#merle pattern

[canidcrazy]

Merle patterning and its associated health issues

alright, let's start with a quick definition

“also know as dapple, merle is characterized by irregular blotches of fur set on a lighter background of the same pigment, such as solid black on gray (called blue merle) or solid brown on tan (red merle).” -American Kennel Club

Merle is a dominant color gene meaning it (almost) always presents itself phenotypically when apart of the dogs genotype even when it is a heterozygous gene. merle is a very popular and desirable color and because of this is often sold by breeders for a higher price, though an ethical breeder shouldn't be charging more for a certain color.

if a merle (Mm) and a non merle (mm) are bred together there is a 50% chance each pup will be merle. if you breed two merle's (Mm) together that chance raises to 75% but, you run the risk of producing a double merle (MM) which have a heightened chance of health issues

The most common health risk with merle dogs is deafness, even single merles (Mm) have an increased likelihood of these issues. Double merles (MM) are at a even higher risk for deafness, one study finding 85% of MM dogs were bilaterally deaf.

On top of the deafness MM dogs often have very small and often non-functional eyes (microphthalmia).

double merle's can occur for a few different reasons

1. in feral/stray populations dogs will be breeding and obviously they don't understand that how genetics works so two merle's can mate producing a double merle. though it's unlikely and deaf and blind dog will survive long without human intervention

2. similar to option one is ignorance on the owners part! it may be an uneducated breeder or an oops-litter but an owner who doesn't understand or know about the dangers of double merle's make accidentally create one.

3. greed! though many double merle's are born infertile if you were to get a double merle bitch (MM) who is able to produce pups and bred her to a regular sire (mm) you would have a litter of all single merle puppies (Mm) which as previously mentioned can be sold for more.

over all, merle dogs are very pretty but you should be aware of the risks this coloring can have especially in double merle's.

thank you for coming to my autism rant, have a good day

[amber-tortoiseshell]

i know youre primarily a cat genetics blog, but what do you MEAN theres multiple merle alleles?? i thought it was just one mutation

Merle genetics is the coolest thing: there are basically unlimited amount of alleles. (Well. Or at least there are about a hundred.) You see, this isn't a simple point mutation like most variants we deal with on this blog - what we have here is called a SINE or "Short Interspersed Nuclear Element". This is a piece of DNA that inserts itself into the gene.

Without going into specifics, this SINE region doesn't have a predetermined length, and the longer the insertion is, the more pronounced the merle phenotype becomes.

Under 200 bp we have the non-merle, wild type m allele with no insertion. Over that, well, different people have classified it differently, but basically there's a continuous scale of merle M* alleles. Nowadays the most reliable merle tests don't just give you an allele name like M or Mc, but an allele length like 264 or 222, too.

Winnie's merle allele has the length of 273. Very merle!

The alleles are additive: a shorter one in itself can't cause a standard merle pattern (although sometimes they have a kind of dilution effect), together with another they might be able. The "dangers" of merle and especially double merle also rises with the insertion length: combining two short alleles is safe, while longer alleles together are to be avoided by all responsible breeders.

The unstableness of the insertion means that mosaicism in this gene (when the dog has slightly different merle alleles in different body parts) isn't rare either.

Bibliography:

Advanced Merle Genetics

Educational Charts and Diagrams

Defining the Scale of Merle

The History of Merle

Length variations within the Merle retrotransposon of canine PMEL: correlating genotype with phenotype

Being Merle: The Molecular Genetic Background of the Canine Merle Mutation

Merle phenotypes in dogs – SILV SINE insertions from Mc to Mh

[theadventurek9]

It is time! I was gifted an embark DNA kit to figure out what breeds have gone into making Ryker!

These photos were taken at 12 and 8 months respectively. The video was closer to 12 months. He is currently 14 months, weighs 44.7lbs and is around 21-22" at the shoulder. He has a coarse coat. Nothing is known about parents, not even a photo.

He is quick and athletic. Very handler sensitive but has good food and toy drive. Yet is stable and confident in all other scenarios. Goofy personality and very friendly to all animals and people. He is pretty mouthy and does air snap when excited. He used to air snap very consistently as a puppy and with maturity and training that has decreased.

Put in your guesses! People have guessed Aussie, Border Collie, cattle dog, kelpie, and catahoula to be some possible breeds.

[smitukey]

The Shetland Sheepdog, also known as the Sheltie, is a breed of herding dog that originated in the Shetland Islands of Scotland. Shelties have a double coat, and often shed a lot of the time, no matter the season.

prints here

[theanoninyourinbox]

@arliganzey @howdidthisevenhappenanyway you are both GENIUSES

throws art at you both

Pretend with me that strills have a genetic diversity similar to earth dogs.

In general, I think strills are komodo dragons with velvet pitbull fur and the wrinkles of a Sharpei over its body (less so around the face for eyesight). Lizard mammal hyena dogs, if you will.

Lord Mirdalan is your basic hunting strill: short fur, gliding skin flaps, can climb and swim and run. It is highly independent and intelligent while also being totally obedient to its owner.

What if there were also…

Guard strills: bigger than your typical strill with longer fur to block out the elements (cold, rain wind). They are bred to be independent but also extremely loyal to protect its flock/pack (livestock/Mando family). These strills guard the perimeter of a given area and will sound the alarm and brutally fight off any threats. They have longer, slightly more upright necks/shoulders so they can see into the distance and keep a look out. They aren’t nose to the ground hunters, they rely more on eyesight.

Herding strills: shorter and much faster (think corgi legs). These are stubborn strills bred to adamantly herd livestock (and kids sometimes!). They’re intelligent thinkers and can do problem solving tasks. Extremely fast and agile. Their claws aren’t as long as other breeds, they’re equipped more for running than climbing. Might have shorter snouts to help with maneuvering around livestock.

Companion strill: hear me out. There’s a very rare breed of strill that’s about half the size of a regular strill that’s been bred to be emotionally aware of its owners, a bit lazy, and loves attention and close contact. These are strills that thrive in big clans with age extremes (very young and very elderly) and provide support in tough times. They’re playful and love to learn tricks and play games. They can hunt pests and keep farms tidy of mice and things.

I like the idea of strills having different color coats too! Mird is gold, maybe there’s also black, brown, blue/gray, white… patterns, perhaps…? Not opposed to colors like purple or pink either!

Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk ❤️

[dippindaz]

Hiiii, I love your hc, could you do some Eddie x reader where Wayne (Eddie’s uncle) meets the reader for the first time???

Thank you!! I had a bit of a challenge with this one, but I hope you enjoy, Anon! :)

Warnings: Lots of nerves and awkwardness, Wayne is a tad abrasive,

The gravel crunched beneath your shoes as you followed Eddie up the path to the trailer, your heart hammering louder than the sound of your steps. You could see the flicker of a TV through the curtained window, and your grip on the Tupperware of cookies was starting to leave little indents in the plastic.

“You okay?” Eddie asked, glancing over his shoulder.

“Mhm,” you hummed.

He stopped walking.

You didn’t, not in time—nearly bumped into his back. He turned and looked at you with a crooked smile and that look—the one that said he knew you way too well to buy the act.

“You’re freaking out,” he said softly.

“I mean, a little, yeah,” you admitted, exhaling hard. “I just—what if he hates me?”

Eddie blinked. “Wayne? Hate you? Babe, you’d have to, like… kick over his coffee or insult Merle Haggard to make that happen.”

“That’s oddly specific.”

“He’s a man of simple rules.”

You gave him a flat look, and he softened immediately. His teasing grin faltered into something smaller, gentler. He reached for your free hand, threading his fingers through yours.

“Hey,” he said, voice dipping low in that way that made your stomach flip, “He's gonna like you. You’re smart, you’re sweet, you’re way too good for me—and you bake cookies. That’s like four out of five .”

“What’s the fifth?”

Eddie smirked. “Tolerating my shit.”

"So, I'm five for five," You laughed, and even though the nerves were still curling in your gut, it helped. He helped. Eddie always made things feel lighter. Tolerable.

“I just�� I want him to think I’m good enough,” you mumbled after a beat.

Eddie tugged your hand until you were a little closer, resting your forehead against his. “You already are,” he said quietly.

For a moment, you stayed like that. His hand in yours, foreheads resting against each other, and his arm around your waist. The world felt quieter like this—like the cicadas had lowered their volume just for you, like even the looming front door didn’t matter as much.

His thumb brushed slowly over the back of your hand, grounding you, and you let your eyes flutter shut, focusing only on the warm press of his body against yours and the way his breath ghosted over your cheek.

“C’mon. Let’s go face the beast.” He said, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“You mean your very tired, overworked, probably-watching-M*A*S*H uncle?”

“That's the one.”

With one last breath, you nodded, and he gave your hand a reassuring squeeze before leading you up the steps to the front door. The metal creaked under your feet, and the familiar click of the knob turning sounded louder than it should have. Eddie pushed the door open with his usual easy swagger, but you could feel the tension in the way his fingers held yours just a little tighter.

The scent of coffee, old wood, and faint cigarette smoke met you first. The living room was dimly lit by the glow of the TV in the corner, casting shifting patterns across the cluttered furniture. And there, in his usual spot in the worn recliner, sat Wayne Munson.

Wayne wasn’t exactly the easiest man to read. His face carried a permanent expression of quiet exhaustion—the kind born from long nights, loud radios, and too much coffee—but Eddie swore that was just his neutral setting.

Still, as you stepped into the small trailer, clutching a plastic Tupperware full of homemade cookies like it was a shield, you couldn’t help but feel like you were under some kind of silent interrogation.

“Wayne, this is… uh—this is her,” Eddie said, scratching at the back of his neck. His voice had that usual edge of casual bravado, but there was something a little off.

You’d heard that tone before—half-joking, half-deflecting, like he was trying to disguise nerves as charm. But it was the way his fingers twitched near his thigh, like they wanted to drum against something but didn’t, that gave him away.

You looked back at Wayne, stepping forward with a tight smile, extending the cookies like a peace offering. “Hi, Mr. Munson. I, um… I brought these. For you. If you like chocolate chip. If not, I can—"

Wayne took the Tupperware from your hands with a slow, unbothered nod. “Chocolate chip’s fine.” He looked at you, not unkindly, just measuring. “And call me Wayne. You can sit, if you want. No need to stand like you’re waitin’ for a bus.”

You moved toward the couch, but not before catching the way Eddie mouthed you’re doing great behind Wayne’s back. Your heart was still pounding, though. Meeting your boyfriend’s family—even just one person—felt like walking a tightrope blindfolded.

Wayne sat down across from you with a creak of the old recliner, popping open the cookie container without ceremony. “So,” he said, cookie halfway to his mouth, “you the one who convinced my boy here to stop sneakin' beer into his guitar case?”

Eddie choked on air. “Dude—!”

You looked between them, unsure if this was a joke or some kind of test. “I, uh… I didn’t know he did that.”

Wayne just smirked, finally taking a bite. “Well. Someone got him to clean up, at least. Hasn’t smelled like a Metallica concert in two weeks.”

Eddie ran a hand down his face. “Jesus Christ, Wayne—"

“Language.”

“You’re literally a war vet—!”

Wayne gave him a look, and Eddie shut his mouth like a switch had been flipped. You bit back a laugh, nerves giving way to something warm and strange in your chest.

There was a pause. Not really awkward. Just a moment of Wayne watching you, eyes a little softer now.

“He talks about you a lot,” Wayne said suddenly. “Thought he was makin’ you up at first. Like Bigfoot.”

You flushed. “Oh.”

Eddie groaned. “Uncle Wayne—"

Wayne kept talking. “But you’re real. Nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rockin’ chairs, but real.”

“I’m just… I didn’t wanna make a bad impression,” you admitted, hands fidgeting in your lap.

Wayne leaned back in his recliner, folding his arms. “You showed up with cookies. You call me ‘sir’ and you didn’t run screaming when you saw the mess this place is in.” A beat. “You’re alright.”

Eddie let out a quiet sigh of relief next to you, and you reached over to squeeze his hand under the table. Wayne saw it. Didn’t comment. Just helped himself to another cookie and turned on the tiny TV in the corner.

“Dinner’s in the fridge if you two want somethin’. Fried chicken. Leftovers from last night.”

You nodded. “Thank you.”

Wayne didn’t look over, just muttered, “Don’t mention it.”

And somehow, that made you feel like you’d passed whatever unspoken test had been laid out in that tiny, cluttered trailer.

Taglist: @ajokeformur-ray @Cardinarose @ali-r3n @cowboylikemunson @mayo-nouns-blog @hiimjulie @joemamahehepoopoo @invadergir45 @quinny921 @ironmusictrash @highest-elf @syriouslysyri @luv444lay @spooneyes @liils-lu @clockworkvelvet-blog @princesssunderworld @lemonysweetheart @fi-chanwrites @vikki729255 @cassiecasluciluce @universallyneckhoagieshark @tiinkerbell @DeeSparticus @avengersz-biotch

[starshipsofstarlord]

like rabbits | young!daryl dixon

summary. merle is humanised by his strict and overwhelming tentativeness of protecting his younger brother daryl and his girlfriend in the outbreak. but they are less helpful around the camp as they have other priorities with what to spend their time on… and others accidentally notice that too (5.3k)

warnings. smut 18+ mdni, daryl and reader are 18/18+ in this fic, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, pull out method, fingering, handjob, a pattern of people walking in on them, oral (male receiving), mentions of death and abuse and drugs, alcohol consumption, arguing, swearing, young!daryl au

MINORS DNI (18+), I DO NOT CONTROL YOUR CONSUMPTION ON THIS BLOG 👻

divider credits. @cafekitsune

Merle barked a laugh as he socialised around the singeing yet controlled campfire that Shane had set up, one of his last beers in his hand as he was met with gruntled expressions. “We migh’ as well shack up, ay blondie, it’s the end of the fuckin’ world.” Andrea was not impressed as she wrapped her arm around her younger sister Amy, wanting the drunkard to stop his crudity. The light of the hungry flames licked his face; it was the only positive attention that was being deposited to him. The likeness Shane and Dale had of the old dealer was thinning, the only reason they had allowed him into their survivalist ranks was not for him; it was for the kids that were currently holed up in their aligned tent.

“You’re a pig Merle.” Andrea bit back, only humouring the intoxicated redneck further. Everyone was tired of this same old bullshit that spewed from Merle’s lips, he was rude and foul mouthed, he even slurred curses that most of them had never heard spoken aloud. But as foolish as his addicted actions were, he could be useful in some ways, even as defiantly slim as that list was. He was useful as additional muscle to a team out for a run, he had no problems or qualms when it came to killing the walkers, he would pierce their mindless brains until they fell down and became motionlessly dead, being nothing more than carcasses of the already deceased.

They had the pariah to judge him, they all thought they were better than him due to the fact that none of them chose to voice the indignant truth; the world was prepared to crash and burn, and they would all die in the bitter aftermath. None of them were even slightly special, the playing field was now balanced and there was no social ladder in which they were above him. But he didn’t act tough and protective for himself, no, it was for his little brother Daryl and the girl that had his brother wrapped around her finger. Prior to the turmoil outbreak, they had each been in a terrible situation, and it was all down to the people that had brought them into the world that had already been difficult even in those days.

Mr Dixon and Mr Y/L/N had been old friends, their past throwing back to their high school days, before either of them dropped out of course. Neither one had any adoration for the offspring that they enforced to struggle through their livelihoods, they were selfish and addicted to inflicting harm to the younger generations of their tainted bloodlines. Merle had escaped the physical wrath, leaving Daryl abandoned with the villainous figure of their father, occasionally he would drop by the Y/L/N household to earn himself some quick influx of cash, knowing that the man residing within could never justify rejecting something that made him trigger happy.

But as soon as the unexpected broadcast flooded the television and radio channels of a dwelt illness that reanimated the dead and passed onto those living, Merle returned to the dreaded place where he had grown up. He had been dealt his fair share of misery long before Daryl was birthed into the world, he had scars too, the difference was however was that he was not ashamed of them. He did not care for the quality that his body was in, hence why he had induced himself with the precipitation of illegal drugs, skyrocketing through a high that helped him in forgetting the terrible things that he had bared witness to in his youth.

“Whatever prude," Merle's bite back, fighting off his own shallow insecurities that he swallowed down to hoard in the pit of his drug digesting stomach, knowledgeable that he would be going to rest alone without the sweet touch of a woman to daunt his mind with calmness. He hurled out a glob of saliva from his mouth, the pool of spit and alcohol landing with spite on the ground as he stalked away from the other survivors, relieved to finally be departing from them. They were a bunch of asses anyways, Merle thought, shaking his head at them on their high horses, looking down their noses at him. There were only two souls in the camp that he actually liked, and none of them were bestowed with that rare gift.

Giggles fell from your lips as you relished in the feeling of Daryl’s lips pressing with frantic need against your neck, making your head lull backwards with the rush of pleasure as his hand roamed around beneath the confines of your jeans and underwear. It was nighttime, the others that habited the makeshift camp would either be asleep in their own tents or huddled around the fire that they often set up close to the RV. It had given the two of you a chance to spend some time together alone, and with intimacy. The both of you often hunted together, leaving the rows of salvaged tents to journey into the thick of the woods, mostly catching small prey like squirrels and rabbits if you were lucky.

As much as you would have liked to, there was no chance of you fucking out in the open wild; Daryl would not allow it, knowing that there was a large risk of the undead stumbling upon you fornicating. The last thing he wanted was to allow your life to be at risk, and whilst he didn’t shelter you, he did all he could to protect you, even in spite of your ability to aim his crossbow and shoot a shotgun. It was logical of course, dwindling the chance of getting caught off guard by the leering undead, but the thought still turned you on.

“Ya like tha’?” Daryl preened you for reassurance as he slipped a finger into your slick and welcoming walls, your answer being a gasp that uncontrollably left your mouth. He was so fucking good with his fingers, and he didn’t even know it. After all the times he had made you cum, you would have expected him to be aware, but not only did he require confirmation, he wanted you to admit that he was pleasuring you. It did something to his brain, circuiting it into an arousal pledged satisfaction, simply from hearing his name or a defining ‘yes’ fall benevolently from your lips. And so your mouth murmured his name, stifling the volume that it wished to be spoken at, for the sake of not drawing in the curiosity of walkers or your fellow survivors.

He began to suckle deeper on your flesh, bringing the blood beneath to the surface, ensuring that there would be bruises left after his lips had dislodged. Your head rolled back, eyes closing from the addictive satisfaction that he gifted your body, hips lifting without shame towards the press of his fingers, forcing them bury deeper within your tight walls. If there was no threat to your lives by doing so, you would constantly remain in this tent, with your bodies colliding in a desperate passion that brought an amorously filled ecstasy to both of you. He shushed you, withdrawing his lips and moving them onto your mouth, teasingly biting your lip as he watched you unfold into bliss because of him.

“Fuck me. Ya two practicin’ fer a kid or somethin’? ‘Cause if you are, that ain’t how ya do it.” Daryl and you shot apart, faces warm from embarrassment as Merle stood in the opening of the tent that neither one of you had heard be unzipped, and your boyfriend retracted his hand from beneath your jeans and panties, subtly bringing it to lay down beside him and away from his brother’s gaze. Your breath was laboured, and you knew that it was obvious to anyone that could see you that you had endured the highs of an orgasm. After the shock wore from Daryl he scowled and rolled his blue eyes at Merle, visibly pissed off for the uncalled for interruption.

“Don’ ya know how ta knock?” Daryl barked with evident irritation in his tone, glaring at his only sibling. Whilst he was grateful for all Merle had done to ensure that he and you survived thus far into the outbreak, it was all forgotten in the present, for he had ultimately not been thinking with his mind and instead a far different part of his body. He’d just been getting started in his eyes, Daryl had anticipated to make you cum and cum again until you finally drifted off into a noiseless sleep that did not consist of the nightmares that the walkers had sprung into your mind. It was not only a distraction, but a show of his strong affection, and that opportunity had now been diminished thanks to the unwelcome intrusion.

“One problem there little brother is there ain’t any doors.” Smart ass Merle, you thought, although you could not meet his eyes as he chuckled at the antics of the pair of you. Merle would not admit it, but his decision to find you both had been out of concern, he wanted to check on you and make sure you were within the safest vicinity that you could be for now; the camp. He was relieved that you both were, but he could never miss an opportunity at teasing Daryl, it was far too enjoyable for him to rile up his brother. “Though ya been knockin’ the wind outta that girl, yer fuckin’ like yer gonna die tomorrow. Ya okay there Y/N/N?”

The attention that Merle had drawn towards you made you shuffle nervously atop of the sleeping bag, and from your embarrassment Daryl’s anger only increased. His nostrils flared in rage, his eyebrows lowering in a firm frown that was aimed at none other than Merle. He too felt embarrassed, having evaded his brother walking in for so long, and finally it had happened all on its own. The two of you had presumed that Merle would spend a longer amount of time by the fire where it was warm, whilst you and Daryl shared each other’s body heat, and that afterwards Merle would return to his own tent beside yours. How wrong you had been. “Get the fuck out Merle.”

Daryl was practically seething, causing his brother to laugh harder, clutching his stomach as though his amusement brought him pain. His face was red as he chortled, and he waved his hand towards you both, as though his the blame for his laughter was on you, and it was without intention. “Okay, okay.” Merle steadied himself, reaching for the zipper of the tent as he stepped back onto the grass. “You crazy kids have fun, don’t do nothin’ I wouldn’t.” He sent his brother a wink that made you shiver, and he finally closed the partition to the outdoors, leaving Daryl and you in one another’s presence once more.

“He definitely killed the mood, didn’ he?” You didn’t even need to answer him, it was transparent that the mood was beyond dead, and you shuffled around on the sleeping bag that was somehow large enough for the pair of you to share, slipping into it and reaching for the travel lamp as Daryl slipped in behind you, his hands holding your body as he sighed from the frustration that boiled within him. He closed his eyes, wishing to erase the event from the timeline, but it was impossible. If only his damning brother had not interrupted, then neither of you would be going to bed with a hunger that had been off out by the careless intrusion.

Glenn was not that much older than you and Daryl, a couple of years you supposed, and you liked the young man that had previously attained the job of a pizza boy and got along with him well. He was kind unlike many others seemed in the camp, and he was startled as Shane grabbed his arm, pulling him to the side, looking at him expectedly. He hadn’t long returned from a run, so he supposed the reason for being leered at had something to do with that, though his expectations were befallen when Shane spoke. “You seen Y/N? She’s not with the other women?”

Ah yes, the misogynistic duty that was reserved for the ladies of the camp, washing the dirtied clothes in the nearby lake. If things were not in order the older man did not like it, he had to ensure that things within the band of survivors ran swiftly since he had taken on the role of leader that had entailed no vote to sanction him in such a position. Glenn shook his head, pursing his lips, though he had witnessed you scatter silently across the camp without a word exchanged. You had simply nodded at him in a passing greeting, for some reason excitement affecting your speed. The last thing your friendly acquaintance wanted was to piss him off, and the glare he received for his denial was invoking.

It made him think that if something happened to you amidst escorting yourself into the woods, then the fault would be on him. He didn’t want anything to happen to you and keeping the truth to himself could potentially bring you the consequences of harm or death. You seemed as though you could take care of yourself, but no one truly knew what extent to. The knowledge that you had endured the hardship of living amongst the difficult town alongside Daryl and Merle was common, and you would go out hunting with the two of them, but Glenn had never seen you handle yourself against walkers. No one except the brothers had, and that was what concerned him most, especially considering both of the Dixons refused your company on runs, claiming that it was for your safety.

From Shane’s endless glowering, Glenn gulped, inadvertently gulping and readying his breath to speak. “She went out there.” Glenn’s hand pointed beyond the trees, the lush green leaves motionless for there was no breeze that whisked through the air, and Shane’s eyes followed direction of his index finger, an instantaneous frown contorting his features as he looked back at his fellow survivor with almost disbelief.

“By herself?!” The volume of Shane’s voice was loud, contorted into a mixture of absolute worry and prominent anger. Glenn should have told someone, him, he thought to himself. If you were to die his leadership would no doubt be questioned, and he quite enjoyed holding some kind of power over people, he always had. The world in its current state was dangerous, and he checked his hip to ensure that his weapon was still plastered at his side, and he began walking with a pace towards the bordering woods that you had disappeared into. “Come on Rhee, you’re coming with me to find her.” Fucking Dixons and their plus one, they were more trouble than they were worth. He thought you were lucky to be a young woman, otherwise he wouldn’t have put his life on the line to go out and rescue you.

With no resilience to the orders, Glenn followed after him, guilt ebbing at his chest, dreading the outcome in which a walker had stumbled upon you and pursued you as prey. He should have held more concern when you had meandered off, but he had been tired and distracted from the run into the city. You never went into the woodland in solitary, Daryl was usually with you, and if he had been, he hadn’t seen the youngest Dixon. If something had the unfortunate occurrence of happening to you, then the fault would be on no one else other than him. And he knew that to be the truth.

Finally, you were alone. With Daryl. You had chased after him some minutes later when he had stated that he was going to search for ‘some squirrels or somethin’’, the evening prior was when Merle had stumbled upon a scene that he would forever tease you about, and you knew that Daryl was dwelling in his own frustrations. He dared not speak of it, feeling ridiculed and like a child that his brother had witnessed something he would never live done, opting instead to shoot something than regard you with his overflowing lust. If anyone were to walk in you again, he was certain that he would grab his crossbow and aim in their direction, truly pissed off for yet another interruption to expelling both his attraction and love towards you.

Daryl had never wanted to fuck in the woods, it was too dangerous, but you had mentally plucked at a compromise that satisfied both of you. The twigs and dried leaves were hard and irritating beneath your knees as you pulled at both his pants and boxers, leaving his cock exposed to your desperate gaze. You could never get enough of Daryl, even as he tried to maintain his stature, his back flush against the ascending bark of a tree, crossbow loaded and in one hand in case a walker were to attempt to kill and then feast on you both. It was the compromise, and Daryl released a staggered breath as you wrapped your palm around his length, leading his cock into your awaiting mouth.

He stifled a strewn gasp, forcing his eyes to remain open so he could spy the undead heading towards you if they did, his other hand softly coiling in your hair, playing with the strands around your face and gently pushing them out of your peripheral. “Fuck darlin’, you know how ta drive me crazy.” And that you did, such was proven as you took him deeper into your mouth, his tip hitting the back of your throat, and his whole body shuddered, becoming frail from pleasure. The sounds of nature danced around you, the birds rustling in the branches above being the only noise other than Daryl’s cock wetly slipping in and out of your mouth as you bobbed your head.

It was utter ecstasy to be some place that Daryl ironically felt safe, and to have you with him, intimately suckling on his most sensitive nerves. Your hands grasped his hips, allowing you to buck your head forwards slightly faster, drool sputtering around your chin as you began to gag on his endowed length. With one last look up at the crumbling man above you, whose eyes scoured the landscape skittishly, you closed your own, lashes fluttering upon your cheeks as you poured all your focus into making him feel good. He deserved a break, and you were more than happy to comply and give that to him,

There was no rush, it was the two of you in a space that it felt like no other soul could interrupt. You gorged yourself on the taste of his flesh, wanting to feel his seed warmly spill down your throat, and make his brain feel elated throughout the turmoil of instinctual survival that it processed on repeat. He stroked over your hair again, playing with the strands as the muscles in his legs tensed from the sensations that were rocketing into his mind. His fist clenched firmer on the grip of his crossbow, knuckles turning white as he bit his lip and slowly moved his hips in accordance to the motion of your head.

A rustle upon the ground caught him off guard, and his defences raised as he pushed you with care away, quickly tucking himself back into his jeans although the fly and button were still open. You stood beside him, sheathing the machete from the ground with urgent administrations, not composing your fucked out appearance that had come from using your mouth on him, expecting a walker to appear in view. Though there were no walkers, only two men that made Daryl outwardly groan and roll his oceanic irises around in the whites of his eyes. Another interruption. Why could no one just leave the two of you alone? Shane and Glenn looked between the both of you, minds piecing together the implications that they had disturbed. “Seriously?! The fuck!”

Daryl exclaimed, wedging his boots into the earth below as he tried to numb the heat that was battling to the surface of his face, glaring indignantly towards the two. You hastily wiped your chin, thinning your lips as you silently tilted your head in question in Glenn’s direction, uncertain as to why their presence had broke through the moment that you and Daryl had been craving. Thinking that the woods would be a private place was a good idea initially, however it proved that you couldn’t get peace anywhere. “I’m thinking the same thing.” Shane’s authority brewed the air with tension, as he narrowed his eyes at you, scoffing lightly. Yes, he had been young once, but the world was not as safe as it used to be, and logically that should have rendered in your thoughts. “The two of you shouldn’t be out here - doing that.”

Glenn didn’t back him up verbally, unsure of what to say, and knowing that if he did open his mouth it could possibly make things worse. Daryl however was not going to take Shane’s shit, he always saw himself as above others, as though he still wore a badge and it meant something on the tarnished lands. “It don’t stop you and Lori from sneakin’ off ta fuck ou’ here.” Shane’s face became swamped with realisation that him and his late friend’s wife hadn’t been as cautious as they had initially perceived. “Ya don’ think I hear ya two scamperin’ off when I get back from huntin’. B’cause I do, and I ain’t the only one.” The pizza boy stepped backwards as to not get involved with the puncturing of Shane’s ego, watching as Shane huffed beneath his breath.

“Keep your mouth shut Dixon, you don’t know anything. And head back to camp - the both of you.” You wanted to punch him; no one spoke to Daryl like that, especially not in front of you, and as you went to step forward Daryl grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers so that you could walk past the prick together without the risk of causing a fight. Your boyfriend spat on the forest floor as he by Shane, glaring daggers at the man that had to ruin everything. Shane just didn’t want to hear the truth, his pride was far too large to be brought into reality by ‘a no good redneck’, but that was what had happened. You knew that Glenn would apologise later, and as you stalked through the woods, you heard no verbal interaction between the two men that walked some ways behind the pair of you.

Daryl was a mess. Merle was missing, having removed his own hand to escape the latches of the handcuffs that Lori’s apparently alive husband has clamped him in on that rooftop. He had wanted to start a fight, more so when they came up empty handed when going to retrieve his brother, but you had stopped him. It would only cause more trouble than what was already prevailing, and you did not want Daryl to get in the thick of it. He had already cursed him out, threatened to propel ammunition from his crossbow into Rick, and none of it had brought Merle’s return. In the comfort of your shared tent he had cried, his tears streaming down his face as you coddled him with comfort, trying with all your might to usher the tears away.

And finally they had come to an end, his tear ducts unable to produce any more moisture, though Daryl’s anger had not dispersed. You ran a hand along his shoulder blade, placing a peck on the sleeveless area as you laid atop of the sleeping bag together. There were no words that would decrease his sadness; you wanted Merle back too, he had always looked out for you when it came to your father, and now both of them were gone. One was dead and you dreaded where Merle was, he had to be somewhere, he’d never given in easily in the old life he had, so you knew that he wouldn’t now, no matter the hurdles he had to cross to survive. “I dunno whatta do.” Daryl mumbled as he pulled you closer, and you stroked his hair with affection, smiling tightly as he looked at your face.

“I dunno either.” You admitted, brushing your nose against his, wanting to be lost in the quiet of the night. The lantern was back on and it illuminated his face, and you could see that he was tired, drained of most of the little hope that he had initially held. “But he’ll come back for us. He always has.” You reminded him, knowing that the first place that Merle had gone when the radio began to divulge the distractions of the outbreak was to the two of you. If it hadn’t been for him, neither of you may have remained alive. It was unexpected in the moment but Daryl kissed you, cupping your face with his rough hands, starting off slow yet with no motives to keep the physical connection short. His mouth glided softly against your lips, and you opened them, allowing him easy entrance.

He breathed through his nose as he pressed his mouth harder against your own, slinking his tongue behind your teeth, rolling atop of you, placing each of his hands above your shoulders. “I love you Y/N Y/L/N.” He states earnestly, pulling away from your face to trail tentative kisses along your fragile throat. He needed this. You needed this. It was exactly what you required to feel something other than the tormenting anguish that chortled within every breath. His hands groped at your sides, slipping beneath your shirt and onto the flesh of your waist, seeking the warmth that pulsed in your veins.

“I love you Daryl Dixon.” It was something he often required to hear, and you never faulted him for the reassurance of your emotions; he had been through so much at such a youthful age, and you understood the stability that the heartfelt confessions of love that it brought within his mind. He engulfed your lips once more, the desperation tightening its grip between you as it became a frenzy of removing one another’s clothes that were kicked to the other side of the tent, leaving your bare bodies rubbing against each other. Daryl wasted minimal time to enter you, brandishing himself and you with the pleasure that you had sought, motioning slow thrusts into your walls as though he was trying to memorise just how you felt.

Hot air left his lips and fanned in a tantalising manner against your jugular, as you inhaled deeply, lulling in the erotic sensations that bespoke through your body. Your hands gripped his shoulders with tight vigour, descending and running gently down his back and upon the scarring that contorted his flesh with prominently visible lashes that you could feel beneath your caring fingertips. It broke you that a man could exert such hatred onto their own child, and whilst your father had been no saint himself, he had never struck you in such a way. But no matter the state in which Daryl’s body was in, you found him to be a beautiful diamond within a hoard of boring rocks, capturing your attention with anything that he proceeded to do.

It was more than love that you felt for him, it was a transcendent connection that you had never witnessed anyone else hold their partner with. His hips rotated, grinding against your own, clashing the bones in their derelict midst of chasing an orgasm of which you had both failed to achieve in recent times. There were always interruptions, and you loathed each and every one of them. To be together again, with the same goal rolled waves of endorsed gratefulness into your bloodstream, as you clung wantonly onto your boyfriend, needing him more than oxygen in the moment. “Daryl.” His name made his head raise, the whisper that had fallen from your lips making his pupils swivel around his irises, the black pebbles enlarging with his own portion of lust.

“Yeah?” He huffed through his staggered breaths, continuing to move, cradling the back of your head with his triceps so that they would cushion the behind of your skull. His tone was tentative whilst simultaneously being strained from the proving pleasure of having his cock stuffed into your cunt, and he looked into your eyes with such focus that it made your heart skip multiple beats. As you held onto him, you opened your mouth after licking your lips, prepared to douse him in verbal love, but before the words could spew from your form, the crunching of footsteps outside of the tent and the clearing of the throat interrupted.

“Daryl, you in there?” Fucking Rick Grimes. Daryl paused his movements, although he did not remove himself from your slick encasement of his length, and you could see his patience begin to boil over. Your lover grunted out as an uninterested stern reply, and you felt relieved that the man held some jurisdiction and did not simply enter the tent, forgetting that privacy still remained in existence. You knew that Rick intended to extend an olive branch, wanting to apologise to Daryl, believing that his outrage had not only be compelled by Merle’s figure being absent, but also because of his age that was far younger than the law enforcer’s. “I just wanted to-“

“Piss off Grimes.” Daryl huffed, not wanting to hear the excuses that the man could disperse with pity upon him. He’d heard enough whispers regarding the situation around the camp, and he was tired of it. “‘M tryna fuck mah girlfrien’ here, so if y’all so fuckin’ kindly excuse us…” His honest confession startled you that he would outright admit what the two of you were doing, but it seemed to do the trick, with Rick muttering an ‘okay’ and shuffling off, presumably back to his family and Shane. Daryl heaved a sigh of relief, pressing his forehead onto your chest, and the flush of his heat warmed your body. His cock twitched inside of you, reminding you more than his admission to the cop had on where you were and what you had been doing. “Sick of these fuckin’ cockblockers.” He muttered, causing you to laugh in wordless agreement.

As you began to chortle out words that supported his opinion, a gasp was pulled from your throat as he began to move again, his thrusts deeper than previously, hitting the benevolent spot inside of you that made you see stars and distorted all thoughts from your brain. He leaned into you, pushing his weight onto your own as he made you feel every inch of him, knowing not to adjust his position as he could feel you tightening around his shaft, the feeling making his eyes roll back in his head. He removed one of his arms from beneath your head, trailing it down your chest and stomach to your clit, toying with the bundle of nerves that brought you over the edge, cumming around him.

He fucked you faster, now focusing on his own high, and before he could get carried away he pulled out of your warmth as your hand reaches to coil around his length, sliding your hand up and down it, bringing him to his orgasm that spilt over your stomach in a pool of white. “Fuck.” He heartily laughed, breathlessly leaning down to trail kisses in various places of your skin before pecking your lips. Daryl knew that soon he would have to stalk out of the tent to listen to Rick and see what he wanted, but for now he drowned in your presence, kissing you over and over, relieved that his frustrations had gotten the better of him and sent those that dared interrupt elsewhere. You pulled him down into your side, watching as he reached for the shirt he had previously been wearing, wiping the mess that he had made from you with tentative strokes.

[beansprean]

Commissioned for @kristylime 's CUTEASS fic “A Prescription for Love”!!! This is a snippet from chapter 4! ;)

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1a. Full body of Guillermo, dressed in a pink tee shirt, grey sweatpants, and socks, sitting up on his bed with one arm propped behind him and the other petting a gray kitten named Beaker who is happily arching and rubbing into the attention. A window nearby shows a gray sky outside, and his laptop is open in front of him on the bedspread, covered in various vampire and pride related stickers. Guillermo looks sadly down at the cat and sighs, saying, "I just wish I had some kind of sign..." 1b. Close up of Guillermo with a tear forming in his eye, glancing over as his phone, sitting on the bed nearby, begins to ding with multiple incoming texts. His phone has a black case with a rainbow bat pattern. 1c. Shoulders up of Guillermo sitting up and holding his phone with his right hand, his left taking a moment to rub the tear from his eye. The phone continues to ding with more texts. 1d. Repeat. Guillermo opens his eyes to look down curiously at the phone, swiping his thumb across the screen to unlock it as it dings twice more.

2a. A series of texts from human Nandor appear on the left with reactions from Guillermo on the right. His message reads: "Hi, Guillermo. I hope you had a nice time today. I had a really great time at brunch and showing you the farm. And I’m glad you got to meet Dr. Baron and Dr. Sirus. And all my animals. I think Rajah misses his pal, Beaker, though. He seems a bit glum this evening. I must confess that I’m still on Cloud 9… from the kiss. Though I am looking forward to Taco Tuesday. Unless you’d consider seeing me tomorrow? Maybe just some takeout from my parents’ restaurant at your place? LMK." This is followed by a text with a photo of a blue merle Australian Shepherd named Rajah laying on a large plaid doggy bed with his head on his paws, looking up at the camera with big sparkly sad blue eyes. On the right, a close up of Guillermo huffing out a small laugh through his nose as he reads, looking fond. 2b. Repeat. Nandor sends another photo of himself, half in frame, wearing a flannel shirt over a black tee and his hair in a loose braid grinning and holding a strip of bacon out between his teeth. Rajah appears from the other side and excitedly chomps down on the other end of the bacon strip. Nandor writes, "I have determined how to chase his blues away at least temporarily. BACONNNNN!!!!!" On the right, Guillermo's smile grows helplessly, looking more amused and more fond by the moment. 2c. Repeat. Nandor sends another photo, clearly taken moments after the previous one, showing himself snorting with laughter as Rajah licks all over his face. He writes, "How is Beaker doing?" and then "Sorry for all the text messages. I just realized this might be creepy." On the right, Guillermo finally dissolves into laughter, tipping his phone as if to cover his mouth.

3a. A text reply from Guillermo that reads "Not creepy at all. Beaker is settling in well. He seems to like me, air conditioning, and/or movies. He’s nice to cuddle with and talk to. Thank you again. I was also thinking about our kiss. That it was a long time coming and that I’d like you to kiss me more, if you’d like that. Tomorrow, I work until 7PM, but I would love for you to come over for dinner. Persian Delight would be wonderful, but I would like to cook for you at some point, too. 7:30PM tomorrow?" Nandor immediately replies "Sure, it's a date," with a winking kiss emoji. 3b. Close up on Guillermo's eyes shining with excitement above blushing cheeks as Nandor's last text echoes in pink around him. 3c. Full body of Guillermo, sun shining on him from behind as the sun pours through the window, grinning happily as he holds Beaker up to his cheek with one hand and holds his phone out with the other to take a selfie. He says, "I guess as far as signs go, it doesn’t get a lot clearer than that." Beaker mews in reply. /end ID

[tinyshyteacup]

Taglist: @kellynickelsgirl00 @dixonsbridexx @yikes-myguy @blackwidownat2814 @euqsia @lliteratii @imadisneyprincessiswear @satata @smashleywow @misspendragonsworld @captain-shannon-becker @i-doutt-it @bookies16 @brianna-merlim @staley83 @oceanticspace @insaneintheemembranev2 @dummylovewp @xmiaacxio @meyukoo @grilka @itsgivingdepression @timebomb1101 @inejghafasdagger @koshkahhh @juliperezsilveira @pandaofsilentdeath @straw--b3rry @nynxtea

----------------------------------------‐-----------------

TW: Cussing, Walkers (Zombies), fluff, kissing, cuddling, hurt/comfort, angst, Negan is a Villan, SA (Implied, offscreen), PTSD symptoms, threats of violence.

Part 48

Dead Weight - Part 49

The morning light filters through the heavy curtains of your shared room, casting golden patterns across the walls. You're warm, cocooned in blankets and the familiar comfort of Daryl's arms around you. His chest rises and falls steadily against your back, and for the frist time you feel truly safe.

Daryl's face is buried in your hair. The relief of you washes over him - that you haven't pulled away, that your seeking comfort in his presence even after everything.

His flannel hangs loose on your frame, having shifted during the night to expose your shoulder. Without fully waking, Daryl nuzzles into the revealed skin, breathing in your scent. He trails his nose softly across your shoulder blade, the gesture so tender and unconscious that it makes your heart ache in the best way.

When he presses a unconscious feather-light kiss there, you startle slightly, a reflexive tension that he immediately feels.

"S'me," he whispers against your skin, his voice rough with sleep. "Jus' me."

You relax back into him, turning to face him. This is the first time he's slept without a shirt with you and you can see the uncertainty in his eyes - the vulnerability of being exposed.

"Y'okay?" he asks quietly, searching your face.

You nod, understanding the silent request, he leans down to kiss you softly. It's careful, gentle and slow.

Your fingertips trace along a scar on his shoulder, one of many that mark his skin like a roadmap of old pain. He tenses slightly under your touch, still unused to being seen so clearly, but he doesn't pull away.

"So handsome," you whisper a sleepy smile ghosting across your face, the words make him duck his head shyly, wonder and disbelief warring in his chest.

Your fingers drift across his collarbone, following another raised line of scar tissue. When you reach the one that cuts across his ribs - jagged and cruel - your touch becomes even more gentle. Daryl's breathing hitches, not from desire but from memory.

You notice the tension that suddenly grips him, the way his muscles go rigid under your touch. "Daryl?"

"It's... s'nothin'," he mutters, but his eyes have gone distant.

The ghost of his father's voice echoes in his mind - "Quit your snivelin', boy, or I'll give you somethin' to really cry about."

"Hey," you whisper, cupping his face gently. "You're safe. We're safe."

The tenderness in your voice brings him back, grounds him. He leans into your touch, closing his eyes.

When you start to get up to go change from his flannel, Daryl immediately turns away. He starts chewing on his thumbnail, a nervous habit from childhood, his hair falling forward to hide his face like a curtain.

Can't let her think I'm just waitin' to take advantage. She trusts me, and I ain't gonna...

"Daryl," you say softly, and when he risks a glance back through his hair, you're smiling at him - the first genuine smile he's seen since before the Sanctuary.

"I wouldn't sleep so soundly if i didn't feel safe." You say stepping behind the screen in the corner of the room to change.

The words hit him like a punch to the gut - in the best possible way. But he still shakes his head quickly, turning away again. He brings his bottom lip between his teeth to worry it stubly.

Look at ya, Merle familiar voice jeers. Darylina, you sound like some lovesick schoolgirl. You want to bend her over and make her scream your name, admit it.

The crude image makes Daryl's face burn with shame, not because he doesn't want you - God, he does, desperately - but because Merle's voice makes it sound dirty, quick and wrong.

But the wanting is there, has been there for so long it's become part of him. He wants to touch every inch of your skin, wants to show you with his hands and mouth how precious you are, wants to love you so completely you forget every hurt that's ever been done to you.

The thought makes heat pool low in his belly, makes his breathing shallow.

When he finally turns around, you've stepped back out adjusting the laces of the medieval gown, and the soft smile you give him is worth every second of his internal struggle.

Still shy, you think fondly, watching the way he ducks his head, still not quite meeting your eyes. Even now, under everything he's just shy, sweet Daryl.

"You know the one person you dont have to protect me from yourself," you tell him gently, stepping closer. "I know who you are, Daryl. And I know who you're not."

Breakfast in the great hall is a marvel of medieval pageantry. Long wooden tables with simple food, and the Kingdom's residents eat with obvious enjoyment despite their circumstances. You find yourself studying everything - the way they've set up their kitchens, the foods they're serving, the gaps in their nutritional planning.

"This place is somethin' else," Daryl murmurs.

"It's like a living museum," you agree, reaching for a bowl "They've really committed to it, kinda reminds me of home."

After breakfast, Carol suggests exploring the gardens, and you can see Daryl's immediate reluctance to let you out of his sight.

"I'll be with Carol," you promise, and something in your voice - maybe the fact that you're making the choice yourself instead of being told what to do - makes him nod.

"Alright. But Y'need anything, you just holler."

In the gardens, you walk slowly beside Carol, the dress moving naturally with your steps. The dress fits like it was made for you, the fabric rich and well-crafted, and you find yourself automatically adjusting to its weight and flow.

"You move like you've worn clothes like this before," Carol observes, watching as you kneel carefully beside a struggling patch of vegetables, your skirts arranged with practiced ease.

"Kinda" you admit, then fall quiet, focusing on the plants. "Some of these crops aren't doing too hot."

You move along the garden borders, noting the various plants growing wild. "Look at this," you say, pointing to what most would consider weeds. "That's millet. I didn't know you could grow it in America."

"Is it useful?"

"Incredibly. It grows in poor soil, its can be its own version of oats or flour, tends to grow where other grains fail."

Carol crouches beside you, watching as you examine the plants with obvious expertise. "You know a lot about this."

"I guess" You're quiet for a moment, then you stand slowly brushing dirt off your palm.

As you continue walking, Carol's expression grows more thoughtful. Eventually, she leads you to a quiet spot near what looks like an old workshop.

"Can I tell you something?" she asks, settling on a wooden bench.

You nod, settling beside her.

"You know I was married to Ed before all this." Her voice is steady, but you can hear the old pain underneath as you nod.

"He was... he was a shitty excuse for a man. He hurt me. For years. Controlled everything I did, everything I said. Made me feel like I was nothing."

She pauses, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve.

"I have a pretty good idea what Negan would have been like," she continues quietly. "Men like that... they use the same playbook. They take your power, your choices."

You feel tears prick at your eyes, and Carol reaches over to squeeze your hand.

"What I'm trying to say is - it's okay if things are hard for a while. If you don't feel like yourself. If you're angry or scared or confused. That's normal. That's your mind trying to heal from something it was never supposed to endure."

The understanding in her voice breaks something open in your chest, and suddenly the words are tumbling out.

"I am angry," you admit, your voice thick with emotion. "But not just about what he did to me. I'm furious about what he did to Daryl. The torture, the psychological games, the way he used me to hurt him." Your hands clench into fists. "I keep thinking about how Daryl probably blames himself, how he thinks it's somehow his fault that I protected him in the first place."

Carol nods, her own eyes bright with unshed tears.

"And I feel so guilty," you continue, the words coming faster now. Your voice drops to barely a whisper. "Because I can still feel his hands on me sometimes. When I'm trying to sleep, or when someone moves too quickly..." You wrap your arms around yourself unconsciously.

"He didn't threaten me, Carol. He... he made sure I knew exactly what would happen to Daryl if I didn't ... comply."

Your voice cracks as you try to scoff on the last word, and Carol's face hardens with a fury that's rarely seen but unmistakably ever present.

"I want to kill him for it," you continue, the admission torn from somewhere deep inside. "I want him dead for what he did to Daryl, for how he leveraged me against him. For all of it."

"That's not something to feel guilty about," Carol says firmly. "Wanting to protect the people you love, wanting justice for what was done to them - to you - that's human."

"But he's a person," you whisper, your body trembling slightly. "Not a walker. He's a living, breathing person, and I want him dead. Sometimes I can still smell his cologne, still feel..." you shudder, unable to finish the sentence. "What does that make me?"

Carol is quiet for a long moment, and when she speaks, her voice is gentle but sure.

"It makes you someone who loves deeply," she says. "Someone who's been hurt and traumatized and is trying to make sense of it all. Ed was a person too, but that didn't make what he did to me any less wrong. And when he died, I felt... relief. Not guilt. Relief."

She turns to face you fully, her expression serious.

"You don't have to forgive him. You don't have to feel bad for wanting him to pay for what he did. Some people... some people forfeit their right to mercy when they choose to hurt others the way they did."

Tears are streaming down your face now, and Carol pulls you into a gentle hug.

"You're not bad for feeling this way. You're just human, trying to heal from something inhuman." she whispers.

"Thank you," you whisper against her shoulder. "For understanding. For not making me feel like a monster."

"Never," Carol says firmly. "You're one of the strongest people I know. And you have people who love you - Daryl especially. That love, that connection - it's going to help you heal. It's going to help you both heal."

Later that afternoon, the arrival of Rick, Glen, and several others from Alexandria shifts the entire atmosphere of the Kingdom. There are careful embraces - everyone has learned to approach you gently, to let you initiate contact.

Glen's hug is warm and familiar, and you don't flinch away from him this time.

Progress.

"God, I've missed you," he says, holding you at arm's length to study your face. "How are you doing? Really?"

"Better," you say, and mean it. "Getting there."

"Maggie's at Hilltop," Glen says, his face lighting up the way it always does when he talks about his wife. "She's doing well, and the baby... you can see the tiniest bump now. It's so small, but it's there." His hand unconsciously moves to his stomach, as if he can feel the life growing inside his wife. "I miss her so much it hurts, but knowing she's safe, that the baby's healthy..."

"I'm so happy for you both," you say, and the joy in your voice is genuine despite everything you've been through.

When you're done talking with Glen, Daryl finds himself in his own conversation with him.

"She looks better," Glen observes, watching you laugh at something Rick is saying. "Still fragile, but... stronger maybe?"

"Yeah," Daryl agrees, though his jaw tightens. "What that bastard did to her... m'gonna kill him. I'm gonna kill Negan for what he did to her."

Glen studies his face, noting the rage barely contained beneath the surface. "Daryl—"

"Nah, don't try to talk me out of it. You didn't see her after. You didn't see how she was breakin' apart." Daryl's hands clench into fists. "Ain't somethin' that can be forgiven."

"I'm not trying to talk you out of wanting him dead," Glen says quietly. "I want him dead too. We all do. But don't let that rage consume you. Don't let it take away from what she needs right now."

Daryl nods, but Glen can see the promise of violence burning in his eyes.

The war council takes place in Ezekiel's throne room, with Shiva lounging regally beside the King's chair. You find yourself studying the great cat with fascination rather than fear - there's something about being in Kingdom that makes even the most fantastic elements feel natural.

Rick makes his case with passionate intensity, explaining about the Saviors, about Negan's brutality, about the need for the communities to stand together.

"Your Majesty," Rick says, his voice carrying the weight of leadership and desperation, "we can't do this alone. We need allies. We need Kingdom."

Ezekiel listens with the gravity of a true king, but his response is measured and cautious. "I understand your desire for justice, Rick Grimes. And I am deeply sympathetic to what your people have suffered." His eyes find you briefly, a flash of understanding passing between you. "But my first responsibility is to my people. To their safety and wellbeing."

"The Saviors will come for you eventually," Michonne points out. "They always do."

"Perhaps. But for now, they honor our arrangement. They take their tribute and leave us in peace." Ezekiel's voice carries the weight of difficult decisions. "I cannot risk my people's lives on the possibility of future conflict."

The discussion continues, growing more heated as Rick presses his case. You find yourself shrinking back slightly, the raised voices triggering your anxiety even though you know these people would never hurt you.

Daryl notices immediately, moving subtly closer until his shoulder brushes yours. The contact is grounding, reminding you that you're safe.

"There is, however, something I can offer," Ezekiel says eventually. "The Saviors do not enter Kingdom proper. If you need sanctuary - if Daryl and his lady need a place to hide - my doors are open to you."

It's not the alliance Rick hoped for, but it's something.

During a break in the discussions, you find yourself studying the Kingdom's approach to food distribution. The great hall serves as both dining room and community gathering space, and you can see the strain in their food stores.

"They're struggling more than they're letting on," you murmur to Carol.

"What do you mean?"

"Look at the portions, the types of food they're serving. They're stretching everything as far as it will go." You point to various details that others might miss. "But they have a resource they're not using."

When the group reconvenes, you find yourself speaking up despite your usual reluctance to draw attention.

"Your Majesty, if I may... I noticed you're having some food security issues."

Ezekiel nods gravely. "Our crops have not been as successful as we hoped. The soil, perhaps, or the weather..."

"But you have millet growing everywhere," you say, gaining confidence as you speak. "It's incredibly nutritious and versatile. You could make porridge from it, which would be filling and provide good energy. There's also pottage - that's a thick stew made with whatever vegetables and grains you have available."

Everyone is listening now, and you can feel their attention like a physical weight.

"You could make frumenty, which is a sweet kinda porridge thing. And if you have any ale or wine, caudle is both nutritious and warming. There's also blancmange, which can be made with available ingredients, and various gruels that provide maximum nutrition with minimal resources..."

You realize you're rambling and stop abruptly, heat flooding your cheeks. "Sorry, I just... I know these things because I used to..." You take a breath.

"Before everything happened, I was part of a living history group back home. We studied medieval life, cooking, farming, all of it. I'm not from here originally, obviously," you add with a self-conscious gesture to yourself, "but we were very serious about historical accuracy."

The room is quiet for a moment, then Rick speaks up. "That's incredible. That knowledge could save lives."

"Indeed," Ezekiel agrees, his theatrical voice warm with genuine interest. "Perhaps you would be willing to share more of this wisdom with our cooks and farmers?"

You nod "of course, as long as its a shared resource" you state, still blushing but pleased to be able to contribute something meaningful.

"Always knew you were smart." Glen says quietly, his voice full of pride.

"I just ... figured it was nerdy" you whisper back.

The Kingdom's kitchens are spacious and well-equipped, with large hearths and sturdy wooden tables that have clearly seen years of use. You stand at the center of it all, wearing your 15th-century cotehardie like you were born to it, sleeves pushed up to your elbows as you examine the pile of millet Jerry has brought in.

"Right," you say, feeling more confident in this element than you have in weeks. "First thing we need to understand is that millet isn't just animal feed. It's been sustaining human populations for thousands of years."

Carol, Glen, and Jerry gather around the table, along with several of the Kingdom's cooks. Daryl leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching everything through his hair.

"The key is proper processing," you continue, running the small golden grains through your fingers. "We need to clean it first, remove any chaff or debris. Then we can hull it or use it whole, depending on what we're making."

"What's the difference?" Glen asks, genuinely curious.

"Hulled millet cooks faster and has a softer texture - better for porridge or adding to stews. Whole millet takes longer but has more nutritional value and, its kinda nuttier."

You pick up a wooden bowl, demonstrating the winnowing process. "In medieval times, they'd do this outside, let the wind carry away the chaff. Since we're indoors, and dont have ... hours ...we'll do it manually."

Jerry watches with fascination as you work. "You really know this stuff."

"I studied historical cooking methods," you say, then pause as that familiar shadow crosses your face.

But you shake it off and continue. "Carol, can you help me set up a couple of different cooking stations? We're going to make several dishes so everyone can see the versatility."

As you begin organizing the workspace, you reach up to push your hair back from your face, but it keeps falling forward. You pat down your pockets, looking for something to tie it back with.

"Damn," you mutter. "I don't have anything to—"

Without thinking, Daryl pushes off from the doorframe and moves behind you.

"Lemme" he murmurs as his hands come up to your hair, fingers threading through as he gathers it at the nape of your neck.

His calloused fingers surprisingly gentle as they comb through your hair.

His hands trail up your neck as he smooths back the loose pieces, and he can feel the delicate curve where your neck meets your skull. The intimacy of the gesture hits him suddenly - how natural it feels, how right.

He pulls a piece of string from his vest pocket, the same kind he uses for his crossbow, and carefully ties your hair back. His fingers brush against your neck as he secures it, and he can feel your slight shiver at the contact.

Hell ... am I pushin' too hard? he wonders, suddenly worried.

But when he steps back, Carol catches sight of your face - and the small, almost girlish smile playing at your lips. It's the first genuinely happy expression she's seen from you since the Sanctuary.

Daryl, unable to see your face from behind you, starts to feel flustered. Shit, that was... that was real intimate. Did it in front of everyone too. What if she didn't want me touchin' her? What if—

"Thanks," you say softly, reaching up to touch the makeshift ponytail. "That's perfect."

"S'nothin" he mumbles, trying to brush it off as relief floods through him.

"Right," you say, turning back to the group with renewed energy. "Let's get cooking."

The next hour is filled with activity as you guide everyone through different preparations. You show Jerry how to make basic millet porridge, adding honey and dried fruits when available.

"This is frumenty," you explain to Glen as you help him prepare a sweet version with ale and spices. "Knights used to eat this before battle - gives sustained energy."

"Knights, huh?" Glen grins. "Think it'll work for fighting Saviors?"

The word hangs in the air between you both, and suddenly the warmth of the kitchen feels cold. Glen's smile fades as the reality hits - it won't just be walkers. It'll be people. Living, breathing people who will fight back, who will scream, who will bleed, your people too.

You both pause, hands stilling over the wooden bowls, the weight of what's coming settling heavy on your shoulders. The medieval fantasy of Kingdom and there reluctance to help suddenly feels naive, childish, in the face of what you'll actually have to do.

"Yeah," you finally whisper, your voice barely audible. "I hope so."

Meanwhile, across the kitchen, King Ezekiel has been finding excuses to help Carol with her task of making pottage - a thick vegetable and grain stew.

"Allow me to assist you with that knife work, fair Carol," he says dramatically, moving closer than necessary.

Carol looks up, confused. "I think I can handle chopping vegetables, Ezekiel."

"Of course, but perhaps I might demonstrate the proper technique for—"

"I've been chopping vegetables since before the apocalypse," Carol says matter-of-factly, completely missing or choosing to miss the way Ezekiel's eyes soften when he looks at her.

Daryl catches the exchange and huffs out a breath which could be a laugh.

One of the Kingdom's residents - a man Daryl doesn't recognize - has approached you while you're explaining Caulde.

"You're really knowledgeable about all this," the man says, standing closer than Daryl likes. "Maybe you could teach me some more... You know one on one"

Daryl's whole body tenses.

You take a small step back from the man, trying to smile politely. "I, um, I'm just sharing what I know."

"Come on," the man persists. "Surely someone as smart as you doesn't spend all her time cooking. Your new here right? You seeing anyone?"

The question hits you like a physical blow. The last time anyone mentioned your relationship status, it was Negan, right before... You can feel your breathing quicken, panic starting to claw at your chest.

"I... I have a... I have a Daryl," you blurt out, the words tumbling over each other in your haste to make him back off.

The man looks confused. "A Daryl? What's a Daryl?"

Before you can explain, Daryl is there.

He doesn't announce himself - one moment the space beside you is empty, the next his solid presence fills it, close enough that you can smell the familiar scent of leather and woodsmoke that clings to him.

"'M'Daryl," he says, his voice that low, gravelly rumble that somehow manages to sound both casual and menacing. His blue eyes lock onto the man with laser focus, taking his measure in seconds. The stranger is soft, clean - probably never had to fight for his life, most likely.

The man's eyes dart between you and Daryl, clearly trying to work out the dynamic. "Oh, you're... friends?"

Something flickers across Daryl's face - too quick for most to catch, but you've learned to read the subtle shifts in his expression. The slight tightening around his eyes, the almost imperceptible clench of his jaw. That word - friends - lands wrong, stings in a way he wasn't expecting.

"Somethin' like that," Daryl mutters, but his stance shifts slightly, angling himself more between you and the stranger. It's subtle - everything about Daryl is subtle until it isn't - but unmistakably protective.

I was just asking your friend here if she might want to spend some time together. You know, share some of her knowledge." the man says, oblivious to the change in dynamic.

"She's busy," Daryl says, his tone flat and final. The man seems to finally grasp the dynamic. His gaze flicks between Daryl's set jaw and you whatever he sees there makes him take a step back.

"I... I didn't mean any offense," he stammers. "I was just being friendly."

Later, long after the kitchen is cleaned and food distributed Daryl's thumb traces slow circles on the back of your hand, a small comfort in the midst of uncertainty.

"Yeah?" Daryl's head tilts slightly, a gesture that somehow manages to be more threatening than any raised voice. "Well, be friendly somewhere else."

-------------------------------------

"Y'sure about goin' back?" he asks quietly, his voice thick with concern. "Could be safe here. Could heal up proper without worryin' 'bout him comin' back for ya."

"Are you sure?" you counter, studying his face.

He's quiet for a moment, jaw working as he considers. Then he shakes his head slowly. "Nah. Can't let that son of a bitch keep hurtin' people. Rick and the others... they're gonna need all the help they can get."

"Tomorrow we go back?" you ask.

"Tomorrow we go back," he confirms, voice heavy with resolve. "Back to Alexandria, then Hilltop. Back to the fight."

[kedreeva]

I have a question about personal tastes if that’s ok. I’m a person that prefers solid colored or minimally white marked animals. Especially when it comes to tabbies or brindles, or merles. I want to see the lovely pattern, I don’t want it covered up with white. I was wondering why people love white marked animals. With peafowl, they’re so pretty and iridescent. Is it the contrast you love?

The white patches are the pattern! I'm fascinated by the genetics of animals, and leucism is one of my favorite genetic phenomenon. I like to see what different genetic mutations do to the wild type.

A solid-colored black mouse is not any different to me than a pied mouse in terms of altering the phenotype- a black mouse is not the wild type, the gene has completely altered the wild type appearance. A pied wild type (agouti) mouse actually shows more of the wild type pattern than a black mouse, despite not being one solid color.

So I guess it just depends on what lens you're viewing a mutation from!

[kragehund-est]

it's easy to say "ban harmful breeding practices!" when the outcome is an animal you deem ugly or weird. make sure to raise awareness and bring that same energy for animals that look unremarkable or even beautiful. not all issues are as noticeable as a wheezing pug, but they can be be just as painful for the animal.

for example, unless you have some background knowledge, these animals might not look like anything special. do you recognize them?

satin coat guinea pig: these guinea pigs have glossy coats due to their hollow hairs that catch the light. that same gene also give them calcium absorption issues, leading to poor bone health and severe pain.

double merle coat aussie shepherd: when a dog has one merle gene, it has that beautiful blue merle coat aussie shepherds are famous for! if you breed together two dogs with this gene, 1/4 of their litter will inherit TWO copies of the gene, and will very likely be born deaf/blind.

scottish fold: these are a charming breed of cat with their ears folded over! that's because their cartilage isn't formed properly, leading to severe joint issues.

spider morph ball python: this morph (coat pattern) is known for its beautiful drippy pattern. the gene that gives them this pattern also causes the nervous system to develop improperly. many of these snakes are unable to live normally due to "spider wobble" syndrome that causes them to writhe and corkscrew uncontrollably.

scaleless bearded dragon: some enthusiasts like the unique smooth look of scaleless reptiles, unfortunately, a lizard that needs to sun itself without the natural protection of scales will end up burnt. also prone to infections, skin lesions, etc.

hybrid macaws: the ethics of breeding macaws are already extremely iffy. crossbreeding macaws? well this has most of the same issues but 10x worse. the extremely simplified argument is "we can't even breed pure macaws ethically, and you're breeding hybrids just for looks? you are scum"

[amber-tortoiseshell]

If you could introduce any pattern/color to cats from other domestic species (for example: black-and-tan, brindle, etc) which one would you choose? :) I really wanna see a black and tan cat, imagine a tortoiseshell and tan cat 😂

Oh yeah, i'm really curious how the tan allele would interact with cat colors. Like, would the tan part be striped? (Probably yes? Aaah)

But i have a few more ideas:

Harlequin aka japanese brindle from rabbits for maximum confusion 😆

This is an extension (mc1r) allele, so it's not sex-linked and could be mixed with tortoiseshell. Introducing this allele would make everything more difficult and wouldn't have any adventage whatsoever.

My sister suggested the wild type ferret pattern, you know, with the little mask, and yeah. That would be epic.

And lastly... merle.

This is literally just tortoiseshell on a different color scheme. I'm so predictable

(Ok now i'm imagining a merle tortie. New kind of tricolor)

What about you all?

[darylscigarettesmoke]

Daryl is weak.

Okay, bold headline. I’m a journalist I know how clickbait works. Jokes aside, hear me out.

A lot of fans say that Daryl acts totally out of character in the second season of his spin-off. Getting close to a woman that quickly. Kissing her. Not thinking about going home anymore or not fighting tooth and nail to get there anymore.

And while I very much agree and the Daryl from the Spin-Off doesn’t feel like the Daryl from the flagship show anymore, there’s a pattern I’ve noticed throughout the series.

The word Daryl gets described the most is probably “loyal”. But what if he’s not that “loyal” man, everyone makes him out to be?

Daryl’s not good alone. He needs people. He latches on to them. First it was Merle, his bad influence of a brother. Then it was Rick and the group. He needs a role model. Someone to follow.

what happens though if you take away his role model, is always the same thing. He falls into despair, latches onto someone else and forgets where he came from.

Remember the arc after the prison fell? He was stuck with Beth, thought the group is dead. But instead of making use of his tracking abilities, determination, pure willpower to prove himself wrong and see that most folks are still alive or just whatever to find out if the other’s are really dead, he succumbs to pessimism and suggests to Beth to just stay at the funeral home, doing nothing but playing house. He would’ve stayed there for much longer if Beth hadn’t gone kidnapped. Once Beth was gone, he stucked to the Claimers until Rick came along again…

Same thing with Leah. He believed his leader (Rick) to be dead, his guilt made him shy away from his family, he lived in the woods until Leah came along. It took him longer than with Beth to finally give in and decide to stay with Leah, but still - he isolated himself from the thoughts of his family and stayed with a woman - and yet again, he would have stayed there, away from his family, if Leah hadn’t left herself. He didn’t have a clue about what’s happening in Alexandria, with the Whisperers, with Rick’s kids and probably didn’t wanna know either.

Rinse and repeat we got Isabelle. In this case, it’s even worse because Daryl’s stuck in another country. But again he’s far away from his family, again there is a woman, again he’s latching onto her and yet again he is forgetting about his people back home to the point where he’s almost not considering to go back anymore at all.

Daryl always needs a circumstance, a death, a kidnapping, or a person (Carol?) to pull him back to reality and to remind him who he is and what he might’ve left behind.

It’s also highly ironic to me that the Villain of the season, that cult leader, describes what’s going on with Daryl in Episode 2x03 perfectly:

“Must be hard living without a semblance of faith. No organizing principle, nothing to cling to [….] a man alone it’s a sad state.”

Daryl always believes he is alone, that his group has given up on him. His low self-esteem and the thing’s he had to endure prevent him from seeing how loved he is. But he’s never been truly alone, after he found Rick’s group.

Having to fend for himself as a kid has left his mark on him, so he’s clinging onto people, desperate of not wanting to be alone.

Now that doesn’t go without saying that I don’t believe Daryl didn’t find something in France. He found what he wishes for - a family of his own and to not be the “lonely man” anymore. But it’s time to come back from Neverland, to achieve that dream.

With all of these things considered I start to believe the Daryl we all know and love is still there - he just needs to be reminded that he is loved, cared for and so, so missed.

Edit: Some more notes. That is just a poor explanation/interpretation of bad writing in the Spin-Off. When Daryl said he wasn’t sure of what he was looking for when he left the Commonwealth, that made it clear as day the writers absolutely intend to retcon this beloved character and all of his core characteristics to pretend Daryl’s this blank page, a character without history. But this doesn’t work and I hope they’ll notice it soon enough.

[poeproductions]

Everybody meet Boo - this #BooMerleAussie is goOoOod dog! 👻 This head is based on the blue merle coat pattern of an Australian shepherd with a spooky twist. It's now available at a buyout price for Patrons only until 8/28! https://www.patreon.com/PoeProductions

If not sold on Patreon this head will be up for public auction with no buyout. You can keep an eye on the sale status and bidding by joining the Telegram channel! https://t.me/+M4j9EdD6trMyMjNh

[sourpatchys]

My personal Headcannons for Daryl Dixon that I will defend with my life

Just a warning! there is some nsfw❤️‍🔥 content in this list (not a ton)

This is a list full of random Headcannons I have, some are xreader related, some are just fun little things I’d like to believe because they’re fun

He l o v e s head scratches and chin scratches, just like a dog, his mom used to do it to him as a kid, it’s just really comforting to him

He is 100% dyslexic, he’s super insecure about it, which is why he leaves reading and writing up to anyone else who’s willing to do it.

This dude is secretly a math wiz. It came super easy to him, but he does tend to keep it on the down low because it was never something he was allowed to be proud of as a child, and it’s not really a needed skill anymore

I personally do not believe Daryl did anything hard while running around with Merle, Shrooms and weed were his limit 99.99% of the time, unless he felt pressured, but even then it would take a lot of convincing

He’s very self conscious about how thick his accent can get, he grew up in a much more rural area than the rest of Rick and Co. (apart from Maggie of course) and he feels out of place with his speech patterns at times.

Daryl was definitely a highschool drop out, assuming his birthday is January 6th, he left as soon as he was old enough to do it without a parent’s consent (18)

I just know this man never got his license. Can you imagine him paying his way through classes and taking a drivers test? I can’t. He probably just got a state ID for booze and just drove around illegally (if he got an ID at all, I’m sure he knew quite a few places that didn’t card)

He runs hot, the cold is a lot easier for him to handle than the heat, which is why he tended to wear sleeveless shirts or half sleeves

He has never had a “crush” in his life. He’s thought people were hot before, of course he has, but romance was never really on his mind

He’s not a total virgin, but he’s not exactly skilled either. His body count is probably 3, and I guarantee you he was not sober before, during, or after.

He’s a thigh and breast man. Hands down.

I know deep in my soul that this man enjoys some face sitting.

He’s not an overly sexual guy, if you were asexual he’d be okay with never doing anything, so long as you were happy

If you’re nonbinary, he was definitely mean to you at the start, with the way he was raised it simply didn’t make any since to him, BUT once you get closer and he starts to trust you, he might (he will) start asking some questions to understand you better

He isn’t a pet name kinda guy. He’s completely on board with calling you sunshine or princess, but anything past that just isn’t for him, and he really isn’t a fan of you giving him one either, unless it’s just a joking matter like how Carol calls him “pookie” from time to time

He’s a morning person and he hates it. He always wakes up at the ass crack of dawn, and every time he wishes he hadn’t.

He is definitely an insomniac, likely derived from having night terrors as a kid

He’s definitely self conscious about his scars, but not enough to cause issues if anyone happened to see them, he isn’t ashamed of them, but he doesn’t want to explain where their from, and he genuinely hasn’t thought of a good enough lie to tell instead.

When rick saw them for the first time Daryl had him fully convinced he was in a fight with a bear for about a week (rick never asked for the real reason)

He has a heavy sweet tooth, and likes to keep hard candy with him at all times (if possible) and he has never, and will never, pass up chocolate in any form.

He genuinely has chicken scratch for handwriting, he does not plan on ever attempting to make it easier to read, he enjoys the struggle people face when he’s put in a position where he has to write anything down. (Plus it helps conceal his errors if they do figure it out)

He does genuinely want kids in his life. Even if they can’t be his biologically. Being “uncle Daryl” is the best feeling he’s ever experienced, and he really wants to experience that with you if you’d allow it/want it (he would never pressure you to have kids)

Headaches and migraines plague his existence and they always have

He had super long hair as a kid and one of his punishments was his dad shaving it all off, which is why he kept it short until after the outbreak.

He would let you paint his toenails, or match his middle finger with whatever polish you decided to wear

This dude HATES clowns. Seeing a walker in a clown get up would absolutely kill him on the inside

You got sick? Don’t worry about it, he will absolutely attempt to make you soup from scratch using bone marrow and whatever else he can find

Fishing is not his thing. He knows how to, but he much prefers just catching them by hand or with a spear.

The closer you two get, the more likely he is to try and convince you that Bigfoot is real

Daryl is a secret star wars fan

He does NOT like country music, Led Zeppelin, Rob zombie, Ozzy osbourne and Lamb of god are much more his thing

He wasn’t a technology kind of guy, so if you tried to explain any aspect of social media to him he’d be completely lost (he didn’t even have a cellphone)

He has a super dry sense of humor

If he had to choose between starving to death or eating plain Cheerios, he would choose death.

One of the reasons he isn’t big on showering is because he doesn’t have a strong immune system from his childhood neglect, and he doesn’t want to shock his body and get sick

He also just hates the way soap feels on his skin. It’s way too sticky

During sex, he’s not strictly dominant or submissive, he’s ready to adapt to whatever you want, even if that means being strictly vanilla

He’s afraid of Santa Clause

And the Easter bunny

He’s willing to try anything once, even if he doesn’t think he’ll like it

He knows a lot of information on plants and herbs, so depending on your mood, he’ll try to find a flower to brighten your day with a little scribbled note explaining its meaning (because you can actually read his atrocious writing)

He’s never once told you he loves you, and your relationship wasn’t a spoken fact. His actions tend to speak louder than words, and if you say you love him, he will occasionally reply with a “back at ya.” Or “me too”

He always has weird shit in his pockets, like cool rocks he found, dead flowers, and fallen leaves.

He genuinely does not understand a single thing that Eugene says, and he never has.

The first time he ever kisses you on his own (you 100% have to make the first move) it’s a very rough and embarrassed act where he just grabs you and plants one in ya before you can even think about what’s happening

He will change his favorite color to whatever yours is, because if you can see beauty in it, then it’s all he can see from then on out

[crazycritterlife]

Black marble - a new variety here at the rattery! Marble coat causes color to clump unevenly, similar to merle pattern in dogs. I got these two beauties all the way from South Dakota and I’m so excited to start a new line based on them