon of Earth’ didn’t actually solidify until later into 土龙 and part of that transition was Guan purposeful distancing himself from being a Xiaolin Dragon and pushing that title change so, if any scroll did magically show up with 山龙 next to his name the first association wouldn’t be to the Xiaolin Dragons.)

蕭關 = Xiao Guan. Xiao = sir name connected to the Xiao clan of Lanling with direct connections to the Southern Qi dynasty. 關 is a direct reference to Guan Yu a Chinese military general from 200 ce whose achievements were glorified to such an extent after his death that he was deified. Guan’s father named him 關 after him in hopes of him receiving as much renowned.

金色 = gold (color). While gold means a lot of good things (power, wealth, longevity, and happiness) I have specificity chosen to represent the color using the 馬蹄金 “Horse Hoof Gold” which I’m also using as a symbol of Guan’s Xianbei heritage and the cultural connection he is slowly re-affirming now that he is out of the more direct force of his fathers pressing demands.

寸寸金 = inch of gold. Meaning: Attracting wealth, rolling in wealth, great prosperity. It’s a plant mostly given during new years as a hope for these things in the coming year.

鹿 = Deer. wealth and longevity. But also white deer in particular are associated with immortality since it is believed that white fur is a sign an animals has achieved immortality. In deer specifically they are thought to live for 1000 years and to turn fully white at 500. For those who have read my Dashi era stuff you will probably recognize the additional connection to the 1000 year journey that represents the link between Chase and Guan’s friendship and ambitions.

關刀 = Guandao. While the first ever Guandao was made by General Guan Yu in 220-280 ce, Guan’s own version and modification of this famous weapon is already quickly changing it from a simple ‘Guandao’ to “the Spear of Guan”. it’s not quite there yet, but one day he is certain it will be just as famous as the Green Dragon Crescent Blade (青龍偃月刀).

木蘭辭 = The Ballad of Mulan, because Guan is a fanboy through and through.

无可奈何 = direct translation is ‘helpless’ but, from what I found online, it’s more specifically “feeling powerless or helpless in the face of certain situations, with no way to resolve them, leaving one with no choice but to accept them reluctantly.” Which, with his family situation…ya.

Chase

水龙 = Water Dragon aka: Dragon of Water

勇追 = Chase Young (Direct translation = Yǒng Zhuī, although Chase definitely still introduces himself as Zhuī Yǒng to be contrary. Also, post betrayal, he starts to use 永 (Perpetual/eternal) instead of 勇 (bravery) which are homophones of each other so, you know, still Yǒng Zhuī)

铜色 = copper (color). [If you have read chapter 2 of ‘gathering the dragons’ this is probably obvious]. However while Chase’s own interactions with the color are negative, copper does represent longevity due to how durable of a metal it is. Add that to the beautiful blue that is also becomes when exposed to water and oxidation and, well. Ya.

梅花 = plum blossoms. Meaning: resilience, perseverance, and hope. Furthermore, the five petals represent the five blessings (五福): long life, wealth, health, virtue, and a peaceful death. While not all specific to Chase, the number 5 is an important number associated with his and Guan’s relationship in my stories.

猫 = cat. Symbol of good fortune and used for pest control. While I mostly chose the cat because of its association with 9 lives (9 being an important number in Chase’s story) I also chose it because of just how much work went into adopting a cat in ancient China which…I liked they symbolism for for obvious (Omi related) reasons 😆.

手��� = handscroll. (What can I say? In my mind he is a nerd who likes his scrolls. Side note: not sure about this particular translation at all since handscrolls seem to specifically refer to art scrolls and might not apply to historical/martial arts scrolls that I’m specifically trying to refer to here 🤷)

四坐且莫誼 = Let the Four Seats Be Quiet and Not Noisy. A Yuefu poem whose first line is 四坐且莫喧，愿听歌一言。which, supposedly, translates to: Please don't make any noise, I'd like to hear a song. Which mostly just makes me imagine Chase using it as a way to tell people to ‘shut up already and let me listen to the song already’. (Look, out of the trio Chase was the hardest to find a time-period appropriate poem for…which I still might have gotten wrong 🫠)

骄傲自大 = cocky/conceded/arrogant (negative). For…obvious reasons (tbh I love this character trait of his so, you know.)

[lurkingshan]

I have been thinking about @bengiyo's point about the way the set up of Love Sea allows Fort and Peat to play with their established dynamic, and wanted to expand on why I liked it so much. I already tossed off a facetious post about this while watching the other day, but let me be clear: I am so serious about the class disparity in this show and how it shifts the power dynamics behind the typical MAME pursuer behavior.

Mahasamut is a working class man who has been hired by a mutual friend to watch over Tongrak--providing him with transportation, housing, entertainment, and whatever else Rak wants. He is doing a job, and that knowledge is explicit between them. Most people would be kind to someone who is providing a service as a guide and caretaker, but from the moment he arrives, Rak treats Mut with disdain, as Ben details in his post. Rak is a prick who looks down on the place he is staying and the people in it. He assumes Mut can't understand him and makes rude and disrespectful comments right in front of his face. He assumes he can get anything he wants from Mut by throwing piddling sums of money at him. He assumes he can use Mut for sex. And so Mut plays the part Rak has assigned him.

Every instance of Mut being sarcastic or antagonistic toward Rak in this first episode is a direct response to how Rak is treating him. Rak assumes he can't communicate with him, so Mut continues speaking in a Southern dialect. Rak assumes he can buy him, so Mut teases him about stuff he can pay him for. Rak assumes Mut wants to have sex with him and he can use that to control him, so Mut fully puts on a "dumb local" performance and pretends to be amazed at his pale and hairless body (and yes, he also invokes colorism in that act, which I do not think was at all accidental, it's part of the point). Every moment of this is informed by their class disparity, the way Rak looks down on him for it, and the way Mut refuses to bow to that.

As all of this is going on, Mut is also genuinely taking care of Rak and doing the job he has been paid to do. And the incident on the boat was not an intentional instance of messing with Rak--he just went to get some clams and had no way to know that Rak would panic like that. As soon as he saw Rak was genuinely upset, he dropped the antagonism and comforted him, even apologizing for scaring him. Mut has good intentions and is doing what he has been asked to do while also not allowing an arrogant rich man to treat him like dirt. Rak is the person holding the true power in this pairing, and he need only treat Mut like a human being to get the same in return.

Let me just add as a final note that this is not the first time MAME has added a new layer to this antagonistic pursuer dynamic she tends to prefer in her romances. Wedding Plan was all about taking that dynamic and motivating it by a genuine queer experience, and I am glad to see her stories continuing to evolve.

[lincolndjarin]

socials, etc. .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ao3 ☆ insta ☆ kofi mdni, my entire blog is 18+ please read all tags and warnings, dddne fics are tagged accordingly follow @lincolndjarinnotifs for fic updates

navigation :

I - series, completed & ongoing

II - one off's

III - drabbles

I - series (in order of release)

Best Kept Secret [ completed series ] .𖥔 ݁ ˖ 195k words

bodyguard!Din Djarin x princess!reader

summary : Married off to a prince on a planet that you hate? New husband doesn't know you, and doesn't want to know you? New husband gifts you a personal Mandalorian body guard as a wedding present? Mandalorian is a wiseass who won't leave you alone? Lucky you.

tags: : enemies to friends to lovers, arranged marriage, forbidden love, smut, angst, canon-typical violence, eventual happy ending

.𖥔 ݁ ˖

Oh Honey [ completed series] .𖥔 ݁ ˖ 56k words

monster!Joel Miller x mortician!reader

summary : you’ve been given a gift. a fresh start in a brand new place, the sleepy little town of Honey, WV. a distant aunt has passed away and left you a little plot of land and her camper, the stars must be aligning for you because the local mortician is looking for an assistant and you’re desperate for the work experience. your new employer even offers to set you up with her brother-in-law! things are looking up, you’ve got a brand new home, a new town, a hot date, (and thanks to a series of bear attacks that started immediately after your arrival) you have more than enough work to keep you busy!

tags: : horror/mystery, angst, monster fucker, soulmates au, graphic descriptions of violence, body horror, gore

.𖥔 ݁ ˖

Bewitched [ coming soon ]

Din Djarin x witch!reader

.𖥔 ݁ ˖

Every Now and Then [ HIATUS]

Joel Miller x f!reader

summary : Joel Miller destroyed you. He loved you, then he left, leaving you in the New York City, QZ. But he's a good southern gentleman, so of course he didn't leave you without a reminder of the time you spent together. Four years later you're living in Jackson, in a lovely little ranch house. (With your reminder.) The last person you want to see is Joel Miller, unfortunately you've never been particularly lucky.

tags: : angst, toxic relationships, unplanned pregnancy, possessive behavior, healing, extremely complicated relationships

.𖥔 ݁ ˖

Sparrow's Spectacles [ ongoing anthology ]

summary : a series of horror one shots based around different pedro characters. be warned, the dead doves are going to be remarkably inedible. installments will be tagged accordingly, all stories will be 18+ and dddne.

tags: : dead dove do not eat, horror, dub/noncon

.𖥔 ݁ ˖

II - one off's (in order alphabetically)

A Little Mishap [francisco morales x f!reader]

tags : dead dove do not eat, noncon, bondage

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Bound in Beskar [din djarin x f!reader]

tags : armorer!mando, dom/sub vibes, pwp, blacksmith bondage

.𖥔 ݁ ˖

Constructive Criticisms [javier peña x f!reader]

tags : virginity loss, fluff, mutual masturbation

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the Dragonfly & the Moon [joel miller x f!witch!reader]

tags : ritualistic sex, knife play, blood

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More & More & More [jack daniels x f!reader]

tags : dead dove do not eat, noncon, bondage

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My Sister Lives in the Attic [joel miller x f!reader]

tags : grief, angst, child loss

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My Way [oberyn martell x wife!reader]

tags : married fluff, pegging

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Not So Secret Santa [javier peña x f!coworker!reader]

tags : enemies to lovers, semi-public sex, christmas

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Pretty in Pink [joel miller x f!reader]

tags : fluff, breeding kink, lingerie

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Ride Cowgirl! [jack daniels x f!reader]

tags : unprotected sex, bondage

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Sweet Boy [din djarin x gn!reader]

tags : sub!din, pegging

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the Thing That Gives [ezra x f!reader]

tags : dead dove do not eat, noncon, tentacles

III - drabbles (under 1k words)

sub!din x f!reader

dieter bravo x f!reader

comandante veracruz x f!reader

[pinkgvts]

Ch. 1 - The First Encounter

Boothill x Faye (oc) | 3k words | ao3

Faye's first time meeting with a rather unique client.

The golden evening sun hangs low enough in the sky that it filters beautifully through the high windows of the repair shop, painting the walls in a warm glowing light. It’s peaceful in the shop as it’s less than two hours before closing and there are currently no clients present. A comfortable silence has fallen over the two mechanics who run the shop. Besides the soft hum of music that plays over Faye’s sound system, all that can be heard is the tinkering of skilled hands and the sweeping bristles of a broom.

Sebastian, the sole proprietor of Seb’s Augment and Repair Shop, was an older man - about fifty-one years old - with short silvered hair, and a full, well-kept beard. He wore thick framed glasses that sat comfortably on his broad nose as he busied himself with his typical work, usually consisting of repairs or adjustments to prosthetic limbs. He had many decades of experience in this field under his belt and was well regarded in the community, known for being a very gentle and kind-hearted man.

Faye, the twenty-two year old mechanic who had been an apprentice to Sebastian for four years, had completed her orders for the day and was keeping herself occupied by cleaning the shop. She wore a faded brown apron over her dusty rose colored work shirt and baggy beige trousers that were tucked into her black leather boots. Long, black, fingerless gloves protect her palms as she sweeps. Her long, dark, greyish-purple hair was pulled back into a ponytail that left out her bangs. A stark streak of light grey hair hung over her left eye, but it didn’t obstruct her sight. It had been dead and unseeing since birth. Her right eye, however, remained in full view ‒ downturned in nature with thick, dark eyelashes cradling a beautifully deep and soothing blue iris.

She was a bit of a prodigy in Sebastian’s eyes. They met when Faye was around eighteen, nearly a high school graduate. Seb had been looking for an apprentice whom he trusted to inherit his business and he believed that Faye was his perfect candidate when he saw her handiwork being sported by the local strays. A black cat whose front legs had been made of metal. Or a large, mixed breed dog that would have been crippled for life if Faye hadn’t augmented its spine and hips. Her heart was pure and she had a clear talent for augmentative prosthetics, so Seb sought her out to offer his mentorship.

Suddenly, the silence that blanketed the shop is broken by the chime of the bell at the front door. Both Faye and Seb look to the door from their respective spots to see who had walked in. It appears to be a tall and slim man with long white hair that is blackened at the tips, wearing all black and a cowboy hat. Faye is the closest to the door when he enters, so she can hear the jingle of his spurs as he walks toward the front desk. 

“All yours, Faye,” Seb would call out from his workbench, turning his gaze back to the project before him.

“Welcome sir, how can I help you today?” Faye puts her broom to the side before dusting her hands off on her work apron, making her way toward the front with a friendly smile on her face. Though the smile was admittedly a bit forced as she was feeling a bit dispirited lately. 

“I heard this shop is somewhat of a safe haven for folks like me. That correct?” He spoke in a deep southern drawl that had a sort of robotic distortion to it, catching Faye off guard.

Upon hearing that question, she looked more closely at the man, confused by what he meant by ‘folks like me’. She looks him over, from head to toe, and realizes quickly that he’s almost entirely made of metal. Her only seeing eye blows wide with shock, and then it hits her. This is the man whose face is plastered all over the IPC’s wanted posters. However, the shock that’s painted all over her face isn’t due to the fact that the man before her is technically a wanted criminal, but entirely because of his body.

This is Faye’s first time seeing someone with more than half a body made of metal, and despite it being a bit worse for wear, it has her completely enthralled. Her expression shifts from shock to pure, unfiltered fascination. So absorbed in her open admiration of his body, she completely forgets to answer the poor man’s question.

“Uh…Am I mistaken?” He would chime in once more, breaking Faye out of her trance.

“Oh! My apologies. What you’ve heard is correct. We’ll gladly take you as a client, so long as you have the funds to pay us,” Faye nods, face slightly flushed from embarrassment. 

“Perfect. As ya can probably see, I’m in need of some repairs,” he’d gesture to large gashes in the metal of his abdomen, blue fluid along his sides that have since dried.

“Of course! You’ll be in my hands today, if that’s alright?” her head tilted slightly, with a small, sheepish smile on her lips.

“Don’t matter to me who does it, I just need it done,” his shoulders raise into a shrug as he chuckles lightly. He dons his signature sharp toothed grin.

“Well, follow me right this way-...err,” Faye squints in contemplation, trying to remember if he had given her a name.

“Boothill.”

“Ah, right this way, Mr. Boothill,” she’d gesture for him to follow her toward the back of the shop. “You can call me Faye, by the way!”

“Pleasure to meet you, Faye,” to which she’d hum in response. He’d follow close behind her as she began to guide him back, walking past Sebastian’s work area and onward to a different section of the shop. When they reach Faye’s workstation, she turns to face him as her hands reach back to tighten her already dirtied apron.

“Alrighty, please take off any and all articles of clothing. You can place them on this chair for now, and when you’re ready, go ahead and take a seat on this table,” she requests bluntly. Gesturing to a chair that’s off to the side as she moves toward her workbench to gather the items she’ll need to run a diagnostic. A large silver topped table stands in the center of her work area, surrounded by adjustable lamps of varying sizes.

One would think that Boothill would have already become accustomed to being asked a question like this, but his eyes widened and his cheeks became a rosy pink as the words left Faye’s mouth. Perhaps it could have been partially due to the fact that she was an attractive, young woman, and he was still just a man. Whatever the reason, he was far too flustered for a man of his circumstances.

The lack of any sound coming from the man behind her causes Faye to turn to look at her client in confusion. When she sees him standing there like he’s a lost child, she’ll giggle softly to herself. It wouldn’t have been the first time something of this nature has happened to her.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Boothill. I promise I’ll be nothing but professional during the procedure. No funny business whatsoever,” she’d reassure. “I can turn around again if that’d help?”

Boothill would swallow thickly before speaking, still blushing as he reached for the hat that sat atop his head.

“No point in doing’ that, you’ll be seein’ it all anyway, doll.” Faye would let the term of endearment blow right past her, but if she wasn’t paying attention, she might have missed the slight pout in his voice. How cute. Such a tough looking man is flustered by something like this. Surely he would have been in a situation like this before, and yet he’s still acting all bashful. Not to mention, his current attire isn’t exactly the most modest with how little it’s actually covering. Almost the entirety of his torso is exposed by his ultra-cropped leather jacket.

“You are right about that,” she’d confirm, nodding and chuckling lightly.

Then she drags a rolling stool over to the operating table, diagnostic tablet in hand. She adjusts the cushion’s height before taking a seat, facing the table as she boots up the tablet. The rustling of fabric and jingling of metal pins sounds beside her as Boothill has finally begun taking off his clothes. The first to go is his hat, then his leather jacket, red bandana, pistol and holster, and lastly, his pants.

After everything is removed and neatly placed on the chair that Faye gestured to earlier, Boothill takes his place on the table as he was instructed to. Faye looks up at him from her seat before standing to be at eye level with him.

“Okidoki, just sit still while I run a quick diagnostic,” she wiggles the tablet in her hand before pointing it at him so that it can scan his mechanical body. She moves the tablet around his body so as to not miss even a single inch of him, circling him once until she’s stood in front of him again. The tablet will buffer as it compiles his scans and identifies all anomalies that need attention. While it takes its time loading, Faye places the tablet down on the table beside Boothill’s thigh to free both of her hands. 

She pulls her gloves out of her back pocket where they usually hang before tossing them down onto the table as well. Boothill is trying his best to not look at her, still feeling slightly awkward, and fixes his gaze on the tablet that buffers beside him. However, nothing can distract him from what comes next. Faye leans in close as her bare fingers begin to run along the gashes at his side. He has to fight to keep himself from jumping at the contact. Curious, he peers at her through his peripheral vision, not wanting to turn his head and draw her attention. She’s intensely focused on what she’s examining and doesn’t even notice that her client's jaw is clenched and his artificial breathing has stalled. 

Boothill remains as stiff as a block of concrete the entire time that Faye spends thoroughly inspecting his external damages. It probably only lasted a few minutes, but to him it felt as though it had lasted for at least an hour. His jaw only unclenches when she stands up straight, no longer inches from his body. The tablet beside him, as if in time with Faye, chirps cutely to signal that it has finished computing all the components needed for repairs.

“Alright, Mr. Boothill. Mind if I open you up?” she’d ask as she glances at the tablet, hands now busy with pulling her gloves over her fingers.

“Go ahead,” his voice comes out a bit wearily, but Faye doesn’t pay it much mind. Figuring that he must be tired from whatever business he was caught in that caused him to wind up in his current state. She also doesn’t care to ask as it really is none of her business, but she assumes he just got a bit unlucky with the IPC.

Gloved hands search through the front pocket of her apron and come out holding a screwdriver. She sits on her heightened stool before leaning in once more to begin unscrewing Boothill’s chest and abdominal plating. Placing each one to the side neatly until his cybernetic innards are on full display for Faye to marvel at. She can’t hide her excitement as her observatory gaze dances around his wires.

“Incredible,” she says mostly to herself, but she’s so close to Boothill now that it’s impossible for him to miss. “Your original mechanic is brilliant, this wirework is so neat and orderly. So efficient as well! There isn’t a single unnecessary component.” Faye is openly gawking at this point.

Boothill chuckles, disrupting her train of thought.

“I wouldn’t’ve known any better if you didn’t point it out.”

“Well, regardless, you did a good job of picking them, they really knew their stuff!” Faye would smile up at him, leaning back on her stool, tablet back in her hands. “Anyways, your interior looks relatively undamaged, so this shouldn’t take too long. You can lie down while I work to make things more comfortable for you. I’ll also plug you in for a recharge while we’re at it.”

“Whatever you say, doll,” he says, finally getting used to being in her presence. Faye stands, shoving her tablet into one of her apron’s pockets before collecting the metal plating that she’d left on the table; clearing the way for Boothill to lie down and placing them on her workbench instead. When the table is cleared, Boothill swings his legs up and over onto the table, centering himself before lowering his body down into a lying position. 

Faye purses her lips slightly at the second use of ‘doll,’ but doesn’t let it bother her too much. Chalking it up to him just speaking like any cowboy would. Them and their sweet talking habits. Refocusing, she leans down to look under the table, assessing whether Boothill’s recharging port will line up with a removable window at the center of the table. Seeing that it looks to be lined up well enough, she presses a button on a control panel nearby to open the small hatch, and then another to raise the proper charging cable up and into the opening. The rim around the cable is magnetic, so once it’s within a close enough proximity to its respective port it will automatically snap into place with a satisfying thunk. Once that’s taken care of, she scurries off to collect the list of materials needed for the repair.

When she returns, she brings with her a cart full of appropriately trimmed and rounded metal sheets. Before she sits back down on her stool, she adjusts one of the many lamps to illuminate Boothill’s torso. With everything set up, Faye gets straight to work.

Almost two whole hours have passed when Faye finally sits up to stretch her back. The repairs are finished and a final routine inspection indicates that her client is now in pristine condition. The amber glow of sunlight that had bled in through the shop windows earlier was now completely gone.

“Phew. Alright, Mr. Boothill, you’re all set! Let me unplug you, and you can go get dressed.” 

“Yes ma’am,” he’d say obediently, a bit of a joking edge to his tone. Faye squints at him as if to judge him, but the gentle smirk on her lips betrays her.

As she’s coming out of her stretch, she’ll press the buttons that remove the charging cable and close the table’s center hatch. As those processes happen, she glances at the digital clock that sat on her workbench just a few feet away. 6:30 pm. Sebastian had already left the shop, having stepped in briefly about half an hour ago to tell her goodbye. Sighing, she stood from her stool and removed her gloves, throwing them down onto her workbench.

Boothill was awake the whole time that Faye operated on him, just watching idly as she seemed to enter some kind of flow state. It was admirable how deeply engrossed and intrigued she was in her work; her extreme attentiveness to the care she provided made Boothill’s heart ache with gratitude. When he felt the charging cable remove itself from his port, he sat up and looked down at his fully repaired abdomen. As good as new.

Hopping off the table, he moved toward his belongings to get dressed again. At the same time, Faye removes her apron, hanging it on a hook near her bench. She turns toward Boothill, making her way toward him as she snaps open the buttons of her work shirt, seeking the cool, conditioned air of the shop.

“I’ll be up front when you’re ready, but take your time,” she spoke calmly, walking past him and toward the front.

“You got it,” he’d respond, halfway through pulling his pants over his legs. All awkwardness that he felt earlier seemed to have vanished during the time that she worked on him. Though he does chuckle to himself at how nonchalant she is about having a completely nude cyborg right in front of her. Upon reflection, maybe it’s not that surprising considering there isn’t really anything but a flat sheet of metal where his most intimate parts would have been if he were still of flesh and bone.

He dresses quickly, slotting his hat back into its rightful place atop his head as he makes his way toward the front to find Faye.

When he finds her, she’s leaning over the front desk, resting on her elbows and facing the door. Her dusty rose work shirt is folded and placed beside her, leaving her in a cropped top not too dissimilar to the one that he wears. The sudden sight of her exposed skin forces Boothill to gulp involuntarily. He’ll try to hide his reaction as best as he can, but when he rounds the corner of the desk and sees the cut out that exposes her chest, he can’t hold back the blush that creeps back onto his cheeks. Willing himself to look at anything else but her, he moves to stand directly across from her.

“You feeling okay, cowboy?” she’d inquire upon seeing his reddened face, pushing off of her elbows to stand tall in front of him.

Boothill nearly chokes as he clears his throat before speaking.

“Never better. How much do I owe you for your troubles?” He’s trying his best to change the subject quickly.

Faye lets her gaze linger on his face a second longer, a brow raised slightly in a questioning manner, before she pulls up his tab on a digital terminal.

“You can pay using this secured code or with physical currency if that’s easier,” she points to a barcode at the bottom of the screen of the payment device.

Boothill pulls out his phone to scan the code. He fiddles with it for a bit before returning it to one of his pockets. The terminal dings, indicating that it has received the payment in full.

“That all?” He keeps his eyes locked diligently on her face.

“Yup! Looks like you’re good to go now,” Faye nods at him, smiling genuinely. “Oh! And please send your original mechanic my regards. I’ll be thinking about their beautiful work for years to come.” 

It wouldn’t even dawn on her that what she just said could have been interpreted as a flirt, but Boothill just shakes his head as laughter rumbles in his chest. He wonders if she’s doing this to him on purpose.

“Sure thing, sweetie,” he’d adjust his hat to sit a little lower on his brow, effectively hiding the pink hue of his cheeks, then turning to make his way to the door. “Thanks for everything, you’re a real gem.”

“Of course! Now you take care of yourself out there, cowboy!” A gentle giggle leaves her lips before she says her final send off. “But you’re always welcome here if you need some more fixin’.” 

He can’t help the smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth. When he reaches the door, he tips his hat to her, and walks out with his cape and long hair flowing behind him. The chime of the door bell announcing his departure, just as it had for his arrival.