#it's not like a concrete thing i just get the vibe sometimes

[unicornofthesun13]

Ranking my JWCT AUs by how likely I am to actually write them

Scream AU 7/10 It's a lot of work but I hyperfixated on this for a whole weekend and the whole thing is planned out. It's my baby. The chapters will be long and I know I'll get obsessed once I start. Might have to save this one for after A Levels.

Superhero AU 10/10 Already writing it. The question becomes if I'll finish it with everything else vying for my attention

Camp Cretaceous Didn't Happen 8/10 Well, the campers still went to camp but the park didn't fall while they were there. They parted ways as almost friends. Then, after dinosaurs make it to the mainland, Darius is working with the DPW and Brooklynn contacts him out of nowhere. She asks for help with an investigation. Roadtrip ensues. I only just came up with this one but it is officially rotting my brain. I have soooooooo many ideas. Plus, it's a little easier to get people on board than the other ones.

Star Wars AU 4/10 There's nothing concrete but sometimes a short scene pops into my head and I just think it would be cool. Might make a one-shot series or something. I don't know if I have the energy for a whole space opera.

Agents of Shield AU 1/10 This would literally just be for me and even then the idea isn't that concrete. I just think it's neat.

Small Town Mystery 7/10 Darius returns home to his hometown after six years away. He left after a mysterious incident tore apart his friendship group. Now he's home, he starts to uncover what happened all those years ago. The vibes would be great but I need to be in the right mood to actually write it. I'm tempted to make it Benrius (no promises) which would be the first time I'm writing them and that's scary.

Soulmates AU 6/10 I really want to write this but I don't actually know how it would work. As a multi-shipper, it would be really interesting to play with all the dynamics and I also want platonic soulmates in there. However, I'm still debating over what type of soulmates to go with. So eventually, it'll probably happen when I actually get my act together.

[agueforts]

sometimes i think when some of u talk about gorgug u forget zac isn't white

[thegnomelord]

PLEASEEEEE UR IDEA WITH MAGE M!READER AND MONSTER!COD MEN I'D LOVE THAT SO FICKING MUCH AND YES I AGREE THERE IS A LACK OF ALL THE VIOLENCE

Pov of how the world sees the reader Vs how TF141 reader :D. I'm in the middle of writing the first chapter of a fic with this idea, but guess who contracted TB like some coal miner 😞, me! So here's a sneak peak for the sort of vibe I'm going for while I'm trying to recover:

P.S: Ya'll are free to suggest/requests with this idea cause!

P.S.S: Check out bluegiragi who came up with this AU and give her some love!

Mages and Monsters

Mages are strange creatures.

In a world so full of monstrous hybrids and mythical creatures, mages sit on the proverbial line separating man from monster, stuck in both worlds without any hope of fitting in either one.

Because outwardly, they're average. No different from the billions of other humans. They're not born with the marks of monsterdom; they don't possess horns or leathery scales to shrug off small caliber bullets like dragons do, nor the claws and bone crushing jaws of werewolves, not feathered wings and razor sharp talons of harpies, nor the wraiths ghostly ability to become immaterial.

Outwardly, they're average. Ordinary. Mundane. Human...

Almost.

Because Price and Ghost are experienced enough to see the thing laying beneath the paper thin veneer of normality, are seasoned enough to quickly notice the one thing that puts an 'in' before a mage's 'human' description — Magic. Not the smoke and mirror kind magicians or charlatans use to swindle tourists out of money, but real magic.

The ancient kind, the capricious kind, slumbering like a beast inside the hollowed out cavern of a heart until it awakens with a terrible bloodlust. Each of them can attest to this; Price sports gnarled patched of scar tissue on the scaleless parts of his arm from ice burns, his draconic breath having saved him from frostbite that had devoured more than a few good men. Though Ghost doesn't show much skin, one can sometimes catch sight of branching fern patterns on his neck where lightning magic had shot through him. Gaz's back is peppered with hundreds of little cuts where a glass mage's summoned elegant ornaments had shattered into millions of shards, aiming to take out his wings.

And now Soap sports a mark of his own, his side tender red and blistered with a second degree burn. It could have been much worse, your flames were hot enough to melt steel, the only thing having kept him from an early cremation being the two solid concrete walls your magic had had to travel through to hit him and the enhanced regeneration of his thick hide.

But such power demands a cost — one paid in blood. For magic is as fickle and capricious as a rabid dog, just as eager to lunge for your throat as it will at the enemies, leaving lasting wounds for all to see; rough and calloused palms, skin blackened from blazing heat and freezing cold or marked with fern patterns of electricity, fingers stiff and marred with cuts from thorns and crystals and rock and glass, bone deep cuts where the liquid mana had burst out from the skin, leaving faintly glowing scars that never heal right.

All mages are born with this grievous gift, though one never knows whether it will present itself with a pitiful flicker of embers in a man's dying breath, or with a maelstrom of an infant's first hiccup. That's why most mages are sealed, by choice or force, a process which puts chains on the magic, making it and the mage docile.

But you are unsealed. And you flaunt that fact readily by melting the tail of their APC helicopter with one spell, not even waiting for them to crash before flooding the terrain with suffocating ash, the lenses of their gas masks already fogging up from the heat as they get out of the cloud of heavy sediment before it bursts to flames.

Sometimes the magic becomes unsatisfied with the weakness of the body, demanding more than just its pound of flesh and molding the body like clay to better suit it— Mage Marks, they're called — the subtle glow of magic in your eyes, the mana visibly pulsing inside your chest, the skin of your arms slipping away like wet paper before growing anew, this time mimicking the surface of magma, or the rocky barnacle encrusted reef, the gnarled bark of a tree, the crystalline inside of a geode, the ice spiked ground of tundra, or any other form that suits the magic in your veins.

The process is excruciating, the mana burrowing and gnawing on every nerve like a parasite that replaces what it eats with itself. But to you, that's an acceptable loss, because marked mages far surpass their unmarked fellows, your magic stronger and wilder, feral and viscous like the primordial force of nature.

So it becomes concerning when you're laying on the floor, captured, battered and bruised and calm.

Ghost had been waterboarding you for a while now, your body tied to a chair that had been tipped back so you were parallel with the ground. With water pooling around your head, your top half would have been soaked to the bone had your magic not been simmering in your veins, the magic suppression momentarily reducing the raging inferno in your chest to a meager flicker of flames.

They can't kill you, but limiting your magic for even a second is death in and of itself.

Your breathing is harsh as Ghost pulls away the cloth over your mouth, asking you a question as steam rises from your skin. Most would give in long before this point, but you just grin, eyes glowing with a burning glow, and make a comment about how good his arse looks from your viewpoint.

You manage only one small note of laughter, pitiful embers sparking at the corners of your lip, before Ghost drops the rag back over your face and begins anew.

Price watches all of this, sharp draconic eyes noting how the mana glows in your chest, pulsing like a second heart (assuming you had one to begin with), noticing how the water turns to steam a little faster when it splashes over your skin.

And Price knows.

You... You are going to be trouble.

[max1461]

only tangentially related but sometimes I wonder if survivorship bias makes us view modern art as less than older art, that time and cultural memory acts as a natural bullshit filter, that actually people were just as vapid and pretentious back then, but none of the vapid and pretentious work had enough cultural value stick around to be examined now

I think it's partly this, but it's partly something else.

This is probably gonna piss a lot of people off, but I think in a particular sense, contemporary art is just... straightforwardly more advanced than older art. I know, I know, but hear me out: I don't mean that as a value judgement. What I mean is like...

Ok, take math as an example. Math started out talking about things that everybody's heard of: triangles, circles, whole numbers. But as those concepts were better understood, they got abstracted more and more. Symmetries of shapes where abstracted to symmetry groups, numbers abstracted to rings and fields, eventually it was all abstracted to category theory, and so on. And now if you look at major research topics in modern math, things like e.g. the Langlands program, as a non-expert, it often looks like a bunch of fucking nonsense about bullshit objects that don't have anything to do with the real world! But even though I don't understand the Langlands program itself, I know enough math to understand why all the levels of abstraction that I have understood are meaningful and valuable, and I can see why going even further would be too. And math is useful enough that the results often speak for themselves.

So I think contemporary art is much like this. If you read contemporary art theory, you will immediately see that it is all very meta. Art used to be made about very concrete things—people and nice looking vistas and so on—that anyone could understand. And then theorists came along and built up frameworks for thinking about art, because they wanted to understand why that art worked, why it was powerful and emotive. And then new, avant-garde artist came along and made art about the frameworks, pushing at their edge-cases or exploring their unintuitive implications. And then new frameworks were built up to understand that art, rinse and repeat. This account is, as I understand it, a little bit ahistorical—the building and the pushing of frameworks was often simultaneous and often not clearly articulated. Although, frankly, the same could be said for the history of math. But in retrospect I think a pretty undeniable picture emerges.

So, to put it bluntly, I think one of the reasons so much contemporary art looks vapid is that it isn't for you. It's about things you've never heard of, in the same way that category theory is about spaces and morphisms, and explaining that to someone who's never heard of groups or topological spaces is basically impossible. And I think there are some differences—art is obviously, you know, totally vibes based in a way that math isn't. If a big wire sculpture with styrofoam cups on it or whatever doesn't speak to you then it doesn't speak to you, no one can defend it on "objective" grounds. And art isn't useful in the way that math is, so it doesn't demonstrate its validity to people who don't get it in any way. But what I wish people understood is that there are people, who know a bunch of art theory and art history, who that wire sculpture with styrofoam cups on it does speak to. It makes them go "oh, I love how it plays off of X and contrasts with Y" etc. etc. And that isn't going to happen for you because, like, you don't know what X or Y even are! But that doesn't make it valueless, it just makes it insular. Which, you know, contemporary art really is! I think there are a lot of contemporary artists who claim to not be doing what I just described, who claim to be making art "for everybody", but I think if you read their artist statements and stuff it often becomes pretty clear that this is not the case. And this is a valid criticism of contemporary art! But "vapid" is mostly not.

Pretentious, definitely. It's pretentious as fuck.

[panda-noosh]

authors note: oh hey. enjoy!

ask me about commissions!

--------

this is Daryl's fault.

all Daryl's fault, as most things tend to be nowadays.

this isn't the first time you've been held captive in the three years since you joined Rick's group. in fact, you get captured at least once every fortnight, but you always took it as a sign you were doing your job right; hunters cannot be hunters without a brief spell of missteps, and getting caught by the enemy is usually high on the list of scenarios that could take place. by now, you are used to it.

but this is different, because it's Daryl's fault, and that makes it ten times worse.

the rope holding your wrists together is painful, skin already red raw despite the fact you've only been tied up for an hour. Daryl tells you it will hurt less if you stopped trying to maneaveur your wrists enough to flip him off, but that doesn't stop you from continuing your attempts.

the walls are oozing condensation. it drips onto your head, slides down your nose, gets in your eyes, and it smells like damp. mould grows in the cracks in the floor. mice dart in front of you, as if boasting the fact they are free to roam and you aren't.

the worst part is, your knives are nowhere to be seen.

"i didn't even see them take them off me!" you exclaim. beside you, Daryl has barely moved. his hands and feet are tied in the same way yours are, but he's putting up no fight to get free, or even loosen them. he keeps his head down, shoulders sagging, shifting every now and then with his ragged breaths. you can't make out his expression due to the curtain of dirty brown hair shielding his face, but you would like to think his expression is one of pure guilt and sorrow for being the idiot who got you both captured in the first place.

"oi," you hiss. "a little communication would go a long way right now."

"what do you want me to say?" he bites; anyone else would back away from that tone, but you're not anyone else. you're the person put on this earth to be a pain in Daryl Dixon's ass, and that's exactly what you plan to be.

"i want a plan," you reply. "the others are expecting us back before nightfall."

"we're not getting back before nightfall."

"not with that attitude." you sigh, doing yet another pointless scan of the room - well, dungeon more like, considering the amount of rock and concrete there is. "how long has it been since they left? do you think they'll feed us?"

"we're not dogs, y/n," he grumbles. "we're hostages. chances are, next time we see them, it'll be so they can slit our throats."

"i didn't really get that vibe off them, to be honest. i know we're tied up and everything, but i think we can negotiate."

finally Daryl looks up, bloodshot eyes bored. "don't even try. things always go tits up the minute you open your mouth."

your jaw drops open. "are you serious? how can you say that when you're the one who got us into this situation in the first place?"

Daryl rolls his eyes, looking away. "i never asked you to come with me."

"yeah, well, someone has to keep you from killing yourself."

"you can keep me from killing myself, but not getting kidnapped?"

"i'm not a miracle worker."

Daryl scowls. you scowl back, even though he's not looking at you. it would be so easy some days to just punch him square in the face, but you've never let yourself get that far. at the end of the day, and as tough as it is to admit it, Daryl is the only one in the group you can properly talk to, whether he likes it or not. everyone else is too. . . flowery, too keen on sparing your feelings. they know what you've been through, and that effects everything they do when in your presence.

Daryl isn't like that, and for some reason, it feels safer to be with someone who tells you the truth, and nothing but the truth. sometimes, it feels safer to be with someone who hates your guts.

still, that doesn't mean he doesn't drive you completely mad. the way he chokes up in stressful situations, offering no help or communication - this is a life or death situation, and yet he still insists on kneeling there with his thumb up his ass. you could scream. in fact, you're so mad at his silence that you're being driven into your own silence, unable to come up with a plan when you're so angry at the idiot beside you.

he's a domino effect. a bad one. a domino avalanche.

you sigh heavily, closing your eyes, tilting your head against the concrete wall behind you. Daryl glances over, but neither of you get a chance to continue arguing - as much as you'd love to - before the rickety wooden door on the other side of the room creaks open. light spills in, blinding you, but you don't let your discomfort show. instead, you stare right into it, waiting for the face of your captor to appear, because you don't remember it all too well. they were wearing balaclavas for one, the smart bastards, but you can imagine they're young with the shabby way they've tied you up, and the complete whim of which they decided to-

"what the fuck."

two people come into view once the door is closed. their faces are lit only by the flashlights they carry, but the puny yellow light is enough to show the wrinkles indented in their leathery skin. the flashlights shake from elderly trembles, held by veiny, pockmarked hands damaged from years - years - of hard labour never soothed by retirement.

you and Daryl share a look; something isn't right. these can't be the same people who managed to pin you to the ground and tie you up.

that would be too embarrassing to even fathom.

"are you awake?"

the voice is frail but commanding.

"yes," you reply, earning a glare from Daryl that you ignore. "quite hard to sleep on concrete."

the flashlight pivots in your direction. you wince.

"right, stop blinding me, would you?"

"what's your name?"

"who's asking?" Daryl grunts.

the stranger - the male - steps closer. "the people who have the power to kill you, or let you go. i suggest you cooperate."

you stare at Daryl, hoping to God he can feel what you're trying to say through gaze alone; he needs to work with these people. they didn't come in here guns blazing, which means there is room for release if they just cooperate, but that word has never been something Daryl fully understands. right now, you need him to understand. right now, you need him to use his brain, need him to-

he spits on the concrete, right at the mans feet.

you close your eyes, resisting the urge to start cursing.

"go to hell," he growls.

the man steps back and wraps an arm around the female's waist. she curls into him, shooting daggers at Daryl as she places one hand on her husband's chest, as if protecting him from Daryl's lack of manners. you really can’t say you blame her.

“there’s no need for the hostility,” the man says. “we did what we had to do; you can’t trust anyone nowadays.”

“the wise thing would have been to leave us. kill us, even.”

“he doesn’t mean that,” you hasten to add.

daryl shoots you a glare before continuing. “instead you tie us up and bring us to your base. what good is that going to do?”

“it keeps us in control,” the female replies. “just because we want the upper hand, doesn’t mean we want you dead.”

daryl scoffs. “biggest load of horseshit i’ve ever heard.”

“do you want us to kill you? because, young man, that can easily be arranged,” the man growls.

your heart jumps in your chest; this isn’t going as smoothly as it could be going, all because daryl can’t keep his mouth shut. he’s the quietest guy in the group when he shouldn’t be, and the biggest loud mouth when he should.

your brain work at a mile a minute as daryl and the elderly couple have a stare down. it’s your first instinct to scan the room for any weaponry, but then you imagine yourself actually slaughtering this elderly couple, and your stomach twists; there has to be another way, some kind of reasoning you can find, even ground you can all agree-

your eyes land on the wedding bands on the couple’s fingers.

you don’t even fully process the next words out of your mouth, just dive head first into the ridiculous idea that has suddenly sprung to your mind. “look, i’m so sorry about my husband. he gets grumpy when he’s tired.”

daryl’s head snaps around, mouth open,ready for a retort, but you’ve stated digging the hole, and you’ll be damned if you let him ruin it now.

“i’m sure you understand, being a married couple and everything.” you laugh nervously. “we were actually just talking before you came down - we think i’s so admirable that you two have grown old together. it’s the kind of marriage we want. of course, the cards we’ve been dealt make that a little more difficult, but hope prevails.” you look at daryl and smile. “hope prevails. isn’t that what you said, dear?”

daryl only stares.

the elderly couple share a glance. if you’re not mistaken, they look almost sympathetic, and when they look back at you and daryl, their expressions have changed entirely, watered down to something you can certainly work with.

“i’m sorry,” you chuckle, waving a dismissive hand. “i always get carried away when it comes to taking about him. we’re newly weds, you see - got married just a few weeks before the news broke about. . . well, everything.”

“oh, goodness,” the female gasps, wrinkled hand covering her mouth. “you poor souls. did you at least get to have your wedding?”

“a tiny one,” you reply. “people were isolating, you see. my own mother, god rest her soul - she never made it. we had to put her down the day after.”

the woman shakes her head like this is the worst story she’s ever heard come out of the apocalypse. you glance at daryl, urging him with your eyes to play along, though you have very little hope you’ll ever get him to tart spewing bullshit marriage stories. the least he can do is stay quiet - that’s all your asking.

“we’re married, though, and we’re together,” you continue. “that’s what we’re focusing on.”

“yes, of course,” the man says. “do you . . . do you have a home to go back to?”

“a group, actually,” you reply. “we have a few young’un’s waiting for us. don’t tell anyone, but i think of them as our children now. they’re probably worried sick.”

the couple share yet another glance, and you know you’ve got them. when it comes to old married couples, the idea of a young couple mirroring their experience with marriage is always an easy fix; if you want anything, just tell them it’s because you want to end up like them, old and in love. they fall for it every time.

the woman inhales shakily, letting her hand drop to her side before she pulls a knife from a tiny sheath in her leggings; you almost whistle appreciatively at the blade, how shiny and well-kept it is, nothing like your own which have grown almost completely dull with age and overuse, and very little care on your part.

she walks over and slices the ropes from daryl’s hands, and then she steps back and waits. you blink at the scene, waiting patiently for her to make her way over to you to do the same, but she doesn’t. she just stares at daryl, lips pursed.

she’s waiting for him to make a big scene about being released.

what would a young, married man do in this situation? probably rush to his significant others side, smother them with kisses, ask them if they’re okay. daryl just rubs the raw skin on his wrists, cursing quietly under his breath, seeming almost oblivious to the audience watching him.

panic grips your chest. you have to do something before they realise something isn’t right.

“baby, you’re free!” you exclaim.

daryl’s head whips around. “huh?”

“you’re free!” you repeat. “come here, let me make sure you’re alright.”

daryl raises a brow, but he’s at least got the common sense not to say anything in the presence of your captors. slowly, he crawls over and kneels in front of you, confusion still etched on his expression. you rake your eyes over him dramatically, feigning worry; in truth, he looks to be in better form than you are, his wrists not even raw from the ropes.

“what are you-“ he begins.

“you’re okay!” you throw yourself forward, letting him catch you, and then you do the extreme part of the plan. without warning, you press your lips to his. he grunts against your mouth, eyes widening, fingers curling around your biceps, but he doesn’t pull away, and you almost sob in relief. you were fully expecting him to shove you to the floor, probably fight his way out of this dungeon and leave you for dead. instead, he goes still against you, but his lips don’t leave your own. you’re almost tempted to push your luck and stick your tongue in his mouth just to piss him off, but there’s a time and place for things like that, and it certainly isn’t here and now.

you keep the kiss short and sweet, pulling away with a smile you hope is convincing. the elderly couple are looking at you like you’ve hung the moon and the stars in the sky; apparently the kiss was all they needed, as the man walks over and finally cuts the ropes binding your wrists. the cold air against the raw skin makes you hiss in pain, but you don’t let it take you from the character you have suddenly developed. as soon as you’re free, you throw your arms around daryl’s neck and drag him in to a hug. his hands hover at the small of your back.

you turn your head and whisper in his ear, “play along, you son of a bitch. i’m trying to get us out of here alive.”

he drops his hands, wrapping you in his arms. a warmth spreads through you, an odd sense of relief tat you don’t want to acknowledge when you’re in this position with daryl dixon.

“you two get home safe,” the man says, his voice being the only thing to remind you and daryl that you can actually let go of each other now. “tell your folks we’re sorry. we didn’t mean no harm.”

you pull away from daryl. he keeps his arm around your waist, tugging you into his side like the old little actor you never knew he could be. “thank you. honestly. we appreciate this.”

daryl gives a nod, which is probably all you should expect from him.

and with a final goodbye to your captors, you walk up the stairs and into the night.

——

daryl doesn’t speak the whole way back to camp. you didn’t really expect him to.

nonetheless, you still try. you would hate to go back to camp with all this tense energy between you, a direct result of daryl’s inability to communicate like a regular human being.

he barrels ahead of you, letting all the branches swing back in your face. usually you would tell him to fuck off and stop being a child, but it’s obvious what happened has shocked him, and the last thing you want to do is make it worse.

maybe you shouldn’t have kissed him. maybe you shouldn’t have let things get that far. hell, you probably could have worked out some way to get free without telling lies, but in the heat of the moment, it was the only thing you could come up with.

it worked, didn’t it?

“daryl!” you holler after him. “daryl, come on. slow down.”

“keep up,” he shoots back.

“are you mad at me?”

he tugs on the ropes holding the prison gates together; in the distance, glenn stands atop one of the watchtowers, watching you like a hawk.

you grip daryl’s arm. “are you mad?”

he pulls away and glare before finally getting the gate open; he doesn’t give you a reply, instead storming off without another word, which you suppose is answer enough.

you follow him into camp, eyes cast to the floor in any attempt to hide your emotions from anyone you might come across; it doesn’t matter that you’ve been gone for hours - you don’t want to explain why daryl has marched off in a huff, because that will be the first thing they ask you. always you, like you’re tied to the man in some way.

you make your way to the canteen without seeing anyone. you slump in one of the metal chairs and finally take time to rub at the raw skin of your wrist; it burns, but the sting is familiar at this point. you could easily go another few days before having it looked at, but of course hershel has other plans.

“you’re like a bloodhound,” you say, sensing his presence in the doorway.

the click of his cane echoes. “what happened?”

“what always happens - we got in shit, got out of shit. now we’re here.”

“now you’re here.” hershel kneels in front of you, taking your wrist for examination. “where’s your other half got to?”

you wince. “don’t call him that. he’s nothing of the sort; especially not right now.”

hershel raises a brow. “no?”

you sigh, looking at the ceiling; hershel is one of those men you are able to trust with anything, the grandfather of the group after dale died. you have told him secrets, confided in him with embarrassing questions, but he has never judged you. in fact, nine times out of ten, he knows what you’re going to say before you’ve even said it. still, he expects you to make an effort, which is why he doesn’t fill in the blanks, just inspects your wrist whilst waiting for you to speak.

“it’s complicated.” your go-to statement when it comes to daryl. “we ran into some people, and we had to. . . play pretend, and i don’t think daryl appreciated it very much.” you wince, cheeks burning. “did i violate the poor guy?”

“i’ll need more details before i can answer that.”

you hesitate. “we kissed.” hershel’s head snaps up, but you’re quick to clarify. “we had to kiss. the only way we were going to get free was by pretending we’re a married couple.”

hershel blinks. “i’ve. . . never heard of that tactic before.”

“either have i, but it worked like a fucking charm.” you sigh. “only problem is-“

“daryl’s huffing.”

“yep.”

hershel shakes his head, muttering almost to himself. “i don’t understand that man. he makes absolutely no sense.”

“he has every right to be mad,” you say. “it took him off guard, and we all know daryl doesn’t like surprises.”

“yes, but. . .” hershel shakes his head, taking your wrist again. “never mind. i’ll have a chat with him; i want to check him over anyway.”

——

the days pass, and daryl continues ignoring you.

you’re very good at pretending this doesn’t bother you; the group are absolutely none the wiser, not mentioning daryl to you once. however, you refuse to be in denial - you have greatly pissed daryl off, and you don’t like it.

your hunting trips aren’t the same without him. they’re lonely, and boring, and too quiet; you never realised how often you turned to him when it was just you in the woods, and no one else, how often you leaned on him to take your mind off everything going wrong in the world. without him, these hunting trips are almost scary.

of course, it would be easy for you to approach him, just ask if he wanted to hunt, but you can’t throw your pride away like that.

so you spend the next few days trying to distract yourself from his ever-looming presence. he stands in the corner of the room during group meetings, arms folded, avoiding your gaze. the fact he finds it so easy to completely block you out is a punch to the gut, but you refuse to let it get to you.

you will not be the first one to break.

two weeks pass with no disturbances at the prison. days actually start to grow boring, a repetitive cycle of prison upkeep and hunting that drives you insane. you tell carl this as the two of you sit on the floor of the courtyard, watching the small pile of walkers cling to the gates; you and rick fixed them up yesterday, so you’re in no rush to get up.

carl scoffs at your complaint. “have we not earned a little boredom?”

“yes,” you grumble. “i knew you were going to say that. make me feel all bad and stuff.”

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad.” he shrugs. “i’m enjoying the boredom.”

“not like you.”

“keeps dad calm. can’t ask for much more than that.”

you nod. “fair enough, i suppose. fair-“

carl suddenly lurches forward, eyes narrowed. immediately your knife is in your hand and you're joining him, one hand on his shoulder, the other curled around the hilt of your knife.

you don't need to ask him what he's looking at, because you see it instantly, the one breathing being amongst the dozens of corpses clawing at the gate.

"fuck," says carl.

"watch your mouth." and then you're both on your feet, sprinting for the gates. you catch glenn's attention up in the watch tower and wave your hand above your head, signalling for him to get the others. your heart pounds with an adrenaline you haven't felt in days, you're dizzy with it, on the verge of-

you nearly trip over your own feet when you finally get a glimpse of who the person is.

the same woman who watched you kiss daryl. the same woman who took you captive and forced you into this situation.

the same woman who let you go when she could have easily slit your throat.

"carl, wait!" you grab his arm and yank him back. "i know her."

carl doesn't lower his gun, merely glances up at you with a raised brow.

you step forward, pushing him behind you. the woman meets your eyes and continues to yell, slamming her hands desperately against the wire fence; a few walkers have already noticed her, slowly peeling away from their group and making their way towards her. by the looks of things, she doesn't even have a weapon; she's come here out of pure desperation.

"what's going on?" rick hollers, sprinting down the hill with most of the group close behind. "y/n?"

"open the gates!"

"what-"

"open the gates!" you demand, before thrusting your knife through the fence and into a walkers brain.

you ignore the confusion happening behind you and just hope they're following your orders. you continue to stab and yell, drawing the dead away from the terrified woman and towards you.

it doesn't take long for daryl to join you, though you aren't sure who he's doing it for. even though this woman showed you kindness, she is still the one who kidnapped you in the first place; you aren't sure if daryl would appreciate her presence near him again. and yet he takes the walkers down without hesitation, even helping glenn and rick rip the gate open, allowing the old woman in.

she's disgruntled to say the least, gasping and stumbling. she collapses at your feet, and that's where she breaks down completely. tears streak the mud caking her face, dripping into a mouth held open in absolute horror. her grey hair is matted with blood, and her husband is nowhere to be seen.

you glance at daryl, and for the first time in days, he looks back.

"someone grab her," rick orders.

"no," you bark, pushing maggie back. "can't you see she's distraught?"

"that doesn't matter," rick fires back. "we don't know who she is, how she found-

"y/n said no."

all heads turn to daryl. he meets everyone's gaze, letting them know he is not one bit intimidated before looking back at the woman. too caught up in daryl's overall presence, you hadn't even noticed the woman go silent, flicking her gaze between you and daryl like you're some kind of spectacle.

you kneel next to her. "hello again."

----

you and daryl decide to talk to her together. nobody else allowed in the room.

he's nervous, or furious - you don't really know which one. he paces back and forth, crossbow not leaving his hands once; rosalie stares with wide eyes, glancing at you like she expects you to do something about it.

you have a sip of your water. "you can ignore him if you want. he never really adds anything to the conversation anyway."

daryl whirls. "you know, your little jokes really aren't handy in situations like this."

"good thing i don't give a fuck-"

"no, of course not. everything's just a big game to you."

"why are you yelling? you think that's going to-"

"please."

rosalie's voice is barely a whisper, but you hear it nonetheless. she sounds so fragile, so broken - so much so that you actually feel guilty for being so hostile in front of her. you have been in this interrogation room for nearly twenty minutes, doing nothing but bicker with daryl.

"please," she repeats, not looking up. "don't fight. we don't need any more of that in this world, especially between two people who love each other."

daryl stiffens, and you wince. that's right - she thinks you and daryl are married.

you fold your arms on the metal table. "rosalie. sorry. look, you have to understand why daryl and i have been sent to talk to you. this - you showing up out of nowhere. . . it looks a little weird. we just need some answers."

"why are you here?" daryl demands.

you shoot him a glare and repeat the question, softer this time. "why are you here, rosalie?"

she sniffs, wipes her nose on her blood stained sleeve. "our base got ambushed. patrick didn't make it; they got him while he was trying to protect me." she squeezes her eyes closed. "i ran out and just. . . kept running. your prison was the first place i came across that looked like it had any sign of life." she opens her eyes again. "i didn't know it was you two. i promise i didn't."

"bullshit," daryl scoffs. "it don't matter that you just kept running. this place is in the asshole of nowhere. you couldn't have found it unless you had us followed that day."

rosalie's eyes widen, darting to you for support you can't give her. despite daryl being a known drama queen, he also has a point right now. rosalie could have ran for days, but the chances of her finding the prison without forewarning of it's whereabouts are slim.

daryl stalks over, leaning close to rosalie's terrified face. "what do you want?"

she pulls back, and you don't miss her wince when she does. "i-i don't want anything you're not willing to give. i just needed a place to rest. i'm exhausted."

"you think we should give you anything after-"

"where are you hurt?"

daryl looks down at you, that familiar glint of frustration in his gaze. it's a look you've become accostomed to, so it's easily ignored, especially when you're focused on something else. you didn't notice it at first, but the wince rosalie makes every time she moves is becoming increasingly suspicious.

rosalie stares for another few seconds, as if waiting for you to retract your question. you lean forward, pushing your knife closer with your elbow.

"i've been nice to you," you say. "and i'll continue to be nice if you tell me where you're hurt. why you're hurt."

daryl stiffens. "a bite?"

you narrow your eyes. "i don't know."

rosalie shakes her head violently, fresh tears beginning to leak down her face again. "i'm not bitten! i swear i'm not bitten!"

you grab your knife. "show us."

immediately she scrambles to her feet and yanks up the hem of her pink jumper, revealing not a bite, but what looks like a nasty burn mark. still, you and daryl have been through this before, are both well aware that there's no such thing as being too cautious when it comes to injuries. it's an unspoken routine when daryl grabs rosalie's arms and tosses you the flashlight always strapped to his belt. you catch it with ease, shining it on the throbbing, wrinkled mess on rosalie's hip.

"well?" daryl grunts.

"looks like a burn." he drops her; she lands back in her chair with a clatter.

you glare at daryl.

he plucks his flashlight from your fingers. "now what? we keeping her here or not?"

"you're letting me decide?"

daryl shrugs, but you don't miss the tiny blush rising to his cheeks, one he tries to hide by going back to his pesky pacing.

you decide to leave the teasing till later, instead turning to rosalie. "hershel will want to check her over."

"why does hershel have to know? send her out on her ass without telling him, he's gonna be none the wiser."

you raise a brow. "you're not really that evil. the tough guy act doesn't work on me." and just to add salt to the wound, you add, "we're married, remember?"

daryl scowls, but that blush only gets more pronounced. you're finding this quite fun.

"okay," you say to rosalie. "we're gonna get our medic to look you over. that burn doesn't look too good. once he's said it's alright, the group should have some idea of what to do with you."

rosalie hollows out her cheeks, slumping back. "thank you." "don't thank us yet," daryl grumbles. "we aint decided yet."

----

daryl lets you in his cell that night.

it's the first time in a while he's let you follow him to bed, the first time in a while you've actually wanted to. after everything that happened when you were captured, it seems almost. . . inappropriate, even though these little sleepovers have never been anything more than a platonic comfort for you both, just having someone there to exist with.

daryl doesn't invite you in or anything, simply lets you hover in the doorway as he sits crosslegged on his bed, busy sharpening an arrow.

you fold your arms, watching him. it's always jarring to see him like this - sitting still, doing something slow paced. he's the type of man you expect to always be in motion, like he might cease to exist otherwise. when he's sitting still, you can admire everything about him, and there's nothing he can do about it.

"you didn't like it, did you?"

you say it because that's really the only thing you need to say, the only elephant in the room. judging by the way he freezes, it's obvious he knows it too.

"i thought it was our only chance of getting out of there." you shrug. "you know me and my stupid ideas. i should have asked you first."

"you admitting you were wrong?"

you hold your hands up. "just 'cause the word 'sorry' melts your brain, doesn't mean it melts mine."

he glares through the tops of his eyelids, making you grin.

you step into his cell. "i'm just messing. i really am sorry."

"stop apologising," he grumbles. "fuck, it worked, didn't it? we got out alive."

"alive and wed."

he scoffs, but it's close enough to a laugh that you make your way over to his bed and take a seat. he goes back to sharpening his arrows, and suddenly it's just like old times. it was only two weeks of his silent treatment, but you still missed the evenings spent just like this, watching him work, those calloused hands so skilled in anything he puts them to. you can imagine a ring on his knobbly finger, though you aren't sure why the image sends heat racing through you.

"have you ever been in a relationship before?"

the question takes you by surprise; it's not the kind of thing daryl would ever ask about, not a topic he particularly cares about. when you look at him, he keeps his head down, tongue gliding across his bottom lip.

you shift on the bed, bringing your feet under you. "not a serious one, no. i'm better on my own, i think."

"ain't that what they all say?"

"what about you? have you ever had that special person?"

he pauses a moment too long. your heart jumps, a flood of some dark, grim feeling filling your body before you can get a hold of it.

you clap a hand over your mouth, gasping dramatically. daryl groans, lifts his head to tell you to shut up, but you need to bury this burning jealousy somehow, and the only way you can come up with is by embarrassing the shit out of daryl.

"you have, haven't you?" you grab his arm. he lets out a hiss of pain, drawing his arm back to reveal a droplet of blood welling on his finger.

you flinch back. "shit, sorry!"

daryl glares, placing his finger between his lips, and holy god, why is the room getting so stuffy? why can't you stop staring at his lips? those same lips you kissed only two weeks ago, those lips you have tasted, those lips-

"i've never been in a relationship," he grumbles, snapping you out of your daze.

"i don't believe that," you scoff. "a fine, sociable man like yourself? surely the ladies were dropping at your feet."

daryl rolls his eyes. "funny."

"seriously though. never?"

"don't act so surprised. you haven't either."

"yeah but that's. . . different. i'm . . . me."

daryl freezes, eyes snapping up to meet yours. "what's that supposed to mean?"

"well, i'm not exactly the best person to-"

"shut up y/n. you're ridiculous."

your eyebrows rise. "woah, okay. fuck you, dixon."

he just shakes his head, going back to his arrow sharpening. this is what he does, one of the many things that infuriate you about him; he will say or do something entirely out of pocket, and then go silent when you confront him on it.

but it's been years, and you're used to it by now. taking a deep breath, you try steering the conversation someplace safer. "you know if rick decides to let rosalie stay, we'll have to pretend we love each other."

he flicks his eyes up. "why do we?"

"well, she thinks we're married."

"who gives a fuck what she thinks? she's our prisoner now."

you roll your eyes, exasperated. "don't call her a prisoner. we're not tyrants, daryl."

"everyone's a tyrant."

"she came to us." you sigh. "we could just stay away from each other if you think that's easier."

his reply is quick, almost panicked. "what good will that do? married couple it is."

just to really seal the deal, you shake hands. it goes quiet after that, neither of you knowing what to say or how to proceed. still, you don't leave his cell, enjoying his presence more than you would ever willingly admit. despite him being a complete pain in the ass, he's still your closest friend in this place, the guy who knows you better than anyone. the guy who somehow managed to break down every wall you've ever put up, all whilst keeping his perfectly in tact.

---

rosalie is released from the infirmary and put under watch, but she is still free to roam the halls of the prison. rick decided an injured, unarmed, grieving old lady isn't much of a threat in the grand scheme of things, and you weren't going to argue. you have no problems with rosalie besides the fact you have to get uncomfortably close to daryl when she's around.

again, this isn't something that ever bothered you; once upon a time, you and daryl would spend hours with each other, out in the woods hunting, or just sitting in each other's company. however, after your last little sleepover, being in daryl's presence has become a very confusing experience, one you don't have time to face head-on. all those weird, warm feelings you felt just don't make any sense.

nonetheless, you keep up the charade when rosalie's around, because it's easier that way. even daryl agrees, which is why he sits beside you now, an arm thrown loosely over your shoulder. you can hear glenn and carl snickering behind you, but rosalie is talking, so you can't do anything about it.

she's in the middle of a story about the travels her and patrick used to embark on, how they aren't even from atlanta, but got caught there after the first wave of walkers made an appearance.

she's explaining how they didn't fret, because at least they had each other, when she turns her attention to you and daryl and says, "i'm sure you two understand. this world could really do some damage if we didn't have people we love."

daryl's grip tightens, and you purse your lips. you can appreciate rosalie's optimism, but her naivety takes the forefront; how can she say such a thing to a group of people who have lost everything, have watched their loved ones get ripped to shreds one by one? it wasn't that long ago rick lost his wife, carl his mother, you a friend.

you sniff, grabbing daryl's hand to keep your angered trembles at bay. "very true, rosie, very true."

"such a good thing that daryl and y/n have each other," glenn chimes in, amusement dripping from every word. "not so lucky for us - they can be loud when their - uh - love takes over."

carl chokes in his attempts to keep from laughing.

"oh!" rosalie gasps, abashed. "goodness, well, at least that spark is still there. i loved patrick dearly, but when you're busy surviving everyday, you don't get time to . . . you know."

"i wish you'd tell that to these two," glenn continued. "almost every night its-" and then the little bastard starts slapping his hand against the wall just to really get his point across.

you spin around and punch him right in the leg. carl bursts into laughter as glenn cries out. even rosalie laughs, a nervous little titter that tells you she doesn't want to get on your bad side.

you slump back in your seat, and daryl immediately wraps his arm back around you, tighter this time, like he needs something to hold on to or he'll lose his temper. you flick a glance his way, but he doesn't meet your eyes, jaw set and gaze straight ahead.

you turn back to rosalie, shaking your head. "ignore them."

"they're just jealous anyway," daryl pipes up. "couldn't make someone moan if they tried."

you choke and bury your head in your hands; this is not where you expected the conversation to go. around you, everyone besides daryl is doubled over in fits of laughter, a sound you would have treasured if it wasn't for the fact it's aimed at you.

you glance at daryl through a crack in your fingers. he smiles smugly, chewing casually on a toothpick. you hate that he looks so good after embarrassing you like that, putting the image of that in your head, and now you feel all warm and gooey, like you might melt straight into his arms.

rosalie excuses herself to help maggie and hershel with dinner, and glenn and carl follow suit shortly after. you dislodge from under daryl's arm, ignoring the way you instantly crave the weight of him again.

"didn't realise you had such a sense of humour," you say, plucking your shoes from the floor. "good job by the way; arm over my shoulder and everything. you're really sticking to the character."

he shrugs. "might as well have fun with it."

"fun?"

"watching you get all flustered?" he trails his eyes down your body, back up again in a slow, almost sensual way. "my idea of fun."

you blink. he stares right back, and the thing is, he isn't even doing anything he wouldn't normally do. the man is just sitting there, waiting for you to reply to his teasing remark, but there's been something in the air these past few days, finally coming to immobilise you for good. you can't even keep the eye contact as heat crawls up your back.

"right," you mumble, looking away. "that's all good then. glad we got that over with. i'll see you later."

he lifts his hand in an amused little wave, ending the conversation and allowing you to scramble from the room.

----

"you were stomping too loudly the entire time. no wonder we didn't get anything."

"if anyone was being too loud, it was you."

"bullshit, daryl. i would have had that rabbit if you hadn't-"

daryl shoves past you, storming towards the prison. you grit your teeth and follow close behind, desperately trying to keep calm. another unsuccessful hunting trip, and daryl is clearly losing his patience - still, he doesn't have to take it out on you, and you're not going to let him.

"you can be such a child, you know," you call after him. "there's still plenty of food in the kitchen, so you don't need to be throwing all your fucking toys out of the pram."

"oh, shut up!" he exclaims. "all your smart little remarks ain't helping!"

"i'm not saying them to help, i'm saying them 'cause you're being a fussy little-"

he whirls around and pushes you against a tree.

you gasp, but the noise comes out weak and choked by the fingers gently tracing a line along the column of your throat. daryl presses his knee between your legs, all but holding you up at this point, because suddenly he is so close you can see the tiny green specks in his blue eyes. you have half a mind to shove him away, tell him to go to hell, but the words fail you when he drops his forehead to yours like it's the most normal thing in the world.

you swallow thickly. "w-what are you-"

"no more yelling at me," he says quietly. "rosalie is standing at the gate."

you go to turn your head, but daryl catches your chin, keeping your gaze pinned to his.

"don't look over," he orders. "that'll be too obvious."

without another word, he trails his fingers down your throat, hooking them in the neckline of your shirt. you rise on your toes, you can't help it. you've never had him so close to you before, never had the opportunity to crave this proximity so much, but there is a fire lit in your stomach right now that is impossible to ignore.

"y/n," he croaks, sounding just as desperate as you feel.

"daryl," you manage. "i-is she still looking?"

he nods without looking over, but you take his word for it, because you don't want the moment to end just yet.

you watch the movement of his eyes, the way they slowly slip to your lips, lingering there. he wets his own lips with a swipe of his tongue, throat bobbing, and suddenly this isn't a performance. suddenly you are overcome with the urge to grab him, drag him into you, audience or not.

you have the strange, impossible feeling that he might want the same thing.

but that doesn't make sense, because daryl doesn't like you in that way. from day one, his boundaries have been clear when it comes to you - you're his hunting partner, someone kept around to make life a little easier, his pain in the ass. not once has he ever expressed feelings for you. not to your face. not like this.

his hands fall away from your throat like leaves tumbling off a branch. your breath escapes you in a rush as you wait for him to step away, but he does no such thing; his hands find your waist, and he oh-so-gently nudges your hips back against the tree.

"y-you're taking this roll very seriously," you manage.

he huffs a laugh, breath fanning your face. his eyes slip closed. "right."

you cup his cheeks. "hey, open those eyes or she'll think we're breaking up."

he looks at you then, the eye contact more intense than it has ever been before. daryl isn't an emotional person, but he could fool anyone with the gaze he levels on you, like you're the only person in the whole world.

you draw back, hand still holding his face. "hey. what's wrong?"

"nothing."

but his answer is too quick, too orchestrated.

you furrow your brows and finally risk a glance at the prison gates; rosalie is nowhere to be found.

"coast is clear."

daryls eyes snap over, and he immediately stumbles away. "right. good. let's get back."

you watch him leave, legs still too weak to follow. he runs a hand through his brown hair, tugging on the strands, a complete demeanour change that leaves you stunned. you don't want to acknowledge your racing heartbeat, but it's difficult to ignore when it is so all consuming, so confusing.

you have to take a few calming breaths before heading to the prison. you duck under the gap daryl made in the fence and head to the canteen, desperate for a distraction. you think you've managed to sneak past the group until you actually enter the canteen to see hershel sitting at a table, all on his own. you have half a mind to walk away, avoid any conversation, but then you remember this is hershel.

"need company?" you ask, sitting across from him.

he looks up with a smile, though that expression is quickly replaced by furrowed brows and a frown. "what's wrong with you?"

you don't meet his eyes. "what do you mean?"

"you look like you've ran five miles."

"i don't know what you're talking about."

he lowers his head in an attempt to get a better look at your face. you do everything to hide away, but you should know better when it comes to hershel greene - nothing gets past him.

he slowly leans back, having clearly inspected your flushed cheeks and frazzled hair enough to make his own conclusions. "oh."

"don't start," you grumble.

"you know i hate gossip, but could you explain. . ."

you chew your bottom lip, twisting the ring on your finger. "just. . . daryl. rosalie was at the gate, so we had to keep up appearances, obviously. he's just. . . really good at his role. got me a little flustered, that's all."

hershel is silent for a beat too long. you risk a glance up and catch his sceptical eyes, all furrowed brows and a frown so deep you think you may have accidentally hurt his feelings somehow.

"what?" you ask.

"rosalie was nowhere near the gate."

you pause. "huh? yes she was. daryl-"

"rosalie's arthritis had a flare up this morning; she's been out cold all day. hasn't even left her cell."

your heart stops, because surely that isn't right. daryl wouldn't have gone anywhere near you if rosalie wasn't watching. you were having an argument, for crying out loud, and lord knows the only way daryl settles an argument is by blanking you, not pinning you against a tree and making your insides turn to complete sludge.

you go to tell hershel this, but the words die the moment you see the amused little smirk pulling across his face.

"what?" you spit.

"is it not so obvious?"

you know exactly what he's referring to, but you refuse to acknowledge it. "clearly not."

hershel chuckles. "my dear, that man is head over heels for you."

please don't.

"that's not true."

"you don't believe me?"

"it's not like that with me and daryl. we're hunting partners at best." you don't mention the way your heart races when he's around, the way you aren't comfortable with anyone in the same way you are with him, the way you would call him your best friend.

hershel tilts his head, but you can't meet his eyes. that would give too much away.

"y/n," he says softly. "come on now."

"you're looking too deep into things."

"i would agree if daryl hadn't confessed his feelings to me personally."

you open your mouth to shoot back a reply, but again, the words die the minute you process what hershel has just said. a confession from daryl? daryl dixon talking about his feelings? the idea is so bizarre you nearly start laughing, but the shock has left you almost immobile, so all you can do is blink, waiting for hershel to get to the punchline. he stares back, not a trace of humour on his face.

realistically, you know this isn't something hershel would joke about, but you can't bring yourself to accept any other possibility. it doesn't make any sense. it doesn't fit in the puzzle that is you and daryl.

"he. . ." you shake your head. "what did he say?"

"will you believe me if i tell you?"

"what did he say, hershel?"

"that he thinks he's in love with you, and it scares him." a soft smile graces his lips. "that's why i was so confused when he reacted the way he did to you kissing him. i would have thought he would be over the moon." "but that's. . . why wouldn't he just tell me?"

hershel scoffs. "when has daryl ever made his own life easier?"

you close your eyes, letting your head fall into your hands. "holy fuck."

"rosalie was nowhere near those gates today, my dear. i can promise you that."

you stand before you can think better of it. you are suddenly overcome with the need to see him, to look him in the eyes and hear this confession for yourself. you don't care that he'll be put on the spot, that his anxiety will probably morph him into a hostile beast. you need the truth, because going one more day without it might just drive you mad.

hershel doesn't even try to stop you. you storm out of the canteen and make a b-line for daryl's cell, pushing past a confused rick and carl on the way.

of course, daryl is laying on his bunk, crossbow held over his face as he inspects the weapons underbelly. he looks over when you storm inside, opens his mouth to no doubt yell at you, but he doesn't get the chance as you grab his crossbow and chuck it onto the floor.

"do you love me?"

the colour drains from his face in an instant. it is answer enough, so answer enough, and you nearly crumble under the weight of it. part of you wants to kiss him, another part of you wants to yell at him for making all of this so complicated, for denying himself something good just because he's less in tune with emotions than the corpses walking around.

you trail your hands through your hair. "oh, daryl. . ."

"did that old fuck tell you?" he sits up. "i swear to-"

you push him back onto the bed. "don't you dare start on hershel. you wanna know where rosalie's been all day? nowhere near those fucking gates, that's for sure." daryl looks away, but you're not playing games any more, not when your heart is beating so fast, and you don't know if it's out of anger, or excitement, or dread, or all of the above. you just need things to be straight forward from here on out. you just need the truth.

"daryl, what was that?" you demand. "why . . . why would you play along instead of just telling me the truth?"

"it's a lot harder than that," he grumbles.

"how long?"

he narrows his eyes. "huh?"

"tell me how long you've felt this way. since i kissed you?"

he scoffs like the suggestion is ridiculous.

you raise a brow. "before?"

"a long time before," he replies. "that's why the kiss. . . freaked me out so much. i ain't used to that shit. especially not with someone. . ."

you pause. "someone you love."

he squeezes his eyes closed. "it's so fucking stupid. hershel should have kept his goddamn mouth shut."

"rosalie's on bed rest. i would have found out eventually." you take a step closer and reach for his hand. he stares for a moment before slipping his hand in your own; his fingers are rough, yet the minute he intertwines them with yours, you realise you never want him to let go. "it's nothing to be intimidated by. it's not stupid."

"it is stupid. it should be the last thing on my mind. the dead are up and walking, but all i can fucking think about is you. it's always just you." he shakes his head, grip tightening the smallest bit. "i'm caught in a hoard and all i can think about is where you are, if you're safe or not. do you know how fucked that is? how in my head you are?" he scoffs in disbelief, tilting his head back. "christ, and you don't even try. you never have tried; you just managed to completely take me down without a care in the fucking world." he rakes his hands down his face, groans into his palms. "i should hate you for it."

"but you don't."

he drops his hands into his lap, dejected. "no. no, i really don't."

he looks up at you then, expectant, like a child waiting for their next task. you can only stare back at him, because there isn't an awful lot a person can say after an admission like that. you wish you could reply with something coherent, something that would get your own feelings across, but for the first time in history, daryl has articulated your emotions for you. every experience he so heart-wrenchingly described is one you have experienced yourself, so there's nothing you can add.

so instead, you guide his hand to your waist and let him draw you in. he's hesitant at first, never taking his eyes off you as you step between his knees and take his face in your hands. for a man so muscular, his cheeks are soft and round, a feature you've always found so amusing and appealing at the same time.

he inhales shakily. "you're still a pain in my ass."

"but you love me."

he scowls, but there is no denial.

you grin, and finally your mind clears enough for you to kiss him. for real this time.

he stiffens for just a moment before easing into it, grip tightening on your waist to pull you closer. you slide your hands over his shoulders, deepening the kiss, feeling his body against your own. you taste the cigarettes on his tongue, a flavour so perfectly him that it doesn't even gross you out. your nails bite into his back, forcing a growl from his throat that nearly has your eyes rolling into the back of your head with how desperate it leaves you.

that's how you know it's time to pull away.

he chases your lips, hands never leaving your waist even when you gently push him back. he groans, pressing his head to your stomach as he says, "why'd you stop?"

breathless, you reply, "it's the middle of the day, daryl, and these cells aren't exactly private."

"so? as far as everyone knows, we're a married couple." his hands slip lower, making you gasp. "and according to glenn, we're known for being loud anyway."

you swallow thickly. the only response you can give is another kiss, only this time you do let your eyes roll into the back of your head.

[why-the-heck-not]

Top 5 technologies that, unfortunately, have fallen out of use

okay this was interesting, had to rly think. Also idk if my definition of "technology" is right, but anything resembling will go. ALSO damn I rambled a lot, sorry abt that, apparently I like thinking about old tech

CDs. I miss owning albums, it was so nice to like actually have the physical copy of something u love. I think that's what missing now and is why I sometimes get actually annoyed abt loving a band/song (rn it's The Vantages (a band) & I'm actually mad about it) bc the "listening to it is not enough, I need to inject it to my bloodstream"-mood, which in actuality is that I'd love a physical copy to make it feel like a concrete thing. It's like the next best thing to going to a concert, and I can't keep buying merch I'll never wear outside my house to compensate. Also made u like decide on what album u want to listen to & the songs are always gonna be in the same order the artist decided them to be in, no mixing songs from the same or diff artists, you had to make A Choice. (actually my dad has my fave bands CDs (old-ish band & he an og fan) and it's kinda comforting to me that if (/when?) some Spotify apocalypse eventually happens, I'll have a way to listen to them anyways). Also been thinking for years about buying either a CD- or a vinyl player, or something like that bc I want to have physical copies of my faves (but haven't decided on what yet (probs vinyl tho. for the vibes.) and also the money aspect of it is not great)

Nokias. I just talked with my sister how we've both been thinking abt just buying an old Nokia keypad non-smart phone and just using that instead of like the current phones (but alas, not rly possible, like I can't get into my gym without a smart phone and that's just one thing, u kinda need a smartphone or life becomes unnecessarily complicated). But the durability, the worm game, the ''oh no in a hurry and need the letter s, oh shit I went overboard and went right back to p''). Also Finland represent lol

tamagotchi type things. like a "gaming console" (it's not but idk what those are called) that has the one game with abt 3 pixels and no color. Also I had one like that had a monkey that collected dropping bananas and that was the whole game, the only function that thing had (I have a suspicion I got it from McDonalds??? idk why I keep thinking that) (Googled and yes it was from McDonalds, called Aiai banana catch)

those big computers that were for the whole household. We didn't have one growing up (bc my parents had computers at their work and so we didn't need one) but the thrill of going to like a friend who lived near and they used their 1h of computer time to like play some horse game; unparalleled. Or like the games at Miniclip ?? or later on CLUB PENGUIN !!!!! (still to this day the best game that has or ever will exist) (tho I think at around club penguin-era my sister got a laptop so I used that until I got my own)

Those calculators that prints on paper what u've calculated right after, idk what they're called. Never used one & obv never had one bc was a kid, and actually not fully sure if ppl still do use them (but guessing at least that they're not as popular anymore) but damn. The pure aesthetics and vibes. Like the movie scenes of a character calculating using that while looking at bills to indicate that the said character has some finance problems? phenomenal, cinematography etc.

[undercoverpena]

Hello fellow scout,

I’m here on official scout business! I would love, love, love to know what your writing process looks like - do you meticulously plot out everything beforehand or are you a dash out ideas in note form and see what your characters are up to kind of person? Does everything get written on your phone or are you a big screen only kind of writer? Do you only get inspo first thing in the morning or last thing at night?!

I’d love to hear anything you’d like to share!

Much love,

Al 🖤

Al!! 🩷 i love this question, but i need to apologise now for how lengthy this is likely about to get, because your girl does not have a linear process.

for your eyes and ease, i have listed in bullet points:

sometimes, i need a detailed plot if there's lots of moving parts within the piece. so if there's lots of build up and i need to weave, then a chapter by chapter (but this isn't rigid) process needs to be built.

but often, I'll have the summary, and then i write the ending/last scene first. because then i have a direction.

i try to then write the beginning scene/opening chapter, even if it's the roughest (because first chapters and opening scenes are always - in my opinion - my weakest) because then it's there.

from then, i fuck about and find out. sometimes i know X, Y and Z needs to happen before i reach the ending, and sometimes a scene will pop up in my head that I decide needs to be in it, and so i then have to move things around to make it work.

if it's a series, I'll have a document of rolling ideas, a document of dialogue (dialogue comes to me easier than scenes) and then my plot. if it's a one shot, I'll separate the document into sections to achieve this so i can work in one place.

before i get into the gritty of it, i need to know my characters. for pedro boys, it's a little easier as I'll already have a concrete-ish idea of who they are, but the person they're paired with often i need to spend a bit of time with. usually they either come to me or i have to work a bit harder (use spotify to find their song, pinterest to find their vibe and play around with dialogue to find their voice).

phone versus PC: i write on both, i tend to find i can write my first draft on my phone - this does also allow me to move around rooms. sometimes, i start something in one room, and then need to sit somewhere else. i can write on my laptop, but the vibe and the mood needs to be right, but my phone doesn't need a lot of that. i can only edit on my laptop though, and usually in a quiet room (i'm dyslexic, so i dread to think what would happen if i didn't). when i edit on my phone, it's for a quick drabble and I'll spend so long editing that i give myself a headache... not ideal.

poor @goodwithcheese and @secretelephanttattoo know the wind can blow and i get inspo. i am somehow incapable of having ideas, it's just that some are like fun "OMG IMAGINE" and some are like, "i need to write this". but i can only write either later at night (post 7pm) or early in the morning (4am-7am) anything between 7-7pm has to be like so good i can't put it down. it does happen, but it's rare and special when it happens. (do me yourself is the exception, if i can squirrel myself away, i can write it, it's the most fun I've had writing in a really long time).

EXTRA BONUS FACT: music is always involved. i have playlists for almost all moods and some fics, and often, i can't begin something without a song. music matters to me a lot.

EXTRA EXTRA BONUS FACT: my commute is 30 mins each way and i usually turn over difficult ideas or issues in plots, and so this either leads to a voice note that i have to cringingly listen back to, OR a note OR, i work out i need to rewrite the chapter. ugh.

I am sure there's likely more jo-weirdness, but i feel I've talked so much, so i'm going to stop, but feel free to ask follow ups if I've not been clear hahaha.

ily, thank you so much for this lovely ask

[nanthegirl]

14.04.2024

• I haven’t studied much these past few days.

• I spent the entirety of Saturday reading The Name of The Wind in bed and I had a blast. I still haven’t finished it though cause I’m trying to save it and I also have a physics lab tomorrow that requires some studying.

• I spent today trying to get back into the groove of things. Studied a bit, took a walk, crocheted. Nothing intense. I need tomorrow to be wayy more productive though.

• I’m often torn between setting a concrete routine or just vibing. Sometimes the vibing works better then it fizzles out and I’m left flopping around. Something something balance.

⬇️Random pictures ⬇️

Yes I tear up my food like a rat so I can eat with one hand and read with the other

🤍

[meamiiikiii]

Hello. I haven't spoken much on the Reverse Entry AU (Modern Office + Reverse Isekai Loop AU). That changes today!!! Have some scattered (relatively long) tidbits on this AU. Mainly background to actually get to the office part of it but, yea!

If anyone wants elaboration on anything on this list, and I do mean anything, I encourage asking!! Or any random questions on the AU general!! Or just things in general!! Make me think about things I have not considered!!

Spoilers for all of ISAT + 2Hats and the like:

Mainly Concrete

The Country -> The Company.

Well, more of a family storefront, but the similarity in those two words next to each other was too good to pass up LOL.

Said storefront was run by Siffrin’s parents, and was their life's work.

Specialized in niche craft related stuff, in both teaching people how to do them & selling materials for the crafts. 

It was a very warm & homely store, and was adored by locals and visitors alike. 

A store that felt comforting to just vibe in for a bit, if that makes sense.

Loop ends up being Siffrin’s roommate after being reverse isekai’ed :)

They do not help with rent

They are a solid night light, which they try to justify as helping with the electricity bill

They also find a mirror shortly after arrival. 

Important Points

Mirabelle & Isabeau have known each other since University and are besties!!!!!!!!!

Not 100% sure of the logistics yet, but this was too important of a point to not include

Additionally, please know at some point, Isa custom stitched the scarf-shawl Mira wears to work all the time now, and gifted it to her!

He is also responsible for the fun pattern on the vest he wears all the time too!

Bonnie, whenever they are hanging around, makes sure to sneak onto Nille’s computer, and block out time between meetings for time to breathe / snacks for the others

And they also make sure to block out like an hour of time for proper lunches as well

Back to back to back to back meetings are not fun!!!

Breaks are important!!!

I have mentioned this in a different post, but this too, is a very important point to not include here as well

Location of Living

Mirabelle & Siffrin live in the same apartment complex, but on opposite sides of it

They have briefly interacted a few times prior to being coworkers? 

But Siffrin had his hair dyed for interviews for a long time

So Mirabelle didn’t realize it was him for a while, since he started growing out the dye before formally meeting in a work environment

Siffrin simply forgor

Isabeau lives relatively close-by to where Mira & Sif live, he visits Mira sometimes!!

He may or may not have also interacted with Siffrin two (2) times prior to working together due to the above point

Nille & Bonnie live around the area Siffrin used to live before he had to move, and have resided in that area for a long time

They technically were neighbors, at one point!

Odile lives closer to the office than everyone else 

Shorter commute for in-office days 

But still in the general vicinity of everyone else's abodes ofc

Hiring Order

Mirabelle has been working in the office the longest (interned two years in a row, and was formally hired right out of University)

Isabeau is next after since he got a referral off of Mira (interned for one year before graduation, then was hired at the same time Mirabelle was)

Odile was hired to replace Euphrasie (previous senior manager to their team who got a promotion, she’s now director of the regional office)

Siffrin was hired a bit after Odile when they got more capacity, since what they were originally doing was way too much for just three people LOL

Apparently, he got a referral from someone internally, but has no idea about it!

Nille was hired a little bit after Siffrin was

She only agreed upon the role if she was granted the flexibility to pick up Bonnie from school whenever

Random RPG Equivalence Hour

Turn Based Combat = Emails 

Whether it be waiting for data to start processes, answering inquiries, so on and so forth

Sometimes those turns take literal days

It happens!

Being Frozen / Damaged = Program Freezing 

This goes for any program being used

If it freezes it inflicts small damage

It inflicts more damage if it crashes

It makes you cry on the floor if the program crashes and you can’t recover any of what you did for the past hour

It makes you regret all of your life decisions up to this moment in time if it crashes, you can’t recover anything, and you have a presentation on the stuff you were working on in 15 minutes

Misc Meetings

Mirabelle writes fanfic

Isabeau knows about this and supports her in her endeavors

Odile has read some of her works, but does not know she wrote them irl

At some point prior to working together, Mirabelle & Odile became mutuals and started trading book / fanfic recommendations to one another

Odile had a brief stint as a bartender prior to working for the office

Mainly to earn some form of income while applying for jobs / waiting for prior certifications to process and transfer properly after moving from another country

In one or another, she met Isabeau and Siffrin at separate intervals while working there

Additionally, the bar is located close to the office. A lot of happy hours happen there. It ended up serving as a networking opportunity for her LMAO

Both Nille and Bonnie moved around a lot when they were younger

At different intervals, Nille went to the same high schools as both Mirabelle & Isabeau

Nille has probably worked a lot of jobs throughout high school / university

This includes working at the same place Odile worked at for a bit, they were probably coworkers there at some point.

Maybe not necessarily a bartender but, general staff

Again, this served as a networking opportunity similar to the Odile segment ASFASDASDA

Um????

Loop somehow ends up becoming a vtuber.

Loop somehow ends up being a vtuber for the company the team works under, akin to Tony the Tiger.

Loop does this vtuber gig for approximately one (1) stream and quits right after.

((loop decided their first stream was a nuzlocke for some reason. the crafts company literally didnt ask them to. they decided this on their own volition for no apparent reason. the company literally asked for a stream where they do crafts?? anyway they named their pokemon after the party. and. well.))

As I am Indecisive, this still has a chance for change! But for now this list is slightly ordered from “concrete in my mind” to “need to let simmer more probably, but the vibes are there” to “probably not but it is a bit of a funny to consider” (this only applies to the last loop segment ASDAFA)

But yea!! Thanks for reading the ramblings :)

[antiv3nom]

Bedman (Romeo)

omg havent had an excuse to talk abt bedman in a hot minute thank u anon...

favorite thing about them:

i love the tragedy of his story arc... that feels like a weird thing to say but its the first thing that came to mind! just. look. the road to hell paved with good intentions bit taken to the extreme really works here!!! the idea that he remembered the name of every person he ever killed because he was under the impression he could bring them all back, only to have the rug pulled from under him? hurts me! in the best way!!!

other than that i do enjoy his design, both romeo himself and the bed :] i wanna give my bedman cosplay another try sometime for sure, it didnt work out for various reasons but i have most of the components and would enjoy cosplaying him fr in the future

least favorite thing about them:

i think i dont really dislike anything about the way bedman is written in the source material strongly enough to point it out here? i think my main gripe is the way the fandom treats him to either extreme, like theres "bedman did nothing wrong ever" people and "bedman is horrific" people and i wish both camps would chill out and recognize hes like. a complex character? but i do think most people do this already which i can appreciate

favorite line:

im a little obsessed w his win line against may in xrd

"I do not understand humans who are motivated by love. A person is born, lives for a number of years, and interacts with up to eight billion people. What proof is there of something they can't even define?"

bc like. buddy. you dont even realize it. YOURE driven by love. all this shit wasnt just for yourself but it was for delilah too!!! fuck!!! you dont even see it as love you see it as necessary because shes that important to you!!! and dont even get me STARTED on the bed in strive and how its still running because of his last minute code additions which almost act as the last part of his will to protect delilah. GAHHHH

brOTP:

BEDMAN AND AXL INTERACTIONS. PLEASE. PLEASE. their dynamic is so interesting as characters with such fascinating ways of interacting with the world...gah. GAH. and no one fucking talks about it!!!

OTP:

sinbed. must i wlabo.

ok but i will, im not as into them as i was like a year ago but i still do really enjoy their dynamic. sin being such a beacon of hope and being so willing to see people as good contrasted with a post-xrd living bedman (bc all my sinbed stuff exists within au but im having fun out here so sue me) seeing himself as inherently evil due to his actions despite his intentions and believing no one would ever care for him? it hits for me

nOTP:

i dont know of anything off the top of my head that ive seen for him??? nothing prevalent at least.

actually on second thought i think ive seen like one instance of bedman and ram in a romantic sense, and that im not a fan of but i guess i could see the appeal, just not my thing

random headcanon:

this motherfucker would have gotten heated in some internet forums or wiki talk pages, DEDICATED to accuracy out here and he WILL fight you about it

unpopular opinion:

not entirely certain i have one? i think the "bedman while flawed is not actually a terrible person and was doing his best given his extremely fucked up circumstances" is a pretty cool take by this point for most people

i think the only thing i have is that my interpretation of bedman has always been as like a young adult rather than a kid but like i dont really have a concrete opinion on that and i totally understand people who do see him as a kid like its entirely understandable to do so

song i associate with them:

other than his character themes, its GOTTA be dramaturgy by eve, which just. it gives the vibes. read the english lyrics it will make sense i prommy

favorite image of them:

THE EEPER...

OTHER than this one its more an animation but his 6p in xrd is so silly i love it so bad...and for a more serious option his instant kill is really cool

[blistering-typhoons]

Okay, so I watched one or two Rathbone Holmes stories back in high school and decided I didn't like Nigel Bruce, but I've also seen you talking positively about the Rathbone Holmes movies/ episodes. If you're willing, can you say why you like them and/ or which you would recommend starting on? Is it a series to watch in broadcast order, or are they more stand-alone? Which ones are your favorite? I want to give it a second chance.

hiya, thanks for the ask :D adding a cut here cuz this post got realllyyy outta hand- so so sorry xD

I wanna preface by saying that I totally get the frustration of Nigel Bruce Watson- as much as I've come to care for this portrayal, there are still moments of disappointment? I feel? Mostly once you see all the potential in him before it gets unceremoniously dumbed down for the sake of comedy, and it can be trying sometimes, but I've learned to breeze past those moments and! There are definitely movies where he shines brighter than others! In the end, you may warm up to him or you may not, but I fully commend you on taking another chance :D

I did not really start off in broadcast order (my ass still hasn't seen rathbone and bruce's HOUN- bloody disgraceful lmao) and mostly watched in order of vibes, which seems to have worked out alright xD

I started off with Scarlet Claw, and after rewatching it this morning, I feel like it's an alright place to start! It's a good sort of mystery and there was enough element of equal partnership to get me invested in Holmes and Watson. But, I'd say it's still pretty lukewarm, enjoy it as I do, so to compound this long ass post lemme throw a list at you real quick of rathbone movies i strongly recommend-

The Pearl of Death:

Starting off with Pearl of Death not only for the 'Watson gathers the braincells' quality but because it's one of the genuine classics in the series- a brilliantly crafted movie from start to finish, and in my opinion, one of the better shot ones. This one is a good start, it's a bit slow in some places, but it's a good, neutral film that showcases I think some of the more concrete themes and brilliancy of the movies.

House of Fear:

I honestly dunno if I'm biased about this one, but it is genuinely one of my favourite movies of all time. It's the very second one I watched, and it's still in my nighttime viewing collection- I fall asleep watching this movie, which is a compliment I swear. Watson has a more active role, is genuinely trying his best for most of the runtime and falls more in line with 'genuine failure to succeed' more than just 'bungled it up for a gag'. It's a really, really excellent mystery and I adore Holmes and Watson's dynamic throughout- 10/10, freaking banger movie.

Pursuit to Algiers:

Then, of course, the Big Daddy herself- Pursuit to Algiers. This one falls less in line with a mystery (our baddies become pretty clear at one point) and more suspense, but man is that a good thing. The dang thing takes place on a boat for most of it, Holmes and Watson are attached to eachother like pairbonded shelter dogs and have the most balanced, affectionate of interactions, Watson gets to sing! And not to give away any spoilers (yeah shush, i know the movie's old) but a particular plot point happens in this movie and as a result, Nigel Bruce gets to do a genuinely heartbreaking piece of acting- seriously, there is a shot where he goes out onto the deck, completely silent of music and just looks out into the ocean that still has me unwell even after all this time. Goofy moments still happen in the movie, but they feel more organic, and overall there is a wonderfully grounded approach to Watson here- he's still silly, but it's a fun silly, and a silly that Holmes indulges in with him. The depth of affection between these two is ASTOUNDING in this movie, bloody unhinged behaviour. Great movie, do watch it :D

I'd say those three are, at least in my opinion, the best of the best! I do enjoy the others, but I think it best to venture into those once an affection has been developed, they do strain the patience a bit at times I'm afraid. (And it goes without saying, some of the movies have a definite propaganda vibe to them, which is charming sometimes and sometimes just grating, really depends on the day i think- none of the three movies listed above fall under this category though- and the of course, general warning for all the really poorly aged 1940s stuff, but you know that :>)

Except The Spider Woman. In really the bluntest of terms, fuck that movie, all my homies hate The Spider Woman, do NOT watch it (i'm only half joking, oh god its so bad)

Anyways, uh, sorry lmao-

I really must thank you for letting me put this incredibly useless knowledge to use, I'm so goddamn sorry it came out in this absolute massive scrawl- I wish you all the luck in your rathbone holmes adventure, and I hope you have an illuminating time either way it goes for you :D

[alittledizzy]

//sorry gor being judgemental but i am do confused

so what's the deal with Dan? I watched some of this videos this week.

I get that he has dealt with internalized homophobia and had a hard time coming to terms with his sexuality

But where does Phil fit into all of this? Dan talked about in details about various hook ups over the years. Are they in a open relationship? They have always lived together from what I can see from various edits and have recently bought a house together.

Also the way Dan behaved on the tour this year gave off a very single vibes and it rubbed me in a very wrong way as to how against he was phil coming and seeing him on tour.

Even Phil also talks about experiences with other men over the years but weren't they speculated to have been together since 2010s?????

So, my thought is this:

I think the deal with Dan is that he had a lot of his private life/sexuality/etc exposed and made a heavy focus of a large internet fandom during some very personally critical years of his development. And I think he has hella issues with the idea of feeling exposed to an audience.

He also had a lot of years where he couldn't make gay jokes about himself and I think he feels like he's catching up on them now?

But imo I don't think it means anything reflected in reality. The jokes abot hook ups and his tour humor etc are in line with other types of humor he used that didn't reflect reality to me. Like there are so many times when they'd film a video and then later in a livestream we'd see how much of it was set up? Where one of them acted surprised at something when obviously they knew the video concept? And we know sometimes the Dan vs Phil scores were a bit rigged/edited to make things more suspenseful.

I think Dan and Phil are both pretty comfortable with the idea that For the Audience content they make is a version of themselves that is put forward to be funny before anything else and also to have a certain distance from their real lives. They've lived together for fourteen years, they were outed in a very concrete form via video in 2011, they're referenced as a unit by everyone in their lives, and they're willing to do a wink and nod to that at this point. But even the titles of their videos say 'friend' and they'll only outwardly reference themselves as best friends.

That circles back to my first point where I think they just feel like it's best/safest to protect their relationship from direct confirmation and therefore the assumption of the audience's right to their private life. They're fine with shipping, with being shipped, but it's the Dan and Phil in the videos we can claim as ours, not what happens when the cameras are off.

So basically: I think the jokes about hookups etc are just Dan considering who he is on camera or on social media is still a bit of a character. And that character isn't in a long term committed relationship so he's free to make Grindr jokes all he wants, even if there's no reality behind it.

[lackadaisycats]

Hey, just started getting into your comic and I know a lot of people read Mordecai as gay. I was getting more of an ace vibe from him and I was wondering if you had any thoughts one way or the other as I don't want to be rude with my headcanons. Sorry and thank you for the amazing cats

I don't find it rude at all that people have headcanons, even if they don't exactly line up with my intentions. I like that the characters are interpretable to some extent, honestly.

Not everyone sees it that way, and I do understand that sometimes readers want more absolute answers - I know representation can mean a lot, for instance. But I also feel that some things should be left to the story to address, and sometimes it's good to embrace some ambiguity. In my own experiences as a reader, having to stop and think about a character and add up what I've gleaned in order to reach a conclusion - well, that's something to be savored. I don't always want the author to pipe in with a one word answer.

People (and maybe even gangster cats) are complicated. Sometimes they are in flux, sometimes they are busy discovering things about themselves, sometimes they don't know themselves or understand their own motivations all that well.

It's not that I'm trying to be coy or deny anyone answers. It's just that it can feel a little defeatist to explain things so concretely, offsides in a Q&A.

Anyway, I will say that Mordecai's lifestyle is certainly asexual. Being ace and being gay are not necessarily mutually exclusive things, though. There are shades of ace that are aromantic, homoromantic, heteroromantic, biromantic, and so forth.

Ugh, that was wordy. Sorry.

[phantomofthehoepera]

I love your 2023 Repo the Genetic Opera art... Please... Please I'm desperate I need to know the lore... Please...

HAIIII SORRY I'M SO LATE TO THIS idk if you meant any lore in specific so I'm gonna take this as an opportunity to just dump all the shit I made up in my brain peace and love <333333

so like the main stuff I made up I guess would be the repomums which again was a cocreation with my darling precious @slydiddledeedee the lore is very basically they were all in an opera troupe with mag and marni and were cursed by god to die if they ever slept with an italian man. they also all left rotti for nathan, rotti kind of picked them off one by one like he'd marry one of them she'd leave him and die and he'd get a new one. no one present recognised the pattern of this. they're all colour coordinated which is a thing I like to do for the largo kids when I draw them so I guess it's genetic idk. important fun fact is that luigi personally killed his mum and was then lobotomised just a little bit which is why I keep drawing him with that big ole head scar.

other thing I made up was lore for the random zydrate lady as part of a larger effort to make shit up abt graverobber. most of my ideas for her are vague also not at all based in the movie I need to stress this is basically just an oc that I borrowed a character from the movie for. n ee way the story kind of goes she and graves start off in the drug dealer/drug addict business at the same time and they're roomies sometimes when they can afford it. she'll usually be more involved in whatever post movie ideas are floating around in my head at the moment bc I do feel like it's important to get a perspective that more like. on the ground if that makes sense?? bc like no one in the movie is super affected by the repossession system as much as I would like to see so she's my hero she's my class struggle queen.

speaking of graves I have so many ideas abt him in my head like the way I cope with the existence of scary scary evil wicked terrence is I just completely redesign him like moreseo than any of the other characters. to ME he's a freaky evil little dyke he probably was on whatever supercharged t repoworld has for a week or two but couldn't afford any more than that but like I said the t was supercharged so he can still sing his parts peace and love. I like to personally give him an actual concrete geneco debt bc like obv he has to have one but I would like it spelled out please just to have gramber relationship drama. think it would be funny if his heart gave out on him and he has a synthetic one, once again this is all for gramber relationship drama. in my brain he has been kind of fixated on her ever since he was a kid (see this piece). I also do like to give him and shilo kind of a sibling thing going on for literally no other reason than I like sibling dynamics I think they're delightful. I think post movie shilo should start an awful band and he should peddle her cds to his customers.

I have sooo many thoughts on the largo siblings like I said luigi straight up murdered his mother probably when he was very young. the way I picture it he's always been pretty unstable and wouldn't have been made as much of a public figure, unlike amber and pavi who I picture as having been like legit child stars at some point. like idk the way I picture it rotti would almost publicise them more after having to keep luigi that much out of the public eye since he's yknow. insane. I like to lean more into the opera vibes and give them little ballet shoes and shit like for some reason I always picture them as dancers. n ee way I think growing out of child stardom hit amber the hardest, not that would have coped super well either. pavi at least in the movie seems to have kind of a place at the table when they talk abt who's to inherent and like we usually see him at rotti's side while amber is usually out on her own and like idk it's kind of impossible not to read it as gendered to ME. also I always need to stress I don't make their backstories sad to make them sympathetic I do it bc I'm thoroughly successionpilled thank you and goodnight.

don't have that many thoughts on shilo and nathan, esp on nathan I moreso just have critiques of how he's written like icl I find the jekyll and hyde routine sooo uninspired. like idk I just think he becomes that much more horrifying of a character if you picture him as more calculated in his violence. I also just think it's kind of lame how little talk there seems to be abt the fact that he is like severely abusive to shilo like it's such a huge part of the movie I feel like it maybe becomes a bit too obvious to talk abt if that makes sense? like it's such a fact of life but whenever I start thinking about it for too long I want to scream like beyond the poison thing which like would be enough on its own the way he gaslights and hits her is literally scary and I just feel like a lot of that horror gets lost when he's depicted as like. sometimes not being in full control like it sort of takes away his agency and in turn a lot of the impact of his character, at least to me.

as for shilo like I said not many thoughts I'm mostly just interested in where she'd go post movie like I said I want her to start a shitty band I feel like that could heal her. also want her to lose the wig like idk could be symbolic maybe 👍

[lurkingshan]

I hate how Boston has been treated in the show and by some parts of fandom just cos he doesn’t conform to the norms of monogamy and likes casual sex. I also get the feeling the finale favoured the branded pairings so their couples ended up endgame even if it didn’t make sense.

Neo is not in a branded pairing so his character’s story arc got screwed over. Sighs… I agree with your other anon that Boston leaving the toxic friend group is a silver lining. That’s the only positive thing for Boston. I still hate how he’s been treated overall.

The finale definitely favored the branded pairs and sometimes in a way that didn't track with who they were or their stories up to last week. Ray basically got a personality transplant this ep (which can be hand-waved away by his relative sobriety) in order to portray him as suddenly perceptive and make him and Sand a stable couple all of a sudden; it felt very off to me. And did you notice how they said they were going to call their new business SandRay? Giving themselves a literal ship name! Kind of on the nose.

Mew and Top barely felt like themselves in some parts of this ep; I definitely had a few out of body moments where I felt like I was back in bossbabe watching Gun and Cher. Since when is Mew clingy and cuddly and cutesy? It was such a weird vibe all of a sudden. And that fire alarm scene was plainly only to reassure the audience that Top didn't lie about his trauma; that scene was there to respond to fan outcry about Top's character, it served no other narrative function. For me, the over the top happiness of their ending after weeks of being told they don't trust each other just felt false.

As for Boston and Nick. What really gets my goat about this ending for them is that we have spent weeks in a narrative about how Nick gets Boston in a way other people do not. He told him point blank that he doesn't have to change, he loves him for who he is. And this finale completely undercut that. I was actually on board for their conversation about the different way they see the meaning of being faens; for Boston that is all about emotion and quality time and has nothing to do with sex while for Nick it's all or nothing. That's valid as a final conflict for them. I could have even been happy with an ending where they mutually decided to part ways because of this impasse. But instead, we got Boston desperate and confused and Nick firmly rejecting him, leaving him alone on the concrete. That's fucking rancid as an ending for them after everything they've been through.

And even with that said, had the whole show stayed true to its original tone of mess and chaos and destruction, I could have rolled with that bad ending for Boston and Nick if the sentiments of it were echoed across the show. But they decidedly were not. The narrative singled them out for this shitty ending while the other couples got to bask in unearned happiness. I get madder the more I think about it.

[wisehearts]

i dont understand the idea of service during sex that i've seen a lot in byler fan spaces. it seems to be about someone preferring to pleasure their partner over pleasuring themselves, or perhaps actually getting their pleasure from seeing their partner receiving it? but isnt that just normal healthy sex lol

the only alternative i can think of is someone who only has sex for themselves and basically uses their partner's body as a masturbation tool (something that a lot of douchebag men do unfortunately) which ofc is not an ideal scenario you would write for your fictional favs. i guess there could also be two people who are having sex and enjoying it, but still mainly in it for their own pleasure? but surely it's not possible to connect with someone during sex at all unless you keep their pleasure in mind anyway? hope you can help

hey! you're absolutely correct that it sounds like normal healthy sex (that's why I like exploring it!), I'd say "getting pleasure from seeing their partner receive it" is the meat of what a service top/partner is - so no need to worry about the alternative you mentioned! Some people think it means submissive but it really doesn't necessarily, at least from how I've interacted with it in life. and there's no 100% concrete definition, but it's less the general mutual "oh I'm making them feel good, we make each other feel good" of sex and more they actually get off on what they can do for their partner and don't necessarily expect the same thing back and are still just as fulfilled.

I like it for mike atm, but I see resistance for the role in general sometimes and I think there are two other things people can consider to help get a better understanding of why it's a totally valid and fun way to enjoy sex:

people's quite limited view of sex, whether due to inexperience or lack of knowledge

the belief that a partner can only experience their personal maximum pleasure from being the receiver is pretty basic. everyone has different likes, kinks, boundaries etc that to others might be a total turn off, there isn't one way to achieve full pleasure is my point! a simple example of some different forms of pleasure might be women who like to be held down vs a dominatrix, does that make sense? hopefully!

sex and love are not transactional

some people would genuinely think (and I've seen this) character A wouldn't be satisfied in life, or it's "unfair" if they don't also get fucked to completion, or fucked the same way they did character B, when it's simply not the only way to enjoy sex (this doesn't apply to eg. someone who finishes and then the sex is just over they don't bother helping their partner out 🍅 not what I'm talking about here). No one is cared for less (in fiction especially) just because one partner wasn't fucked the same way they did to the other, it's about sexual compatibility

so those points in relation to byler - for me! - are why I like mike getting off on will's reactions, the fact his body can please someone, body worship, praise kink vibes because will has no issue babbling praise since he genuinely feels amazing lmfao, getting overwhelmed and faltering, or rougher because he's trying so so hard and it excites him to see his best friend fall apart, to name a few :)

there's also the fact unless you really enjoy your preference in life, sex isn't the same every single time so there's degrees of the dynamic depending on the mood/scenario/horny levels - at least when I write!

tl;dr: service top/partner definition is pretty similar to how you'd view standard sex but the difference is that they don't operate with their own pleasure in mind as much/they get off on pleasuring

Hope this helped and didn't just confuse you more 😅❣️