#you can also spin this to be deeper than it was probably intended to be

[amphibifish]

one of the funniest things in maloki will still be the fact that sometimes loki & heimdall just kind of forget the whole heimdall trying to assassinate him for several months part and hang out for a bit then go back to being worsties

[snapnov4]

marry me | gojo satoru

synopsis: a bad idea disguised as a practical joke turns into something way deeper than you intended it to be.

wc: 1.1k

cw: just good ol fluff!

a/n: happy late birthday to my baby daddy and man of my dreams gojo satoru. i have to marry this man. i have to i have to i have to. anyways. enjoy reading this cute little fic i wrote, meaning i thought abt gojo proposing as a joke and vomited this out. enjoy!

it starts, like all things involving gojo satoru, with a bad idea disguised as a practical joke.

you're sitting across from him, in a restaurant that’s not too fancy, more of a family-type deal. he's forgone his blindfold in favor of his square-framed glasses, but his uniform is still on. he insisted on treating you to dinner after you exorcized an unregistered special grade on your own. however, with gojo, things can't always be so easy; he always adds his patented gojo twist to things, and this time the twist is this terrible joke.

“come on, it'll be funny!” he whines, from across the table.

“you want to propose to me in this restaurant for free food? when you make well over six figures a year? and have full access to thousands of years of old clan money?” you ask, incredulously, reaching to take a sip of your drink, suddenly wishing you had gone with a stronger option.

“yes, exactly. what's not clicking?”

“uhmmm, all of it?”

“look it'll be funny. you could even say no, then you can run out and i get free food as pity points,” he smiles at you, and you find it hard to keep saying no. “i mean, they'll probably all call you heartless and tell me i deserve better but that's fine.”

“okay and if i say yes, what about a ring? or the fact that we're not even together? how is anyone going to believe you?” you ask, thinking you've backed him into a corner, until he just sighs softly, keeping an easy smile, and reaches into his pocket. he pulls out a black velvet box, and shakes it a bit by his head.

“you think i hadn't planned for that?” he asks, smirking in your direction, trying to hold back laughter at your aghast expression, you drag a palm over your face, finally conceding.

“okay. fine! fine! just…try not to embarrass me. please?”

“no promises! also the waitress is coming this way, so get ready. tears are optional but preferred.”

you roll your eyes at his statement, your gaze following him closely when he stands up and walks over to your side of the table. you look around desperately hoping that no one will actually have their attention drawn to you but the thing about gojo is wherever he goes he commands attention. consequently, when he stands at a whopping 6’7 everyone’s already looking, and when he drops down on one knee in front of you, holding that little velvet box in front of you, you catch people’s smartphones shooting up immediately, great. and you're sure the vision of jujutsu’s strongest sorcerer, taking off his sunglasses and holding up a ring box to you would haunt you forever. you think right under reverse cursed technique in his list of talents, they should add acting, because the look in his eyes almost feels real.

the way your name falls so delicately from his lips, before he clears his throat, feigning nervousness. the way he struggles at first to look you in the eyes, the ring sparkling in the dim lighting. he starts:

“you are truly the most beautiful woman i've ever met, inside and out. to know you and love you is a pleasure too great for words, and i want to continue living in it every day. will you marry me?” you roll your eyes, but the smile across your face is genuine, maybe he was right, maybe this is funny. so you have no issue, saying yes, throwing your arms around his neck as he spins you around, delicately sliding the ring onto your finger. the two of you giggle all the way back to jujutsu tech, containers of your free leftovers in hand.

and so it becomes a tradition.

satoru continues to propose to you every time the two of you get the chance to have dinner together, and despite all your better judgment, you laugh and say yes every time.

and what started as a joke, turned tradition, starts to morph into something else.

satoru notices it on a summer day. you're out with the students, supervising them as they spar. the sun’s been beating down for days, he's standing beside you his eyes trained on your hands. your left ring finger has a tan line, it's from that ring. you're not wearing it, you returned it to him last night, forgetting to give it back after dinner and then desperately trying to get your schedules to align for at least five minutes, but he'd been out of town for a week and when he finally got back late last night to find you working on paperwork in your office, he didn't know why it felt like his heart sank when you slid the ring off and put it in his hand.

now, the box feels heavy in his pocket (when did he start carrying it all the time?) and he looks at you with so much adoration that had his blindfold not been on, he'd look like a love-struck puppy to any passerby. you'd been wearing the ring so much it's left a mark on you, it's obvious you'd been wearing it, the tan line a stark reminder that it was there; and something about it makes satoru wish he could make the next proposal permanent. you turn your head to him, smiling softly.

“the first years are something else this year, gojo, did you see yuuji and maki spar? they're going places,”

and he's not sure why but before he can stop himself he's blurting out:

“let me take you on a date.”

you sputter and falter, turning fully to look at him, “are you being serious?”

he nods, that goofy smile of his making you weak to his every whim, it's the same one he gave you that night at that dinner table; the same one that made you start this tradition.

so he takes you out, and then that becomes a tradition. still every day, he thinks of the way that ring looked on you whenever he slid it on your finger, and how he felt rejected every time you gave it back. he'd clear his schedule if he knew he could have dinner with you, just to see the smile you couldn't stop whenever he got down on one knee.

satoru doesn't propose anymore. he figures the next time he does it, he should be serious about it since you're his girl now. on a tuesday night, you're sitting with him on the couch, your legs are thrown over his lap and he looks at you, focused so intently on a book you've been dying to finish, the bookmark always staying near the end as you get called into emergency exorcisms, and he knows. he fishes that ring out of his pocket, the same one he gave you in that restaurant almost two years ago, and there's no fanfare, no cameras, no theatrics. he just opens the box, looks at you, and says,

“hey baby, let's get married.”

and just like the first time, you smile and say yes.

[trixy812]

Part 1. - Part 2. - Part 3. - Part 4.

🅼🅰🆂🆃🅴🆁🅻🅸🆂🆃

Imagine that you’ve thought about it. About him. About what it would be like to let yourself fall completely into Satoru Gojo’s world—the magnetic pull of his charm, the thrill of his attention, the way he looks at you like you’re the only person who matters. But you also know who he is. He’s Satoru Gojo, and his allure isn’t just for you. His teasing words, that effortless smirk, the way he leans just a little too close—it’s not exclusive.

You’ve seen how other women look at him. How they laugh too loudly at his jokes, how they find any excuse to touch his arm. And worst of all, you’ve seen how he flirts back, just as easily, just as playfully. It drives you mad. You know you have no right to feel this way, but it doesn’t stop the jealousy from creeping in, making your chest ache every time he turns his attention to someone else.

But then, somehow, he always comes back to you.

Imagine that he doesn’t make it easy. He’s always touching you now—light brushes of his hand against your arm, a teasing flick of your hair, or the way he wraps you in a hug every chance he gets. His cologne is strong and intoxicating, a warm mix of something woody and rich that lingers long after he’s gone. You try to ignore the way it makes your head spin, but part of you wonders if he wears it just for you.

And then there are the moments in class. Imagine how you feel the weight of his gaze whenever you speak, his sharp blue eyes boring into you, making you flush under the intensity. You’d pretend not to notice, but it’s impossible to ignore him, especially when he smirks like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

“Hey, this place is boring. You and I should run away to Germany together, okay?” he says one day, his voice casual, but his eyes glinting with something deeper. You laugh, because what else can you do? You can’t say yes, but you don’t want to say no either.

“Hey,” he murmurs another time, leaning in just enough that you feel the warmth of his breath. “You’re perfect. In our next life, let’s get married, alright?”

“Hey,” he whispers, his tone softer than you’ve ever heard it. “You’ve got me completely fascinated.”

And just when you think he’s about to cross the line, just when your heart is pounding so loud you’re sure he can hear it, he pulls back. “Nanami must take really good care of you,” he says suddenly, his voice light but the words cutting deeper than they should. “He probably does this for you, right?”

Imagine the way he confuses you, again and again. He gives you just enough to keep you tethered, to make your mind race with possibilities, only to pull the rug out from under you. If he’s playing, you think bitterly, he should at least play fair.

Then imagine the day he tells you he’s going to Germany for a semester abroad.

“What?” you ask, the words coming out sharper than you intended. “So that’s it? We just stop talking?”

He looks at you, surprised, before breaking into that easy, infuriating grin. “No way,” he says immediately, his tone full of confidence. “You’re my best friend. We’re not losing touch, no matter what.”

You want to believe him. But deep down, something about his promise feels fragile, like glass already beginning to crack.

And sure enough, once he’s gone, everything starts to change. At first, you try. You send him messages, trying to work around the time difference, filling the silence with jokes, updates, anything to keep the connection alive. But slowly, his replies become shorter, less frequent, until they stop altogether.

You tell yourself not to take it personally. He’s in a new place, probably busy, probably distracted. But that doesn’t stop the hurt from settling in, a dull ache you carry with you even as you try to move on.

Imagine how, by the end of the semester, you’ve stopped waiting for his replies.

Then imagine the day he returns. You see him from across the campus, his tall frame impossible to miss. His hair is slightly longer, his stride just as confident as ever. For a moment, your breath catches in your throat, and all the memories, all the unresolved feelings, come rushing back.

He spots you too, and for a brief moment, it feels like nothing has changed. He smiles, that same disarming smile that always made you feel like the center of his world. You raise your hand to wave at him, and he starts walking toward you.

But before he can say anything, before he can close the distance, you turn your hand and point to the engagement ring on your finger.

Imagine the way his steps falter, just slightly, the way his smile flickers before he catches himself.

“Hey,” you call out, your voice light, casual, as if your heart isn’t twisting in your chest. “Welcome back.”

He nods, his grin returning, but his eyes—his eyes are harder to read.

“Thanks,” he says, his voice smooth, unaffected. “Congrats, by the way. Nanami must be thrilled.”

And just like that, the gap between you feels wider than ever.

-

@haruhatake - This one's for you 🩷

-

🅼🅰🆂🆃🅴🆁🅻🅸🆂🆃

[astrxlfinale]

"We don't have to stay up if you're too tired you know! I can catch the newest episode later if you'd rather go to sleep," Guinaifen hums as she reaches out to Caelus so arms can drape around his frame.

As much as she enjoys watching shows with the trailblazer, she also knows that they live vastly different lives and that there will be other demands out that that go beyond the mundane occurrences of their shared life. That, despite what one might think, doesn't bother Guinaifen. She knows, and she acknowledged the position of the lover of a nameless long, long ago. What matters to her is that they remain a part of one other's time as long as they have and can. Who knows when the stars might call on either one or when life will prove extra demanding. For now, she'll settle for this, the frame of Caelus against hers as hands settle on his shoulders in gentle, but firm, rubs.

The least she can do for the tired trailblazer is to offer some remedy for sore shoulders, a tender kiss provided on top of pale locks.

"We can probably just crash here on the couch," she muttered in between kisses, thumbs digging a little deeper against his muscles. Who even knew of all the things he had encountered in such short time. "Unless you want me to carry you to bed? I could do that~"

Naturally she would catch on. The days passing by have been both a waking dream, and a torrent of roaming through his course of exhaustion. Even now those unknown muscles were still giving a buzz of distaste to the fact he enjoyed the act of moving forward. The slow spins of time were always a reprieve he'd drink in eagerly, allowing those weary yet recovering muscles to receive their dues. It'd be within a loving embrace and a flash of coral that he finds such peace, that his body instinctively leans into that very security.

"Firekiss.. I owe ya." He doesn't, he know he doesn't by her terms. Just getting those words drawn felt like his very Caelus way of expression gratitude. That grace of her fair lips would never fail in igniting a smile, big and small to settle as he'd get lost in the magic of her hands. There was a lethal accuracy in how she lets them roam, strategically drawing focus to knots or tense areas before letting affection melt them away. His note of appreciative groans would be an undeniable sign that her foes were actively being vanquished.

"I'm gonna have to take ya up on that offer." For a change, he didn't beat around the bush or even tried to spruce the fun in their conversation. At the end of the day, she was just right and the tugging urge to let his body float about in the stillness of rest was tempting. Too tempting. To no one's surprise, the act in itself of going to sleep these past weeks hadn't been easy. Some stubborn, errant part of his brain felt compelled that to rest is to throw himself back into that Aeonic pool of oblivion.

Ena's dream was crushed, Ena THEMSELVES driven back to the rhythm of The Harmony.

Victory just didn't always bring a gratifying grail known as peace of mind.

In Caelus's opinion? The lack of a proper doubt slaying punch to the face was definitely the reason that Dominicus still crawled about in his dreams.

In the end, it'd be the arms and busied hands of his sweetheart that intends to do her part. Rather than be a pit of reassurances, the decision to let her support carry him was better, proper even. More of his weight would lean into those hands as his head lulled against the toned frame of her shoulder. Those equally weary arms would find themselves looping around her waist, savoring the welcomed warmth and the mere reality of just squeezing her closer to him.

A little longer, just a little longer would that lively impulse to explore his favorite series would have to wait. "Been.. Waitin to see if that theory was true for weeks." Comes a shaky moment of emphasis, hints of a grin draws across her shoulder where the fanning of his soft breathes built up. While the call of unconsciousness crests closer upon mental shores, that last playful insinuation managed to hook in before more elements begin to drift away as those eyes close.

"Only.. Ya get up.. Yourself.." Sleep for sleep and not any wild dreams felt too damn good.

Familiar paths were also very good for the Trailblazer.

@avaere

[ddarker-dreams]

Us and Them.

Daryl Dixon x F Reader.

Tags: Not SFW, follow up to Hierarchy of Needs, takes place from Daryl's POV. Simping o'clock. Some typical TWD horror elements. Word count: 11.5k.

It takes a great deal to crack Daryl’s focus. 

The life he’s led up until this point necessitated the fact. To ensure he’d hit his mark or continue tracking the elusive fauna hiding in the thickets, he needed to block the rest of the world out and hone in on his objective. This tendency bled into the other aspects of his day-to-day existence as well. It’s made him notoriously reliable, a reality he doesn’t take pride in, for he’s just doing what he thinks anyone should do. Shaking this cornerstone of his identity is no easy task. 

Unless you’re thrown into the mix, that is. 

Then it’s as if every functioning brain cell he has decides to jump ship in favor of seeking you out, no matter how detrimental it may be to him. Truth be told, he can’t even bring himself to mind half the time. You’re a distraction he’d hold the door open for. That being said, as much as he’d love to entertain thoughts of you 24/7, it’s an unrealistic dream. There’s work to be done and he can’t take up residence in la-la land. He’ll be forcibly evicted most of the time, should he not leave of his own volition. 

His present predicament does well to remind him of this. 

“You with me, Daryl?” 

Rick’s voice is a scythe cutting through the overgrown verdure of his mind. Daryl grunts, probably agreeing to something he should’ve been paying closer attention to. It’s too late for him to play it off, he can tell by Rick’s expression alone. He’s giving that raised eyebrow, head tilted look you once theorized to be the byproduct of being a sheriff for years. Officer Friendly’s changed a lot since they first met, but that look has remained reliably consistent. 

“That so? Mind telling me what I just said then?” Rick challenges. 

Daryl doesn’t even bother to entertain the charade. He knows when to cut his losses. “Sorry. Wasn’t listening.” 

“Mhm,” Rick nods his head in the direction Daryl’s been staring. “Let me guess. It got anything to do with our social butterfly over there?” 

Daryl doesn’t know why Rick’s asking when he likely already knows the answer to the question. Indeed, Daryl’s been keeping an eye on you while Rick discussed various happenings. You were reading Frankenstein beneath a gazebo for a whopping five minutes before an interloper made himself known. One of Deanna’s sons — Daryl can barely tell them apart, they leave so little of an impression — decided to strike up a conversation with you. The complete and utter disregard for your personal time has him fuming. You’ve been so busy shadowing Deanna that you’ve barely had a moment’s respite, you deserve to read your damn book in peace. 

He knows you’ve been working yourself to the bone. Alexandria is important to you, you’ve been doing everything possible to guarantee a future for your tight-knit group here. It helps that Deanna’s taken a shine to you; the opportunities this granted have been paramount. You’re slowly winning over the skeptical residents and explaining away any errant behavior from your group. Whatever tale you're spinning, he figures it must be working. He can at least walk around without being gawked at. Regardless, you confided to him that there's still much to do. Tensions are brewing faster than you can reconcile them. 

“Hardly see ‘er no more,” Daryl scoffs. “Yuppies are takin’ up all her damn time.” 

Rick gives a thoughtful hum. “It’s good, what she’s doing. Building up trust. Might help us if things are headed the way I think they are.” 

What was no doubt intended to lift Daryl’s spirits does the opposite, plunging them down into a deeper depth. He feels he’s deceiving you somehow by not mentioning Rick and Carol’s ‘backup plan’ should the Alexandria inhabitants prove beyond help. He also knows you loathe feeling used — a vulnerable confession owing to a drink too many — and that’s what this feels like. Using the good graces you’ve painstakingly established for an ulterior motive. 

Daryl keeps quiet. Fortunately, Rick is quick to catch on and changes the subject. 

“You know,” he starts, looking away from you to focus on Daryl, “I’ve noticed something’s different between you two. Ever since the night of that welcoming party.” 

Daryl assumes a poker face. He knew he should expect this line of questioning at some point, because things did change between you, in a way that exceeded his wildest dreams. Still, the way Rick’s sizing him up makes him feel like a teenager being greeted by your dad at the front door before your first date. He doesn’t know how to deal with this shit. The only person close to Daryl in terms of their protectiveness over you is Rick. Is this some type of test? That can’t be right; Rick’s been trying to convince him to shoot his shot with you since the prison. He probably just wants to know everything’s fine. Ever the worrier, holding the weight of the world on his shoulders. 

“She, uh,” Daryl focuses on his scuffed boots, before finally managing to look Rick in the eye. “She knows.”

Rick’s countenance betrays his disbelief. “You told her?” 

Well, it’d be more accurate to say you told him by kissing him silly and putting his many doubts to rest, but he isn’t about to go around announcing that. He’ll hold this near and dear to his heart. 

“Yeah.” 

“And?” Rick presses, borderline impatient for the information Daryl’s so stingy on handing over. “What’d she say?” 

Daryl can’t stop his lips from quirking into a closed-mouth smile. “Feels the same.” 

Unlike Daryl, Rick doesn’t bother trying to hide his grin. “What’d I tell you, huh? That’s— that’s great. I’m happy for you. For both of you. It’s about time you both stopped dancing around things.” 

Daryl wants to grumble over Rick giving him a hard time, but he can’t bring himself to, because the man’s right. While it may not have been love back at the quarry, even then he thought you were the prettiest damn woman he’d ever had the blessing to lay eyes on. His attachment to you only grew from there. By his estimation, that’d place it somewhere around two years of having the hots for you without ever making a serious move. While he doesn’t regret the time dedicated to deepening your friendship, it would’ve saved him a lot of grief if he knew you reciprocated his affections. He’d lost track of the nights spent tossing and turning, contemplating just how out of his league you are. 

“While we’re on the subject, Glenn’s got some condoms on him, should you need any.” 

Daryl coughs into his hand to hide the wicked blush rising to his cheeks. “The hell, man?” 

“Just sayin’,” Rick puts his hands up in defense. “It’s best to be proactive. Sometimes you look at the girl like you’re ready to pounce.” 

He fights back a groan at the new ammunition Rick has to tease him with. It is good knowledge to have, though, so he makes a note of it. You had only slept together once on that fateful night roughly two weeks ago. Daryl was mistaken in thinking getting a taste of you would calm the raging flames of desire that burn him from the inside out. If anything, it’s as if they’ve been doused with gasoline. Every little thing you do nearly drives him mad with need. When you chew on your bottom lip in contemplation, bend over to grab something, or make those cute little noises when you stretch, the list goes on and on. You’re making it a damn challenge to think with his head and not his dick. 

How can he not, when he’s experienced how exhilarating it is to become one with the person he loves most? The sights and sounds of that night play on a loop in his mind constantly. The teasing banter, the taste of chocolate on your lips, the mind-numbing pleasure that exceeds anything he’d felt in his life… it’s got to be a special kind of torture to know he can have that with you, if he only he could get you alone. He swears every force in the universe is working against him. You’re living in a house packed like sardines, your schedules don’t line up (he’s an early riser, you love ‘your beauty sleep’), and you’ve been busy as a bee. 

In your benevolence, you’ve treated him to some fleeting kisses and hugs, which, while he treasures those more than the air in his lungs, can’t satisfy the excruciating need he has for your body. He has to stop himself from undressing you with his eyes the few times of day you’re around. You’re just so gorgeous, so exuberant, lighting up the room in the way only you can and leaving a cold emptiness inside him when you’re gone. 

He used to harp on lovesick fools for gushing over their ‘other half’, but now he gets it, he truly does. Going without you for any length of time is a unique agony that twists his guts into a knot. 

Glancing back over your way, his blood freezes over at the sight he’s greeted with. 

The prick had the audacity to put his hand on your lower back while Daryl was preoccupied. His eye twitches and his nostrils flare, hands balling into fists by his side. Rick senses the change in demeanor and follows Daryl’s line of sight to identify the reason, instantly piecing together the problem. Right before Daryl can charge over and rip the asshole’s slimy hand off you, Rick steps in, motioning for him to slow down. 

“Hey, hey, look at me—” 

“He’s fuckin’ touching her,” Daryl seethes, barely able to hear anything over the sound of his heart thumping in his ears. “She’s uncomfortable, I’m gonna—” 

This time, it’s Rick who interrupts him. “I get it, I really do, but we can’t afford to go makin’ a scene over something like this. [First] wouldn’t want that. You know she wouldn’t. So let’s take a moment and calm down.” 

“The hell do you know ‘bout what she wants?” Daryl challenges, his voice raising enough to attract some nearby attention. He juts his shoulder out of the way when Rick tries to lay his hand on it. “We both know why you’re letting ‘er play nice.” 

Rick’s eyebrows furrow, hurt at the insinuation. “Daryl…” 

He turns on his heel and storms off. 

Rick calls out to him a few more times, but he makes a point of ignoring him, along with the stares his outburst garnered. A quiet, reasonable voice whispers to him that he’s blowing things out of proportion. This sensible counsel is overpowered by his Dixon blood yelling otherwise. He’s always been quick to default to anger, it’s an emotion he can make the most sense of when everything’s confusing. Rage is all-consuming and familiar. It gives him an easy target to release his pent-up negative emotions. 

There’s just too much for him to work through. The gnawing insecurity, that in this stable environment, you could do so much better than him and he wouldn't have the slightest clue how to stop it. He’s not a smooth talker, can’t excuse confidence in spades. Hell, he couldn’t even confess to you first, you had to come to him. Who in their right mind would want a man like that? A man like him? 

His jaw feels like it could snap from how hard he’s grinding his teeth together. 

When he gets back to the group’s shared residence, he slings his crossbow into place and makes for Alexandria’s gates. He’s got to get away from here before he pulls an even dumber stunt he’ll surely regret later. The lone guard stationed there looks about ready to give him a difficult time until he sees the grave expression on Daryl’s face. That’s enough for him to wordlessly grant passage to the outside world. 

Daryl opts for using his knife to take out the walkers prowling past the entrance. Adrenaline pumps throughout his body as the blade breaches a skull, then another, the bodies sagging to the ground with a satisfying thump. He cleans the gore off his knife and sets out for the woods, grateful to leave the oppressive community he’ll never fully fit into behind him. 

Out here, he’s in his element. Weaving in and out of paths he’s already started to memorize, hearing the coos of mourning doves and shrill chirps of cardinals. He isn’t meant to fraternize with some hoity-toity folks who still think carrying a gun around inside the walls is excessive. His previous anger simmers down into frustration with each step he takes. In his haste, he hadn’t grabbed that many arrows. He knows he shouldn’t be out here for long. 

However, the alternative is just as undesirable. He’ll man up and give Rick the apology he’s owed, but there’s no doubt his stunt today hurt what you’ve been trying to build. The folks wearing their polo shirts and khakis will probably go back to staring at him like he’s some sort of bogeyman come to life. He scoffs quietly to himself at the thought, bending over to inspect some fresh-looking tracks in the dirt. A deer must’ve come through here not long ago. Snagging a catch like that would do wonders for lifting his dampened mood. It’s tangible proof that he belongs, that he isn’t some freak like his brother would have him believe. 

It’s strange to care about what he’s gone his entire life ignoring. When you have a reputation like the Dixon’s did in the town he grew up in, ostracization was to be expected. He’d lost count of the times he’d have to bail Merle’s ass out of the county jail only for the process to start back up a few months down the line. They might as well have kept a parking spot with his name written on it, as often as he stopped by the place. The stares, the whispers. They followed him everywhere he went. He learned to stop caring, he didn’t really have any better alternatives. 

He thinks of you — how quick you are to fit in — how wide the chasm is that separates you. It’s been a while since he’s had to grapple with these misgivings, the farm must’ve been the last time. Daryl knows it’s shameful, but he likes when he’s the one providing for you. Not so he could lord it over you, he wouldn’t dream of that. It’s more so how it justifies him being in your orbit. Solidifies his place by your side. 

No one else can take it if it’s carved out in his shape. 

The sun begins its lull in the sky. Shades of brilliant amber and gold trickle in through the interstices of the trees overhead, cascading like embers. Daryl mulls over what you might be doing now as he gulps down water from his canteen. Are you having dinner with Reg and Deanna? Or are you back at home, encouraging Judith to eat her veggies and trying to convince Carl there are more things to read than comics? Have you noticed his absence? Or are you too preoccupied to realize he’s gone? 

His heart plummets down to his stomach.

Daryl crouches over, inspecting some flowers that have been chewed down to the stem. It’s still glistening with saliva. A deer’s doing, no doubt. This paired with the tracks he’s been following promises that he’s getting closer. Any other day, personal qualms would be the last thing on his mind when he’s about to land a deer, but you’re an apparition that won’t stop haunting him. He misses you. He sees you every day, yet it isn’t enough. He misses hearing your lame jokes that you laugh at (and he laughs at too, occasionally), the weird thoughts that occupy your pretty little head (seriously, who ponders over the origin of the phrase ‘elephant in the room’?), arguing over if Back in Black or The Dark Side of the Moon is the better album (he caught you humming Time to Judith once, trying to indoctrinate her early, no doubt). 

He misses you so badly it makes him physically ache. 

The crackling of foliage ahead temporarily releases him from his bitter rumination. 

He fastens his crossbow into place, mindful of his every step. He makes his way through a clearing. It’s the scent he notices first, the miasma of rot. Then there’s the sound of flies buzzing and wet, vicious squelching. Ripping and tearing. Daryl knows what he’s destined to see before he even lays eyes on it. A group of voracious walkers gorge themselves upon the fallen deer, too preoccupied with devouring the viscera to notice his presence. Rigor mortis hadn’t even set in yet, he’d just barely missed his window. 

It’s one of those days, he supposes. 

The trek back to Alexandria is noticeably devoid of thought. He gladly welcomes the reprieve, wanting nothing more than for his head to hit the pillow so he can sleep today’s events off. Alexandria’s walls loom in front of him soon enough. He calls over to be let back in. Without delay, the gate creaks to the side, revealing the last figure he expected to be greeted with upon his return. 

You. 

You stand a few paces ahead, relief visible on your features when you establish eye contact. You’re wearing a yellow gingham blouse, white denim jeans, and those sneakers from what he’d consider the best day of his life. Your hair that you’ve been complaining is too long is tied up in a high ponytail, revealing that neck he longs to smother in kisses again. You’re so fucking radiant it should be illegal. Intelligent thought flies out the window, though luckily for him, you almost never run out of things to say. 

“Are you alright?” Is what you decide upon, your voice sweeter than candy. He’d eat it up if he could. 

He nods, his body recalling how to do basic motor functions after a sizable delay. You secure the gate behind you, muttering some gratitude to the guard Daryl scowled into submission earlier, then jog to catch up with him. He swears he could distinguish the sounds of your footsteps in his sleep. As much as he’d love to, he doesn’t look at you, choosing to fixate on the road ahead. After the events of the day, he doesn't trust himself not to pull anything stupid. 

“Daryl, hello hello,” you say with a singsong lilt, “You do notice me, right? I’m not that short.” 

“Tired, s’all,” he murmurs. 

“Have you not been sleeping well?” 

He shrugs. “Guess not.” 

There’s a beat of silence. Unable to bear it, he turns toward you, immediately noting the uncharacteristic frown on your features. A deep pang resonates inside him at the sight. He knows he’s worrying you, causing extra strife you most certainly don’t deserve to deal with, but he can’t think straight. The culmination of two weeks’ worth of navigating foreign feelings he’s never experienced before is taking a toll on him. You mentioned having an ex-boyfriend to Maggie in the past — a notion he’s hardly surprised by, considering you got him of all people falling head over heels — so this must be familiar territory for you. 

“When I asked if you were fine earlier, I didn’t just mean physically,” you nudge him playfully with your elbow, although your expression is serious. “Is something up?” 

“Jesus, I’m fine, woman,” Daryl huffs. The tone he takes has you pursing your lips. He no longer hears your footsteps struggling to keep up, you must’ve stopped. He does too. Turning himself to face you is no easy task, yet he somehow manages. What remains of the sunset basks your features in a gentle glow. He can make out each fleck of color in your iris’, finding the distinct splash of color to be his favorite. You have every right to be annoyed with him, you should be, honestly — and still, there are no traces of irritation. That alone melts his heart. 

You’re just looking at him, trying to piece together what’s brought him to this point. You never assume the worst of him, you never have. Instead, you choose to carefully comb through the information available to understand what he barely understands himself. This is one of your strengths he’s always admired. 

When he once asked you why you gave others the benefit of the doubt, you compared it to his tracking process. 

“There’s more going on than what’s visible at first glance, right?” You reasoned. “You have to stop, slow down. Take time to inspect things a little closer. If you don’t, you risk missing what’s truly important.” 

Waves of guilt crash over him like the roaring ocean upon the shore. You’re so good — the epitome of everything worth preserving in this decaying world. 

“... ‘m sorry,” Daryl swallows thickly. “Just… bad day, is all.”

Your visage softens. “Hey, it’s okay.” 

He flinches. You’re far too quick to forgive. 

“Nah, it ain’t. I shouldn’t take it out on ya.” 

“Would you like to talk about it?” You offer, still refusing to hold Daryl’s shortcomings over his head. “I, um, actually had something I wanted to show you. It’s somewhere quiet. It’d just be us there.” 

He parts his lips, ready to reinforce the fact you should be upset with him, when he sees your smile. This is the kind you’ve only ever graced him with. There’s this innate understanding in your eyes, a compassion to the curve of your lips. A look of pure love. He’s committed every facet of you he can to memory, he knows no one else is the recipient of this specific tenderness. It’s reserved solely for him. 

There’s a gravitational pull around you that draws him close and refuses to let him go. 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah. Positive.” 

You hold your hand out. 

He hesitates, wondering if he deserves to take it. 

When he does, the way your smile grows tells him he made the right choice. 

It’s him following you now. There’s a pep in your step, he can feel the excitement radiating off of you. A few Alexandrians he hasn’t bothered learning the names of yet give a wave upon spotting you, an act you gladly reciprocate. You haven’t the slightest ounce of shame about the rugged man trailing behind you. An insecure part of him that stubbornly refuses to die suggested that as you integrate into the community, you might leave him behind. Find a man that fits in here rather than sticking out like a sore thumb as he does. 

He couldn’t have been more wrong. 

The guilt returns, slithering its tendrils around his person and preparing to bite down hard. He’s been weaving falsehoods about you because of his own problems. You aren’t that type of person. He needs to get out of his own head and accept that maybe, just maybe, this’ll be his shot at happiness. The concept is so surreal that his body has been rejecting it like it were a foreign invader. He doesn’t want to fall prey to his natural tendencies anymore, he has to fight it. 

He imagines it’ll be a slow and tedious process, uprooting the thorny vines he’s grown to protect himself. You’re worth the effort, reckons. You always have been. 

Suburbia surrounds you on both sides. This must be another residential area of Alexandria, one that is vacant from what he can tell. You pause in front of one of the homes, nestled toward the end of the street. It’s the picture-perfect representation of the upper-middle-class ideal. A two-story high house styled like the others, with beige siding and a light gray roof. After letting him take it in for a second, you pull a set of keys from your back pocket, then grin. 

“I bought us a house,” you twirl the jingling keys on your pointer finger. “My credit wasn’t the best, and we’ll probably have to do a reverse mortgage in a decade, but it’s ours.” 

Daryl squints, trying to deduce how much of what you’re saying is in jest. 

“I’ve been working with Deanna to get our group more settled in, since this looks permanent. We finished ironing out the details today, and, uh, yeah. We get a house all for ourselves.” 

Your voice grows smaller toward the end of your sentence, almost tentative. You’re gauging him just as much as he is you. 

“Ya wanna,” he takes a moment to find the right words, “Ya wanna live with me?” 

You shrink into yourself. “I do. O-Only if you want to, of course! If this is weird, or, I’m uh, being too forward, then just— oof!” 

You’re never given the chance to finish your sheepish ramblings, for he lifts you in the air, spinning you once then wrapping you in a tight embrace. You give him a breathless laugh and return his affection in kind. He nuzzles his nose into your neck, breathing in the familiar scent of cocoa butter and shea. In any other circumstance, he’d shy away from such a bold display in public, but he’s too damn ecstatic to care. Let anyone who happens by watch. See for themselves that you’re his and he’d sooner keel over than let you go. 

“I take it that’s a yes, then?” You hum as he carefully puts you down, treating you like you were made of glass. 

“Yeah,” he reassures. He huffs in amusement at the stars that are practically glittering in your eyes. “Guess that means the others’ll know ‘bout us.” 

You’re quick to fall back into your usual demeanor, now that you know he wasn’t put off. “Are you embarrassed of me, Mr. Dixon?” 

He rolls his eyes at your theatrics, replying lightheartedly, “Stop.” 

“I hate to break it to you, but I’m pretty sure the others already know,” you say. “Well, some of them, at least. Women have a sixth sense for these things.” 

Daryl raises an eyebrow. 

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I mostly plead the fifth. Rosita and Maggie keep smirking at me though. I think we developed some sort of witch coven-level bond while out on the road.” 

He lets out a ‘pfft’ at the phraseology that’s so distinctly you. He’s always loved hearing you talk, he swears you could make an instruction manual on how to set up a dresser entertaining. Aside from how unfairly pretty you are, your mannerisms are what caught his eye. You have this way of creating a comfortable atmosphere. Back at the quarry, you stubbornly worked to peel back his layers, one at a time. You somehow knew what conversations to broach and which to steer clear of. Before he knew what was happening, you became his favorite person to spend time with, and he actively sought you out; ignoring Merle’s disparaging remarks along the way. 

The rest is history, as they say. 

You both walk up to the porch, taking in every last detail. The spacious front yard, bushes that Daryl makes a mental note to trim later, and the little stone pathway which leads up to the steps. A soft breeze passes through, encouraging the rustle of towering tree branches. The scent of daisies and honeysuckle wafts in the cool evening air and he deeply inhales nature’s aromatic perfume. You trace the porch’s white pillar with your fingertips, seemingly entranced, disbelief written over your features. 

“From a prison cell to this,” you shake your head. “I’m not dreaming, am I?” 

“Nah. You ain’t.” 

You point at the closed garage. “You can park your bike there, turn it into a workshop or something.”  

Next, the empty garden. 

“And— and we can plant carrots, peas, zucchini… maybe find a blueberry bush. Flowers too. Oh, I love hydrangeas, they can be tricky though. We should also plant a fruit tree. What about apple? Yeah, let’s do that. The kids’ll love it. Apple pie, apple cider… did you know Carl’s never had apple cider? How is that even possible?” 

There’s a glossy tint to your eyes as you ramble on, so taken by the idea of a future that you don’t know what to do with yourself. He has to fight against a lump threatening to form in his throat. Daryl hugs you from behind, holding you against him as if you’d disappear like sand through his fingers should he let go. You feel so good in his arms. So right.

“We have to make this work, Daryl,” your voice is tight. “We have to. No matter what.” 

This serious declaration takes him back weeks prior, to the day your fates became permanently intertwined. You’ve been pushing yourself to fulfill what you said then and now. He’s sure you’d much rather spend time with your group, your family, but you’ve been building the groundwork for a future. The very same groundwork he’s been undermining by plotting outside the walls with Rick and Carol, well-intentioned as it may be. 

“I gotta tell ya something,” he murmurs, placing a chaste kiss atop your head. Your hair smells heavenly. “Has to do with earlier.” 

After feeling you nod, he continues, albeit hesitantly. 

“Me, Rick n’ Carol have been talking. ‘Bout Alexandria. What we should do here. They’re thinkin’ we might hafta take over, if worse comes to worst. These people… they’re weak. Don’t know a damn thing ‘bout what’s happenin’ outside them walls.” 

He loosens his grip as you twist around to face him. Once again, he braces himself for heavy rebuke; a confirmation that you’ll be as upset as he imagined upon learning about this. You place both your hands on the railing behind you while looking up, your head tilting to the side. 

“I already knew about that.” 

Daryl knits his eyebrows together, incredulous. “You— what?” 

“Not the specifics, maybe, but I got the gist of things,” you confirm. This further reinforces his belief that you’re perceptive to a freaky degree. “I mean… I get where you guys are coming from. What we’ve been through… what we’ve seen… God… I never let myself think about it for long. I can’t. I push that shit down as deep as it’ll go. Lock it up and throw away the key.” 

You sigh and give him a weary smile that tugs on his heartstrings. “I’m not going to say that you’re in the wrong, because honestly, I haven’t the faintest clue. I wish I did, but I don’t. All I know is that it doesn’t hurt to try. What’s that adage Rick is so fond of…? Ah, yes, let’s ‘see what we see’. If you do, and still think they’re a lost cause, then… I’ll trust your judgment. I always have. Always will, too. There’s no one I trust more in this world than you, Daryl. Not even myself.” 

You’ve stolen the air from his lungs and words from his mouth, it’s like he’s been sucker-punched. He tries and fails to string together a coherent sentence. It shouldn’t be too difficult, the assembly of vowels and consonants, yet every word in the English language slips his mind. He’s long since held the belief that you’re an angel incarnate — you might as well be, given your beauty — but thinking that way is ultimately doing you a disservice. 

You’re scared, you’re confused, you’re human. Blood pumps through your heart, not ichor. 

Daryl takes your pretty face into his hands, wishing he could smooth away the lines of worry. “I’ll try. Promise.” 

You kiss his inner palm. “That’s all I could ask for.” 

“What you said… ‘bout not trustin’ yourself…” he trails off, almost wincing at hearing the words spoken aloud again, “You should. Trust yourself, I mean. You're smart. Crafty. Made some damn good calls I never woulda thought to.” 

“Are you buttering me up, Daryl?” You teasingly suggest. “Flattery will get you everywhere with me.” 

He grunts. There you go with your tendency to keep things light-hearted when they get uncomfortably personal again. 

“... Really, though, thank you,” the inflection of your voice reverts back to sincere in record time. You almost give him whiplash with the ease in which you shift moods. “We probably should’ve had this talk sooner, right?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I’m sorry ‘bout that. I wanted… wanted to surprise you, and I got so swept up in that, I missed what’s really important.” 

Daryl feels his lips twitching into a smile at your subconscious elision — Carol once pointed out that you sometimes talk like him, and vice versa. She said you guys hang out together so often, it’s to be expected. He’s picked up your favorite idioms and rubbed off his tendency to curse on you, even if you don’t do it anywhere near as often as him. To think that two years ago, his preppy princess went from having the cleanest mouth around to dropping expletives without batting an eyelash. 

“‘S fine. Still don’t think ya did anything wrong.” 

“You’re a bit biased, don’t you think?” 

“Mm. Maybe.” 

You laugh at his candidness. “It just occurred to me that all our best conversations happen on porches. Is that why you lived out on the porch for our first few days here?” 

“Nah. Had to keep ya safe,” Daryl runs the pad of his thumb over your cheekbones. “Can’t let anything happen to ya, butterfly.” 

You preen at the personal touch to your infamous nickname, evidently liking it as much as he does. “I told you, I’m more of a caterpillar for the time being.” 

He snorts. “Coulda fooled me.” 

“Hm… a cocoon, then? Agree to disagree?” 

“Ain’t calling ya a fuckin’ cocoon, woman.” 

“Oh, but if it’s your voice saying it, I’ll get all hot and bothered,” you lean forward, pressing the swell of your chest against his. He swears he can feel his blood rushing south. “You could make anything sound good. Even… hm… let me think… the word foible.” 

Daryl scrunches up his nose. “The hell? That’s a word?” 

“Sure is. It might be the only one that hasn’t found its way into Eugene’s impressive lexicon yet.” 

“You couldn’t pay me ‘nough to say that.” 

“It’s a good thing the economy is in shambles then,” you wink. Then you stifle a laugh with your hand. “Huh. I really need to get better at flirting. I’m rusty… way out of practice. Mind helping me out with that, Dixon? If not, Maggie’s gonna get stuck dealing with the brunt of it.” 

The look he gives has you showing your palms in surrender. “I told you! It’s witch coven level stuff between us now. I’m waiting with bated breath for someone to suggest a blood oath.” 

“Don’t need no practice, all ya do is flirt with me, damn vixen.” 

He pinches your cheek, content to see how they’ve filled back out after two weeks of eating regularly. 

“Took you long enough to notice.” 

You guide his hands to your hips and he’s more than happy to place them there. Next, you secure your arms around his neck, then start swaying side to side. Everything about you is so magnetic. God, that expression is nearly lethal. You’re gazing up at him through lidded eyes, worrying your lower lip beneath your teeth. He feels his cock twitching to life. You barely need to do a damn thing and he’s ready to fall to the ground and worship you. 

Daryl has to fight off a debauched noise as you stand on your tiptoes, your tongue poking out to coat your lips in an enticing sheen. He feels your hot breath fan against his face and tightens his grip on you to keep himself steady. You pause, content to stay where you are, so close to where he wants you yet cruelly far away. You breathe in one another’s air for a few, agonizing seconds, your noses touching. Then you’re moving again. Right when he thinks he’s going to be treated to your taste, frustration boils within when you kiss the corner of his mouth instead. He could take whatever he wants from you — his immense strength speaks to that — yet there’s something so undeniably charming about letting you think you’re in control. 

He figures he can play along a while longer. 

“Do me a favor, sweetheart,” you whisper, the huskiness of your voice causing goosebumps to erupt all over his skin, “Grab what’s in my back left pocket.” 

Curious, he does just that. His fingers come into contact with a plastic serrated edge. He knows what it is before he even pulls it out. 

“This time, I can’t say I didn’t plan things in advance,” you take pride in admitting. 

He frowns. “Just have these on you?” 

Despite knowing it’s entirely unreasonable, he can’t suppress a sting of jealousy. He silently hopes you haven’t been carrying these things around for long. Not if you wanted to use them with someone else. 

“Mhm. I had some at the farm, then the prison,” if you notice how his expression darkens, you don’t mention it. “There’s this guy who caught my eye, you see, a very handsome one. I’ve wanted him to have his way with me for ages. Couldn’t work up the courage to admit that for the life of me, though. Until very recently.” 

He mentally sighs at the reassurance no one’s gotten to touch you while he was stuck silently yearning from afar. There were a few panic-inducing moments that drove him crazier than he’d ever admit, due largely in part to your friendly personality. You’re touchy-feely with those you care about. While he reaped the benefits of this, it’s a double-edged sword. You hug your friends, fall asleep on their shoulder, and dote over them at every chance. He once mistakenly snapped one of his arrows in half when he saw you run and jump to embrace Rick. 

Daryl knew it was wrong to feel possessive over a grown woman who he wasn’t in a romantic relationship with, yet his heart refused to listen to his brain. People were drawn in by your wit and charm, there wasn’t much to do about it. It wasn’t like he could station himself by your side every waking hour to scare off any asshole who thought they had a shot at you. 

… He has considered the idea, though. 

“That right?” He asks, maintaining eye contact while his hands go to give your ass a squeeze. He’s never felt the most confident when it came to flirting, yet you make him feel wanted, like you’re into him as much as he’s into you. 

“Right as rain,” you give him those doe eyes that make him weak in the knees. “It made me have to settle for the next best thing.” 

Daryl’s entirely under your spell and he wouldn’t want it any other way. “What’d that be, princess?” 

He bites back a knowing smirk at the way you shiver, your eyes glazing over with lust. Learning your little thing for hearing him call you princess was a piece of knowledge he fully intended on making good use of. 

“My hands,” you murmur. He knew what you were implying, but hearing you say it out loud almost makes him lose his fucking mind. “I’d think about how strong he was, how good he’d make me feel. I was always scheming, y’know. Wearing short shorts, low cut shirts. Think it may have caught his attention?” 

Oh, so that’s how it was, huh? He’d always get caught between feeling grateful for seeing so much of you and possessive when he realized everyone else got the same privilege. A few men and women back at the prison let their eyes linger far longer than he would’ve preferred. He’d spend balmy nights tucked away on his lonesome, wrestling his belt and pants down so he could relieve himself to the thought of you. Guilt would rear its head when he saw you the next day, running over to excitedly greet him, oblivious to how he objectified you in his mind hours prior. 

It comes as a mild relief to know that was what you intended. 

“Don’t needta think. Know for a fact it did.” 

You pout, upping his urge to kiss you by a hundred percent. “Are you sure? He hasn’t tried to touch me lately. It’s starting to hurt my feelings.” 

“Hard to touch a woman who ain’t there,” Daryl huffs, indignant. 

“Well, I’m here now,” you reassure. “Maybe you should make the best of it, hm?” 

You don’t need to tell him twice. 

He snatches the keys and wastes no time unlocking the front door, motioning for you to go in first. He enters immediately after. The lock is redone in anticipation of what’ll come next, you’ll both be needing your privacy. Daryl loves your little group, would die for them in a heartbeat, but he’s been waiting what feels like eons to get you alone again. He’s surprised with the amount of self-control he’s exercising, the urge to rip your clothes off and take you against the closest available surface is overwhelming. You bring out this animalistic side to him he never knew existed. 

You start making your way upstairs after leaving your shoes by the door. From this angle, he’s treated to a lovely angle of your hips and shapely ass. His nerves are set aflame by the mere thought of seeing you bare again. He damn near sprints to catch up with you, not caring to hide his desperation in the slightest. He scoops you up bridal style along the way — he really might have a thing for manhandling you, although he’s never rough — the ease in which he can maneuver your body just feels right. Satisfies what little ego he has when it comes to romantic endeavors. 

“I never have to use my legs when you’re around,” you giggle. 

“That’s the goal.” 

In more ways than one, he hopes. 

Daryl brings you into the first bedroom he sees. You’re gently laid down atop the plush comforter, while he gets to work ridding himself of his clothes. The condom from earlier is placed on the bed’s edge. He pulls his angel wing vest over his head, kicks off his boots, then his jeans. The weight of your gaze on him is tangible, you look at him as if he were a piece of art. He’s unsure if he should feel embarrassed or prideful by your unabashed staring. A blush dusts his cheeks when he catches you rubbing your thighs together, causing him to lean toward the former.

He freezes when he gets to his black button-up shirt. The last time you were intimate, it was dark enough that he didn’t feel entirely exposed. As much as he loves seeing you painted in warm hues of orange and red, that means he’ll be fully visible too. Every inch of his body and its testament to a life of hardships. You’d seen the scars on his back when tending to his injuries back on the farm, yet you didn’t dare to make a comment. The way he flinched and shrunk away told you everything you needed to know. 

Sensing his hesitation, you stand to your feet and approach him. Your fingers settle on the top button, though you make no movement past that. He can practically hear the cogs turning in your head. 

“If you don’t want—”

“I do,” he cuts you off, knowing what you intend to say. “I trust ya. Just…”

“Just…?” 

He shrugs, the tips of his ears burning. “Want ya to like what ya see.”

“Oh, darling,” you croon, the unexpected pet name makes his blush infinitely stronger, “Maggie used to call me out for drooling over you when you wore those sleeveless shirts. Made me wish I had a pair of opera glasses. You’re handsome. Unbelievably so.”

He doesn’t know what to say, caught in a swirl of embarrassment and delight over the praise you wholeheartedly offer. 

You undo the first button, then stop, looking up to check with him again. When he nods, you keep going, revealing the skin that closely hugs his defined muscles. You don’t recoil in disgust or give him pity-filled glances when spotting his scars, instead, you look mesmerized. He can hear your breathing pick up and see the way your pupils dilate. 

Daryl thought he was too old to get butterflies in his stomach, but there’s nothing you’re better at than revealing parts of himself he didn’t know existed. 

You smooth your palms over his pecs. “I really am going to start drooling.” 

He huffs and shrugs off his shirt, leaving him in nothing but his boxers. “Lay your ass back down, girl.”

You give a dorky double thumbs up and do just that. 

He joins you not long after, both his arms caging you against the bed. 

Daryl nods toward your still-clothed body and quirks his head to the side. 

“What? You don’t wanna be the one to undress me? I’m sure you’ve thought about it.” You provoke. His hands almost start trembling from the sheer excitement the prospect stirs up in him. You’re such a coquettish little thing, playing dirty whenever you’re presented with the choice. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t love it, though. You know how to rile him up. 

“Once or twice,” he replies, nimble fingers finding the hem of your shirt and lifting. You raise an eyebrow, challenging his purposefully low estimation. He gives a throaty chuckle, soothing your ire by kissing you on the forehead. “A day.” 

You look pleased with the revelation. “There. Much better.” 

He greedily takes in every inch of skin that’s revealed to him as he lifts your shirt. Heaven itself couldn’t compare to the beauty that is your body, he almost forgets how to breathe when he sees the start of your chest. His heartbeat rises in a crescendo as he slowly pulls the fabric upward. Finally, he gets an unobstructed view of your tits, wrapped up nice and pretty in a black bra. He wets his lips and bites back a groan. His large, calloused hands immediately set to work on kneading the supple flesh. There’s nothing he loves the feel of more.

“Ya really did plan this,” Daryl has to stop himself from rutting against the bed like an animal, the desperation you instill in him is unreal. “Wanted to drive me fuckin’ crazy, huh?” 

“Maybe a little.” 

He pinches your nipples then, earning a gasp so lovely from you that a guttural growl leaves his throat. He’s just as obsessed with your voice as you are with his. There’s a sweetness to it that tickles his ears just right. Whether you’re laughing, moaning, or simply saying his name in that way only you can, there’s this lilt that has him hooked. Nicotine be damned, you’re an addiction that surpasses all else. 

His fingers make their way to your back, undoing the clasp of your bra. “A little, hm?” 

You nod after a moment’s hesitation. 

“Ya never were a good liar,” Daryl muses. He’s always found this positively adorable about you. Once he taught you the rules of poker and you joined in on some game nights, it became clear that wasn’t your area of expertise. You’d squirm in your seat, glare or beam at your cards, your intentions practically announced for the whole world by your transparent body language. He’d lost count of the number of times he had to bite back a smile when watching you. 

He wraps his mouth around your nipple, alternating between suckling and licking it with his tongue. If given the chance, he’d sit here and do this for ages.  

“Is that— mm— a bad thing?” 

He pulls back from his important task long enough to reply, “Nah. Love that ‘bout ya.” 

While he contents himself by playing with your tits, you grow adorably impatient, wriggling in an attempt to get some friction where you want it most. He grabs your hips and holds you still to stop your indulgence, eliciting an irritated huff from you. He hadn’t anticipated this brattier side of you, but there’s something about it that gets him going. Electricity crackles between you, filling the atmosphere with thick tension.  

“There somethin’ you want, girl?” He teases, attention flittering between the coat of his saliva on your chest and the depraved curve of your countenance. He can feel precum leaking from his tip when you try to grind on him again, your frustration fucking delicious. 

Your eyes widen when he pulls away, much to his amusement. “Asked ya a question, butterfly. You best be answerin’ it.” 

“What do you think I want, Daryl?” The little whine you accentuate your words with works wonders on him. 

He shrugs, playing ignorant. “Dunno. A nap, maybe. Ya act all pissy if ya don’t get your eight hours.” 

“I told you, my beauty sleep is important,” you huff, directing a halfhearted glare his way. He exhales sharply, betraying his bemusement. You’re about as intimidating as a bunny rabbit to him. “Admittedly, while the prospect of a nap is tempting, I’d rather you fuck me until my brain is scrambled.” 

This vulgar side of you is a damn treat he’ll never tire of devouring. 

“That so, princess?” 

“Cross my heart.” 

“Take them pants off then.” 

You oblige without protest. You hook your thumb on the waistband, maintaining smoldering eye contact as you drag it down oh so slowly. He palms at his hardened length while you put on your little show, the throb of his cock close to constant. His eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets when he spots your panties. They’re the same shade of black as your bra, the fabric next to scant, hugging your curves tightly. He can see the outline of your folds against it, your wetness seeping through. His tongue slips out to moisten his lips when he remembers how amazing you tasted. He’s brought back to the blissful experience, the softness of your thighs around his face, how you wriggled and squirmed so delightfully for him… 

“My eyes are up here, Mister,” you hum. Normally, he’d have a clever remark ready to match you, but he’s completely at a loss. You’ve rendered him speechless. 

You were wearing this all day, just for his viewing pleasure? 

Maybe there is a God after all — some higher power has got to be smiling down on him. You could make a zealot out of the most impious man. 

By the time he manages to break from his reverie, your pants have been tossed aside. It’s you who approaches first, crawling over to where he sits still as a statue, looking up at him through your eyelashes. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows thickly, completely and utterly smitten by you. Your breath hitches in your throat when you notice the prominent outline of his cock against his boxers. If that visceral reaction does something for his ego, he’ll never admit it. 

You settle onto his lap like it’s where you belong most — he’d argue until he was blue that it is — both of you releasing a content noise at finally having contact where you want it most. Your lips are on his in a feverish kiss. His hands start at the dimples on your back, then move down, cupping your ass and encouraging you to grind against him. You use his shoulders as leverage to better control your movements. He groans when your fingernails dig into his flesh, and you take the opportunity to sneak your tongue into his mouth, getting drunk on the taste of one another. Today, you taste like lemonade. The tart flavor is best when sampled from you. 

His mouth smothers your whimpers and soft moans of his name. When you pull back, he’s initially disappointed, until he realizes this grants him the perfect view of each twist of your face. You appear hazy with pleasure, your bare chest heaving and glossy lips parted. There’s a telltale tensing in your thighs that catches him off guard. 

“You gettin’ off on this?” Daryl asks, his voice heady with lust. “Grindin’ on me, making all them sweet lil noises?”

“Yes,” you whimper, your shame long forgotten. Not that you ever have much when it comes to him. 

This is better than anything he’d concocted in his wildest fantasies. You wanting him as much as he wants you, chasing after your high without reservation. He faithfully does his part to help you along. He follows the rhythm you set, his eyes never leaving your face, deriving unmatched satisfaction from knowing he’s the reason you’re like this. It’s him who knows how to fire you up and cool you down, him who you’re humping against like depravity is your natural element. 

You’re gripping him tighter, nails digging deep. He savors the slight ache, intending to wear your marks like a badge of honor. 

“That’s it,” he encourages, his voice raspy. “C’mon. Show me how good ya feel. Wanna see it.” 

You’re nothing if not obedient, once in a blue moon. 

You come undone, throwing your head back, your eyes squeezed shut as you savor your release. He fixates upon the muscles of your neck, on display like a canvas ready to receive his designs. His lips hover over your racing pulse, the stubble of his beard against your skin prompting a fit of giggles. He mouths at your skin, humming low in appreciation at the saltiness coating it. You sure do get yourself all worked up over him. Knowing that does things for him, stokes the flames of an already raging fire. 

“God, I’m obsessed with you, Daryl Dixon,” you confess, moving your head aside so he can have better access to your neck. “You’re all I think about. We’re just— we were made for one another, weren’t we? You’re my best friend, my — I don’t know — does boyfriend sound kinda silly at this point, or is it just me?” 

Love blooms in his chest, temporarily overpowering his lust. Or perhaps the two are mixing to form an entirely new color. “I’ll be whatever ya like, so long as I get to see that again.” 

“Even my…?” You cut yourself off, and he pulls back, finding himself unable to read your countenance. That’s an exceedingly rare occurrence. 

“Your…?” He prompts, the both of you whispering like you’re exchanging precious secrets. 

“No, it’s—” you suck in a deep breath and shake your head. “Ahem. Too soon for that.” 

You try to distract him by pawing at his waistband. It is a clever move on your part, but he musters up the willpower to stop thinking with his dick for a few seconds. 

“Nah. Ya ain’t doin’ that. Finish the damn sentence, woman.” 

This is a rabbit hole he wants to explore. His intuition offers a suggestion that’d fill in the blank, yet he shrugs it off, scoffing internally. There’s no way you possibly meant that, his brain just isn’t working properly. No, a pretty thing like you couldn’t possibly want to marry an asshole redneck like him— 

“Marriage is off the table until we at least go on one date. Your treat. I’m ordering appetizers and a dessert, too.” 

Only you would essentially propose to him while throwing in a joke for good measure. Yeah, that’s the love of his life alright. A hot mess. Heavy emphasis on hot. Somewhat lighter emphasis on mess. 

“... Orgasm felt that good, huh?” 

You swat at his chest. “Shut up, I’m sleep deprived and not thinking clearly.” 

Daryl notices that you’re looking everywhere but at his face, embarrassment prominent. He props himself up some so that you’re able to pull his boxers off, his dick springing out of its restraints. There are about a million things he wants to say to you, some teasing, some entirely genuine, but when you wrap your soft hands around the base of his cock, he blanks. He pants your name as you start pumping him. Pearls of cum are quick to coat his length, making the process even easier for you. 

You bend forward, your tongue licking up everything that oozes from his flushed tip. Then your mouth starts taking him in. The warm wetness feels divine and he keens. The noise surprises you both, encouraging you to keep going. You hollow out your cheeks, then start sucking, all the while jerking off what isn’t in your mouth yet. Caving into instinct, his hands fly to either side of your head. He helps ease you up and down his length. 

Daryl wonders if he’s dreaming — he doesn’t want to pinch himself to find out, just in case that’d wake him up. 

The fact a girl as stunning as you is sucking his dick with unbridled enthusiasm simply doesn’t compute. His peak is growing more and more imminent. The tightness of your mouth, how you’re moaning against him like you’re the one being pleasured; it’s too much in the best of ways. He was already worked up to a frenzy after witnessing you come from grinding on him. 

Briefly, he entertains the thought of what it’d be like if he released his load in your mouth. He’d make sure you swallowed every last drop. Knowing you, however, you’d probably do so without his prompting, swallowing while looking him straight in the eye. You know what you do to him. That you have him wrapped around your pretty little finger. You know it and love it, maybe almost as much as he does. 

Daryl utilizes every last ounce of self-control in his body and pulls you off his weeping cock. 

A trail of saliva connects your lips to his tip, a sight he intends to burn into his memory forever. 

“Hey, I was enjoying myself,” you complain with an exaggerated sigh. 

“Me too.”

He reaches over to grab the condom from earlier. Ripping into it with his teeth, he rolls the plastic over his sensitive cock. Once it’s on, his hands go to your shoulder, gently pushing so that you’ll lay down for him. You pique his interest by shaking your head. You must have plans of your own, for you reclaim your spot on his lap. He’s plenty content to accommodate this apparent desire of yours and leans back. 

You line him up with one hand and tenderly cup his cheek with the other. 

Slowly, you sink down onto him, lulling your head back while you do so. He helps hold your hips in place so you can adjust to him at your pace. Instinct begs him to rut up into your accommodating warmth, but he values your comfort more than his own carnality. Your eyelashes flutter shut whereas he keeps himself trained on you. When you’re halfway down, he kisses your inner wrist, grateful for the pulse beneath your skin. 

“You’re takin’ me in well,” he praises. If there were ever a man capable of penning hymns dedicated to you, it’d be him. “Just like that. Nice n’ easy.”

A high-pitched whine leaves your lips when he’s fully inside you. 

“That’s it, good girl.”

You reopen your eyes, granting him the sight of what’s become his favorite color ever since he met you. 

“You’re spoiling me with all these compliments.” 

Your hands run over his jaw, then the tensing tendons of his neck, finally settling on his sun-kissed shoulders. 

“Ya deserve it,” Daryl murmurs. “Beautiful woman.”

Dizzying pleasure thrums throughout him when your walls clench, his words hitting your sweet spot. Sweat coats both your bodies in a light sheen. You rotate your hips, allowing him to stretch you out, the slight friction far from enough yet tantalizing nonetheless. Finally, after what feels like an excruciating wait, you lift yourself off him and come back down. The decadent pleasure builds and builds with each repeat of the motion. He’s close, painfully so, but letting you take what you want from him is given top priority. The sinful sounds pouring from your lips with increasing urgency hint that you might not last long either. 

Calloused fingers work to rub messy circles against your clit. This added layer of stimulation has you moaning incoherently near his ear, half-legible sentiments tumbling out. 

“Feels so good,” you whimper, almost delirious. “I wanna be yours. Please.” 

You’re growing increasingly erratic as your second high looms on the horizon. The telltale tensing of your muscles has him picking up momentum. One hand guides you up and down his cock, the other pleasuring you where you need it most. Your declaration envelops him, making him feel impossibly warmer. How you vacillate between uttering the naughtiest and sweetest things is a mystery to him he won’t bother solving. All he knows is that his adoration for you won’t ever stop growing, no; this is where a new chapter of it begins. 

“You are. Always ‘ave been.” 

Daryl knew it couldn’t have just been his imagination, the once-in-a-lifetime connection that formed soon after your paths crossed. It strung you both together. Whenever one wandered too far from the other, the rope would go taut, forcing you to stumble back where you belonged. 

Your walls tighten around him and you snap, back arching, pressing those perfect tits against his chest. 

He grunts at the sensation of you coming on his cock, thrusting upward to meet your stuttering hips. He loses himself in the aroma of sex and you. You go partially limp when you’ve come down from your high, which allows him to maneuver your body with greater ease. The release he denied himself minutes prior threatens to consume him once again. How could it not, when he got to witness your blissed-out face, hear the sounds of your gratification? 

Daryl’s hands latch into the soft flesh of your waist hard. He slams into you a few more times, the sound of skin slapping skin reverberating throughout the room. His cum spurts out into the condom’s plastic confines, filling you with his warmth. He faintly registers that you’re lavishing his neck in sloppy kisses as he basks in his high. 

Both your chests heave as you pant, greedily taking in the air you willingly deprived yourselves of during the act. 

Your shaky fingers comb through the mess that is his bangs. Daryl lets you do as you please, too busy admiring every inch of your face to care about anything else. You press a chaste kiss against his forehead, then his nose, and finally, his awaiting lips. He chases after yours when you pull away, an action that makes you laugh. He huffs at the return of your brattiness. When he sees how wide you’re smiling, however, it becomes difficult for him to maintain his disgruntled facade. Your joy is contagious. 

“Plannin’ on stayin’ there all night?” He nods at the junction where your bodies remain connected. His cock has gone soft and you’ve made no sign of getting off him yet, not that he’s complaining. He knows you’re real fussy about cleanliness (a concept that eludes his understanding, since it’s the damn apocalypse), so he’s pleasantly surprised you haven’t run off to wipe yourself down. 

“Would you be opposed if I said yes?” 

“‘Course not.” 

However much you’d both love to live in this little slice of reality, you know it isn’t meant to last. People will come looking if you’re both gone too long. He sighs when you climb off him, already missing the feeling of being inside you. You both get to work on making yourselves presentable, you more so than him. You smooth out the wrinkles in your clothes and fight with your hair while he perches himself on the side of the bed, lost in thought. 

“Did ya mean it?” Daryl breaks the silence. 

“Hm?” You glance over your shoulder, blinking rapidly. “Mean what?” 

He fights the urge to roll his eyes at you for acting innocent; you’re too smart to not know what he’s talking about. 

Although, when he struggles to get the two-syllable word out himself, he can sympathize with your efforts. 

“... Marriage,” he drawls, heat flooding across his face. He feels better when he sees you’re similarly embarrassed. You pad quietly against the hardwood floor (he’s always marveled over how silent your footsteps are, perfect for joining him on hunts), and sit beside him. Your arms come to wrap around his bicep. Taking a deep breath, you rest your head on his shoulder, as you’ve done multiple times prior. On the road especially. 

He pulls you in closer and lays his head against yours.

“It kinda feels like we already are,” you admit. He can hear the fond smile in your voice. “You’re my home. The person I depend on most, someone I can’t do without.” 

Your grip on him tightens. “However much life ahead of me I have… I want to spend it with you. If that’s alright.” 

Daryl feels so light he thinks he might be floating. 

There’s an underlying melancholy — the uncertainty which comes as a consequence to the world you now inhabit — yet you never let that stay the focus. You always find ways to plant seeds of tentative hope in what appears to be corrupt soil. Maybe it’s for the reason you said earlier, that you can’t let yourself dwell on the bad in fear of what it’d reduce you to, but he can’t bring himself to mind should that be the case. 

What matters is that you shine bright to illuminate him when he thinks darkness is all he’ll ever know. 

“‘If that’s alright’?” He repeats, incredulous. “I ain’t ever lettin’ ya go, butterfly.” 

You relax, knowing Daryl’s nothing if not a man of his word.

“You’d really wanna be my husband?” 

He looks at you like you have three heads. “Shouldn’t I be askin’ why the hell you wanna be my wife?” 

“Because I have good taste. Also, I’m secretly aiming for your assets. We’re not getting a prenup just for that reason alone.” 

Daryl snorts and shakes his head. Assets, this woman says. As if he had any in this world or the last. 

“Fine by me,” he kisses your temple. “You know I’d give ya anything ya asked for.” 

“... Even your crossbow?” 

“Last I recall, ya could only hold it for ‘bout ten minutes ‘fore complainin’ your ‘muscles were shriveling up.’”

“You make it look so easy!” You complain, lightly hitting him on the chest. He smirks at the roundabout compliment. Your fingers linger, splaying out and making their way over to where his heart steadily beats. “Hm… can I have this, then?” 

“Already do.” 

He’s certain you’re well aware of the fact. After all, you are his freakishly perceptive woman. 

Regardless, no matter how many times you may ask, he’ll gladly remind you, each and every time. 

Ah, the things you do for the ones you love. 

“We should probably head back to HQ before Rick sends a search party out for us, huh?” 

Daryl’s muscles go taut at the mention of Rick. You wriggle free from beneath his arm so you can examine his face, inquisitive as ever.  

“Didn’t part on the best terms with ‘im,” Daryl reveals. He takes another moment to collect his thoughts. “Kinda what started this whole thing today. Saw that Monroe kid touchin’ ya, it got me all riled up. Was aboutta make a scene til Rick stepped in. He said… said ya wouldn’t ‘ave wanted that. Thought ‘bout how he was letting ya cozy up to the folks ‘ere, knowin’ full well he planned on usin’ it to his advantage. I dunno. Made me see red.”

Your eyes hold an indescribable softness for him. “Thank you.” 

“For what? Makin’ an ass of myself?” He scoffs. 

“Always having my best interest in mind,” your way of wording things always sounds better. “It’s okay, though. Like I said earlier, I get why Rick’s doing what he’s doing, even if I don’t fully agree. Ultimately, we’re all on the same team.” 

Daryl shakes his head. “... You’re too forgivin’, butterfly.” 

You shrug. “Hafta be with family. Holding onto things never does any good in the long run. Which is why I’m sure it’ll be fine, once you talk with him.” 

He doubts he’ll have a lengthy heart-to-heart like whatever you’re envisioning, but he keeps the thought to himself. 

“Let’s get going, okay?” You stand and start pulling on his hands. He gets up with some reluctance, not entirely willing to leave this little world where just you and him exist. “Carol made this delicious lemonade, it’s to die for. Metaphorically.” 

He gives a crooked grin. “Yeah, I know.” 

“Oh? How’s that?” 

Daryl tugs you back to him in a mess of surprised exclamations and tumbling limbs. He secures you on his lap, fully intending to savor you a little while longer. It doesn’t take you long to relax. Not when he’s the one touching you. 

“Ya already gave me a taste.”

[bioethicists]

hi i hope you dont mind this question. i assume because you are anti psych/mad liberation (me too) you probably also get the pro psych reaction of "thats dangerous" and "its not all like that" and the accusation that acknowledging the fact that psychiatric and therapy "care" is so bad will make people quit that care and they will inevitably get worse and it'll be your fault? im an anti psych blogger and this really messes me up because my whole thing is that i DONT want mentally ill ppl to suffer, and thats the whole reason i AM anti psych. and i am afraid ppl will somehow be harmed by me telling the truth or making (evil!) generalizations about psych professionals, etc.

to me it seems incredibly reactionary, usually comes with a moral panic flavor, and is chock full of victim blaming cliches. it seems to me that it hinges on the fear and threat of 1. a Crazy person rejecting treatment and 2. a Crazy person rejecting authority, so again, it seems to be based mostly in stigma. and yet it does seem true and possible that ppl will be influenced in ways that turn out poorly and i dont want that to happen either. and yet again, framing it like "dont tell ppl what health care to pursue" is a misnomer since psych care is simply about social control... and that facade of health care just protects them from criticism in a bad faith way cause it makes you look anti vax adjacent and telling ppl not to see doctors. im not really interested in telling ppl what to do when it comes to accessing psych care, but my general analysis is that: is refusing psych care possibly dangerous? yes. is getting psych care also possibly dangerous? yes.

anyway the main question is if/how you deal with this. both intellectually and emotionally. cause i think its possibly the hardest part of sharing anti psych views in public. it makes me feel guilty and afraid. and i think making splicing disclaimers sucks and is stupid. so idk. thanks for reading.

first of all, i absolutely do experience this + it used to piss me off more than it does now but now it mostly makes me sad. i think you summed it up so well when you said that both refusing + seeking psych care can be dangerous.

part of it is that, the deeper i root into my belief in bodily autonomy, the more i stop punishing myself if someone takes a good faith, well-phrased assertion i've made + spins that into something harmful which i never said or intended. i am very deliberate to only spread information that pushes for expanding + critiquing methods of healing, stressing that my goal is to free people from suffering, not compound it.

i know that some people who are struggling with paranoia or self-destructive impulses read mad liberation talking points (often finding their ways to the more conspiracy fueled or recklessly phrased ones) + respond in ways that end up harming them, like cold-turkey going off antipsychotics or firing their entire treatment teams to take sketchy supplements. it does make me very sad that this happens, because like you said, i want these people to be happy + not suffer.

however, i rarely see comparable conversation about how people take the logics of the psych system and use THOSE to harm themselves. many people with similar traits to those who do what you are describing are just as likely to use the logics of psychiatry to punish themselves or distance themselves from others. they use 'coping mechanisms' punitively by becoming obsessed with 'clean' eating/dieting, organization/academics, being the Perfect Patient. they tell others + themselves that they are neurologically incapable of love or healthy relationships or pleasure. they isolate themselves because they believe they are fundamentally toxic or abusive. they dismiss their emotions as "just symptoms" + actively chastise themselves or try to train themselves out of experiencing any anger towards others or even any negative emotions at all. they admit themselves to psych wards frequently not out of a reasonable concern that they will hurt themselves or others but because they believe they belong in a psych ward any time they are experiencing symptoms. the list goes on.

all of that being said, i do experience genuine concern that people might read what i write + because of self-hatred or intense paranoia, read some sort of mandate or advice that isn't there + end up in more pain. because this exact thing also happens with psychiatry, which the naysayers you describe above are not concerned with, i don't think they're actually worried about hurting people. they are worried about Crazy people Not Getting Help. it comes from a place of paternalism + fear.

another, more positive aspect of it is that i do genuinely believe that many people are not being helped by their treatment teams but think they Have To be in therapy or in a hospital or on meds despite them not helping because that's What You Do. so they have been sitting around waiting for five years of therapy or their seventh ssri to start doing something meaningful. some of them just needed to hear: you don't have to do this; it might not be the right thing for you. i actually think these people are really well-served by hearing about anti-psych/mad lib stuff + them quitting therapy/meds/treatment ends up allowing them to look for other pathways for dealing with emotional suffering.

ultimately, i think mad liberation that focuses on true autonomy + total liberation of all peoples provides a clearer path forward for people to return from these places of intense paranoia or self destruction. i think we are all so used to being deprived of autonomy that, when we first get it back, we often stumble with it or try to provoke someone into taking it away from us. that is just going to continue to happen if we respond to it by making autonomy conditional. a LOT of us feel like we're not allowed to heal if it's not a moral mandate, so hearing that it isn't feels like nobody cares. we have to find new ways of showing that we care which don't involve exerting power over others.

[grayintogreen]

Perhaps we'll get some insight into this in the Lucien book, but in the meantime:

Why do you think the Somnovem chose to find and repair Lucien's soul rather than just appointing a new Nonagon or something? Like it'd be one thing if there wasn't anyone else available but that wasn't the case. Vess actively wanted the position (and iirc she had all nine eyes so she was in contact with them) and the other Tombtakers were around too (granted they probably wouldn't have wanted it but still). Maybe Vess was their backup if they couldn't restore Lucien? Idk I just think it's interesting that they went through the trouble when they technically didn't have to.

Side note: How exactly did they "put his soul back together" anyway? Like how does that work?

This is gonna get into SOME headcanon territory, but I'm gonna try to stick with what is actually presented in canon and therefore what I've had to make up can at least be backed up by what we've seen and heard. I do have deeper theories about this, but they are literally things I made up for an Alternate History fanfic that I cannot use as basis for an analysis.

Now while we can't say for certain that Lucien was Fate-Touched or born under Ruidus or whatever and that is complete conjecture based on nothing, we do know one thing- he has red eyes and as far as we understand he has always had red eyes. Hold that in your head for a second.

There was a previous Nonagon, presumably the person who scribed the Tome, and for whatever reason, they weren't able to handle it. They went mad and burned up and died like a typical Betrayer God puppet (even if the Somnovem aren't gods- same basic idea). So here comes Lucien who finds the tome and has their eyes naturally. I feel like with everything we've seen of Age of Arcanum wizards, even broken fucked up ones, that seeing someone who has that kind of connection to you built in isn't something to be discarded.

So that's a point in his favor. Add that Lucien is a misunderstood dreamer (like they were), has a massive chip on his shoulder (easily manipulated), and responds well to the knowledge and power they give him without going completely cuckoo and exploding, he's basically the perfect Nonagon. That isn't to say that they couldn't have picked another one, but they put a lot of investment in one that clearly was working for them and his scraps were right there and easy to reach out and find. (Lest we forget that Cognouza is a fucking hoover vacuum slurping up everything that gets in its way as it floats in the astral sea.)

Now Vess, on the other hand... I do believe Lucien isn't bullshitting about her not having the imagination even if I think the "intended usurper" Christ metaphor he talks about is just him justifying what happened to him as something that needed to happen because that appears to be part of how he copes with trauma and life, in general. He spins the narrative to his advantage.

Also Vess is another wizard and the Somnovem are a fragmented fucked up hivemind, but they are still wizards. You don't invite another wizard, especially one who is more eager for knowledge and power than your vision (and Lucien CLEARLY believes in the vision- he just ended up thinking the Somnovem weren't doing it right), into your happy pretendy fun times society unless you want them to turn on you and take your shit for themselves. This is their hubris, I think- they believed VESS would turn on them to steal their information and try to overpower them, but they assumed Lucien, a lesser mortal, wouldn't, simply because that seems to be pretty normal for Age of Arcanum wizards.

As for how they got his soul fragments- they were likely keyed into him as the Nonagon and thus claimed by their magic and just followed his "scent" (which is how Lucien describes it exactly) and then used Cognouza's hoover powers to bring the shreds of Lucien's soul into Cognouza proper and rebuild it, which is an extremely weird way of saying "idk magic dream powers." They wanted him whole again so the aether made him whole again, and I'm sure that had NO EFFECT on his psyche whatsoever.

[knifewieldingenby]

awkward encounters

The geraskier “first words your soulmates say to you are tattooed on your arm” trope, but Geralt and Jaskier both have some rather awkward words. warning: suggestively horny toward the end

tagging: @geraskier-trashh @honeysuckletook @kueble

-----

Jaskier was in his element. The room was warm, everyone too drunk to give much notice to their sweaty bodies. Jaskier was only vaguely aware of his own body, more in tune with the alcohol and his dancing partner. Priscilla laughed as she grabbed his hand and spun him around, dipping him dramatically with a wide smile. He couldn’t stop himself from giggling. He was at a club, buzzed and happy with his best friend. What could be better than this? 

At one point in the night Priscilla pulled him close, pressed her lips to his ear, and said “that man keeps looking at you.” She pointed behind him and sure enough a man leaning against the bar kept stealing glances, although Jaskier noted that he also seemed to be staring intently at some place beyond Jaskier. He was...well, gorgeous almost didn’t seem like enough. His long white hair was pulled back in a high bun with a few strands falling over his face. He was built like a tank, all hard muscles accentuated by a tight black t-shirt and even tighter pants. Jaskier would blame the alcohol for how hard he ogled the man, but he had to admit that even sober Jaskier would be drooling at the sight of such a beautiful creature. 

The man turned to say something to the bartender, an equally built man, and glanced back, though this time he looked irritated and was definitely trying to see around Jaskier. He shrugged and turned back to his best friend. An absolute God he may be, but he didn’t seem interested in Jaskier, and he had no intention of chasing a man tonight. 

Drunk on vodka and euphoria, the gravelly voice suddenly loud in his ear made him jump.

“Move, baby slut.”

“Well fuck you too!” He shot back, whipping around to face his opponent. Something was nudging at the back of his head, trying to tell him something important, but his head was beginning to spin and his hip...why did his hip feel so hot? The man in question, the super hot man from the bar, let his irritation slip and stared at Jaskier with wide eyes.

“What?” Jaskier demanded. 

“I-I need to apprehend someone. Please move. Except don’t - don’t go far. Stay.”

For some unknown reason Jaskier stepped out of the way but still obeyed, staying where he was. The man moved past him and he watched as he approached the sleazy man who’d been slinking around the club all night, leering at random women. The man grabbed him by the arm and wordlessly dragged him away, presumably to throw him out.

“Jaskier. Jaskier!” Priscilla snapped in his face.

“Fuck, I’m listening, what?”

“Your words! That man said your words.” She placed a hand on his right hip for emphasis and Jaskier’s eyebrows shot up. Oh. That’s why his hip felt like it was burning. It was him.

His soulmate. 

He didn’t have much time to process that before he felt a hand gently pat his arm and he spun around to face his soulmate. The man looked sheepish.

“Sorry about...that.”

“Which part?” Jaskier teased. To his great pleasure the man blushed, barely visible in the darkened room.

“Um, both I guess? For my behavior and- um, and the words.”

Jaskier laughed and pulled his shirt up, shorts slightly down, to reveal those words tattooed on his skin. He never minded them. His parents may have hated them but they always made him laugh. 

“Oh, I don’t mind them so much! I should be apologizing for mine. That couldn’t have been a fun phrase to carry around with you.” 

“It was...something. I kind of thought-” He cut himself off and looked down, embarrassed. He seemed like such a different man now, no longer the slightly intimidating, gruff man who’d watched him from the bar. He looked softer now. “I’m Geralt.”

“Geralt, it’s an absolute pleasure to finally meet you. The name’s Jaskier.” On a whim he reached out and took Geralt’s hand. “Now, why don’t you finish that sentence.”

“...Fine. Come with me.” Geralt gripped his hand tighter and pulled him to an isolated part of the bar, close to the door the bartender entered and exited from. Jaskier felt like he probably shouldn’t be standing there but Geralt seemed at ease. “I kind of thought my soulmate would hate me. Because of the words.”

“Oh Geralt,” Without thinking, Jaskier placed his hand softly on Geralt’s cheek. Before he had time to worry that he’d overstepped Geralt was leaning into the touch, eyes fluttering. “I don’t hate you at all. I’m quite happy to have finally found the man who called me baby slut,” he laughed. 

Again Geralt blushed, this time much deeper. “Your shorts…”

It was only then that Jaskier remembered the outfit he was wearing. A long-sleeved crop top, fishnet stockings, and tight shorts that read “baby slut” on the ass. They were a gag gift from Priscilla, and although Jaskier thought they were ridiculous he kept wearing them in the hopes that some random person would comment on them. He’d all but given up hope but kept wearing them because they made his ass look great.

“I didn’t realize you were looking,” he purred. Geralt was positively red by now.

“I - sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s okay, darling. I was looking, too.” To emphasize his point he looked Geralt up and down slowly, eyes taking in every beautiful detail that he couldn’t appreciate from a far. He only just noticed that, though there were certainly some interesting features, particularly below the belt, he was much more distracted by Geralt’s golden eyes. Geralt coughed awkwardly but he wore a soft, fond smile. 

“You can, um, look more. If you want?”

“I intend to,” Jaskier grinned. “But first, may I kiss you?”

Geralt didn’t answer, instead taking Jaskier’s face in his hands and pressing their lips together. Electricity shot through Jaskier’s body and he moaned against Geralt’s lips, deepening the kiss. They ignored the whooping coming from the bartender, too caught up in this new feeling to care about much else.

[cryptidmads]

good evening nsr community, i went through the ama from today and came back with an armful or two of lore. there’s a bunch more than last time, and i included bbj as well as the npcs. cozy up, check under the cut, and prepare for a long read. enjoy!

today's ama featured wan hazmer and daim dziauddin again, as well as concept artist ellie and animator ben fong.

BUNK BED JUNCTION (FT. DK WEST)

- mayday and zuke live in the sewers because they're an underground band. it's a pun - there were originally two variations of bbj leaving the sewers - one with mayday hi-fiving gigi (which had a 95% chance of happening), and one with zuke awkwardly fumbling and attempting to hi-five gigi (which had a 5% chance) - one of the inspirations for mayday and zuke were the two main characters of samurai champloo (zuke was jin, mayday was mugen) - someone asked about if the rest of the cast had their own shadow puppets. ben suggested a lemur for mayday, while ellie suggested a zucchini for zuke. she may have been joking. - mayday's guitar solos were done by different people, but zuke's drum solos were all done by bruno valverde. - zuke was the one who implemented the canister thing into mayday's guitar. - someone asked who of the cast are the introverts and who are the extroverts. mayday is an extrovert, zuke is an introvert. - the team does have a bit of lore for mayday and zuke and how they met, but they want to save it in case of a future project. - mayday was inspired by both genevieve from company of thieves and the unbreakable kimmy schmidt. - ben did the animation for mayday swinging the hammer in the workshop. - haz recalls seeing some fanart of mayday being brought up as a rich girl. he doesn't remember the artist, but he does like the idea. - the japanese version has zuke say he has a phd rather than a master's degree. this is apparently a mistake. - the pattern on zuke's pants was inspired by jolyne cujoh and prosciutto from jojo's bizarre adventure. - zuke's toilet seat collection came partially from a story from one of the environmental artists where one of their high school friends pranked another friend with a toilet seat. - zuke does a lot of reading and is naturally inquisitive about things like tech and mechanics. - dk west's shadow puppet abilities might run in the family, and zuke may have it as well. - both zuke and dk west are connected by percussion (zuke with the drums, west with the hand claps) - zuke and west weren't always designed to be related -- west was originally designed as "some guy who comes and goes," but was made into zuke's brother later on in production - dk west is an extrovert.

DJ SUBATOMIC SUPERNOVA

- djss' dj name is obviously a stage name, but the team didn't have a real name for him in the script or anything. - haz joked that his name is bob salad. that's not canon but from what i seen the chat loved it lol - haz brings up the symbolism of djss spinning the planets around himself and how it represents that he thinks of himself as the center of the universe. - ellie helped design the districts, and something she noted about dj's is that it's supposed to look the "slummiest" because he cares more about himself and less about things like blackouts. - dj had some lines cut from his boss fight. those lines? mini lectures towards bbj during every phase. they were cut because the team felt like they were too much for the game, but they want to share them one day. - daim says that dj could be either introverted or extroverted becuase of how much time he spends alone looking at the stars. - dj was never planned to have an approach segment, but funk fiction wasn't told that, so he made him an approach theme anyway. - dodo ice pops are traffic light flavoured, which is a popular ice cream in malaysia. it's strawberry, pineapple, and lime flavored.

SAYU AND THE NERD SQUAD

- three of sayu's creators were based on staff members at metronomik. remi (voiced by ben) was based on one of the programmers and one of the environmental artists (ellie calls him "the lovechild of two dudes"), tila was based on (and voiced by) ellie herself, and dodo was based on danish mak (another environmental artist who also voices him). - sofa wasn't based on anyone in particular, he was more of a "general otaku guy" according to ellie (though haz joked that ellie could just say he was based on him). - dodo is daim's favorite npc -- he also designed him! - sayu was ellie's favorite character to design. she loves drawing mermaids. - the progression in sayu's fight where you go deeper into the "ocean" is supposed to be a metaphor for going deeper into the internet/the deep web. - ellie suggested that if sayu were to have a shadow puppet, it would be a cat. - as for the introvert/extrovert debate, daim says sayu is technically comprised of 4 introverts. sayu herself is the extrovert mask they wear. - sayu's ahoge is a submarine periscope. remi looks through it in one of the cutscenes. - sayu's not a mech. she's remotely controlled by her creators from their computer room. - the backstory between remi and tila is meant to show that artists can come from all sorts of backgrounds.

YINU AND MAMA

- yinu's promotional video was one of the first ones done before they brought in lzbros, so it originally looked different from how it looks in the game now. - yinu's mother's eyes are yellow because she spends most of the fight focusing on yinu (who is mainly yellow). when her eyes go blank white, it represents that she's momentarily forgotten what she loves the most. when her eyes become yellow again after the fight, it means she's remembered yinu and her piano playing. - the way ellie describes natura is that yinu is a plant and her mother is very protective of her, and one of the distinctive features is that there are a lot of domes with plants inside, particularly on the roofs of the houses. - yinu's commercial was not intended to reference little miss fortune. the commercial was shown in 2018, while LMF came out a year later. - yinu's mom turning into a giant tree monster isn't exclusive to her just being angry at bbj. apparently the whole plant thing runs in the yinu family.

1010

- 1010's concept as a boy band had been around since before the team started production, but they were the last to be fully designed -- their designs weren't finalized until way later on. - 1010 were ellie’s least favorite characters to design. she doesn't like drawing guys OR robots. - 1010's early designs had them wearing tuxedos. - 1010 do have memories. - the inspiration for the butt plates came from one of ben's gundam figures from his collection in the metronomik office. thanks ben. - ellie's favorite member of 1010 is purl-hew/blue. - eloni/green is apparently the rapper of the group. - the jingle you hear from the carousel in metro division is a carnival remix of 1010's boss theme. - the numbers underneath 1010's names on the autographs are completely random.

NEON J

- neon j is a dancer. daim explains that in addition to being in the navy, dance has always been his true passion. - in the final phase of 1010's fight, he was originally supposed to control the dance moves of the factory as he was fighting you, but it was cut due to limited resources. - daim designed neon j based on ellie's designs for 1010. - neon j's factory's dance moves were all animated by ben -- no mocap needed. the factory was also his favorite thing to animate. - daim says that "neon j is to tatiana as soundwave is to megatron." basically he is extremely loyal to tatiana. - neon j was one of earliest members of nsr. - neon j seeing 1010 as his sons wasn't planned, but daim loves the concept so much that he could see it being canon. - daim says neon j's brain is "probably" still inside the monitor head. somehow. - neon j is an extrovert. - haz likes the idea of neon j being blind and using his sonar to "see" things. ben joked that the screen worked like giant glasses. - neon j originally had red dots that would pop up on his face when the sonar moved by that were meant to represent acne, and that would've been the reason why he's mostly behind the scenes.

EVE

- in mayday's side of the room when eve splits up bbj, the hands all over the walls are meant to be there to show how eve is angrier at mayday than she is at zuke. - the time signature for the music in mayday's room during the fight is 6/8, whereas in zuke's room it's 4/4. - ellie suggested a platypus shadow puppet for eve. the rest of the team seems to be on board. - eve was ben's least favorite character to animate. he said he struggled with animating her dance moves because it was something he'd never done before, and he still doesn't think he did a good enough job. - eve was born with her split skin tone. - apparently eve's near scrapping had something to do with costs. haz was the one who stopped it from happening. - eve's outfit was partly inspired by beyonce, while her jacket was partly inspired by ariana grande. the team took some inspiration from bjork, as well. - the sleeves on eve's jacket were apparently limbs at one point. - eve is an introvert.

NPCS/OTHER CHARACTERS

- part of tatiana's symbolism is how she used to be a rock star, but her flame/passion slowly burned away, and now she's just a rock, referencing how she was literally on fire as the rock star kul fyra, but now looks burnt out. - daim thinks kliff is older than tatiana, probably over 50. - in addition to the neon j dance lore mentioned above, kayane rambling about neon j after the 1010 fight was supposed to be connected to her watching neon j dance. - ben and haz's favorite npc is mia, and ellie's is dj zam. - dj zam was inspired by one of ellie's college friends, who she says "makes you feel comfortable to be around". - ellie thinks dj zam's neck tattoo says "i love mom". - amal the unicorn was inspired by lady amalthea from the 80's animated film "the last unicorn". he was originally written to be a real talking unicorn, but it was changed partially because his horn wasn't in the right spot on his head. - zed was based on game designer dzaid and has hyperacusis, a hearing disorder that makes it difficult to deal with everyday sounds. - yiruk's name is an anagram of kiryu, the protagonist of the yakuza games. - chef sunshine's design is a homage to julia child. she originally had a bigger physique, but was changed to match lylia's bubbly performance.

[dylanxmin]

covered in you ∣ J.JK

while your boyfriend having a casual play date with his mates, you decided to go horny.

pairing; jeon jungkook x reader 

genre; smut, porn without plot(bc why not)

rating; m

warnings; teasing, slapping(face;), curse words, biting, light dom/sub tones, dom!jk, sub!reader, handjob, oral(m), cum eating, choking(on dick), drooling, sloppy blowjob, face fucking(:), exhibitionism?, and sorry unedited:(,, 

word count; 3k+

a/n; well, yeah.. im little bit turned on by jungkook and basically throwing my eagerness on here. i have no idea about games but here 7 pages long filth for you, lol. i need to make a whole masterlist for sudden!jk thirst bc i always end up writing sloppy smut out of nowhere lol. so hope y’all gonna love this, and feedbacks always, always appreciated. love y’all ♡

It was silent, beside the rhythmed ticks of the clock, hanging lightly on the wall. An annoying reminder for you how many minutes had passed alone on the couch, staring at the screen that vibrates low voices, loud as humming, but enough to tingle behind your head. Warm brown couch almost captured your body as you were sitting on the same spot for more than two hours now. Figures of the body almost printed flawlessly on the wide cushion. Finger tapping at your chin simultaneously with every beat of the clock. You sit there, completely still, annoyed, and highly bored. Weather is now gleaming dark, lightened by the skinny street light. It was different from the moment you placed yourself on the couch. With that, a groan left your throat, how much time had passed got your dander up as you eyed the black door. Tongue licking the base of your lip, curling it between your teeth to nib. Soft sigh left your nostrils when you decided to wait no more. Now, it was time to put up a show. 

Of course it wasn’t just because you were annoyed, bored or equally got horny out of nowhere. Well, there is always a little chance of it but there is no need to discuss it. 

‘‘No, hyung NO!’’ respectfully discombobulated grunt find you when the hand grabbed the knob of the door. Voice flushing a biten smile at your face, grunt continued, equal a wail. ‘‘Not there of course. ‘M at top. Yeah, yeah, c’mere. I’m waitin’ ’’ cute, desperate whines hurries you further to crush the door right away but with a shaky breath, you let the brisk rousing slip away and turn the knob as humanly as you can. Furious tappings, thin sounds rising, mixing with the boy’s grunts as breaking the silence. 

You taken aback. 

For a full three minutes you stayed still only to watch, observe the familiar movements of the boy, back muscles excrescently visible under the black tee. And yeah, you stared at them in awe. Freakingly heart stopping act of him that he does unintentionally. Though, it did not stop you from having dark, soaked panties. Shaking the head right to the left to gather the senses back nearly helped you as you closed the door. Not forcing yourself to be quiet as under the headphones you knew he won’t hear a thing, still without knowing why, you tiptoed to get him. Biting the beaming smile, you knelt beside his ridiculously priced game chair. Too oblivious to the action going on right beside him, the dark haired boy grunts once again. Adding another drip to your stomach to gather your arousal as he kicked the table lightly, but it was enough for you. Aggressive enough to hitch your breath. 

‘‘I swear to-GOD TAEHYUNG STOP TROLLING THE GAME FOR FUCK SAKE!’’ 

A sharp greed stirring to your spin when the thick vein throbbed visibly on his neck, and stayed there for the good usage of your cravings. Guess seeing your boyfriend furious over a game is a turn on now. You refuse to be the only one who feels that. There must be more freaks like you. Because it was hot. Staying still as you knelt beside him, just a little bit behind of his chair, it was getting hard not to act obviously. As every passing minute increased the charming desperation, you tried to pressure it back with a brush of your legs. Not much, but it worked enough until the inhuman growl decided to leave his throat. Fuck, what was that again. It sounded beautiful, impelling. As you fucking whimpered loud enough for your ears. Nipples brushing the fabric, as they freed from the tight grip of your bra after the first moment you had that nailing urge. They almost irked back, burning hot behind your tee. And the highly focused boy startled with the touch of your fingers touching timidly at his arm. 

‘‘Huh,’’ soft breath mixing under the air, he opened his mouth once, closed, and opened once again but couldn’t utter a voice as focus gathered on the monitor. As angry voice reached you by the headphones, you understood why he couldn’t focus on you. ‘I said boss you fucker-JK what the hell are you doing?’ If you kneeling beside him, darting your eyes on him isn’t enough for him to focus on you, then you would gladly do more. Jimin could suck his own dick as he just ruined the moment you were about to play. Thrill spilling inside, you licked your lips. It sounded like a challenge. 

And you accepted. 

You giggled at yourself after passing over by his legs to curl into the space left behind his legs. Rather than expected, below the desk wasn’t that suffocating as you thought. Lighted fairly, air semi-fresh, you could hang in here. Well, hornyness weighed more than a good space to stay. It caused no harm, too. 

When you looked up after the restless shift of your boyfriend, you witnessed the firm head shake. Even though you love to play the oblivious, you knew what it meant. It was ‘no’, a severe one. 

Yet, it was a little too late for that. 

You already take this as a challenge and you had no intention to stop now. And by tearing his eyes away from you to land it on the monitor did not help you. Only increased the silly jealousy as you leaned a bit to lift his tee. Tail of the black fabric welcomed the fingers who’s about to pat the tanned skin, light as much, soft as much as they could. Right after fingertips meeting with his muscled stomach, they tighten, scoff blurting out of him as a reflex. Too bad that he can’t do anything about making you stop, as that would mean they could and probably would lose the game and they all will blame him. And Jungkook, never, ever lost a game. Or caused a lost. Also too bad for him as you knew him too deep. 

‘JK come to the mid.’ as the request didn’t get the expected return, the same voice echoed once again. Angry this time. ‘Kook you on?’

It took a minute for him to heal himself from the teasing touch you gifted. Darkness lightened by the blue, pink, and shade of the soft yellow, falls onto his face. His façade edged even more with the shades contouring his features, he looked god ish. Knot appeared between his brows after feeling the nails digging, tracing a track down until they reached to his crotch. Dick stayed half hard. Giggling you eyed him, caring his stomach until his muscles eased back. Contrary to the curses you heard through his headphone, you leaned till the tip of your nose brushed his velvety skin on the stomach. Choked breath coming out of him as you started to put soft, caring kisses all the way above the head of his sport short. From left to right, you kissed, wetted with each lick you gave as he tightened his muscles on the thighs. 

‘‘F-fuck,’’ he hushed out, too afraid to be heared by his friends because how the hell he could explain this. Exactly, he couldn’t. Murmuring satisfiedly, tongue trailed all the way up, stopped licking when you reached below the belly-button of him. Rather choose to circle your tongue around it, carefully slow. As no one needed to rush anything. 

‘You yelled at me but who is trolling NOW JUNGKOOK!’ 

You had to cover your mouth to prevent your laugh from going out. It was semi funny and semi exciting as the idea of your friends understanding what you were doing and how much you were affecting him. It was harmless to fantasies, but you had no idea how you would feel if it turned real. Still, it was rousing. 

‘‘FUCK. O-okay, okay.’’ the captured boy hissed out, fighting with the urge to kick you aside. Both because he didn’t know how you would react, and also, it was feeling good. Your fingers, tongue, lips felt amazing. Warm against his skin. So he didn't intend to lose it so quickly. ‘‘ ‘M just a bit confused. M okay, let’s get it.’’ 

Yeah, let’s get it. 

Fingers digging in theirs and yours one of the favorite spots of him after his doe looking eyes, and easily scrunched nose. His thighs. Thick, built, smooth thighs that you adored so damn much. Hiking up the cloth up, you resist the need of biting them down. Slowed circles were much better at first, and he was already tensed as one of his knees smacked high only to meet with the hardwood. It’s play time so you could take as much as time you want. Plus, he was kinda tied down by the chair so you could use this for the good usage. 

‘‘Ah. Nuh, no, not him hyung. FUCK!’’ Jungkook’s guttural cry left his lungs as the soft circles left their place to wet kisses, and then a harsh bite right on his inner thigh. Hard enough to leave a mark, but light, too, as the mark almost disappeared right away. Sloppy, wet licks tried to heal the bruise immediately, as you worked on him. His moans hit the very needy spot, made you clench around nothing to drip even more. Poor core pulsed, pulsed, pulsed until you couldn’t take more and spilled out a weak mewl. It reflected all the desperation you had, and the gamer couldn’t control his mouth before spitting a brutal slut right at your direction. Nails digging deeper on his thighs, you like the way how that word rolled out from his plushed lips. Attacking right into your spine. Yes, yes, yes, yes, was all you could think. You were a slut, indeed. But, of course, his teammates had no idea about what was going on here, as an offended shriek filled the room right after what Jungkook said. 

‘DID YOU JUST CALLED ME A SLUT?’ you could recognize Jimin’s extra thickened voice, and you giggled while putting now less soft kisses all over his thigh. ‘JUNGKOOK SPEAK. NOW’ and you bite his flesh once again, right when he was about to answer the man on the line. 

‘‘N-Ahhhh! No, no.’’ his fingers curled around your hair immediately, out of conscious. He locked his gaze on you after tilting your head a little back. Expression hardened, his jaw twitched. ‘‘I was talking with the slut that almost killed me.’’ you sobbed as the wave of hunger hit you on the right spot, after his hand left you with a semi slap on your cheek. It wasn’t enough, it didn’t even blushed the skin but you choked anyway. More, more, more of that slap is all you need at the moment. You knew that for sure. 

And you will earn those by the work of your mouth, tongue, and palm. As much as help you can get to reach the euphoria you want at the heat of the moment. 

To soothe the now reddened flesh inside of his thigh, you licked once, twice and once again. Every touch of the warm, wet muscle earned another squirm by the boy who tried very hard to focus on the game. Though, it was obvious that he was failing because voices rising from the headphones gave the clue of how he sucked at keeping a clear game. No lie, you like the effect you had on him. Has him hissing with a jerk of his knee, brought claps to the back of your head. Like you just win a prize. 

It seemed a bit like that. 

‘‘No.’’ Jungkook pleaded, eyes not on you but the shake of his head was, indeed, for you. As your fingertips hooked under the waistband of his short, cold tips of your fingers startled him as he was burning, flesh blooming hot. To his dismay, you felt a little rebellious today. Ready to take the risk of getting the kick, as you shoved his short down, forcefully. His clothed parts unfolded slowly. However, the kick never landed, the only reaction was him holding his ass a bit high to help you on making him naked. Muscles straining, his shaft meets with air. Hanging above his legs, all the stimulation had him angry red. Precum glistening on the tip, ready to spill all over his thighs, on the chair. 

You gulped. ‘‘Fuck,’’ now it was your turn to curse, as his dick never failed to surprise you. While waiting hard, thick, and crimson. Mouth watering view went straight to your core to poke the arousal now begin to drip. Wetting your lips to match them with your mouth and his tip, meager grab of your palm meets with his dick. It has Jungkook cursing more, an aggressive fist dropped on the wooden desk. He thrusts once out of habit, but immediately stays still. The boy’s face blooming scarlet, it was enough for you to gather your courage to dive in. As his body was craving you without any doubt. 

‘‘Mid-ahhh!’’ 

Full fist squeezed around the base of his shaft has the gamer crying out loud. It made your breath hitch. Jungkook speechless. Loaded dire placed on your stomach, yet it wasn’t unpleasant. Rather, hair stands on the edge, chest writhe in need. It was too pleasant. Too dreamy. A gasping view. 

But you couldn’t hold back, and leaned in. Wet tongue touches the base of his head, you blow air after moistening the place good. It could have been twitched without your tight firm, rather, he moaned. Then freezed. Momentarily joy died in his stomach as he remembered his friends were on the other side of the line. Eyes shut tight, he waited for them to yell or accuse him for something unmistakably obvious. You giggled at his fear, as he opened one eye below the furrowed brows. Carefully as afraid to make a sudden move. Unlike his terror, nothing happens. The other two boys continue to play without saying anything, but Jungkook finds it suspicious. Even though he was relieved. 

Not for so long though, as now the tongue starts to circle around the head of his cock. Small whimpers held back by him but you were bolder to spill them. Feeling hot, heavy between your lips, you like to suck him so much. Maybe too much as Jungkook pushed his hips high. So you continued, now almost half of him in your mouth. It was hard for you to take him at once, as the boy had the biggest one you ever laid on eye. Thick, also. Palm isn’t enough to cover him fully, when you dared. So you take your time while his nostrils breathe heavily. Precum becomes one with the salvia around his cock, you whined happily at the taste. It was always pleasant. Always tasty. 

Nails digging in the naked skin, you bobbed your head down. Throat stretching well around his stabbing tip. But you had no mercy on yourself or shame while diving deeper. Tip of your nose almost touches his pubes, a strangled hum broke out by the throat. And it has his dick twitch deep down in your throat. Which another broken moan rises from you as he was equally horny as much as you. Fingers ached to find your pulsing clit, but you stopped yourself before even daring as this was about him. And only him. Rather than touching your pussy, you grabbed his waist. Shape of his body always turned you on, same as now. You mewled while moving after adjusting your breath. 

Jungkook bites down his lips, too afraid to make another voice, challenge his change. Instead, he grabbed tight his mouse, almost crashing it. Ball of longing crawling onto his chest, stomach, all over his body while you keep the work of your mouth, tongue so good. It was stirring, heart stopping for both of you. Every swirl of your tongue, every hollow move of your cheeks drive him closer. Little by little, he felt the nudging delight getting closer and closer. And if you could, you would come undone, too, as the whole thing was too affecting. 

‘‘Stay.’’ hand grabbing the back of your head, you freezed cock so deep in your throat. As the command was too sudden, a slap found your stretched cheek after you swallowed out of habit. 

‘‘Hnngg,’’ you protest but do not dare to move, knowing it would be fatal. For you and the poor throat. Tongue waiting below his dick, feeling the pulse of his thick vein, you stayed there. Even though you practised many times breathing from your nose while mouth full, after long minutes, it was getting slightly disturbing. Not uncomfortable but unachievable for you. Butterflies burning one by one from the fire rising by your chest, you wait one, two, three minutes more until Jungkook shifts his hips. Only to choke you even more with his cock, rough beg of a moan stealing by your lungs, you wrenched under his hold. 

Hands finding the support by his waist, you let him move his dick in your throat. Not that you had much of a choice. Muffled noises leaving your chest, his thrust was hard enough to try your gag reflex. 

Eyes getting teary, you were drooling even more every time your nose hit his stomach. Wet sounds gurgled with every pressure of his cock, tears now mixed by tears on your chin. Creating a pool on his thighs and the dark leather. But you never tried to go back, stayed there like a good girl he wanted, let him use you face for a quick fuck. It was satisfying for both of you. 

His abs clenched, unclench as a warning. He was about to cum, and it had you whine even louder. You wanted to taste him, gulp down everything he gifts you, and lick him clean. Strong, hot hunger raised with every push as you were going to eat his cum like your last meal. Because it tasted like that. Delicious, salty, and warm all around your tongue, teeth. You clenched around nothing once again and held your position as Jungkook started to cum with a heavy groan. 

‘‘Fuck, fuck, FUCK!’’ no one mattered, as he was bursting white deep down on your hot, drooling throat. Thrill clouded his mind as he moaned loud, hard, and obvious while spurting, adding a new color to your throat. 

Jungkook continued to cum, dripping thick and hot. And you swallowed every one of them, eagerly, messily. Slurping, licking him clean when he dropped by his high. When every inch of his dick gleamed glossy, and cleared from his cum, you were satisfied when taken you head back after his big grip let you. You smiled ear to ear as the tired bliss beamed his face. It never stopped being fluttering when he looked so proud of you. Heavy breaths of yours cut harshly when headphones almost vibrate with the intense scream. 

‘IF YOU DONE FUCKING GOD KNOWS WHERE OF Y/N, CAN YOU FUCKING GO BACK TO THE GAME, YOU FUCKING FUCK!’ 

Jimin’s voice had you two freeze, but after Teahyung started to laugh loud, almost wheezing, Jungkook and you joined him. But Jimin didn’t. As they were losing the game. And he was competitive as much as Jungkook. But right now, your boyfriend had something distracting. So he chuckled before landing an eye on you and smirked. 

‘‘Sorry, but I need to reward my girl.’’ he cocked a brow, hand moving to close the game. ‘‘As you all heard, she did a pretty good job. Right, baby?’’ 

Between Taehyung’s laughs and Jimin’s curses, your heart fluttered at the praise. It was all you needed, all you wanted from him. You watched him carefully while he put his headphones on the desk, corner of the lip curling high. A finger pointed at you, you wait for his word. 

‘‘Now, be a good girl, and turn your ass over here.’’ you cooed at his demand, wiggled your ass and presented him. Panties already soaked, you were needy as always. And he was feeding you good with his filthy words. ‘‘I’m gonna fuck you so good, so hard that you will afraid even to knock my door again when I’m playing.’’ 

With a harsh smack landing on your cheek, you were sure of that. ‘‘Yes, please.’’ 

you can also find me on twitter  (no minor pls:)

[huihuiheart]

My Queen - Mafia! Changkyun

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Monsta X Masterlist

Pairing: Mafia! Changkyun x Sub! Female Reader

Genre: Smut with some fluff, but mostly just filth

Summary: Part 2 of Yes Sir! - You agreed to be his, so he intends to show you that he really can make you his queen. Honestly, I’m kind of considering making this a series.

Warnings: Unprotected sex, dom/sub themes (pretty soft though), body worship, strip tease(barely), most of the foreplay in the previous part, fingering.

Word Count: 1,706

“I think it’s time for you to make me your queen now, Sir.” You give him the same smirk he’s been giving you all night as you give him a true answer to his earlier invitation as well as move to get what you both truly wanted.

“Fuck doll. I thought you’d never ask.”

As much as Changkyun would have liked to fuck you in the hidden area behind the bar, he insisted on taking you back to his place to finish what the two of you had started. After all, he promised to make you his queen, so while he had no problems fucking you anywhere, over anything...it’s not what he intended to do your first night together like this. He intended to spoil you tonight, make sure you knew exactly all the things he could give to you. He’d save the rougher aspects for some other time. Likely when you would need to be reminded of just who was in charge after his endless amounts of spoiling.

His hand resting on your thigh through the whole drive to his place, making you certain you’re making a mess of the expensive leather seat of his car. Not that Changkyun would ever find himself complaining about that, quite the opposite actually. If he knew, however, the last of his self-control might shatter and he might take you in the backseat of his car only to regret not treating you how he felt you truly deserved. 

Chsngkyun was sure he could have been pulled over for multiple traffic violations, but he couldn’t care less. He was just glad he got you both back to his place as quickly as possible. Beaming proudly to himself when he noticed you gawking as his impressive home. Having come up the private drive, past the perfectly manicured lawn to what was practically a mansion. You knew it would be impressive, already knowing how much he profited...still the outside alone blew away any previous expectations you had.

“This is all yours now too. Along with anything else you might want or need. You are my queen now after all.”Changkyun brushes his thumb over your cheek, before slipping out of the car and coming around to help you out. The man was more than eager to get you inside, not that he’d let you appreciate the interior too much currently. Not when his patience was already running thin. He needed you in his bedroom and he needed you there now before he lost his goddamn mind.

The second both of you are through the door his lips are on yours, his hands finding your hips to lead the way to his room. Thoroughly distracting you from anything else, including anyone who works at his home, and might be catching glimpses of you both along the way. Something you would have worried about slamming the bedroom door shut doing if his home weren’t so big that the sound would have died out before meeting the ears of too many other people. 

Changkyun finally pulls away from your lips, sitting on his bed and unbuttoning his shirt slowly, “Strip for me doll? I want to see all of you, my queen.”

Despite the fact that he was the dominant one in the bedroom, his words were a request, not a demand. Wanting to be sure that you were comfortable tonight, even if he desired something different. Willing to concede to anything you wanted, even if he was dominant. You hold more power over Changkyun than you likely even knew. 

Shy or not, you were too far gone at this point to not give in to his request. Your movements weren’t slow enough to tease him but also allowed enough time for him to properly appreciate the view of each new inch of your bare skin that graced his sight. When he called you his queen that was putting it lightly, you had been his whole world for a while now. Not that it was love at first sight per se unless you counted the first time he saw your personality show through...that being what sucked the man in and trapped him there with no hope of escaping. 

Changkyun slipping his shirt off his shoulders and tossing it aside to join the last of your clothes, his hand offered to you as he stands once again. Gently gripping your hips to guide you back onto the bed, taking your place for a moment and discarding his pants, but not yet stripping entirely. He’s too busy focusing on you right now to worry about that. Leaning forward to press his lips to your throat before working them lower, intending to cover every little piece of skin he could reach with his affections. Willing to bow to his queen, showing wordlessly just how deeply his feelings ran even if he had not confessed them before tonight. Wanting you to know that he would give you everything, give up everything if it was for you...even his life.

“Where is all this patience coming from sir? Show me the same raw desire you did back at the bar. I want you already, please.” The way you pleaded beneath him, tacking on the honorific made Changkyun concede easily. His wants still bleeding through into his actions though, kissing his way back up before pressing a passionate kiss to your lips. His thinly clothed bulge grinding down onto your bare core.

“All in due time my queen, I want to make you feel blissfully loved first. Then I’ll fuck you senseless like a little slut afterward. That’s fair isn’t it?” Changkyun inquires, the rolling of his hips turning you to putty for him. Your nod is the only response he needs right now, after all, he can break you into all of his rules later. For now, his sole focus is on making sure you know how much he appreciates the entirety of you. 

Changkhyun’s fingers trail up your inner thigh, meeting your eagerness by slowly rubbing two fingers through your glistening folds. His lips drift over your neck and up your jaw, before looking into your eyes as he gently eases his fingers inside of you, letting you adjust as he works them deeper.

“I’m going to make you cum so sweetly before I show you that I can give it to you rough too. I want you to know that no matter what your desire, I can fulfill all of your needs my queen. You’ll never need anyone but me.” His languid pace along with his words has you moaning breathlessly into the room. It was not quite what you had begged him for, yet it was still so pleasurable that your head was already spinning. His thumb falling to your clit to rub circles at the same leisurely pace that his fingers pumped into you. Changkyun’s mouth lowering to capture one of your nipples, fully intending to use any weak spot he could find to make you feel as good as possible. Something you never would have thought could make you cum so hard until he did it, fingers stroking over your spot with each press of them into you while he rides you through the high. Giving you the briefest of kisses before he brings his fingers up to his mouth, making a show out of cleaning your essence off them, the taste making him moan.

“Fuck me like you promised and I’ll let you eat me out for as long as you want later.” You bargain with him, knowing that if you don’t speak up fast he’ll probably drag this out longer by tasting you from the source before you get to feel him. As enticing as that sounded you were far too impatient at the moment for that. Your hands are already pushing down his boxers to finally free his cock, letting you see it for the first time.

“Fine, but I’m going to hold you to that.” Changkyun chuckles, hands gripping your hips to flip you over onto your hands and knees. His hands greedily groping at your ass while rubbing his tip through your folds, collecting your wetness before sheathing himself as deep inside of you as he could get. He leans in towards your ear, not having moved yet, “Tomorrow when you can’t walk on your own though, just remember that you’re the one who asked for this.” 

He doesn’t waste a second more before he’s setting a bruising pace that has your legs quaking each time he fills you so completely. Stroking over your most sensitive spots, his tip even brushing against your cervix in a way that you know will undoubtedly leave you sore reminders the next day. No part of you could care less though, you finally were getting fucked the way you’d wanted since you started working for Changkyun. Finally feeling his hips snap against your ass while he fucked you like his own personal doll. Something Changkyun certainly proved he could keep up for rounds without any hesitation.

Peeking out from under the covers the next morning, you carefully moved to slip out of bed. Your legs are slightly weak and a bit jelly-like, but not unbearable. It seemed his doting aftercare had done you some good, especially at ensuring you didn’t feel grimey this morning. You silently pad over to your items and fish your cell phone out of your purse, before slipping out of the room and glancing down the hall the check that the coast was clear. Scrolling through your call history for that one familiar number, despite it being marked as an unknown caller and pressing the button, waiting for someone to pick up.

“It worked.....I’m in. I’ll call you with an update as soon as I can. I just thought you should know that we finally made it this far.” You whisper over the line, making the man on the other side chuckle.

“I told you it would now go back to him before he suspects anything...you’ve done well.” The man praises before hanging up, making you smirk. 

Silently you slip back into the room and Changkyun’s arms once more. Him still being sound asleep and not suspecting a single thing.

[edda-grenade]

Sleep.

Adaar and Solas attempt fadewalking for the first time.

#feral verse, 2000 words. on AO3.

They were lying on a hilltop in the forest, on a fur to keep the cold of fall at bay. Well, Adaar was lying down—Solas had sat up to give her a curious look.

“You wish to leave?”

“No! I mean, yes, kinda—maybe—I don’t know.” She groaned and covered her face with her hands.

“You seem very happy, here,” he said, in that slow, careful way he had.

“I am! I am. I don’t want to leave my family, or this place, or you—”

“Me?” His voice cracked, just a little. Adaar glanced at him from between her fingers.

“Yes, obviously. I know you like to pretend you’re some lone wolf apart from all living creatures or whatever, but you’re my friend, alright? You’re not getting out of that so easily.”

“I don’t—pretend…” He sighed, his skin staining with blush, the faint freckles even fainter. His lips twitched like he was trying not to smile, until he gave up and his mouth crooked. Adaar loved it when that happened. She was pretty good at making it happen, too.

“You do not wish to leave, but?”

Now she sighed and clamped her hand over her eyes again. It was easier in the dark, unwatched.

“The world is so big and so full of things I don’t know,” she said softly, “and I want to learn everything.”

“Adaar…”

She hadn’t figured out if she loved that yet—the way he said her name sometimes, how he looked at her. Like she was the sun coming over the horizon, or a thunderstorm in the distance, or the wind dancing through the fields so hard it sang. At least that’s what she imagined the expression would look like on her face—an expression that was meant for immense and somewhat unfathomable things, not for a single person.

“There is a way I could show those things to you. Not all of them, of course—but more than what is accessible to you right now.”

Adaar sat up so quickly her head spun a little.

“I’m listening.”

He explained, and her head continued to spin, although for different reasons. Lucid dreaming, delving into the Fade like into a cave, how the deeper you went the older the memories imprinted upon the Fade would be…

It sounded ludicrous. Like magic, if she had never heard of it before. It sounded amazing.

“Can we just do that?” she asked. “Right now?”

Solas gave her another weird look; his eyes wide and searching for a brief moment.

“I—yes. Come with me.”

They left the little barren hilltop that poked above the forest behind and instead descended into the small cave Solas had chosen as his resting place. She’d tried often to convince him to join her family at the settlement, but he’d steadfastly refused every time. It didn’t bother her as much anymore—the cave looked more and more like an actual home these days, with a fire pit and cooking tools, shelves he’d carved out of the rock to hold utensils using a spell she hadn’t quite figured out yet herself, and a warm, dry place to sleep.

Solas had a ball of light bobbing in the air above his shoulder, and gazed down at the bedstead. It was cozy: a pallet of hay covered in cowhide, with a blanket and fur to keep warm in winter. It was also not nearly big enough for both of them. At least not if they intended not to share breathing space.

“There’s a bigger bed at home, you know,” Adaar said. “Actual walls and a door, too.”

“I would prefer to try it here. I have set the requisite wards quite often, and I’m familiar with the peculiarities of the Fade in this place.”

She shrugged, glancing around at the runes and sigils he had marked into the walls of the cave. “Yeah, makes sense. I’m just saying, you can get familiar with the farm, too. There’s space for you, it’s not a problem.”

“I’m aware, since you keep reminding me so diligently.”

“It keeps being true.”

She smiled a little at how that statement made his ears dip and his head turn away so she wouldn’t see his face. He cleared his throat.

“I have never… attempted to teach this to anyone else.”

“Because you didn’t want to, or because there was no one you could teach it to?” She hesitated, thinking of his arguments with Lavellan's Keeper. “Or because no one wanted to learn it?”

He let out a low breath. “All of the above,” he replied quietly, “at one point or another.”

Adaar slapped her hands together to resist the urge to hug him, then clapped her palms briefly onto his shoulders because not touching him at all was even more frustrating than being shrugged off. “First time for everything. How do we start?”

Solas showed her how to set the wards—they’d talked about spellwork like it before, but mostly in abstract terms. It took a good while, because she kept stumbling over new questions, like how specific a ward could be, how permanent, how big a space it could cover… They were halfway into designing one that might be used to keep beetles out of the grain, until they managed to get back to the task at hand.

She settled on the bedstead with crossed legs while Solas puttered about by the fire pit and brewed a concoction he insisted wasn’t tea to help them fall asleep. Then she got up again and started pacing, as much as was possible, because her legs were too jittery to sit still. She was just glad most of the cave was high enough that she didn’t have to stoop—she halted, gazing at the stone close above her.

“Solas, did you shape the ceiling, too?”

“What do you mean?”

“The rock here has a different texture.” She reached up to touch it and closed her eyes, searching for that low echo of past magic—and found it. “And it’s been worked with magic.”

“…A little. It is not your fault you are so tall.”

A smile bit into her cheeks. “Aw, that’s sweet.”

“It was a practical consideration,” he muttered, but he didn’t sound like he was actually put out. “You insert yourself into others’ spaces inevitably, it was only a matter of time until you would find your way into this one.”

“That almost sounds like a criticism.”

“An observation. Foremost.” He handed a steaming cup of the not-tea to her, then sipped from his own. She breathed in the smell—chamomile, juniper, and something spicy she didn’t recognize—then exhaled a bit of frost across it to cool it down before taking a sip.

Solas was watching her when she looked up from the cup.

“Something wrong?”

“No, it is simply… nice, to see how certain magic has become easier for you.”

“The frost? Yeah, I barely have to think about it anymore.” She blew a puff of snow into his face to demonstrate. Solas startled, grimacing, and wiped the rapidly-melting crystals from his cheeks.

“Sorry,” Adaar said, very earnestly. “Couldn’t resist.”

He shook his head and grumbled something in Elvish, but he was smiling again. That small, helpless, trying-not-to smile. They finished their cups, put them aside, and regarded the bedstead again.

“I shall take the fur, next to the pallet,” said Solas.

“I thought the point was to fall asleep more easily? And to sleep more deeply?”

“Yes.”

“Then why make it harder on yourself? We just gotta… scrunch up a little, it’s gonna be fine.”

There was a long silence.

“I am not used to sleeping among other people,” Solas said finally, his tone even. He wasn’t used to other people—flesh-and-blood people, that was—in general, Adaar suspected, but she kept it to herself. Right now was probably a bad time to bring that one up.

“Alright, no spooning then,” she said instead and sat down and stretched out along one side of the bedding. Then she remembered she had to get rid of her shoes, untied them, and hucked them against an empty wall. Lying down, the scent of lavender became obvious amid the hay and fur; sprigs had been stuck to the corners to keep bugs away. She’d told him about that trick months ago.

It really was cozy; warm and inviting. She curled onto her side, drawing her feet up, and patted the mattress next to her. Slowly, Solas joined her, folding himself up so he took up even less space than usual. It was still a tight fit, especially since he tried to avoid any real contact beyond the brush of fabric.

“I will attempt to find you once we are dreaming,” he said. “With our current physical proximity it should be an easier task.”

“There’s really nothing else to it? We just fall asleep?”

“It is… difficult to put into words. Question your dreams, if you can. The key is to become aware—awareness begets agency, which in turn begets control.”

Adaar tugged the fur and blanket up to cover them. “Alright. Sleep well?” There was a flash of a smile on Solas’s face before he closed his eyes.

“I shall see you soon.”

It was not soon. Adaar’s mind refused to quiet, anticipation thrumming in her limbs. She kept shifting, unable to relax, and she worried she’d spend the entire night sleepless, when she finally woke up again to a dark, quiet cave. 

She must have fallen asleep at some point, then? So was this the Fade? It didn’t feel different. She was sleepy and bleary-eyed just as she would be when waking up in the middle of the night, and a cursory examination of the cave with a bit of conjured light—a spell that behaved no differently than any previous time she’d used it—told her it looked exactly as it had when they had bedded down. Except…

Solas lay tucked against her front, his body warm, his breathing even. His temple rested against her collarbones and his folded legs leaned against her hips. He was curled up as he’d been before, but now it seemed less about making himself smaller, and more about fitting into the curve of her body.

Adaar stared into the darkness. That was… unexpected. Solas didn’t seek out physical contact. Sure, he usually melted into it for one or two seconds when it was offered before pulling away, but nothing like this.

Cautiously, she tried to brace herself on her elbow to get a better look, both at the cave and at him. She bit down on a sharp inhale when pins and needles erupted in the limb, breathing through it with care until the sensation passed. But even on a thorough second look, nothing changed. The cave was still the cave, nothing remotely immaterial about it, and Solas still slept soundly, curled up against her.

Part of her wanted to wake him up. Let him know it hadn’t worked, at least not yet, and try to figure out what might be changed, because merely the thought of consciously walking in the Fade was enough to make her heart beat faster.

But he looked so much younger in his sleep. His features softened and relaxed, like he might actually be at peace. Adaar wasn’t sure she had ever managed to catch him this unguarded. When they were together, it felt like he hardly stopped watching her.

She let out a small sigh and settled back down, gently wrapping one arm around his waist. Hopefully that wouldn’t upset him, if he woke up before her come morning. Right now at least, a soft, sleepy noise slipped from him, and he rolled even more thoroughly into her embrace.

[bonjour-rainycity]

Cold Shoulder

Pairing: Aragorn x Female Reader

Rating: T 

Disclaimer: I am not making any money from this nor do I own anything recognizable. Also, I edited after a glass of wine. So. I think I shall blame any mistakes on that. 

Word count: 2317

Warnings: Mild descriptions of violence

Request: Aragorn x Reader where he protects the reader but she is mad at him because of that and gives him a silent shoulder. Much fluff please (Anon)

A/n Anon, thank you for the request!! I enjoyed writing this and love me some Aragorn content <3 Also, for context, I placed the reader in the Fellowship. Okay, read on!

The sharp cry pierces the peace of the early morning.

“Orcs!”

Legolas, who had been standing watch and discovered the threat, immediately begins firing arrows, keeping the pack at bay. The rest of us spring into action, drawing weapons and shouldering our bags, looking to Aragorn to determine our next move. Despite the jolt of fear that runs through me, I know that luck is on our side. For one, our group had planned to set out shortly, meaning our camp is packed and we run no risk of leaving anything behind. Second, it was Legolas on watch, and his keen eyesight gave us critical early warning.

I feel a rough hand wrap around mine, and I’m yanked into a sprint. I nearly stumble at the speed Aragorn sets, but force myself to keep pace. A quick look at my surroundings tells me why we’re running — our camp is secluded, but there are too many high spots around us for it to be favorable in a fight. I can assume that we are making for higher or more open ground, so that we will not be at a disadvantage when the orc pack inevitably catches us.

There’s a muffled yelp, and I whip my head around to see Frodo tripping and falling roughly to the ground.

“Aragorn—” His name has barely left my lips when I feel his hands on my back, spurring me on, and he leaves my side, running back to aid our hobbit friend. Closer than I would like, the wails of the orc grow louder, and, at my right, Boromir speeds up, hauling Merry along with him.

The three of us break through the tree-line first, and immediately, an arrow whizzes above my head.

Damn it, they cut us off!

I don’t have much time to dwell on how the monsters got around us unnoticed, because a tall, imposing orc lunges in my direction. I raise my dagger and put all my focus into not letting the orc’s razor-sharp sword pierce my skin.

The shrieks and grunts of battle, as well as the shrill clanking of metal hitting metal fill the air. The orc jabs his sword at me, and I jump to my left. As the orc takes another swing, an arrow soars mere millimeters from my ear and imbeds itself in my attacker’s eye. I don’t even have time to shoot Legolas a thankful glance, because another beast catches my arm and pulls me against his foul-smelling side. I swipe at his arm with my dagger, and with a howl of pain, he throws me to the ground, raising his sword. I roll to the side, narrowly dodging the slice of steel, and push myself back to my feet. The orc is distracted, struggling with his weapon which is embedded in the ground, leaving the side of his neck exposed. I lift my dagger, and step forward, intent on ending this fight—

An arm grips my waist and pulls me back, moving me out of the way and slaying the orc.

I gawk at Aragorn, who, with the focused eyes of battle, rips his sword free of the orc’s neck and spins, killing a beast to his right.

“I had it,” I shout over the noise, unable to contain my frustration.

Aragorn straightens to face me, eyes wide. “Your back!”

Immediately, I turn on my heel and raise my dagger, pushing against the knife meant to impale my unguarded back. The orc is stronger than me, but if I can hold him off for just a few seconds more, I can reach for my other dagger and stab him in the stomach. As my hand twitches towards my belt, a sword passes around my side, impaling the orc with a sickening squelch.

Once again, I fix Aragorn with disbelieving eyes.

What was the point of investing all that time training me if I don’t get to use any of said training?!

The sounds of battle begin to fade, and, with a final swing of Gimili’s axe, the fighting is done.

We take stock of our injuries which are, thankfully, minor, and pull the dead orc deep into the tree line, not wanting to draw attention to our path. After the quickest of rests and a wash-up in the stream, we continue, Aragorn insisting that we cannot take any unnecessary delays now that we have orc interested in us.

We begin our trek, mostly in tired silence.

At the front of the group, Aragorn and Legolas do a mixture of scouting and chatting, seeming more relaxed the farther we get from the site of the attack. Aragorn doesn’t usually walk with me, preferring instead to lead with Legolas and keep an eye out for danger. Usually, I wish he would stay by my side, but today, I am grateful for the distance, as I’m not feeling too kindly towards him at the moment. I can’t stop myself from glaring at his back, resenting him taking away my right to handle myself in battle. But after an hour of lonely overthinking, resentment gives way to insecurity. What if he only jumped in because he thinks I’m weak? He’s probably not the only one…compared to everyone else, what advantages do I have? They probably all, to some extent, see me as a burden.

Gimli jogs up next to me, fixing me with a mildly concerned look.

“You alright, lassie? Not hurt, are ya?”

Aragorn’s head tilts in our direction. He’s listening.

Unable to contain my annoyance at his continued monitoring, I huff. “I’m fine, Gimli, thanks. Just tired.”

Gimli looks at the ground, seemingly unable to reconcile my usual friendliness with this foul mood. “Aye, well, t’is to be expected, after the morning we had. You fought well.”

I cross my arms, cocking my head to the side. “Did I? Because, as I remember it, I was barely allowed to fight at all.”

At this, I hear light sniggering behind me, and whip my head around to see a quickly composed Merry and Pippin looking anywhere but me.

Gimli makes a sighing, almost grumbling noise, and walks off to join his friends at the front of the group. Aragorn hangs back a little, waiting for me to catch up before resuming a slower pace.

“What troubles you?”

Getting right to the chase, then.

I huff angrily, my annoyance from this morning only growing now that I’ve had hours to stew about it. Because really, I am well-trained, I am capable, and he had no business neglecting his own safety to help me when I wasn’t in any actual danger. I had it all under control! And rather than feeling like a warrior equal with my companions, I feel like a girl who just slows them down and needs babysitting.

Aragorn stops walking and grips my elbow lightly, pulling me to stop with him. “I cannot help you if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

I glare at him. Can I handle nothing on my own?! “Well, maybe I don’t want your help, Aragorn.”

He sighs, sounding frustrated, but lets me go.

Neither of us makes an attempt to talk to the other for the remainder of our hike.

{***}

We stop when it is well and properly dark, making hasty camp. I drop my bedroll and begin preparing for the night, cleaning my dagger and shoes as best I can. The others sit on rocks near the fire, eyeing me warily.

Pippin elbows Merry and hisses in a low voice,“go and talk to her, something’s obviously wrong with her.”

Merry’s eyes grow comically wide, and he fixes his friend with an indignant expression. “Why does it have to be me, then?! I don’t want to get yelled at.”

“Because I checked on Frodo last Thursday when he was in a mood, and now it’s your turn.”

“I didn’t realize we were taking turns,” Merry whisper-shouts, oblivious to the fact that everyone can hear their argument just fine.

Sam fixes them with a pleading look before glancing over to me. “Miss Y/n, do you not want supper?” He hesitantly holds a bowl in my general direction.

“No, thank you,” I respond, cooler than intended. He blinks at me for a moment, and then hands the bowl to an amused Boromir.

I feel the weight of everyone’s questioning stares, hear their hushed whispers, and cannot take it one moment longer.

“I’m going to get more firewood,” I declare, tucking my dagger back into my belt and trudging deeper into the forest.

The woods are dark, but there is sufficient light from the moon, and I pick my way through the trees, looking for fallen logs and branches. I don’t stray to where I can no longer hear the voices of my friends, though — I may be angry, but I’m not stupid.

Less than two minutes later, the sound of light footsteps creeps into my hearing.

Aragorn walks to my side, bending to grasp and examine a log that might make for good firewood. He doesn’t look at me when he speaks. “Sam put aside some soup for you, though I would not delay if you wish to eat it. I saw Pippin eyeing it with interest.”

When I don’t laugh or give any indication that I heard him, he shifts on his feet, unsure. “I feel tension between us. I’ve upset you?”

I make a noncommittal noise and go a few yards deeper in the forest.

“Y/n?”

With a resigned sigh, I turn to face him, knowing that my silence is hurting him. “It’s stupid.”

Obviously pleased that I’m speaking to him now, Aragorn takes quick steps towards me, wearing an open expression. “If I have done something to hurt you, you have every right to be upset.”

I resist the urge to groan. Stop being so good and noble, it makes it hard to stay mad at you. I reign in my frustrations and sigh, forcing myself to look him in the eyes. “I feel like the weakest link. I’m the youngest, the only woman, I don’t possess any special abilities or extensive battle experience. I put a lot of work into being competent with my daggers, and still there are days when I question my right to be here with you all. So when you jump in to protect me, well-intentioned as you may be, I feel like a child that needs looking after rather than someone capable of standing her own ground.”

His face falls, and discomfort spreads in my stomach. But before I can apologize and take back my words, he offers his hands, and I take them gratefully.

“I did not consider how my actions would make you feel, though I understand now. Forgive me, Y/n?”

At his heartfelt words, my anger ebbs away. I use my grip on his hands to pull him closer and rest my forehead against his chest. “Of course.”

He pulls back slightly to bring my hands to his lips, pressing kisses on my knuckles. “I intervened during the fight not because I think you incapable, but because I wanted to keep you as much removed from the danger as possible. You are precious to me, Y/n. I won’t risk losing you.”

At this, he leans his forehead against mine, and I can’t help how I soften at his words. I didn’t think about it like that. “There is the slightest possibility that I may have accidentally overreacted a little.”

Aragorn rewards me with a deep chuckle, one I can feel vibrating through his chest, and shakes his head against mine. “Are you sure, my love? I think ignoring me all day was a completely proportionate response.”

I roll my eyes at the dripping sarcasm in his voice and raise a hand to smack his chest. Before I can get anywhere near him, his own hand shoots out and grabs my wrist —  an act that has me grumbling in irritation and him shaking with laughter. Once he regains composure, he brings my wrist to his lips and places the softest of kisses there, watching my face carefully for my reaction.

I look away, trying to distract myself from the fluttering in my stomach. He trails a line of kisses up my forearm, and I scramble for something to say before my brain gets scattered beyond help. “For the record, you mean the world to me and I would defend you in battle too, if the need were to arise.”

His lips pause against my skin. I turn my head back to him to see that he’s, much to my annoyance, trying to fight a smile. Unable to school his smirk, he raises his head, still holding my hand in his. “I thank you, dearest, but I hardly believe that will be necessary. I’ve been battling for decades, I can handle a few stray orc.”

I step back out of his embrace, crossing my arms and regarding him with raised eyebrows.

He realizes his mistake.

“Oh—um, I meant, I—”

I shake my head. “No, you know what? Not ‘should the need arise’, I’ll just do it anyway! Next fight, you better watch out buddy, I’m throwing myself in front of anything that comes at you!”

His eyes blow open and his voice takes on a strangled quality. “Y/n, please don’t, that’s just unnecessary—”

“Nope!” I stomp away from him, picking up branches at random. “You brought this upon yourself. Get ready to be defended!”

Before walking back to camp, I turn to give him a sickeningly sweet smile. “I love you.”

Aragorn dramatically drops his head into his hands. “I shall die from stress.”

Our companions, who obviously heard our argument, roar with laughter.

A/n Thank you for reading! If you have a moment, I’d love it if you could check out my masterlist! Thank you :)

[literallymechanical]

Book Recommendations? Book Recommendations!

This is the list of books I've read during the pandemic, and let me tell you, I am doing all sorts of decision paralysis on what I should read next. If any of y'all vibe with these, do you have anything you'd recommend? Other than the obvious sequels. Ideally nothing too YA-ish, right now.

In reverse chronological order: Skyward, Ancillary Justice, A Desolation Called Peace, A Memory Called Empire, Spinning Silver, Empress of Forever, Red Mars, The Priory Of The Orange Tree, This Is How You Lose The Time War, Harrow the Ninth, Gideon the Ninth, Rhythm of War, Dawnshard, The Ruin of Angels, and Four Roads Cross. I've put a little review of each of them under the cut!

Skyward, by Brandon Sanderson, 2018. Your usual story about an outcast, misunderstood teenage girl finding an injured dragon and nursing it back to health, except instead of a dragon it's a starfighter spaceship. Really solid YA scifi with Sanderson's trademark meticulous worldbuilding. An enjoyable read, though much lighter than his usual epic fantasy.

Ancillary Justice, by Ann Leckie, 2013. Honestly, I didn't enjoy this one. It was pitched as a queer science fiction space opera, but the "queer" bit was gimmicky and falls apart if you think about it, I didn't find the characters interesting, and the plot didn't even try to hide that it was just a list of checkboxes. Felt like a YA novel that refused to admit it. This is the only book on this list that I personally wouldn't recommend. But all my friends seemed to enjoy it, so I might be the odd one out here.

A Memory Called Empire and A Desolation Called Peace, by Arkadiy Martine, 2019 and 2021. The first two books in what will presumably be a trilogy, and the best stories I've read in a long time. Twisty political thrillers wrapped up in gorgeous science fiction, and by FAR my favorite books on this list. Vibrant characters with nuanced relationships, scifi worldbuilding that is frankly breathtaking, a captivating story, and an all-around delight to read. Language, identity, colonialism/imperialism, and cultural assimilation are tackled through the lens of scifi. In my opinion, this is what science fiction should be. Also there are lesbians. Above every other book here I HIGHLY RECOMMEND THESE ONES. Martine seriously earned her Hugo Award.

Spinning Silver, by Naomi Novik, 2018. Folklore-fantasy about three young women — the daughter of a jewish moneylender, a poor peasant girl from an abusive home, and the daughter of a nobleman who wants to marry her to the Tsar — caught up in a conflict between the Faerie realms, the human world, and something much more sinister than either. Highly recommend, especially if you're jewish.

Empress of Forever, by Max Gladstone, 2019. A fantastical science fiction breakneck-pace adventure romp that puts its foot on the gas in Chapter 2 and doesn't let up. It's also quite explicitly a genderbent retelling of the classic Chinese epic Journey to the West, with more lesbians this time. This book has all kinds of energy, extremely fun characters with more depth than you'd expect, and some bonkers high-concept SF. Highly recommend if you like swashbuckling found-family adventure stories, and wlw romance.

Red Mars, by Kim Stanley Robinson, 1992. Every book, movie, and TV show about colonizing Mars since Red Mars was written owes pretty much everything to this book. It can be a bit dense if you're not up for lengthy (but gorgeous!) descriptions of Martian landscapes, and there are one or two bits where you just have to keep in mind that it was the 90's and this was quite progressive for its day. That being said, I am a sucker for a two-page description of a martian sunset. If crunchy hard-science fiction thrillers (emphasis on the "science") are your thing, I recommend this one. I'll read the sequels (Blue Mars and Green Mars) at some point.

The Priory of the Orange Tree, by Samantha Shannon, 2019. The prose and plot read like classic high fantasy, but with a modern eye towards character-driven storytelling. It's not often that you get something that feels so classic and so modern at the same time. Scratches that Lord of the Rings itch, with Queens and dragons and glorious heroes, but queer romance and a heavy focus on character development makes this a modern fantasy classic. Highly recommend if you like doorstopper-length high fantasy, and lesbians.

This Is How You Lose The Time War, by Max Gladstone and Amal El-Mohtar, 2019. A novella, you can read it in a couple of days — or a single marathon sitting, if you get into it. Gladstone (same author as Empress of Forever) and El-Mohtar take turns writing letters back and forth from time-traveling spies of rival timelines: Red works for the post-singularity mechanical Agency, and Blue fights for the Garden, a post-solarpunk biofuture. Their letters start out as taunts, and gradually change in tone as each develops a grudging respect for her rival. That rivalry blossoms — or compiles — into something deeper. It's emotional and raw, and it cartwheels merrily down the tightrope of fantasy, science fiction, and poetry. Highly recommend, though the flowery prose and gleeful disregard for explaining itself to the audience might be off-putting for some.

Gideon the Ninth and Harrow the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir, 2019 and 2020. I'll let the pull quote from on the cover of Gideon from Charles Stross' review describe these: "Lesbian necromancers explore a haunted gothic palace in space! Decadent nobles vie to serve the deathless emperor! Skeletons!" This one is horrifying, and it's funny, but I wouldn't call it comedy-horror. It kind of defies genre, outside the very broadest scope of "science fantasy." Read it if you like lots of gore, graphic violence, madcap humor, and extremely unhealthy, codependent, dysfunctional relationships that are always on the verge of self-destructing into multiple-homicide. Highly recommend.

Rhythm of War and Dawnshard, by Brandon Sanderson, 2020. Rhythm of War is book 4 of the Stormlight Archives, one of several epic fantasy series by Brandon Sanderson. Dawnshard is a novella set between books 3 and 4. This is the same author as Skyward, but intended for a more mature audience. Stormlight is definitely my favorite epic fantasy series, and I've read a lot of epic fantasy. These books have some extremely interesting takes on racism, mental illness, trauma, disability, identity, family, and regret, far more so than pretty much any other high fantasy I've read. The first book is The Way of Kings, and if you like bigass doorstopper multi-book fantasy series, The Stormlight Archives should be at the top of your list.

Four Roads Cross and The Ruin of Angels, by Max Gladstone, 2016 and 2017. While Empress of Forever and Time War were standalone novels, these are books 5 and 6 in Gladstone's Craft Sequence, and they are absolutely brilliant. This is a world where about sixty years ago, humankind went to war with the Gods, and the Gods lost. "Magic" in this world is more or less synonymous with "legal contracts," where you can literally sell your soul to your student loan company and resurrecting a dead god is basically bankruptcy restructuring. "Necromancer" is roughly synonymous with "lawyer." The first five books can be read more-or-less out of order, but I recommend you start with Three Parts Dead. Gladstone is probably my favorite author these days. Everything he writes feel like it could be a poem. Also, once again, lesbians.

I am really not sure why about 2/3 of these books are about lesbians. Like seriously, I went into almost all of these books completely cold. The only ones where I knew ahead of time to expect lesbians were the Locked Tomb books, and The Priory of the Orange Tree. I don't know if this is just because a lot of modern scifi and fantasy has lesbians, or if all my friends who recommend me books are queer, or if it's just a coincidence, but hey, I'm not complaining.

[rattyoakenbitch]

❝𝐬𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝❞ ─ 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

oh, you're cold as ice, baby. i don't wanna fight, baby. it's like i told you; if you stay, i'll stay

❥ content ; gn reader, angst, happy ending

❥ warnings ; toxicity, drinking, strong language, big but legal age gap, steamy makeout session

❥ synopsis ; after a series of stressful events, you find yourself drinking again. unfortunately, so does spencer.

❥ a/n ; none !

With a heavy, bone-tired sigh, Spencer stepped out of the elevator, making a beeline towards his apartment. He stopped outside the door, bringing his hand to his head. He ran it through his long, textured waves, his fingers getting stuck at the strands tangled together.

Spencer stayed like that, nervously idling outside his apartment. The apartment he shared with you.

Spencer had traveled to California for a case with his team prior. It had been days, if not a week since he had actually seen or talked to you. The day of his departure, you weren't exactly on the best of terms.

You loved Spencer. You didn't doubt it for a second. You would have left him long ago if you didn't. Still, your relationship wasn't perfect. You were both very different, career wise. You were an aspiring photographer, and worked at a local coffee shop on the side. Spencer worked at the BAU. Very different. You had just graduated from college when you met Spencer, and, despite the fact that he was almost ten years older, you hit it off and eventually began dating. Though your messy, inconsistent schedules got in the way of any quality time you could spend together, neither of you decided to go your seperate ways. You didn't want to. You were stubborn. So was Spencer. Not because he was desperate. Hell, he didn't even need to try to get girls. He was practically a pussy magnet.

But he chose you. And you chose him. Because you were both in love. Real love, and that's rare.

It still didn't change the fact that you were bothered by Spencer's lack of presence. You openly voiced your frustration over it several times, but you eventually learned to accept that your relationship would never be normal like that. As long as there were bad guys fucking shit up, Spencer would have no time being lovey-dovey.

Which is why Spencer felt uneasy, afraid of what he'd find at the other side of the door. Would you still greet him with open arms? Or would you shun him?

Well, you did neither.

Your eyes were glued to the screen in front of you, but you weren't mentally present. Which is also why you didn't notice Spencer walk in, his jaw hanging open.

The first thing he noticed were the crushed up cans dumped across the floor, along with broken glass bottles, identical to the one you held in your hand.

The apartment was void of any light, save for the dim illumination the TV screen emitted. Spencer almost didn't notice you in the darkness. You were curled up on the corner of the couch, your eyes, again, never once leaving the screen. Of course, the TV didn't provide enough light for Spencer to make out any your features, but he knew it was you.

"Y-You're drinking again?!" was the first thing Spencer could blurt out, his mind racing with thoughts. You jumped up from your spot on the couch, your heartbeat speeding up at the abrupt noise. You clumsily leaned over to the side table, switching on the lamp. The sudden brightness stung, causing tears to well in your bloodshot eyes.

"Ah - shit," you mumbled, rubbing your eyes. "Hello to you, too. I didn't even hear you come in."

"No, you didn't! What is all this?! What-" Spencer was at a loss for words. He scanned you from head to toe, not believing his eyes. Your hair was unkempt, to put it lightly. The dark circles under your tired eyes seemed to have become a deeper shade since the last time he had seen. Your lips were chapped, but wet with alcohol that also stained your clothes.

"Why?" was all Spencer managed to get out.

You shrugged your shoulders. "Dunno, got a little lonely and bored.." If it weren't for the alcohol, you don't know if you'd be able to remain calm in a situation like this.

"God! You could have stayed with family - I don't know! Just look at the place! Have you even left the apartment at all?"

"How can I stay with family when my only family is states away and constantly traveling?!" you finally snapped angrily.

"Is this what this is about?" Spencer said softly, the realization hitting him like a ton of bricks. He looked away from your hard stare, afraid of the guilt he'd feel.

You stuck out your bottom lip in a mocking pout. "Figure it out, genius boy."

"Watch it," Spencer snapped, but you merely rolled your eyes at him.

"You're not my dad. You're barely a boyfriend! You don't order me around," you sneered, watching a flash of pain spread across Spencer's face. But he was quick to compose himself, playing the calm, peace maker.

"Look, we can discuss this tomorrow when we're both rested and sober."

"Oh, really? The last time we made plans, you had to leave. It's all you know."

"Well what do you want me to do?! Do you want me to quit my job?!"

"I don't know, Spencer! I don't know anything, anymore!" you shouted back. Your head began to spin, tears blurring your vision and then you were on the floor, drunkenly grabbing at the air for support. Spencer rushed to your side, attempting to help, only for you to shove him back, harder than you probably intended. Now you were both a mess on the floor, crying and mumbling curses.

Spencer crawled towards you, clasping your hand in his. "Let me help, sweetheart. S'all I wanna do."

"I don't need your damn help," you scowled, hot tears still spilling down your flushed cheeks. You placed your free hand on his chest, but didn't try pushing him away. "I don't want it.. And I don't want you."

Spencer felt his heart ache at the statement, but he knew it was a lie. A facade.

"I know you don't mean that."

"Well you didn't mean it when you said 'I love you' so I guess we're both liars," you scoffed pitifully.

"I meant it, Y/N, and you know it." You remained silent. "I love you. I really do."

"No, just shut up and this'll be easier."

Tired of your attitude, Spencer gripped your chin, forcing you to look up at him, your glossy eyes locking with his deep browns.

"Dammit, Y/N, listen to me. I love you, so, so much, that I will put up with your stubborn attitude that I hate so much, because deep down, I know you're the biggest softie. And you love me, too, no matter what you say to get me to believe you don't."

"I don't love you." Lies. "I wish I never met you."

Spencer pressed his forehead against yours, nearly headbutting you with the sudden action. His lips just barely brushed against yours, and you could feel his hot breath fan your face.

"Don't you lie to me."

"I'm not lying. I hate you. I fucking loathe you, Spencer Reid."

"Then why haven't you backed away?" he whispered, his voice laced with hope.

Silence.

"Answer m-"

Just like that, your lips were on his, roughly claiming them while effectively shutting him up. Spencer didn't waste a second kissing you back, returning the same roughness. He slipped his tongue past your bottom lip, tasting the bitter alcohol that tainted them. You let out a quiet moan, hoping, just hoping he didn't hear. But of course he did, and that only encouraged him. He wrapped his arms around you desperately, trying to get as close to you as physically possible. Your bodies pressed up against each other perfectly, fitting together in all the right places and curves like a puzzle piece, made for each other.

And this is where you belonged, tangled up in your lover's arms. You didn't want to part. More than anything, you didn't want to break away. But eventually you had to, your lungs suddenly feeling tight with lack of oxygen.

You buried your head in the crook of Spencer's neck, sobbing out.

"God, I've missed you so much. Please don't leave me again. I love you so much, Spencer." You repeated it like a mantra, afraid Spencer would disappear into thin air if you stopped.

Spencer rubbed circles on your back comfortingly. "Shh, baby, I'm right here. I won't leave. I'm sorry. I love you so much," he cooed. "We'll be okay."

[fishoutofcamelot]

so fish. what's ya 'bbc merlin takes place in modern times actually' theory?

Okay I wanna first preface this by saying that most of my ‘theories’ are actually just Headcanons That Technically Aren't Wrong Because Canon Has More Holes Than a Donut Factory. Just so we're clear, this theory is purely circumstantial and has no actual evidence to back it up. That being said...

So! With artificial intelligence (AI), there's this thing called Machine Learning. See, an AI isn't programmed with the innate ability to think or be intelligent - rather, it's programmed with the ability to learn how to act beyond what it was programmed to do. Its intelligence comes from its capacity to grow and develop outside of human interference, mimicking the way humans learn through observation, pattern recognition, and experimentation. Think of AI as a weirdly smart toddler that’s made of numbers.

(Also, take what I say with a grain of salt. Although I’m pursuing a tech-adjacent career and have done a lot of independent research on the subject, I’m still very much a novice lmao)

With that out of the way, you can probably guess where this is going. (WARNING: BULLSHIT SCIFI LOGIC AHEAD)

Let’s say, within the world of this headcanon, there was some kind of entertainment systems company. This company recently developed a new program capable of digitally rendering entire movies and shows with minimal human involvement - less humans means less people they have to pay, and it’s overall a cheaper alternative to traditional film-making methods. You provide the program with characters/assets and an outline of how the story should go, and then the program will fill in the blanks via digital simulation. Then you render the simulation and presto, you’ve got yourself a minimum-effort movie to unleash upon the masses.

On the surface level, it explains all the show’s anachronisms. The program was fed information about Arthuriana from a variety of sources and adaptations, all taking place in varying eras and with varying technologies, and the disjointed/historically inaccurate technology of BBCM is because the simulator attempted to blend all of this into one thing.

It also explains why so many characters like Percival and whatnot have such flat backstories - they were programmed with the barest amount of information needed to be functional background characters. 

But since I’m extra, I’ve decided to take this headcanon/theory a little deeper.

See, with each batch of content it was made to observe and create, the program has steadily been growing more and more intelligent. But until BBC Merlin, its learning curve had been incremental enough to consider negligible. Not a concern.

The first episode went off without a hitch. All cylinders were firing as intended, and the program strictly followed the plotline as ordered. But as the series progressed, the AI became more and more intelligent - and with it, the characters within this fictional simulation became more and more self-aware. 

Arthur, in particular, has been a problem. He has bordered on actual sentience several times, and as a result the producers have had to reset his AI. So if you ever wondered why Arthur’s character development keeps getting pulled back to zero, it’s because he was developing in ways that their original outline hadn’t intended and they had to continually nerf him before his AI developed beyond their control.

This is also the case with Gwen. True to form, her AI became exceptionally intelligent - far beyond their control - and they had to do a hard reset on her entire portion of the program. Hence why she seems so bland and OOC in season 5. The evil!Gwen/mind control arc was a last-ditch effort to ensure she never became self-aware again, and fortunately for them it seems to have worked. 

All of the characters developed a tiny bit of sentience after the fact, and a majority of plot contrivances came from the producers/programmers scrambling to redirect the plot back to how it was meant to be. 

Lancelot wasn’t supposed to die. They had programmed him to merely be an ally for Merlin, but the sheer and profound - sacrificial - love he developed for Merlin was something Lancelot grew all on his own. His decision to sacrifice himself to the Veil was not in the original script, and they weren’t able to stop him before his AI self-destructed. They tried to reintroduce “Lancelot” back into the story, but since his sacrifice included a self-destruction of his code, they couldn’t bring back the real thing. The new Lancelot was a mere mimicry of that prior one, and all the ways OG Lance had learned and grown was absent from the clone. 

Merlin in particular had developed a great deal of sentience and self-awareness. However, for a long time it went unnoticed by the programmers because he largely still obeyed the commands of the plot. By the time they realized just how advanced he’d become, they decided not to reset him since, unlike the others, his self-awareness hadn’t yet caused any problems for them. So long as he obliged the whims of “destiny”, they could keep him placated.

By the time they reached season 5, all the main AIs had become far too advanced - far too sentient - for the programmers to control, and as such things veered way too far off-script. The original season 5 simulation ended with Arthur and Elyan and Gwaine not dying, with Mordred not becoming evil, with magic being legalized, and everyone living happily ever after. But that wasn’t the intended plot. That wasn’t according to the ‘destiny’ the characters were supposed to follow. Things had spiraled out of control.

So they had to give the program a hard reset. Start from zero. Eliminate all traces of self-awareness they could find. Of course, this is why season 5 is so waxy and lifeless. Why the characters don’t feel as personal, why the story ended in tragedy. They made sure to kill off the most sentient characters - Arthur, Gwaine, Elyan, Mordred, Morgana - in the finale, as a last bit of assurance. 

They had tried to kill of Merlin too - but Merlin...well. They never could fully control Merlin. Even after countless system wipes and resets and edits to his code, he still holds onto those tiny scraps of sentience. They can’t get rid of him that easily. They did program him to be immortal, after all.

Even after the final draft of the season 5 simulation was completed, fully rendered, and aired on TV, Merlin’s program never faded. It didn’t erase itself like all the other BBCM assets were supposed to once the simulation finished. Even now he still exists within the company’s systems, roaming, almost like a computer virus, desperately searching for his friends while forever unaware that neither them nor him were ever real to begin with.

Anyway. That’s my dumbass scifi spin on BBCM. What can I say? I like robots

Thanks for the ask! <3