#they use the language as a way to communicate

[xwritingdixonx]

To Kiss or To Kill. | Daryl Dixon |

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Masterlist

Summary: You and Daryl's relationship did not start kind. It did not begin as a friendship that turned sour over a quarrel. It began with fists and insults and continued this way until unforeseen circumstances leave you discovering that maybe Daryl and you were cut from the same cloth.

Warnings: rivals to lovers trope, daddy issues, language, descriptions of fights + bodily injuries, brief mentioning of homophobia, attempted SA, Reader is mentioned to be bisexual.

Word Count: aprox. 10k

Era: Prison to Alexandria

A/n: This is not my proudest work and I definitely think I could've done better with the material but I hope it can still be enjoyed!

Song recommendations: Ultraviolence - Lana Del Ray, Daylight - David Kushner , Sun Bleached Flies - Ethel Cain

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A lemon is sour from the start and rots with age.

The relationship you shared with Daryl could be described as said lemon.

It was nearing the end of summer. And though this meant the end of scorching heat, the winter proved to be a difficult season for survival. This morning at the prison had begun like any other. Daryl, Maggie, and Glenn we’re set out on a run to find any supplies necessary for the growing community. With all the new folk after the fall of the Governor only a few weeks before, it put more pressure on the group in their endless searches.

The town in which the prison resided did not hold many options when it came to scavenging but there was one place not yet explored. Pike County High School, the only high school in the small town of Zebulon, Georgia. Daryl thought the plan was futile. What was he to find in a high school besides dusty textbooks and inappropriate drawings in the bathroom stalls?

But none the less, Rick sent the trio on their way with a list of items in hand.

The school was as Daryl expected. Papers were thrown about the floors. Windows were broken leaving glass shards to crunch underneath their boots. Desks and chairs were thrown about. And worst of all, there was an eeriness that loomed the chaotic halls. But there was something else hanging in the air, stillness.

Maggie banged her gun on the rusted lockers and waited for any walkers to make themselves known. But the silence that followed was so loud you could practically hear the wind gliding through the shattered windows. Daryl took it a step further and threw a chair down the hall, creating a loud clattering noise as it collided with the wall. Yet still, nothing.

"Alright," Glenn muttered, his uneasiness just as high as the others. "Let's get what we need and get the hell out." Glenn pulled the list from his pocket, "Daryl find the nurse's office, take whatever you find no matter how unimportant it seems. Rick asked us to find some good books for the kids." Glenn passed the list over to a very unamused Daryl.

"Guess I ain't smart enough to find some books."

Daryl walked the halls of the school, crossbow in hand, keeping his ears peeled for any movements that weren’t his own. The silence unsettled Daryl for two reasons. There could be someone residing here which would make sense with the absence of walkers. But he could not shake the thought that there were once children who roamed these halls. Kids who were Carl’s age now. Kids who were planning who they wanted to be, and what they wanted their lives to be. But now their dreams were just as grim as these empty halls.

He spotted it as his gaze wandered from the walls to the floor.

Droplets of deep red stained the tile, varying in size and opacity. Daryl dragged his fingers along the droplets, smearing the coagulated blood. The blood was not as dry as Daryl had hoped.

Daryl drew his bow closer to himself, resting his finger on the trigger, and slowing his steps as he followed the trail of crimson dots. They led him exactly where he needed to be, the nurse's office.

The wood door creaked open, the natural light from the windows lighting the room. The scene worsened in the room. There were now blood smears staining the floors, cabinets swung open and drawers left agape. Someone had obviously barged in in a hassle, with desperate need to help themselves.

What concerned Daryl was the adjoined room to the far left, he could not see into the area unless he approached it directly. Keeping his bow up, he proceeded. Just as the tip of his bow peeked its way around the corner, it was knocked from his hands with a single blow.

Daryl had not known what knocked his bow from his grasp but he sure as hell felt the hit to his jaw.

The punch you had thrown sent a throbbing through your right hand, and the tendons in your arm fizzled with the sudden force. The man reacted quickly, grabbing you by both arms and pulling you away from the wall you had been hidden behind.

You ripped an arm from his grasp quick enough to unsheathe the blade on your thigh. The struggle continued, both of you equally pulling at the other in an attempt for dominance while simultaneously avoiding the cut of the blade. Random objects clattered to the ground in the tussle, including an old coffee mug falling and shattering.

The wound you had acquired on your leg was not helpful in this situation. Had your adrenaline not been so high, you would have dropped long ago. While you struggled to keep yourself standing, Daryl was simply shocked at the brute force of the woman in his grasp.

You paused for a moment, your grip on your knife tightening until your knuckles turned white. Just then you were able to look at him. Daryl saw the determination in your eyes. And though there was determination, there also seemed to be a pleading.

But with one forceful shove, you fell back, your leg buckling under you and your head hitting a cabinet.

A painful gasp left you, feeling the poorly done stitches rip your wound open again. Dropping your knife, your shaking hands grasped at the wound on your thigh as you pulled your back up against the cabinets. Your chest heaved with a mixture of adrenaline and pain. The skin on your thigh seared hot, every nerve around the wound throbbing.

Had you been paying attention, you would’ve noticed the man grip up his bow that was now aimed at you. It gave him time to examine you. You did not look dirty and unkept as other survivors had. Your hair was pulled back into a messy braid at the back of your head. Clothes black, all the way down to your boots. Holsters for weapons hung from your hips and thighs. And a pair of dog tags dangled around your neck.

“Daryl!” Maggie and Glenn came rambling through the door, weapons drawn. Daryl held a hand up to them, signaling that he was fine. The school was not one of great size, it did not surprise Daryl that they’d heard the tussle.

With the arrival of two new faces, you made an attempt to grab the blade you’d drop. But Daryl was quick and kicked the blade away leaving your hand to smack against the tile floor. Now left with no weaponry and not even a stable body to defend yourself, you’d figured you’d start begging to them or praying to God.

“I-I just want to leave. I’m-“ The sudden sharp tingle in your thigh cut your words short. You clenched your jaw tight and shut your eyes waiting for the muscle spasm to pass. “You’re not going anywhere on that leg.” Maggie holstered her gun and met you on the floor. There was a hesitation to her but in her heart she knew leaving you would be a death sentence. “My daddy can help you.”

“Maggie…”

“Glenn.” Maggie’s tone was stern, sending her husband a threatening glare.

While Maggie began to ask you questions, she motioned for the two men to scavenge the room. “What’s your name?”

“Y/n…”

Maggie pulled a handkerchief from her back pocket, scooting even closer to you. She motioned for you to lift your leg, “I’m Maggie. That’s Glenn and then Daryl.” She slipped the fabric beneath it, tying it in a tight knot around your wound. You winced at this, resisting the urge to pull her hands off of you.

“How many walkers have you killed?” Your eyebrows furrowed at the question. Had you known you were meant to keep track, you would’ve started long ago. “I don’t…know…a lot?” Your words were stuttered and shaken considering the pain you felt. You saw the man you had just fought glance at you from the corner of his eye. You began to debate if you should feel guilt for attacking him.

“That’s okay,” Maggie gave you a kind smile, “How many people have you killed?” She watched your face falter and your eyes shift to the ground then back to her. “Eight, I think.” Maggie gently nodded, her tone becoming slightly more serious “Why?”

“I’ve been alone for a long time.”

Maggie’s eyes met yours and for a moment, while you held each other's gaze, there was an understanding. An understanding that only another woman could begin to fathom.

Your arrival at the prison was nothing short of chaotic. The run starting as three and returning as four, though a possibility, was not expected.

A man with a beard pulled Daryl aside beginning to hound him with questions, Maggie supported you as you stood while Glenn ran off shouting the name Hershel. Much of everything after that was blurry. You could remember the man with the white beard mainly due to his kindness and gentle touch while he took care of your wounds. And you remembered the name Rick being tossed about in conversation.

"Let her rest." Hershel patted Glenn on the shoulder, muttering him a thank you for his help.

You lay flat on your back, your head and leg propped up with a pillow. You could not say it was the comfiest bed you'd ever laid in. You weren't even sure it was cozier than where you slept the night before. You fought the tiredness away, unsure of falling asleep in an unfamiliar community. But the medicine Hershel gave you made you drowsy. And soon every muscle felt heavy and your eyelids heavier.

You were unsure of how long you'd slept, only being startled awakened by the clank of metal. Rick noticed his mistake immediately pulling his hand away from the door of the cell, now standing with a guilty look on his face. "I'm sorry. I forget how loud these things are." You took a deep breath in an attempt to calm your beating heart. Rick entered the cell, opening the foldable chair Hershel had previously been sitting on.

"Was gonna drop these off for when ya woke up." Rick held up a glass of water and some type of protein bar. You adjusted yourself into a more proper sitting position, sending Rick a nod. As your mind awoke you became very conscious of your lack of pants, pulling the blanket farther up your waist. You were grateful that Ricks seemed to avert his eyes.

"I'm Rick.” His accent was noticeable.

“Y/n.” Just like your own.

“Maggie and Daryl told me a little bit about you but I wanted to speak with you directly.”

Rick held a certain type of authority to him. He spoke to you politely while still holding himself with dominance. A certain awkwardness became present when Rick spent a tad bit too long racking his brain for a question. “M’sorry about attacking, uhm… Daryl.” You decided to cut the awkwardness yourself.

To your surprise, Rick chuckled at your apology. “Please don’t apologize.” He looked at you, still with a smile on your face. “You were doing what you thought was right.” Rick shifted in the metal chair, resting his elbows atop his knees. "Did you serve?" Rick pointed to your neck, "Is that how you learned to fight?" You instinctively reached for the dog tags hanging from their chain.

"No no, they were my dads." You rubbed the smooth metal anxiously, feeling the indents of the letters and numbers imprinted. "I was an only child, only daughter at that, so my dad was rather protective of me... He had me in every boxing or self-defense class he could afford." A chuckle followed your words, reminiscing on the memory. Rick could understand your father's need to protect, having two children of his own.

"Rick." A gruff voice interrupted your conversation. The man named Daryl took up the doorway. When his eyes met yours, he seemed to falter under your gaze. He nudged his head in the opposite direction, asking for Rick to come with him. "Alright." Rick stood from the chair with an exasperated sigh, "Imma leave this right here for ya." Rick placed the water and protein bar on the chair in his place.

On his way out, he turned to you, "Maggie's gonna bring you up some clean clothes and help you get washed up. That alright?" His kind, yet tired, eyes sought an answer. You nodded and muttered a quiet thank you in return.

Your time in the prison since then could only be described as isolating. The injury on your leg kept you mostly restrained to the bed in your newly appointed cell. So, most of your time was spent with Maggie, Hershel, and occasionally Rick coming and going. Maggie cared for you in any way she could, nourishing you with food and assisting you in showering and changing. She had seemed to take a liking to you, as you did her, and you assumed you could now call her a friend.

However, there was another you don't think you could call much of anything.

Maggie helped you outside to the courtyard after you’d expressed that you were going mad looking at the same four walls. She’d left you with the book of Little Women, a blank leather journal, and a blue ink pen. “Holler if you need me, okay?” Maggie gently patted your shoulder before departing to meet Glenn only a few yards away.

Being outside after your imprisonment for the last 5 days, revived something in you. The heat from the sun's rays provided warmth on your skin but the cool breeze prevented you from overheating. You could not remember the last time you'd been outdoors without your head on a swivel or without the fear of being someone's dinner.

You could not focus on your book or your journal with the people who walked about the courtyard throwing glances your way. Everyone had heard about, the girl with the leg injury, with time. Random passers-by flashed you smiles, small waves, or even shy hello’s all of which you felt inclined to return.

“Y/n?” Though the voice was familiar, it did not stop the annoyance of having to put your pen down once again. You looked to the man, “Hi Rick.” Rick gleamed with a smile on his face “I’m glad to see you out here.”

Rick took it upon himself to take a seat at the table across from you making it obvious he desired to continue this conversation.

"Were you able to think about what we talked about?" Rick came by yesterday evening with a proposition for you. He invited you to join in with the group of people who went on runs for the community. Once you were fully healed, of course.

The only downside to this was who your main run partner was to be, Daryl. Rick saw something between you that you weren’t quite sure you saw yourself.

Daryl felt a wave of awkwardness standing behind Rick as he spoke to you. The same awkwardness he felt only a few days before standing in that doorway. Daryl knew of Rick's plans having been talked to about it only a few hours before.

He felt no need for a run partner. He was perfectly fine going about on his own but Rick thought the opposite.

What if something happens to you?

What if you get stuck somewhere?

We can’t afford to send search parties out for you.

All valid arguments from Rick. But Daryl had no desire to hear any of it. His stubbornness made him deaf.

Daryl could very clearly see you now. Whatever dirt and grime washed away revealed a remarkable woman. Your hair appeared soft and your dark eyes almost sparkled with the sun. He could see the definition of muscles on your biceps, highlighted by the short sleeves of your shirt. How you composed yourself screamed confidence as if you knew you were too pretty for a world so ugly.

And it infuriated him.

“Yeah, I uh...I wanna help any way I can.” Rick seemed pleased with your answer though the person behind him did not. You shifted in your seat, feeling Daryl’s eyes burn into you. In an attempt to redeem yourself, you spoke again, “If there’s anything I can do now, I want to.” Rick nodded at this, “We’ll find ya something.”

You could hear Daryl scoff from behind Rick. And though you tried to ignore it, you could not help the sour look you gave him in return. Daryl saw this as an invitation to continue his pronounced distaste.

“Don’t need someone who can’t walk holding me down.”

"Don't need someone who couldn't fight a girl holding me down."

Your response was quick-witted and more degrading to Daryl's masculinity than his insult to your injury. If you weren't mistaken, Daryl's eye twitched.

Rick stood from his seat to begin their exit, knowing the lengths of Daryl's temper. "You ain't nothing I couldn't handle." The chuckle you responded with and the glint of excitement in your eyes at the looming argument tested Daryl even more. "Sure, Daryl."

It was the first time you'd ever spoken his name to him. And he never stopped thinking of it for days to come. The way it rolled off your tongue and sounded with that southern twang. It left him restless at night and irritable during the day.

When your leg had healed and you'd grown tired of cleaning the library or serving daily meals, your first outing with Daryl was set. And it started just as rocky as it ended.

"Ya get bit, I ain't gonna hesitate to put a bullet in yer head."

"Why wait? I'm standing right here."

You remained quiet after that, not wanting to push the tension even more. But even the simplest of questions left Daryl huffing and puffing. It started with you asking how his morning was going. And it ended with you asking why he was such a prick.

It was a silent ride home.

You'd like to think you'd tried to find his good side in those beginning days but you soon began to question if such a thing even existed. Any time you were kind to him, he retaliated with anger. It brought out a certain type of frustration in you that you didn’t know was possible.

Within your time at the prison, you'd made yourself an esteemed part of the community. You used your [now useless] degree in agriculture to help build the gardens and begin the planting of any seeds you could find. Rick took a heavy trust in you and appointed you a seat on the prison council. And you'd shown your skills in scavenging, even when you had Daryl breathing down your neck.

It was difficult to pinpoint exactly when this whole charade started. Perhaps it had started in the nurse's office, in the courtyard, or on your first run together. But it did not matter where it began because there was one thing for sure, there seemed to be no end.

You both had a hold over another, in a way no one else did.

Daryl hated your confidence because he lacked his own. He hated that you were quick to go toe to toe with him. Because many others were too scared. He despised that you were so smart, a college graduate. And he especially hated when you spoke so highly of your father. Because he didn’t have a father to talk about at all.

But there was always a ting of something in all of his hate. Jealousy.

You hated his ego. You hated the fact that he contradicted everything you said. You hated when he called you names. Princess, he’d say or, miss college graduate. You hated that he never even tried to get to know you; to know that you weren’t this pretentious brat he painted you to be. Despite being with each other on a regular basis, there was a lacking of personal connection.

Neither of you truly knew the other. Where did he grow up? Has he ever broken any bones? What was his favorite candy as a child? When did he have his first drink?

Daryl pondered the same of you. Who taught you to braid your hair? You spoke of your father but never your mother, what happened to her? Why the dog tags? Have you ever loved another?

It was a day familiar to all the others. Your hot morning tea whirled about in your mug, your feet gliding gently around the grounds of the growing garden. After all your laborious hours in the Georgia heat, it was gratifying to see the various plants take bloom. Knowing there'd soon be a garden big enough to feed the community gave you satisfaction and perhaps a sliver of peace.

"You comin' or what?"

And there goes another blissful morning pissed down the drain.

Your long braid fell from your shoulder to your back when you looked at the disgruntled man. "We might need to find you a new mattress." You made your way to him, shoving your mug into his chest, "You can't ever seem to find a good side to wake up on." He scoffed, involuntarily taking your mug. The two of you, along with Michonne and Glenn, were set out on yet another run. Not one of great importance nor would it take that long of time but nonetheless it was still time spent around him.

Daryl followed behind you as you continued your way back to the prison, mug still in hand. "Michonne and Glenn are waitin' while yer staring at some fuckin' bushes." It was your turn to scoff, "They're not bushes. It's food. And a lot of fucking work."

Oh, Daryl knew how much work it had taken from you.

In the weeks he'd spent out in the gardens, his eyes worked more than his hands. He couldn't not look. You wore a tank top every day with the same black gardening gloves and dog tags dangling from your neck. The muscles in your biceps were always highlighted from the hours of digging. The blistering sun always had you drenched in sweat leaving your skin constantly glossy. Words couldn't describe the way he felt when it was dripping down your neck and into the crevice of your breast.

He was outraged for the entire three weeks.

"Whatever."

The mug in his hand became very apparent to him. "When the hell ya give me this?" He now strode beside you, approaching the car at the gates. You smiled to yourself, "A while ago."

Daryl would have preferred to ride his bike to avoid being trapped in such a confined space with you. But it was, “A waste of gas” as Rick would say.

You weren’t exactly sure what Daryl had done. But he had particularly did you in today. So greatly that you almost walked home. Glenn had to beg you to come back. Perhaps it was the way he glared at you that threw you over the edge. So cold and hostile. Or the way he stepped all over your feet, cutting you off mid-sentence, always thinking that he was right. You were simply always wrong.

This particular run would change the trajectory of your relationship forever. 

You and Daryl had split in the strip mall, deciding to cover more ground separately. The strip was usually overrun with a hoard of walkers but as of late, they seemed to be diminishing one at a time. It had become clear enough to begin digging at the stores it held. Some random clothing stores, liquor shops, a CVS pharmacy, and dead restaurants.

You were rummaging about the pharmacy, most of it already picked through. 

Examining the bottle of prenatal vitamins in your hand for Maggie, you heard footsteps. Thinking it was Daryl you spoke. "It's not like these expiration dates even matter anymore." Blind to your danger, you turned to face him.

Before you were given time to react to the two strange men, you were grabbed by the back of your neck, pulling at the nape of your hair, a blade held to the side of your throat. The bottle dropped from your hand, clattering to the floor. You grasped the man's arm attempting to keep the blade from your skin but you'd failed; cuts appeared on the delicate skin.

"Stay." The other man reached for your gun belt, unholstering your weapon and keeping it for himself. You kept your calm but your eyes widened with fear. "Scream and you'll die." The short man with the knife moved it away from your throat, his hand freeing your neck. The other man, who had taken your gun, now had it pointed at you.

It was loaded. You knew because you were the one who'd loaded it that very morning.

"Ya can't just come into the place we've worked so hard to clean up and start taking things...we need some form of payment."

"I have my bag." You offered hoping they would merely steal your things and go. Slowly, not taking your eyes off them, you moved your pack off your back. "There's food and ammo and other supplies." Your bag was snatched from your hands with haste. "Thank you." It wasn't genuine, just taunting.

"But that's not what we want." Their eyes looked at you more hungry than any walker. Once you realize what they meant, tears begin to blur your vision. You could feel them begin to come closer to you. Feeling helpless and too stunned to cry out for Daryl, you weren't sure if you should start fighting or begging.

Daryl heard your continuous screeches from down the way, dropping his bag of clothing. "Y/n!" His feet carried him to you swiftly. You cried his name shoving one man off of you from your pinned spot against the shelves. It was foolish of Daryl to begin shooting so wildly.

Luckily you moved to the floor in avoidance of the bullets, covering your head and blocking your ears.

You kept yourself crouched on the ground, deaf to what was happening around you. Until a hand grabbed your bicep and hoisted you from the ground, "Come on, we gotta go." For once you were relieved to see Daryl.

But you wouldn't be for long.

"We shouldn't have split up!" Daryl shouted. He was walking too fast for you to keep up, as he did at times. You trailed behind him stumbling your way over the branches and leaves in an attempt to make it back to the road with his bike. "You always got stupid fuckin' ideas!" Daryl's adrenaline was still pumping, too ignorant to think of you. He muttered to himself, “Course there was people, walkers don’t just clear out by themselves.”

He marched onto the blacktop.

"Ya talk big game just to not do nothing to help yourself." Daryl was angrily throwing the green brush off his bike, removing it from its hidden spot in the treeline. "Always talkin' 'bout yer daddy and what he did for ya." Daryl said this more to himself but it didn’t fail to reach your ears.

"Well, where was he now yuh?" Daryl turned around to face you, his chest heaving. Only to catch you in the midst of buttoning your pants. Guilt dreaded him.

You didn't care to hear his insults. And you had no desire to get on that bike and be so close to him right now. 

"I.." Words couldn't find themselves in your mouth. All you could focus on was the way everything felt frozen yet moving at an intense speed at the same time. Daryl saw the way you struggled with yourself.  

There was a twisting pain within your chest as your panic only grew. "Y/n." Daryl put his frustrations aside, the situation becoming clear to him now. He swallowed down his pride and reached a hand out to you. Before his fingertips could even graise the fabric of your shirt, you took a step back. "No." You spoke gently, looking out to the woods instead of to Daryl; all you could fathom now was the desire to escape. 

"Y/n," Daryl repeated more soft, "We gotta go home." 

"I don't want to." You turned back to him abruptly. He could see the tears irritating your eyes. Where your hands lay across your chest, you could feel your rapid heart. 

"Why not?" Daryl couldn't understand why you wouldn't want to go home. It was safe, it was comfortable. Two things you desperately need right now.

"I can't, I…I can't get on the bike right now." Your frustration with yourself was growing. 

Why couldn't you just get on the bike? 

Why couldn't you breathe? 

Why didn't you listen to Daryl and not split up? 

Why was Daryl being so kind to you suddenly? Was it pity? You hated pity.

"Alright." Daryl watched the tears begin to roll down your cheeks. "We can walk, it's alright." There was no way of making it back to the prison on foot before sundown. Daryl knew this. But it was a sacrifice he was willing to make for you.

Daryl gripped the handles on his bike, walking the heavy machine down the road with you in tow. You were seemingly able to calm yourself down. The only thing remaining now was shame. You were embarrassed that Daryl had seen you so vulnerable. And you were even more embarrassed that he had to save you.

All the countless years felt wasted. All that time spent in the ring or on some thin gym mats. All those tireless nights where your father wouldn’t allow you to rest until you got one more. It was a phrase all too familiar.

You knew Daryl was annoyed having to walk, his huffs and buffs gave it away. The sun was beginning to set. "Daryl we can drive." You tried to persuade for the third time. "S'fine." 

"Daryl, it's getting dark." 

"S'fine!" He shouted back frustrated with the disappearing sun. You stopped in your tracks. "I know somewhere we can sleep."

You could hear the soft sounds of the water flowing down the river bed. The moon allowed a glow onto the water, gleaming with the current. Crickets and cicadas chirped in the night air like music to your ears. Despite the struggles of being in the wilderness alone, nights like this made you miss it. 

"What ya doin' over there?" Daryl asked sitting a few feet behind you at the fire. "Nothing."

You pushed yourself from the ground, making your way back to him. Daryl bitterly smoked his cigarette. You didn't need to ask to know why he was so irritated, you could already imagine. Perhaps catching the fish for dinner was what did it. Or the hundreds of pounds of metal he walked for miles. Or maybe he actually was mad about having to save you. Or the simple fact that he was stuck out here with you. 

You couldn't pick one.

No words were spoken, just the sounds of the wilderness and the crackling of the fire. It allowed you to think.

You began to wonder if you'd ever actually hated him. Because how could you hate someone you'd grown such an attachment to? How could you hate the person you screamed out for in your time of need? There were countless days where he'd anger you so much you thought you might actually strangle him. But somehow you always went right back. You always met him at the gates or stumbled upon him at breakfast. 

Staring off into the fire you began to accept that you all along had been trying [and presumably failing] to win him over. "You okay?" Your eyes looked from the fire to him. His cigarette no longer present, "M'fine." You replied. 

Daryl would be lying if he said he wasn't worried about you. Just because he didn't care for you at times, didn't mean he doesn't care about you. "It happened a couple times out on the road. I could handle it then...I just..." You shifted where you sat, "Got surprised today was all." To hear this wasn't the first time but a time of many, gutted Daryl. 

You had become more afraid of encountering a man than a walker. 

Daryl was never angry with you. He was more angry with himself, unable to protect you from finding yourself in such a situation.

"Wasn't yer fault. M'sorry." Shockingly, Daryl's guilt overshined his ego.

You let out a deep sigh looking back out towards the water. You knew his apology was sincere but you couldn't find the courage to acknowledge it. "I was just thinking about how I miss it out here sometimes. The sounds, the views, the peace."

Your confidence and sharp tongue did not seem present at this moment. Looking back to him, he seemed completely entranced by this newfound gentle side of you. "But that's only one percent of it, isn't it?" Daryl never took his eyes off yours, the fire casting an orange glow within them. "Yeah."

The other ninety - nine percent was the actual survival. All the bloody fights. The permanent anxiety. The sleepless nights due to fear. The painful emptiness of your stomach. The constant blisters on your ankles [that never healed] from running or walking. And the unbearable hopelessness. 

"Were ya always alone?" Daryl had always been curious. You shook your head, "No." He nodded his head and looked away, leaving it at that. He had no desire to make your night even more miserable by talking about the ones you'd lost.

"It was just me and my brother for awhile."

"Meryl?" 

Daryl furrowed his eyebrows knowing he'd never mentioned him before. 

"Maggie's talked about him briefly." 

"All nice things?" Daryl asked sarcastically. 

"Not really." Your attempt to stifle your laugh was a failure, the smile lingering. But this did not anger Daryl the way you thought it would. Instead, he had his own small smile, scoffing and shaking his head. "He wasn't the best at times...but he was my brother ya know?"

You nodded muttering a, yeah. 

Daryl flicked the butt of his cigarette into the dying fire. Knowing this was the first and potentially last time you'd ever speak to another so tenderly again, you continued. 

"I was an only child. My mom died in childbirth when I was eight…so I never got siblings." 

"M'sorry."

"Don't." You didn't say it to be cruel. You grew up hearing sympathy after sympathy, you did not need anymore. "I was never alone though. I had my Dad. And my aunt and uncles helped take care of me so I was surrounded by my cousins all the time...I guess I did have siblings in a way." A nauseating wave of nostalgia rose in your throat, silencing you for a mere second. 

"My mom died when I was young too. 'Cept my Dad was just some drunk asshole, didn't care 'bout nobody but himself." Daryl couldn't deny his slight envy towards you. You grew up with a father who cared for you and your safety. It made him wonder how you'd ended up alone in the end.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't need yer apologies Y/n."

"I know."

The fire was no more. Only red hot embers burning on the rocky gravel. And it made you think that perhaps it was symbolic that the fire was slowly diminishing as your conversation grew more gentle. 

A few minutes of silence had passed before either of you spoke again. "Look at us, talking to each other, treating each other like human beings for once." You joked with a laugh in an effort to replace the depressing mood. 

You actually heard Daryl chuckle even though he lowered his head in an attempt to hide it. His eyes glanced at you, your own cheeky smile dimpling your cheeks. If this is what having a personal connection with Daryl was, it was dangerous.

Why did it take so long? 

Was what you wanted to scream at him.

I could've loved you if you'd just given me a chance. 

"Maybe we have more in common than we ever allowed." 

Daryl broke eye contact with you, staring down at the glowing embers, chewing on his bottom lip. And he did the only thing he ever learned how to do when he felt something. "Night Y/n." 

You didn't know why you expected anything different. 

"Goodnight Daryl." 

Daryl took his vest off, rolling it up and using it as a makeshift pillow. He turned away from you, his back tauntling in your face. 

You stayed up a little while after, too overwhelmed by thoughts to rest. Unbeknownst to you, Daryl could not rest either. In fact, he did not sleep that entire night, only allowing himself ten-minute naps here and there. The only sense of relaxation he felt was when he'd check over his shoulder and see you in blissful sleep. As if nothing and no one had ever touched you. 

When Rick asked what'd happened, Daryl lied. Saying you'd been outrun by a hoard and had to crash somewhere safe for the night. The days continued on, and what happened that day was not spoken of again. But there had come an understanding that Daryl and you were indeed, more in-common than ever allowed.

Patrick approached Daryl and you at breakfast as you mapped the run for the next morning. "H-hi!" Patrick greeted sheepishly, giving a small wave to the table. Maggie and Glenn greeted him first. Then you, pulling your attention away from the map on the table to him; giving a polite smile and nod. "Hey Patrick, everything okay?" Rick asked from where he sat beside Daryl. "Yeah..." Patrick was nervous on his feet, awkwardly pushing his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose. "I wanted to ask Daryl and Y/n if I could join them out there?" 

There was suddenly a stiffness in the air. Glances were exchanged between the lot of you. "Patrick I-" Rick scratched his beard awkwardly, finding a response for the boy.  Patricks's confidence plummeted. He had spent hours building up the courage to ask, only to be met with stiff glances. 

"How old are you Patrick?" It was an odd question for you to ask but it did not come without reason. "Uhmm fifteen." 

You rose from your seat making your way over to him as gently as your feet would allow. Come, you spoke gently reaching an arm out to him. 

Patrick began to walk with you. 

"I was younger than you when my father began to enroll me in fighting classes…a short time after my mother died.”

Pausing your words, you continued your stroll until you stopped just before hitting the grass. "He told me that you could never be too young to be prepared for what the world was to through at you...What does that mean to a little girl who only wanted to play with her Barbies?"

Patrick listened to you intentively, entranced by the way you spoke.

Looking out to the green gardens, you seemed lost in thought for a second.  "I don't think your question is outrageous. I just don't think you're prepared." Patrick seemed to understand this answer more, nodding his head.

You knew the day would come when the prison folk grew tired of looking at the same walls and more curious about the world beyond. Especially the children. You'd seen the group of kids over by the fences, close enough to look at the walkers but far enough away for safety. It was often that they were scolded by the adults. 

"I know I’m not a fighter. I’m not like you or Daryl or even Carl. But I just wanna…” Patrick paused, “be brave for once.”

You couldn't help but smile at the innocence of the boy. 

"You can't go out there knowing nothing Patrick." He had finally begun to accept defeat but the long face and disappointed eyes tugged at your sympathy. 

"I can teach you. Just as my father taught me." Patrick's eyes lit up with hope. "Th-thank you Y/n." He gleamed with excitement, reaching a hand out to shake yours. You were truly at a loss of words with no choice but to shake it in return. 

You'd spent day after day out in the field with Patrick. You taught him how to block blows, how to hold and use daggers, and much more. He was skittish and shaky most days but he was trying. In place of your days with Patrick, you were skipping your usual days with Daryl. You truly hadn't thought he'd mind much. If anything, you assumed he'd be happy to finally have a break from you.

"I feel like this wouldn't hurt that bad." Patrick commented. Carl was punching the book Patrick held, having begun to invite himself to the practices. Thick index books were the closest thing you'd find to a punching bag. You chuckled, "It hurts more than you'd expect."

Daryl approached the three of you. You could hear his footsteps. You’d recognize them even in the dead of night. They were gentler than normal as if he wished to not disturb. "It hurts more if you have rings on." Patrick looked at you curiously, "Did you used to wear rings Y/n?" You nodded happily. "All the time.”

You turned to finally face Daryl. "Hey." You greeted, taking the last few steps to meet him. "Hi." Daryl looked about, chewing on his bottom lip. "You ain't been showing up for runs." It almost, almost, sounded as if this upset him. "I've been here," you motioned to the young boys, "You know that." 

Daryl nodded.

Of course he knew. He saw you every day, always wanting to come over and join but never allowing himself to. 

"You really serious 'bout all this?" Daryl nudged his head to Patrick and Carl. You let out a deep sigh. You asked yourself the same question. Was this serious? Did you really plan on taking a kid outside the gates? There was a chance this was all for nothing at all. But what you did know was that it kept your mind at peace and your days busy.

"I don't know. I thought we could at least take him down to the river. It's nice down there, it's not far, would get him outta here for a few hours." 

The river.

"Alright."

"Alright."

You sat alone at dinner that night, needing quiet time after hanging out with teenage boys for the majority of your day. You poked about your rice and veggies, still working on the copy of Little Women. "Hey." Daryl greeted. The day was growing late, the sun beginning to disappear from beneath the trees; he'd presumably just gotten back.

"Hi." You looked from your page, secretly happy he was giving you an excuse to put it down. Daryl's eyes looked anywhere but your own. "I-uh...got something for ya." Daryl dug into his front pocket, grabbing the handful of metal. He placed the rings on the table, making their own clattering noise together as they fell.

You seemed bewildered at this. "What...uh." Daryl chewed nervously on his thumb. He'd searched through this town and the next to find them for you, rummaging through old antique stores and dusty jewelry boxes. Picking out the ones he thought you’d like; which could mean nothing at all. “You didn't have to."

"S'fine." You nodded, the smile finally creeping it’s way to your features. "Thank you, Daryl." You were flattered. Flattered to think that for once, he'd actually listened to you. "Do you wanna go get dinner and come sit?" You offered.

"Yeah, I'd like that."

A certain closeness was growing. The arguments slowly became banter. And the war of dominance diminished. You began to work together as partners, mapping runs and brainstorming improvements for the prison. Instead of using your skills against each other, you’d began to find the perfect balance between.

Daryl joined you most days with Patrick. He found that he had no desire to go beyond the gates unless you were in tow.

There were moments when sheer frustration retook hold of you. But never did it reach the lengths as before. It came with reason, with a pleading, instead of merely arguing of who was right and who was wrong.

You turned the rings on your fingers about as you walked to the dining area outside. Daryl was a ways away, smoking his morning cigarette. “Morning.” You greeted, crossing your arms and taking your spot beside him. “Morning.”

The end of summer was near, mornings were chillier than usual but days still hot from the sun. There was a curtain of peace over this particular morning. The smell of Daryl’s cigarette filled your nose along with the morning dew. His presence comforted you. “I think it was around this time last year when you guys picked me up.”

Daryl blew the smoke from his lips, “Yeah, biggest mistake ever.” He joked. This earned a laugh from you. Daryl watched the joy on your face; it scrunched your eyes and accentuated the apples of your cheeks. “Yeah, I bet.”

He couldn’t take his eyes from you and a heaviness weighed within his chest. Because he knew, just as you did, that it was not only friendship lingering. It was more.

“I think I’m gonna go out, make sure the path to the river is clear.” Daryl knew what this insinuated. “We’re taking him out today?” Daryl had begun to hope that all of your time with Patrick was nothing, that it was merely something to fill up the days. “It feels like a peaceful day…” You could hear the uncertainty in his voice. “Besides, Patrick’s not been feeling good, I doubt he’ll even want to go. It’s the effort that means something to him.”

Hmm, Daryl hummed. You nudged your elbow into him, “Keep an eye on him for me, okay?” Daryl hummed in response again. “D…” You nudged him again as if needing a more reassuring answer for your verbal contract. The nickname perked his ears and heated his cheeks. Looking to you, he nodded.

You gave him a thankful smile. “Be safe!” Daryl shouted to you as you began on your way.

Arriving back to the prison you could feel within your gut that something was wrong. The sympathetic eyes that Michonne greeted you with solidified this.

Daryl recognized your footsteps entering the cell block.

“What's happened?" Daryl rushed to stand in front of you, blocking your path. It was eerily silent. “Come on.” Daryl placed his hands on your shoulders trying to turn you away. You shoved his hands from you, slipping past him.

"Y/n.” Daryl could not stop you from continuing on. Your expression was stuck in a state of confusion and shock as your feet guided about the chaotic cell block. It smelled of metallic blood and bitterly sour. Almost as though you'd stuck your nose in a gaping infected wound. When you'd turned your head to glance into a cell, you saw him.

Patrick lay still on the ground, an arrow lodged in his skull. An airy gasp left you, clutching your hands to your chest. It was as if you couldn't take your eyes away. Your eyes still not yet communicating to your brain what you were looking at. But when it did, the only thing you could seem to focus on was the arrow. An arrow.

Daryl watched the realization settle on your features when you turned to him. For once, Daryl felt a sense of fear. And it only worsened when you began towards him. 

It was as quick as a breath. You unsheathed the dagger on your hip and aimed it at him. 

"Y/n no!" 

Daryl caught your wrists, the blade mere inches from his right eye. Though he stopped the blade, your brute force did not stop him from being shoved into the closest wall.  

"I told you to look out for him!" You yelled through your glassy eyes.

He had no words for you, pure guilt blocking any defense or insult.

"I had to." You scoffed at this, "I can't trust you to do anything." 

"Y/n it's not his fault. It was an accident." Rick reasoned with you.

With his back pressed against the wall, he had fully submitted himself to your wrath. His guilt would let you kill him now if you'd like. His hands around your wrist did not hurt nor squeeze to withhold your strength, they began to merely rest there.

Your rapid breathing began to slow to deep inhales and exhales, ones that moved your entire chest. Your eyes remained steady on his, the world drowning out around you. 

While his eyes showed remorse, yours burned with anger; eyebrows furrowed, hot tears slipping down your cheeks.

With one forceful shove, you ripped your arms from Daryl's grasp, his back bumping the cement wall. The dagger made a clattering noise to the floor, having been lost from your grasp in the process. You stood there for a moment looking to Daryl as if waiting for something.

"M'sorry."

His apology only seemed to anger you, your face once again turning hateful. You took a few steps back before making your exit.  

When time came to take care of the ones lost, you helped dig their graves; in defiance of everyone telling you not to. Your hands covered in splinters from the blistering wood of the shovel’s handle. The once thriving and growing prison become melancholy, a heavy cloud of sorrow always above.

You and Daryl had not spoken for days. You'd ditched any planned runs that had been scheduled. But without fail, Daryl waited every morning for you, on the off chance you'd join him again. And when you never did, he kept an eye on you from afar. 

You had become quiet and distant. He seemed to only find you chatting with Maggie or Glenn and on the off chance, Rick. You were on fence duty every day presumably taking out every bit of anger on those poor dead bastards.

You'd been out there day after day, nothing but water in your system, running off of pure spite and grief. You'd be out there till your adrenaline wore off and your body gave up on itself from exhaustion. If Daryl wasn't mistaken he had spotted you crying on some days; but that bloody pipe never left your hands.

You had begun to wake up earlier than Daryl, always managing to slip away from him just in time. You ignored him at every meal and walked by him as if he was a ghost. 

Daryl couldn't deny the itch of missing you. He longed for you to look at him again, to smile at him and call him names. He began to even miss when you yelled at him, as cruel and loud as you could be. 

Daryl couldn't continue on like this. You were torturing him.

He had awoken particularly early this day, ensuring he was in the kitchen long before you; knowing you never skipped your morning tea.

Exhaustion was all you could feel. Your body raged against your decisions every day. Your arms were sore, hands red and raw from gripping the damn pipe so hard. But you could not allow yourself to be around him. You couldn't stand to be trapped in those cells, indulged with pity.  

Wrapping the strap of the fingerless gloves around your wrist, you wandered into the kitchen. Glancing up, you saw him, stopping your steps. The kitchen was dark on this early morning, the sun not yet fully risen. 

Every thought Daryl had vanished from his mind. Every speech he'd rehearsed or apology left him in an instant. He hadn't known seeing you face to face, alone, would leave him so breathless. Daryl could see your exhaustion even in the dim light. Your usually neat braid had been done in haste, it was sloppy and hairs fell messily into your face. The constant emotional distress dragged on your features.  

"I had to see ya."

You crossed your arms over your chest, closing yourself off from him. "So you just waited for me here." Your tone was venom to him. Daryl swallowed sharply, second-guessing his actions. "Ya get yer tea every mornin'." It would be flattering to think he'd memorized your everyday routine if it was any other time. But you couldn't find that now. 

"Was gonna go out..."

He wasn't. Daryl would only go if you were in tow.

You scoffed at him. Had he truly gone through all this effort just to ask you to join him on a sleazy run? 

Your attitude hurt Daryl more than he'd like to admit. "Just wanted to see if ya wanted to come with me?"

You knew why he actually was here. Scratching the skin on your arm nervously, you said, "No Daryl." 

“Why the hell not?” Your mouth dropped agape. Astonished at his mere audacity. “Why not?” You repeated back. Daryl looked at you blankly. Should he apologize? Or should he begin his stubbornness rant about all the ways it wasn't his fault? You shook your head, "You're pathetic."

The fire was lit once again.

You'd insulted his ego and his efforts to meet you here. But most of all, you'd insulted any feelings he'd developed for you.

Daryl's face switched from hurt to a hateful glare in a second. You didn’t care to continue on with him, turning and disappearing into the hallway. Daryl’s anger took hold of him as he rushed after you. “M’pathetic?” He followed after you, stomping like a child.

You ignored him, continuing on, letting the door slam in his face when you exited outside. Daryl following suit in your path did not falter. Carol and Rick turned their attention to the commotion.

Daryl and you spewed insults at each other. You'd reached down in yourself, past the grief and guilt, and pulled any degrading thing you could manage to say to him. And he did the same. No words you said could possibly cut him as deeply as his actions cut you.

"I shoulda left ya out there!" 

"Yeah I wish you fucking would've..." You took a step closer to him. "But you couldn't because you fucking needed me." 

"I don't need you." 

"You fucking need me." You repeated. 

"Yeah? Then you need me!"

"I don't fucking need you! I never needed you."

Daryl lowered his tone, narrowing his eyes. "Ya didn't need me out there, hm?" He watched your furrowed eyebrows falter. Daryl knew he was crossing a line but couldn't find it in his heart to stop. "Where was yer daddy that day, yuh?"

Your glassy eyes looked up at him attempting to form your own degrading insult. "What? Say it, come on say it Y/n." He egged you on.

You only think about yourself, just like your father.

But you refrained, swallowing your words along with your tears. "Fuck you." Daryl watched you walk away, wiping at your face. "Fuck you!" Regret dreaded him. He could have run after you then, apologies spewing from his mouth but his stubbornness kept him still.

The prison fell that same day.

Amid chaos and destruction, Daryl could only find himself to look for you. And when he finally accepted defeat, he could only pray that you'd made it out.

You had fled on your own. Fighting your way through to return to the comfort of the wilderness. After a few strenuous days on your own again, you'd found Carol and Tyreese; joining them with the girls. The blisters on your feet had returned as did the heaviness deep in your chest.

You thought about him more than you'd like to admit. And Carol did her part in reminding you of him on the daily. You'd begun to dwell on how you'd treated him in those final days.

"I regret it deeply now." You'd say to Carol.

"I'm sure he feels the same." She'd respond.

A longing for your life to return as it was among those prison walls struck you down every hour of every day. The wish to go back to that morning and accept his offer. To take his hand and go beyond the walls. Maybe one more day together would’ve fixed everything. And you wouldn’t be left with the guilt of leaving things off on a bad note; never to see him again.

The smoke rose above the tree line, only making you more anxious. With Tyreese and Judith safely at the cabin, you kept guard at the road. Keeping an eye for anyone making an escape.

Kill them if they weren’t one of us. Carol instructed.

But the sound of gunfire made you unsure of anyone’s survival. Fuck, you muttered to yourself out of frustration. You glanced constantly down the road and amongst the trees, hoping for a familiar face.

You turned your last surviving ring anxiously about your finger. A rustle in the woods grabbed your attention. You gripped your gun closely in your hands, stepping towards the tree line. When it was deemed clear, you continued on, your boots crunching on the leaves.

Your ears perked at a sudden crunch of a twig. Whipping your body around, you pointed your gun.

Daryl aimed his bow to you, the tip of your weapons mere inches from the other. Your breath caught in your throat. His eyes were tired, his face bruised. But you couldn't say you looked any better.

Both your fingers lingered over your triggers, though neither of you would shoot. Daryl lowered his bow. Looking at you with teary eyes. You lowered your own weapon, looking to him with the same unsure gaze. There seemed to be a mutual understanding that neither of you had the energy to fight. "Y/n?" Maggie snapped you from your daze. “Maggie?” You rushed to embrace her, discarding Daryl.

The weeks spent on the road proved to be difficult. Everyone grew more hopeless by the day and this hopelessness only grew when it became loss after loss. There was truly no time to heal from one loss before having to mourn another. First Bob, then Tyreese, and then Beth. You’d glued yourself to Maggie after Beth just as she did for you after Patrick.

Daryl mourned Beth in private. You wanted to be there for him, to provide him a shoulder to cry on. But he’d shut you out, just as you’d done to him. And besides, you never even tried, too focused on Maggie to consider it more than a thought.

You and Daryl had become strangers once again. There was no room for forgiveness, no time to spew apologies to each other, and no space to coddle each other through the pain.

Alexandria came to the suffering group, shining a new light of hope and a more secure future.

But this meant you could not hide from him anymore nor him you. The known could no longer be left unspoken.

You’d slipped away from the main house to the house next door that belonged to the group but was yet to be used. Daryl was first to notice your absence, asking where you’d gone so late. When he was told, the urge to follow after arose.

The front door was left unlocked, allowing Daryl entry. “Y/n?” The house was dimly lit, an amber glow looming from across the room. Daryl saw your figure sitting on the couch in front of the fireplace. A liquor bottle sat atop the coffee table reading, Honey Whiskey, along with an empty glass seemingly for him. The other was in your hand, resting on your thigh. He couldn't help but think how perfectly you the liquor was; bitter yet soothing and sweet.

Daryl didn't know what told him to sit beside you but he did not resist the urge.

Nothing was said, the both of you staring off into the gas-lit flames. Your eyes studied the fake logs that were engulfed by flames, comparing it to how real wood burns. Daryl craved for you to speak to him. He didn't care if it was hurtful. Any words, cruel or no, were better than this silence. "Y/n..."

"I forgive you." Daryl went still. You hadn't given him time to breathe.

"What?"

Just then you turned, your freshly cleaned hair falling over your shoulder. The fire cast a glow on your features; highlighting the bridge of your nose and emoting a sparkle within your eyes.

“I said I forgive you.” It was the gentlest tone you’d ever spoken to him in.

“I don’t think I had reason to be angry in the first place. I was just trying to blame someone that wasn’t myself.” You reached forward, popping the cap from the bottle and pouring Daryl a glass. You handed it to him, along with a slight smile. It tugged at his heart.

“M’sorry…bout what I said that day. 'Bout your Dad...Wasn’t right.” Daryl swirled the liquor about his glass, wondering where you’d found it. You took a deep breath before speaking on, “My daddy disowned me.”

The dog tags around your neck suddenly felt as though they weighed fifty pounds. It was a burden you carried around your neck every day, hoping the weight would be lifted lighter if you just spoke highly. "Why?" Daryl couldn't help but ask. You hesitated, your mouth gaping but no words following. "Because I loved a woman." You flashed Daryl an insecure smile, unsure of how he'd react. "I lost her about a month before you guys picked me up. That's why I was alone."

Daryl felt a whirlwind of emotions hit him at once.

How many times had he thrown your father in your face like some jealous brat?

“I think I resented ya a lot. Thinking ya had a father that rolled out the red carpet for you." Daryl had found his own courage in a now empty cup. You took note of this, pouring more for him. "I know, D."

"M'sorry."

"I know that too."

After that, a soft silence fills the room. The two of you sit peacefully, content with the weight slowly lifting from the shoulders of your friendship. But there was another topic to relive before you could truly sweep up all of the choked-off fragments and furnish them with conclusions.

“Patrick uh…”

“Ya don’t gotta talk about that Y/n.”

“No, I need to.”

The liquor wasn’t persuading you to talk nor to act a certain way, you’d barely drank any.

A deep sigh left you and you rested your back against the couch. “Patrick talked about his parents a lot. He said that his mom wanted him to be brave…That’s why he wanted to go out, he said that he felt like a coward. He’d always been safe in Woodbury then the prison.” Your words were quick and shaken.

Daryl listened attentively, taking sips of the honey whiskey in hopes it would calm his mind. “He thought that if he went out, even once, he would be brave… like us.” You motioned to you and Daryl. A smile rose on your face. “He also just really wanted to impress you, he was so excited when you started joining us in the mornings.” You took a sip from your own cup finding strength in the liquid.

“I know you always thought it was silly but…Patrick reminded me a lot of my cousin. He was my best friend until my aunt moved to a different state. I promised to keep in touch but I started college, got distracted, and only saw him on holidays.”

Your words trailed as if unsure of what was to be said.

“Until he jumped off a fucking overpass.” You could feel Daryl’s sympathetic eyes looking at you. “In his note, he said he knew he was a coward but he couldn’t be here anymore.” Your lip began to quiver but you quickly covered it with a swig of liquor. Daryl was left to think while you choked your tears down.

"They were brave." Daryl said in hopes it would relieve some of your guilt.

You placed your glass on the table beside the couch. "And dead they are." The tears could no longer be drowned in whiskey. You covered your face with your hands. Your body trembled violently, sobs racking your chest. Daryl put down his own glass. “C’mere…c’mere please.”

Daryl scooted closer to you, grasping for you to meet him halfway. You met him gladly.

“You’ve never hugged me before." You commented with sadness, your words mumbling against the fabric of his shirt. "I know. M’sorry.” He could hold you all night if need be. You gripped your arms around him tighter, resting your head on his shoulder. A deep sigh of relief left both of you, melting into the other's embrace.

He smelled of pine from the soap he'd used to wash. But the familiar scent of motor oil and cigarette smoke could never be washed from his skin. At first, it annoyed you. You'd complain that the oil gave you headaches and scold him about his unhealthy habit. But now, no four walls of any house could provide you the safety and comfort of Daryl's broad figure.

You pulled away from him but your hands did not leave him. They dragged down from his back to rest comfortably in his own. Your soft skin caressed his calloused hands. Your forehead rested against his. He did not remove himself from you but merely looked down, avoiding your gaze. "Ya been drinking a lot Y/n, ain't in the right mindset right now." You shook your head, "No Daryl...I love you."

Your nose bumped his own as you scooped your head down, capturing his lips in yours. You taste of the bitterly sweet liquor, your lips still slightly damp from the tears that fell only moments ago. He resists before giving in to his longest desires. It made his nerves feel fuzzy.

The kiss turned from gentle to desirable in time, lips moving in sync together. His hands moved to either side of your face, ensuring to keep you close. You began to lay back, hoping Daryl would follow. He was quick too, ensuring his body weight did not crush you.

Needing a moment to breathe, you parted from him. Your back relaxed against the plush couch all your tense muscles turning to putty beneath him. Daryl's head fell to your chest. He felt your own heartbeat, just as quick as his own. "Love ya too."

Daryl's hands freely wondered you. He gripped your thighs, feeling the jagged scar on your thigh through the thin pajama pants; remembering the day you met. "I fell down a hill." Daryl stopped his lingering hands, "What?" There was a ting of a smile on your face. His eyes sparkled with admiration. "I was fighting a walker and I fell downhill. I think I got stabbed by a tree branch or my own knife, I never knew." You admitted shamefully. Daryl dropped his head to your chest again, chuckling.

His laughter sent vibrations through you, triggering a laugh of your own. You bring your hand to the back of his head, stroking his messy brown hair. “Why don’t you stay here with me tonight?” Daryl lifted his head, the fire dimly lighting the right side of his face. He nodded.

"I'd like that."

[stinkyturd]

Ground Level

Rui Mizuki/Reader

Comments: Rui gets a happy ending, woooooooooo!

"The curse of Antaeus...?"

You're currently seated on a rolling chair in the research lab with Yuri and Jiro of Mortkranken. Just the previous night you had returned from a mission with Haru and Towa. The Chancellor had assigned the three of you to deal with a golem type anomaly that had been frequently spotted in a forest outside of Darkwick. Preferably, Cornelius wanted the creature detained or slain, but it became clear to all of you that there was no way you'd be able to capture it due to its size. And once Towa began communicating with it, he was very quick in his refusal to kill it. 

Apparently, the anomaly Darkwick wanted rid of so badly was actually one that served to protect the forest. 

"Yes, I'd recognize that marking on your wrist anywhere. It is a pseudo blessing that supposedly originates from an earth goddess," Yuri insists. He's sitting in a chair across from you, examining your forearm with gloved hands. 

Right below the inside of your palm is a symbol etched into your skin that looks like an upside-down triangle with a slash through the tip. You recognize it vaguely as an alchemical symbol for earth.

"I thought the golem took a liking to us," You admit in exasperation. "How the hell did I end up with a double curse? I thought Towa said the golem told him that he wanted to give me a blessing!"

"To the anomaly, he very well may believe you have been given a blessing," Yuri comments nonchalantly. Glancing over his shoulder, the doctor snaps his fingers impatiently. "Jiro, scalpel!"

"Uh... scalpel?" You mutter with a nervous laugh. 

Jiro reaches for the bladed instrument on a nearby steel table and hands it to Yuri. 

Yuri's gaze hardens at you as he takes the tool from the Mortkranken vice-captain. "Do not question me! You came here for help-- did you not?"

You gulp, nodding reluctantly. "...Okay, okay."

Yuri brings the blade of the scalpel to your index finger and grazes it. To your surprise, you feel nothing. And you see nothing. The Mortkranken Captain furrows his brows.

"Uh... is that dull?" You ask skeptically. 

"Of course not," Yuri snaps. "What good does a dull scalpel do?"

Before you can make any further comment, the captain grazes the tool against your skin again, this time choosing your middle finger.

 

No cut, no blood, nothing. 

"...It's as I suspected," Yuri affirms as he releases your hand for the time being. His teal gaze meets yours. "You have acquired invincibility with limits."

"Huh...?" You tent your eyebrows in confusion. "How's that a curse?"

"This is a very uncommon occurrence, but if memory serves me correct-- and I know it does," Yuri starts, gassing himself up. "You have invincibility if and only if you're at ground level. The unpleasant aspect of this pseudo blessing is that in the event that you do become injured, it is far more laborious for your body to recover from it. In other words, serious injuries are now easily fatal for you."

Your jaw goes slack at the news. "Deadass?" 

"Deadass? What are you even saying?" Yuri retorts irritably. 

"I believe it is modern slang for questioning the validity of something," Jiro chimes in coolly. "I.E. 'Are you serious?'"

Yuri clicks his tongue impatiently, not bothering to turn in his vice-captain's direction. "I do not need your input; I can deduce these things for myself...! Anyway, speak clearly, Honor Student! How can you hope to ever integrate yourself into a professional setting using such primitive language?"

"How do we break it?" You ask, instead of acknowledging his reprimanding. 

Yuri presses his lips into a thin line as he averts his gaze. "I... I have yet to personally handle such a case, so that will require further research," The Captain reluctantly admits. 

"You said that the Jabberwock vice-captain is able to communicate with the golem?" Jiro asks, standing somewhere behind Yuri. 

You nod. 

"What will be done with it? The anomaly," Jiro clarifies.

"Uhm... Haru said he's going to try to communicate with the chancellor about using a method to draw humans away from the area, rather than trying to kill it. I'm not sure what that entails, but Towa decided the golem is very important to the forest."

"Hah! Good luck changing their mind," Yuri interjects derisively. 

"What do you recall of the anomaly granting you their 'blessing'?" Jiro asks, his ruby eyes regarding you lifelessly.

"It just came up to me and placed its hand on my head. Towa said that the golem claimed the blessing would help with my ‘fragility’. Then it went back into its cave," You explain. 

"And you did not think to move?!" Yuri near shouts. "Now you've given me double the work. How long until your other curse turns you into an anomaly? Five months?"

"Well, I didn't think it would curse me," You argue. 

"I think for the time being, as long as you're careful, this may actually be beneficial to you," Jiro remarks. "So long as you keep a foot on the ground, you will be invulnerable."

"Do not make such assertions so easily!" Yuri reprimands. "We must do a few experiments to test the validity of that claim."

Based on personal experience and word of mouth, very little good came from Yuri's experiments.

"What do the experiments entail, exactly...?" You ask, eyeing the Mortkranken Captain dubiously. 

"We will test your invulnerability with a scalpel on multiple types of surfaces, and on the second story of the building. It will determine your limits and just how useful this ability will be," Yuri replies, getting to his feet. 

Jiro nods at you encouragingly.

"...Okay. Let's do it then," You agree. 

Yuri performed the experiment as initially described, testing your durability on different surfaces. By the end of it all, it was determined that your skin is impenetrable on wood floors, stone, and soil. Metal was a no go, as well as the second story of the research lab. The Mortkranken Captain made two miniscule cuts on your fingertips that he made sure to immediately sew up, as it would be far more difficult to heal now.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, like Jiro said. But you still had plenty of questions. 

Once you are finished with everything and back on ground level in preparation to leave, Yuri hands you a small first aid kit.

"You were watching how I stitched your finger, correct? Be sure to ingrain it into your memory, as it may be necessary should you be far away."

"Yeah, I did! Thank you so much, Yuri," You reply earnestly as you take the box from him. "You're a real sweetie sometimes."

Crimson creeps up Yuri's neck and instantly bleeds into his face. The Mortkranken Captain yanks his hands away, taking a step back. "S-SWEETIE...?! HAVE YOU L-LOST YOUR MIND? WHO CALLS SOMEONE THAT?!"

A laugh escapes you. "Oh, sorry. I think Rui's rolodex of pet names is rubbing off on me."

"W-WELL...!" Yuri huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. "Do not say that to me! You do not have my permission to address me as such!"

You smile a bit at that. "Sure, I'll keep that in mind." 

Yuri's endearing behavior mildly lightens your mood. And speaking of Rui... there was something that had been scratching your brain since the experiment had started. "Hey, Yuri..."

"What...?" The captain bites out, his flush receding as he begins to regain his composure.

"Do you think that I am also invincible to Rui's curse?" 

"...The reaper curse?" Yuri places a hand on his chin in deliberation. "It would be foolhardy to test that theory, but if any curse could combat that one... one would think it would be a ‘blessing’ from a goddess. Who is better suited to cheating death than a god?"

The thought was tempting. You had spent a lot of your time at Darkwick hanging out with Rui, and if you could touch him... that would be far more convenient for a lot of reasons. Some of those reasons being ones you haven't quite come to terms with. 

"Should I try it out?" You offer recklessly. 

Yuri wrinkles his face at the idea. "Knowing the outcome of such a risky endeavor would be incredibly beneficial to my research. However, if it doesn't work... who knows if you'd lose a limb? Worst case scenario-- you die."

"Yeah, that would suck, huh?"

"Should you choose to do it, be sure that I am in the area. And video call me so I can witness the results," Yuri requests, a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. 

"Yeah… sounds good."

–

A few days pass, and you find yourself at the Obscuary bar after attending your classes for the day. You had initially come to spend time with Lyca and Rui, but when you arrive you find Haru seated at the bar as well. A few seats away from him sat Lyca and Edward. Rui is behind the bar preparing a cocktail, and his pink eyes catch yours the second you come into view.

“If it isn't my favorite cutie! Did you come all this way to see me?” Rui greets you with a wink. “It's been ages! I was worried you had forgotten about me!”

You smirk at his banter as you approach the bar. “Don't be so dramatic. It's been like three days max. And I've been texting you.” 

Of all the ghouls in the academy, Rui is among your favorites. You messaged each other frequently, just to catch up. Even when you didn't have time to come visit in person.

“(Y/N)...!” Haru calls out your name, stretching out all the syllables exuberantly. When you stop right next to the Jabberwock Captain, he sits up and slings an arm around your shoulder, patting your arm in an awkward side hug. You notice the scent of booze on his breath almost immediately, and not the anomalous plant kind. The Jabberwock Captain is absolutely sloshed. “How ya been? I talked to the Chancellor about… hic! Y'know.”

You return the hug by patting Haru's back with your left arm. “Really? What's the verdict?”

“Told ‘em bout… y'know. And they said…hic! Golem will live… and prototype was put in forest to keep…hic! Away humans,” Haru explains near unintelligibly. 

“And what about Towa talking to the Golem about… y'know?” You ask. You're not sure why Haru's insisting on calling the curse ‘y'know’, but you decide to go along with it. Though, you really hadn't told many people about it– not even the Obscuary students. 

“Hic…! In due time…” Haru replies vaguely, shooting you a cheesy grin as he gives you a thumbs up with his free hand. 

The goofy behavior from the inebriated captain elicits a snort out of you.

“Say, don't you think you've held on long enough Haru? You're gonna make a guy jealous over here,” Rui says, inserting himself into the conversation. The wry smile on his delicate features betrays his seemingly playful words.

“I think the gigolo is right for once. Let go of (Y/N)!” Lyca protests from your right, his brows creased.

“Haaah…? What'd I do?” Haru babbles in drunken confusion. 

“He's just drunk, Lyca,” You assure as you gently coax the Jabberwock Captain back into his seat. “You should seriously pace yourself Haru. This happens nearly every weekend.”

“Naaah! ‘M good! Feelin’ good,” Haru insists with a giggle. 

“What's this ‘y'know’ talk about? Keeping secrets from me, Cutie?” Rui pries in a lighthearted tone. The way he's holding your gaze as he fills the glass in front of him makes you think he's fishing for a legitimate answer. 

“Oh, uh… I'll tell you here soon,” You say instead. 

If you were being honest, you didn't want to reveal your new curse problem to Rui just yet. In the event that you decide you're going to touch him, it's better he didn't know. The Obscuary vice-captain was far too perceptive of your thought process sometimes for his own good.

Rui's smile falters for a moment at your dismissive reply. “Yeah… Sure, no problem.” He sets the cocktail shaker to the side and passes the drink your way. The liquid inside the martini glass is purple, with a viola flower accenting the rim of the cup. 

You beam at him. “For me?”

Rui smiles half-heartedly back, rather than replying verbally. You watch the pretty blond move around the countertop. “I better get down to the basement and prep for customers before we actually open.”

You turn towards him. “I can help you.”

“No, that's okay! Rest your pretty little head,” Rui counters hastily. 

You open your mouth to protest, but the Obscuary vice-captain is already making his way down the hatch in the cellar. “I have new recipes that you wouldn't remember, it would take longer explaining it all.”

This was Rui's move lately. You couldn't quite pinpoint when or why, but something changed between the two of you within the last few weeks. Before, the vice-captain would welcome your company for a task– even if he didn't ask you to do much of anything. Now it seemed like he was avoiding spending too much alone time with you altogether. And Rui is still flirty, but it's not as excessive as it used to be. 

When Rui disappears from your line of sight, with the hatch closing behind him, Edward speaks from his spot at the bar.

“Oh, to be young…” The vampire drawls.

You narrow your eyes in his direction as you wrap your fingers around the martini glass in front of you. “What are you on about, old man?”

“Don't mind me, my dear. I'm simply enjoying the show,” Edward assures as he rests his cheek against his palm, sporting a languid smile. 

“The gigolo seems kinda down in the dumps lately,” Lyca comments, looking up from the open book on the counter in front of him. “Been sighing a lot. This book says it could be ‘cause he's anx-teeous.”

Suppressing a smile, you walk over to Lyca and peer over his shoulder at the text in front of him. By the looks of it, the werewolf was reading a psychology book. 

“It's pronounced more like ‘ang-shuhs’. The ‘t’ is meant to be silent,” You explain. “And that is a possibility. Has anything bad happened recently to warrant that?”

“Erm…” Lyca flits his gaze to the text in front of him, seemingly in a state of concentration. “Don't think so.”

“Perhaps our sweet Rui is feeling a little lovelorn…?” Edward suggests, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Lovelorn?” You echo, eyeing him skeptically. 

Ed nods. “For someone that is untouchable, it must be rather difficult to have such a pretty young student consistently present. A student with such a tender heart to boot.”

You take a sip of the drink in your hand. It tastes floral, sweet, and a bit citrusy. And as usual, it's delicious. Your eyes meet Ed's ruby ones, belatedly acknowledging his babbling. “And just who are you referring to?”

“I don't know any other pretty young students that are brave enough to trek through Obscuary's forest all by themselves,” Edward counters, amusement lacing his voice.

You scoff at the implication. “What, you're saying he's getting all soft on me? You know, it's not nice to spread information without finding out the validity first.”

“Not to worry. This conversation won't leave the room, my dear. Anywho, why don't you take a seat by me? Your scent is particularly fetching today.” The vampire pats the stool next to him encouragingly.

Lyca growls at that, grabbing your wrist. “Don't listen to that moth-eaten Casanova. Sit right here.”

You snicker, plopping down in the seat to the left of Lyca. Your eyes shift to the side to check on Haru a few seats away. The Jabberwock captain is resting his head in his arms snoozing peacefully against the countertop. 

“Good for him. He needs a break.” You take another sip from the glass in your hand. Warmth begins to buzz in your stomach from the anomalous plant cocktail. You tilt your head to the book in front of Lyca. “Are you studying for school?”

Lyca nods as he flips a page. “Uh huh. But I'm reading ahead of the course.”

Your lips curl into a smile as you watch him. “That interesting?” 

“It's helping me get why some people don't like talking to me much…So it bothers me less now,” Lyca explains slowly.

You frown at that. “They're just assholes, Lyca. You always have me and Ed here. Rui and Suba, too!” From the corner of your eye, you catch Ed smiling in approval at your assertion. 

Lyca shakes his head. “It's not just that. Says here sometimes people are closed off ‘cause of the ‘unknown’. I get that, I think. I wasn't so nice when I first met you too, (Y/N). ‘Cause the only nice person I met here was Suba. Being ‘vul-ner-aable’ when you don't know what will happen. It's scary, right?”

You involuntarily pucker your bottom lip out and stare at Lyca in adoration. “Yes… you're right Lyca. That's a very mature way to think about it! Can I squish you?”

Lyca's looks to you in confusion. “Squish?”

You lean forward and throw your arms around him anyway, pressing your cheek against the top of his head. “SOOO, CUUUUTE!”

“H-Hey…!” Lyca goes stiff at the contact as he flushes in embarrassment. “W-What's that got to do with what I said?”

“Tons and tons!” You nuzzle Lyca's head vigorously a few times before pulling away and sitting back down. 

Lyca tents his eyebrows and smooths down his now ruffled hair. “You don't make any sense…”

“Sorry, Lyca, had to. My hands were tied.” You grin wide as you hold your palms up.

“...Intriguing. When did that mark on your wrist get there?” Edward interjects as he sits forward slightly to get a better look from Lyca's right side. 

Oops, caught earlier than you had anticipated. 

Should you just tell him? Judging by that knowing look on his face, you'd guess the Obscuary Captain already has an idea of the symbol. And its Ed. Ed somehow knows everything. 

You decide to give in and explain everything while Rui is out of the room.

As your retelling of the mission's events comes to a close, you add the most recent bit of information. “Towa is supposed to ask the golem about breaking the curse, too.”

“Break it? Now why on earth would you want to do that?” Ed asks, regarding you with awe. 

“Uhm… ‘cause I'm technically more at risk if I'm not careful? Is it a bad idea?”

“Yes. It is,” Edward insists. “In fact, that blessing may just extend the time in which your curse from Kyklos takes over.”

“What, you mean it might take longer to turn into an anomaly? Didn't you say my curse is like… extra malignant, though?” You press, your expression puzzled.

“There are minor setbacks, but a sacred blessing is nothing to bat an eye at. Until you know that you can break your previous curse, you should not attempt to remove the new one,” The vampire says with conviction. “Be sure you're always at ground level when you're at your most vulnerable. Perhaps even opt to sleep in a traditional futon for the time being.”

Well, that's an unexpected development. But if what Ed is saying is true, this really is a sort of blessing. There is only one other unanswered question that has been eating at you. 

“Um… do you think touching Rui would still kill me?”

The question seems to thoroughly amuse Ed, because he fans his fingertips over his lips like he's trying to hide it. “Oh…? You're interested in touching Rui?”

Lyca speaks up for the first time since you've begun your explanation. The werewolf's face appears startled from the suggestion. “Touching the gigolo? That's dangerous, you can't!”

“Well… only if Ed thinks it might not kill me,” You admit sheepishly.

“Might…?!” Lyca bites out, his voice raising marginally.

“Touching Rui very well may not kill you. Though, there is the possibility of severe injury on the off chance it does not work. Might I suggest touching him with just your fingers first?” Ed offers, his tone lackadaisical. 

Lyca nearly stands in alarm. “What?! No! She just said it will be way more difficult for her to heal! That could kill her!”

You press your lips into a thin line as you deliberate the idea. “Yuri also seemed interested in seeing the results if I decide to do it. I would feel kinda bad for Rui if anything happened, though. He'd probably feel guilty even if it's my fault…”

Edward laughs airly. “Humans truly have such an endearing way of thinking. Regardless of how Rui may feel, the choice is yours. If you feel it's worth the risk, it would be selfish of me to discourage you.” 

Lyca grits his teeth, narrowing his gold eyes at the vampire. “Old man…”

“In the event that this endeavor is successful, I have a feeling Rui will be thrilled in time,” Ed adds. 

“Right…” You digest the information, considering your options. “Thanks, Ed. You're kinda insightful sometimes.”

Edwards lips curl into a coy smile. “I know nothing, my dear. When you've lived as long as I have… I can only offer a unique perspective.”

Suddenly, the hatch from the cellar flies open, effectively ceasing further conversation between the two of you. A head of blond hair emerges, and then Rui's pretty face.

“Everything's prepped!” Rui lifts himself fully out of the cellar and closes the door behind him. He’s cradling a basket filled with herbs and bottles. “Lyca, if you would be a doll and run the bar for a little bit? I wanna get started on dinner before it gets too busy. We may get some customers in a few minutes. More specifically Romi.”

Lyca huffs with downturned lips, seemingly ready to protest. But after a few beats, his expression relaxes. “...Fine.”

Rui grins appreciatively and sets the basket on the countertop several feet away from you before turning heel. “Thanks a million! I'll be in the kitchen if anyone needs me!” 

Before you can even think of saying anything, the vice-captain is already on his way out. You sigh and decide to give him a bit of space before checking on him. 

Lyca stands up and makes his way around the counter. The Obscuary student pulls a notepad from a drawer that's just out of sight. “Guess I'll reread recipes,” He grumbles.

After about twenty minutes of chatting idly with the three of them, Romeo makes an appearance. When you catch him in the corner of your eye, you lift your head to greet him. “Oh, it's Romeo! Hey!”

“It's you, BB. Why am I not surprised? Come to live here now?”

You open your mouth to reply. 

“Nevermind, don't answer that– I don't care.” The vice-captain comes up behind Haru and immediately smacks him on the shoulder a few times, effectively disturbing the slumbering captain.

“Hnn…?” Haru lifts his head from the counter to look at Romeo, with remnants of drool on his face. The poor guy looks entirely disoriented. 

“Wake up! You are not falling asleep now that I am here,” Romeo tilts his head in Lyca's direction, and slides a couple of bills towards him from across the countertop. “Two Vieux Carre.”

The Obscuary student wordlessly pockets the yen before getting work. It takes several minutes, but Lyca eventually slides two filled rocks glasses Romeo's way. 

The Sinostra vice-captain flits his gaze to the drinks. Almost immediately, he scoffs. “This is not what I asked for. These are Old-Fashioned cocktails!”

Lyca lifts an eyebrow and glances down at the notepad in front of him, turning a few pages. His eyes scan the scribbles in front of him, and a moment later he speaks. “Hrm… sorry. I'll make it again.” 

“Don't worry about it Lyca! These look great,” You reassure him as you stand and take the glasses. “I'll just bring one to Rui, and I'll take one. I'll put it on a tab and give you a tip at the end of the night!”

Lyca smiles a bit as he begins preparing the drinks Romeo ordered. “You don't have to.”

“I insist! Be back soon!” With that, you head to the kitchen to finally get some alone time with the Obscuary vice-captain. 

When you walk into the kitchen, you find Rui leaning against a large wooden island in the center of the room. There are a variety of ingredients laid out on the flat surface and he seems to be preoccupied with reading a sheet of paper laying in front of him. You can't help but notice the apron wrapped around his waist. He totally looks cute as hell. 

It isn't until you set the glasses down across from him that he looks up, appearing a little startled. 

“O-Oh, (Y/N)!” The blonde chuckles nervously, as he rakes his bare fingers through his hair. His eyes land on the drinks. “Whatchya got there?”

“Lyca accidentally made Romeo the wrong cocktails. So, I told him I'd take one of them for you. And one for me.” You lean against the other side of the island, subconsciously mirroring his posture.

“Ah… an Old-Fashioned? Those are pretty strong. And I'm about to start cutting stuff. Alcohol and knives don't really mix for me, ya know!” Rui explains clumsily. Based on the rigid expression on his face, you have a feeling like he's not really saying all that he needs to. 

“Oh? I'll handle the cutting then. I actually have been getting some practice in recently!” It was true. After finding out about the new curse, you went home and practiced cutting vegetables super fast when you were bored one evening. 

Rui looks like he wants to argue further, but he's likely running out of things to say without revealing a little more than he's comfortable with. Cautiously, he reaches for one of the glasses and pulls it closer to him. The vice-captain smiles at you. 

It's so pretty it's almost blinding.

“Thanks for thinking of me, Cutie! You really know how to make a guy's heart melt.”

“I'm glad to help. I like doing things for you, you know,” You admit easily as you roll up the sleeves of your shirt in preparation to assist. 

The comment seems to catch him mildly off guard by the way his expression falters, almost imperceptibly. Distracting himself, Rui reaches for the skewered cherries on top of the rim. He brings the steel pick to his lips and pulls the fruit into his mouth with his teeth. The reaper chews a few times before swallowing. 

“That's good news for me then, huh? I don't want you to sully those pretty hands for my sake, but if that's what will keep me company for the evening… I guess I can't just pass that up,” Rui flirts with his signature wink. 

You snicker at his lame recovery. Tucking your hair behind your ears, you approach the sink and begin washing your hands thoroughly. “My hands will be just fine. I'll impress you with my sick knife skills.”

“And I'll enjoy the show,” Rui teases.

Once you come back to the island, the Obscuary vice-captain sets out a board in front of you. Apparently, Rui had been in the process of making a hearty beef and cabbage stew. You slice the stem off of the napa cabbage with the knife provided to you and then move to the sink to rinse the vegetable off thoroughly. By the time you make your way back to the island, you spot some… unique looking ingredients in front of you. Rice, white wine, soy sauce, sugar, cornstarch, sour pickles, jalapenos, and bean sprouts?

You must have looked bewildered because Rui laughs. It sounds like a string of harmonies reverberating against your ear drums. 

“Looks weird, right? There's actually supposed to be onions and garlic, but Yuri said it's not good for Lyca. I promise, it's delish! This is one of those ‘trust the process’ type deals!” The vice-captain insists. 

You smirk and begin cutting the cabbage leaves into more reasonable chunks as you prepare to julienne them. “I've had your cooking before, so I believe you. Has Lyca tried this, yet?”

“Nooope. He will like it no matter what though, since there's beef!” Rui finally lifts his cocktail to his lips and takes a small sip. “Hmm… this is well mixed. Lyca really is doing a good job. A liiittle on the strong side.”

“Too strong?” You ask, glancing up to look at him. His captivating eyes lock with yours for a moment before you divert your attention back to the board. 

“Enough to not want to drink it fast,” Rui replies. 

“Hmm… maybe we can play a little drinking game then,” You suggest.

“Drinking game? Couldn't that like, do the opposite though?” Rui counters skeptically.

You hum. “Not if you're better at asking burning questions.”

“Questions? Is this one of those college party games? Gotta say, you don't strike me as the type to attend those, Cutie.” 

You shake your head. “Puh-lease. It's a juvenile game as old as time. I played it without the drinking as a kid.”

“The suspense is killing me! Let's hear it,” Rui quips playfully. 

“Never have I ever,” You announce as you begin stacking squares of cabbage somewhat evenly on the board.

“Oh, I've definitely heard of that. Remind me of the rules?” 

“Simple. I ask a question by adding it to the end of ‘Never have I ever’. If it’s something you've done, you drink. If it's not, I have to drink. Vice versa. Any objections?” You ask.

“That seems like it'd be a cute first date idea. Any boundaries with the questions?” Rui asks, resting his cheek against his knuckles as he looks back at you. 

“No. You're free to know anything you want about me! But if I cross a line, let me know.” 

Rui's posture stiffens and he shifts his gaze absently to the glass in his hand. “Haha, that seems totally unfair, doesn't it…? I'll answer as best as I can.”

You begin thinly slicing the cabbage, drawing your eyes back to the board. “You start.” 

Rui lets out a low whistle. “Me first? That's a lot of pressure. Hold on… let me think about it.”

The sound of the back of the knife in your hand rapidly thudding against the wooden board becomes the only noise in the room for a good fifteen seconds. 

“Never have I ever…cheated on a final exam?” Rui asks, his tone indecisive.

The anticlimactic question evokes a giggle out of you. You deliberate for a moment but end up not sipping your drink. “Sorry, but you should have specified. I've probably cheated on a regular test, but finals are much harder to do that with.”

“Daaang,” Rui clicks his tongue, playing up a disappointed expression as he takes a drink. “I'll do better next round.”

You think for a moment before deciding the next question and glancing up. “...Never have I ever… learned to swim?”

“You did that on purpose,” He accuses, puckering his soft pink bottom lip before taking a sip. “Can't most people swim? Plus, haven't I mentioned I used to surf?”

“Mmm… Must have totally slipped my mind,” You say nonchalantly. It didn't. “Go on. Your turn again.”

“Never have I ever been to Tokyo?” Rui wears an impish smirk as the words leave his mouth. 

You snort, rolling your eyes. “We are in Tokyo, basically.”

“No, this is Darkwick! We totally have our own area code and everything. Who knows? You could have been shipped here from France or something!” Rui counters, feigning innocence. 

Rui definitely knew that much about you. You stick your tongue at him childishly and pause your knife work. Reaching forward you pick up your glass and take your first sip. You were pleasantly surprised by the flavor of the drink. Rui was right. For a strong cocktail it was pretty well mixed. 

“I'll have to give Lyca praise later. Anyway, next question…” 

The two of you ask several more rounds of impersonal and benign questions as you continue to work. You're not sure if it's just the alcohol or a product of being in good company, but you begin to feel warm all over. It had been a while since you’ve had an exclusive in-person conversation with Rui. And right now, the cadence of his voice, and his charming witticism seems to have an amplified effect on you. Every time you lock eyes when one of you takes a drink, you swear you feel your heart skip a bit.

When you're on your last bunch of cabbage and your glasses are almost evenly a quarter of the way filled, the vice-captain asks something else.

“Never have I ever gone on a date with a Darkwick student that isn't Rui.”

When your head snaps up in surprise the vice-captain just watches you expectantly, cheeks flushed and a self-assured smirk. 

“Nosey, aren't we?” You retort. 

“Isn't that the nature of the game? Being nosey? It's about time I ask something juicy,” Rui quips back. 

Taking an opportunity to mess with him and gauge his reaction, you lift the alcoholic beverage to your lips.

Rui sits up marginally as if he's taken aback. You watch his pretty pink lips part and his eyebrows tent with worry. 

It almost makes you feel bad.

You set the glass down, not actually taking a sip. “What's that look for, you jelly?”

“Obviously!” Rui admits without hesitation. He forces a smile anyway. “C'mon, you know you have me wrapped around your finger, Cutie.”

You do?

You swear you feel your heart in your throat as he throws the comment at you. 

Rui narrows his eyes sharply. “Who's the lucky fella?”

A lopsided grin forms on your features. “...I didn't actually take a drink. That's all you.”

The Obscuary vice-captain’s expression turns meek. A look of relief quickly follows, and he sighs. “You so tricked me! I didn't think you could be so cruel.”

“Go on, drink,” You urge, your grin now bordering on sadistic. 

Rui complies, taking a sip. “Guess this is better than the alternative. I thought for sure you and Haru had something going on for a second.”

The alcohol must be causing the blonde man in front of you to be a little loose lipped with his words. Sure, Rui's joked about being jealous before, but specifying in this instance felt a bit different. 

You tilt your head curiously. “Haru? Of course not. He's just my friend.”

Rui averts his gaze as he sets his glass down. The direct reply to his worry seems to embarrass him because his cheeks redden past the point where booze could be used as an excuse. “...Ignore me. That was out of line.”

You wave your hands placatingly at his unexpected behavior. “Hey, no! It's definitely not. I think it's cute you're worried about that.”

Rui doesn't return his gaze to you for the moment. He opens his mouth like he's going to say something else, but closes it again like he just changed his mind. A nervous chuckle slips past his lips a moment later. “...Okay, next question. If you stare at me like that any longer I might think you've finally fallen for me.”

You roll your eyes. “Fine, fine. Let's see…” 

Maybe this time you'll ask something more personal? For your own self-indulgence and to make him feel better about his own shyness. It's basically a win-win, you have to do it. Right?

You draw your gaze back to the board and curl your knuckles over a stack of cabbage, resuming your slicing as you deliver the next prompt. “Never have I ever kissed anyone.”

The room becomes silent once more, aside from the ambience of your task at hand. 

You almost glance back up when you don't see him reach for his drink, but then he speaks up.

“I don't kiss and tell you know! Plus, you really wanna know that? I wouldn't want to make you jealous too, Cutie.”

“Why? Is it like a ton of people? Maybe I'd be a bit jealous then,” You counter teasingly.

“...Wait, seriously? That was a joke!” 

You glance back up with a deadpan look on your face as you toss more cut cabbage into a steel bowl next to you. 

The vice-captain now appears mildly panicked. “Look, it wasn't like a lot! Honest! And it was forever ago, no need to be jealous, seriously!”

Thoroughly enjoying his reaction, you pretend to be annoyed and hum suspiciously. “I dunno, I've witnessed you being a little flirty with girls coming onto you before…” Pausing for dramatic effect, you sigh. “I bet you even call them ‘Cutie’ too. Is that why you stopped inviting me to your room? You got a new Cutie to fawn over?”

“So NOT true!” Rui exclaims, his expression shifting into a horrified one. “Look, if you've ever caught me saying anything remotely like that to anyone before, I swear I haven't done it in like– ages! I can't do that. Not anymore.”

Not being able to keep up the act anymore, a smile splits your features. “Oh? What changed?”

Rui stares back at you, the question leaving him completely despondent. He shakes his head guardedly, picking up his glass and downing the rest of his drink.

Your lips downturn as you realize you may have gone too far with your teasing. “Sorry, too far?”

Rui clears his throat as he sets his glass down, his gaze softening as he regards you. “No, it's not that.” He laughs a little in spite of himself. “You're the last person I want to be a witness to how pitiful I can really be. And the truth is, I can't answer that question.”

You try not to look expectant. As much as you want to know, it would be selfish to pry any farther.

“Maybe in another life,” Rui hesitates as he picks up the steel skewer that once held cherries, twirling it idly between his fingertips. “I wish I could meet you again as a regular guy. I doubt you would give me the time of day, though. You're too good for me.”

You're left breathless at his confession. 

Your hairs stand on end as you drop the knife in your hands. Just when you're dead set on making your way to his side of the island, a voice sounds from your right.

“Hello, Rui. I came here to collect some herbs for potions at the medical facility. Have I come at a bad time?”

You look over to find Jiro who noiselessly slipped into the room. He nods stiffly in your direction while holding his phone in his hand. 

“Oh, nope!” Rui separates himself from the counter. “I can go grab those for you. Is it the same list you sent last time via text?”

Jiro nods. “Yes, that would be greatly appreciated.”

“No problemo! Give me a few!” With that, the Obscuary vice-captain makes a hasty retreat.

Jiro approaches the island slowly as he stares at you. “...You decide if you're gonna do it?”

“I am,” You say definitively. “Wish me luck, hahaha. If I die, text my boss from my old job in the real world ‘Your Momma’s a hoe’, okay?”

“‘Your Momma's a hoe’,” Jiro repeats impassively. “...Yeah, I can do that.”

“Thank you, you're the best!”

By the time Rui comes back with bundled herbs, you finish cutting what's needed for the stew. You watch the Obscuary vice-captain set the clear package on the island in front of Jiro. 

“Here ya go! I put a little extra in there to save you some running around. Go wild!” Rui exclaims exuberantly. 

“Thank you. This will be very useful,” Jiro responds as he picks up the package.

You move around the island to Rui's side nonchalantly with the steel bowl of cut vegetables in your hand. While the vice-captain is distracted, you set it next to the stovetop. 

“I have a few hybrid plants in budding stages that will probably interest you guys. I'll let you know when they're ready.” Rui peels off his gardening gloves and stuffs them in his pocket as he talks. He must have put them on in the cellar and is likely planning to wash his hands again.

Now is as good a time as any, right?

You creep forward a bit closer, your eyes locked on his naked right hand hanging loosely at his side for the moment.

“Really? Are they a blend of any of these?” Jiro asks. 

Holding your breath you mentally apologize to Rui in advance. If your impulsivities result in disaster, you hope he will blame you. You outstretch your arm, fingertips just centimeters away.

“Yeah, actually! Here let me show you a photo…”

Shit! 

“YOLO,” You whisper under your breath.

Just as Rui's hand reaches for his pocket and he starts to turn around, you shut your eyes tight and wrap your fingers around his.

The room goes dead silent. Your hand is warm. You're not dead are you?

“What, did it work? Move your camera closer, I can't see!” 

The sound of Yuri's voice causes you to snap your eyes open. Your eyes instantly meet Rui's. He understandably looks completely horrified as he gawks at your linked hands.

“(Y/N)... What did you do?” Rui manages, his voice uncharacteristically fragile. 

Feeling the aftereffects of an adrenaline rush, you take it a step farther and bring his hand to your lips, placing a kiss on the back of it. You smirk at him, bathing in a sense of victory. “Um, the Gods just think we would be mega cute together, duh!”

Heat crawls up Rui's neck as he stands there, jaw slack and at a loss for words.

“AAAGH! W-WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT WHEN I AM ON VIDEO CALL…?!” Yuri screeches.

You lower Rui's hand and turn your gaze to Jiro holding up his phone. 

“You told me not to let them know you're here. That would probably be part of it,” Jiro replies monotonously.

“IRRELEVANT! W-WHO DOES THAT WITH COMPANY PRESENT?!” Yuri yells back indignantly. 

Jiro scratches his head, staring at the screen in front of him. “(Y/N) does…?” 

Yuri huffs on the other end. After a brief pause his voice comes, far less elevated this time. “Obviously, that was rhetorical! Tch…! A-Anyway… Honor Student, can you hear me?”

“Loud and clear,” You reply back. 

“Good! I would like to run some tests, so go with Jiro back to Mortkranken, if you know what's good for you!”

“But I was helping Rui with cooking,” You protest.

“It's fine, you should go,” Rui interjects a little too quickly, his voice cracking. 

You look at him, puckering your lips into a pout. “Huh? But…”

Rui turns his head towards Jiro. “If you could wait at the bar I'll send her to follow you out. I want to talk with her for a sec… alone.”

Jiro nods. “Okay, then it's settled. Ending the call now.”

It sounds as if Yuri is about to protest, but the Mortkranken vice-captain abruptly hangs up on him. Jiro bows slightly. “I'll be seeing you momentarily, (Y/N). Thank you again for the herbs, Rui. Text me those photos of the hybrids when you have a chance.”

“Yup, yup! No problem,” Rui replies.

You watch Jiro exit the room before diverting your attention back to Rui. He is staring at your still linked hands. You hadn't noticed it until now, but he appears to be trembling a bit. The urge to wrap your arms around him overwhelms you, but you wait.

“Do you want me to let go?” You ask carefully.

“This feels different,” Rui murmurs with an unreadable expression as he rubs his thumb soothingly over the back of your hand. “Something is protecting your energy. I can’t drain it. What changed?”

You explain the situation and the details of the curse, not leaving out any information. It's obvious by the way his expression hardens when you explain the negative aspects that he's not completely on board with this.

“(Y/N)... this isn't a solution.” Rui breaks away from your touch, settling himself against the side of the island.

“Huh? Well, I mean… It kind of is,” You argue. “As long as I'm careful…!”

The vice-captain creases his brow, giving you the most stern look you've probably ever seen him wear. “One wrong move and this could totally go south. What if I was standing on the second floor and you just forget? Or what if I do?”

“Then, we just… don't?” You suggest lamely. “Trust me, I wouldn't want you to deal with that if something bad happened, so I'll do my best.”

“Do you hear yourself right now?” Rui's tone comes out exasperated. “Why the hell is that your first thought? This isn't something inconsequential– it's your life on the line!” 

“You don't think I don't know that?” You keep your tone steady as you attempt to explain your case. “I touched you because I was willing to take that risk.”

“That's what's worse! You could have died just a few minutes ago, you weren't even sure!”

You shift your eyes to the side. “Well… Ed was pretty sure.”

“Pretty sure isn't sure, (Y/N)!” Rui snaps, his voice elevated.

Any reply you may have catches in your throat. You don't have an excuse for yourself. This was a possible outcome, you knew it, but actually seeing Rui angry and raising his voice over this left you with mixed emotions. Maybe this was a little selfish on your part. Should you have asked?

But if you did, Rui would have never allowed you to touch him. You're certain of that much.

You're not sure the kind of expression you were making, but the vice-captain appears contrite in a matter of seconds. 

“Sorry… I didn't mean to yell,” Rui flits his gaze to the floor. “Look, you should go for now, okay? We can talk about this later. Once I've had time to think.”

“...Yeah, I'll do that.” You give Rui a brief once over before walking towards the door. Just before you're about to exit, you turn your head one last time. The vice-captain still has his eyes trained on the floor in front of him.

“Your hands are really soft. And you smell nice up close,” You remark, your lips curling into a smile.

Rui glances towards you. His eyes widen in surprise as he's seemingly taken off guard by the comment. 

“Okay that's all, bye-bye!” 

With that you bolt out the door, feeling a little bit giddier about the whole thing.

–

A couple days have passed since you touched Rui. The two of you hadn't seen each other since, but you had exchanged a few brief texts in greeting. Nothing of substance considering you still had a lot to talk about. In due time, you told yourself.

Currently, you were crouched down in a plot of soil with a basket in your hands, harvesting some crops. You planted them a little over a month ago in Jabberwock after Towa had taught you a thing or two about caring for plants, and Haru gave you the tools necessary to do so. The Jabberwock Captain's expertise is mainly in caring for the anomalies, but he had the resources to make it happen. 

Since you helped Haru out pretty frequently with daily chores, he had been more than willing to let you borrow an extra piece of fenced in land. You made sure to pick a fast growing and low maintenance crop that would be useful for cooking. Did you cook? Not really often– your equipment had been pretty limited at the cathedral.

Secretly, you had planned to give these to Rui at some point. 

Hopefully he liked baby beets. And hopefully he wasn't still mad at you in the upcoming weeks. Coincidentally, you selected a crop with a long shelf life too. 

You continued to grip the leafy parts of the vegetables as you shimmied the ripe crops from the ground and tossed them in a basket as you went. The sun was already beginning to set, but you wanted to swing by here despite the long day you had. You had just gotten back from a mission. It wasn't particularly labor intensive, but you hadn't gotten the best sleep the last few days. 

You're so absorbed in the task at hand that when you hear a random thudding sound against wood, you nearly tip over from your crouched position. Flicking your gaze to where you thought you heard the source, you find nothing. Just the wooden fence post standing in a patch of grass, nothing out of the ordinary.

Must have been a rabbit, or something.

You were super invincible now anyhow, right? So, basically you could take on anything in this grassland that tried to pull up on you. If anything they should be scared of you! Yeah…

Swallowing your trepidation, you continue working and harvest each crop in linear order– just to make sure you don't miss any. It isn't long before your basket is overflowing with vegetables. When you pluck your last baby beet from the dirt, you breathe out a sigh of relief as you throw it on top.

“Finally,” You mutter to yourself as you stand upright. Your back brushes against something when you do. At first you assume you had gotten closer to the fence than you had previously thought, but that theory is debunked almost immediately when you hear an all too familiar voice behind you.

“Shit…!” 

You hear something thud to the ground. Flipping around, you find an all too familiar blond pretty boy lying flat on his back in the grass, with his bladed artifact lying next to him. 

“Wow… creeper alert,” You deadpan as you look down at Rui, suppressing a spiel of laughter. 

Rui props himself up on his elbows and smiles, his face flushed with embarrassment. “I totally resent that, y'know. Creeper is a strong word.”

“If you wanted to hang out, you could have asked,” You comment, regarding him with an amused expression. 

“Ah…” Rui sits up fully, running his gloved fingers through his sunny tresses. “I actually was on my way to do something else.”

You quirk an eyebrow at him. “What, in Jabberwock?”

Rui laughs nervously, averting his gaze to somewhere on the grass in front of him. “Ah… not exactly?”

You set the basket down next to you and lean on the wooden fence separating the two of you. “So, how long have you been following me?”

“I plead the fifth? Article thirty-eight for Japan? At least until I explain my case better,” Rui says, appearing guilty.

“Alright, you better. Or else I'll start to think you're in love with me,” You tease.

“Well, you wouldn't be completely off base,” Rui counters flirtatiously. 

A sense of relief floods over you as you witness his more characteristic behavior. You just smile expectantly in return. 

“So… I was trying to get some intel that is unrelated to you, but I noticed you heading here kind of late. And I was worried so I had a change of plans,” Rui pauses, tenting his eyebrows in concern. “When were you planning on going home, by the way?”

“Soon,” You reply. “When were you planning on revealing yourself?”

“...That wasn't part of the plan,” Rui reluctantly admits, his cheeks flushing pink. “Look, I was just worried– honest. No need to get a restraining order, haha!”

You snort at the idea. “As if. I was waiting for you to come around. You seemed pretty pissed at me the other day. And besides, I need less protection than ever now.”

“Invincibility doesn't stop weirdos from following you around,” Rui argues. “And what if a giant bear anomaly picked you up and then tried to eat you? You'd be toast!”

“There aren't any aggressive anomalies like that in the area. I'm totally safe in that regard.” You smile appreciatively at him. “It's cute that you're looking after me, though. You're the only stalker I'd actively welcome to keep tabs on me.”

Rui stares at you incredulously for a few beats. “I'm not…!” The vice-captain huffs, shaking his head as he dusts himself off and gets to his feet. “You know what? It's fine. Personal stalker at your service, Cutie!”

A giggle spills from you. “Alright, does that mean I can give you orders?”

“Ahaha… orders?” Rui echoes. “I guess if I were to take orders from anyone, it would be you.”

“Spend some time with me?” You ask softly, rather than demand. 

Rui smiles. “Since I'm already here, we might as well.”

The two of you end up sitting relatively close in a plot of grass outside the fence, the sky is now dark enough that it could be considered nautical twilight. Fireflies were even beginning to make an appearance. 

You set your basket close by and flop backwards, opting to lay down flat. “I'm glad I came out here. Today has been productive.”

“Yeah?” Rui copies your actions, lying parallel to you about six feet away. “I didn't realize you were into crops. Should I be offended that you didn't tell me?”

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” You admit with a sigh. “I should have known I can't keep anything from you.”

Rui tilts his head towards you, his eyes widen marginally. “What, a surprise for me?”

“Yeah. Well, I hope you like beets. They have a bunch of antioxidants and shit, right?” You ask, flitting your gaze to meet his. 

“Pffft. Yeah, a bunch of antioxidants and shit,” Rui repeats, his eyes crinkling with mirth. “...Thanks a lot, seriously. I'll use them, for sure. And for the record, I do like beets.”

“I guess my hard work paid off, then. Good to know.”

A moment of comfortable silence falls between the two of you. The distant sound of crickets hum in the distance. 

“...Ed mentioned that it wouldn't be good to break your curse, right now. Are you not going to?” Rui suddenly asks.

You idly comb your fingers through the grass. “No, I already talked to Towa and Darkwick staff. Until I can break the curse from Kyklos, this one's here to stay.”

“If it can prevent the transformation… it really is a blessing,” Rui acknowledges earnestly.

“And if it means I can touch you without dying,” You add, smirking as you stare at the sky. 

“...Not without risk,” Rui counters, quieter than before.

“Some risks are worth taking in my book.”

Rui doesn't reply to that.

“...But I don't want to do anything you don't want to do,” You say coolly. “So I won't touch you again without your permission.”

“It's definitely not that I don't want to. I'm just scared shitless of something happening to you,” Rui admits, his voice raspy. “I seriously don't know what I'd do.”

You flip on your side to face him, propping your head in your hand. His golden locks are splayed out around him messily as he stares at the sky. The vulnerable expression on his pretty features makes your heart ache.

“If our roles were reversed, would you touch me?” You ask. “If I had the reaper curse and you had the Antaeus curse?”

Rui creases his brow as he deliberates the prompt. “Honestly…? If I thought you had feelings for me, yeah.”

“So we are in the same boat. Hypocrite,” You accuse playfully. 

Rui flicks his gaze towards you, eyeing you dubiously.

“I love you, you know,” You confess.

Rui's cheeks flush pink at the sudden admission. He brings a forearm over his head, partially shielding his face from you. “Hah… Of all the people here. You seriously have bad taste. No offense.”

“None taken.”

“I feel like I've made it embarrassingly obvious… but the feeling is mutual. I've never met anyone quite like you, (Y/N).”

Your heart hammers in your chest as he admits to returning your feelings. 

Rui continues. “If you ever change your mind, feel free to leave me in the dust. The reaper curse shouldn't be anyone's burden to deal with, but mine. You of all people deserve to be happy.”

“I won't change my mind,” You say with conviction. “If I die trying to give you a smooch, I'd say that's a pretty good way to go.”

An airy laugh spills from Rui. “You're seriously cracked for that.”

You smirk. “Says the one who admitted they would do the same.”

“If you really want to, I won't stop you. But if anything happens, I will haunt you in the afterlife,” Rui jokes morbidly. “So seriously… don't do anything you're not sure is safe. Please.”

That was more than enough of an invitation for you.

You sit up and move right beside Rui. You support yourself with your palm planted in the grass by the left side of his head as you hover over him.

The vice-captain stares up at you, anxiety etched on his beautiful features. 

Reaching your free hand forward, you experimentally touch his face. Rui nearly jumps at the contact, but immediately relaxes when he sees that you remain unaffected. You lightly stroke the flawless skin on his cheeks, then you brush your thumb over his pink parted lips. A gasp escapes Rui when you run your fingers through his bangs. 

Never did you think you'd have the privilege of touching him. 

“You're so pretty.” The words leave your mouth before you can even think about saying them. 

Rui's cheeks heat up as he struggles to hold your gaze. “C'mon, that's my line. You don't have to sweet talk me to get my consent, Cutie.”

Your eyes flutter shut as you lower your face and seal your lips with his. 

Rui responds to your kiss eagerly, his hand immediately finding your waist when you settle more comfortably over him. You can feel his rapid heartbeat as you melt into him, tangling your fingers through his silky soft hair. For a moment, you separate your lips, and the intoxicating scent of his aromatic cologne tangled with skin fills your lungs. 

As if protesting the distance, Rui sits forward, supporting himself with his elbow as he cups his free around your face and brings you in again. Your lips meld together over and over in a subconscious search for a rhythm. But there is none. Touch starved and desperate, the way the reaper continues to kiss you is nothing short of feverish. 

At some point, Rui pulls away and manages to flip you over on your back. eliciting a squeak out of you. Caging you in, he presents an affectionate smile when you look up at him. 

“I think you like this stresses me out a bit less,” He says. 

“Understandable,” You acquiesce, returning a smile of your own. 

“I'll have to set up a room for us on ground level at Obscuary. Mine is currently on the top floor, sooo.” Rui's smile transitions into a mischievous one.

The implication leaves your ears burning and this time– you laugh nervously. “We gotta sit on the floor, though,” You remind him, though he already knows.

“Sit, lay, hands and knees, whatever you want,” Rui counters, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.

At that, you feel all the blood in your body rush to your face. “Y-You…!”

Your reaction must thoroughly entertain the vice-captain, because a laugh bubbles from him. 

“Sorry, sorry! That was dirty. Let's keep going?” Rui tilts his head, his pink eyes searching for your approval. “I'll have to walk you home at this point, anyway. It's already dark.”

You narrow your eyes at him, your voice small as you recover from your embarrassment. “Do you even have to ask that?” 

Rui's lips pull into a delighted grin. “Consent is totally sexy though, right?”

You spent a long time with Rui under the stars that night. 

You lift your hands to his face and pull him forward, bringing him in for another kiss.

[neechees]

https://www.tumblr.com/baconvonmoose/762184790376136704/thank-you-look-i-know-people-mean-well-i-do-im?source=share

Reading all this and that's the first time ever I've seen someone say this about W*nd***.

Thought to bring this to your attention

I've always said that you'll get differing opinions about the Ice Cannibal because different groups might have differing opinions & protocol on the spirit on who can or can't say it or when, and like I've always specified I prefer it when people dont say it around ME.

But I'm kind of suspicious about this random user coming and saying "well I'm Native American" because of the way they're speaking. They say they're "a subdivision of the Algonquin" like there's no "subdivision" of the Algonquin UNLESS they're claiming to be of the Algonquin TRIBE and trying to talk about their specific community, but they don't specify it, and they seem to be equating Algonquin with Algonquian (a Language FAMILY), which is something a lot of Moniyawak & pretendians do.

Also, there's no "my tribe told the first version of the wend!g0 myth" like they claim they are, because again, multiple tribes believe in this spirit, and it'd be stupid & unfair to try claim authority on it for "the first" because we don't know who was "the first".

This user also claims that "it's a spirit that can possess people so it can look like anyone you know", I've talked with other ndns about this and there's even some debate over whether this "possession" thing is even true, at least for some tribes, because settlers were using this excuse to go and execute multiple Native people under the premise that they were "possessed" by a cannibal spirit (and how often do you think White people back then gave a shit about our spiritualities?). In many tribes, including mine, I know the ice cannibal is a spirit that exists in its own right but that also humans can turn into one.

This person is just acting like a jackass and doesn't seem to hang around other actual Native Americans who believe in our religions, because of the way they're talking, but want to act like an authority on our spiritualites. They don't even want to acknowledge that maybe they heard the "we don't say it" variation because of different beliefs in different tribes. Them calling everything I just mentioned fucking "misinformation" is itself misinformation, and completely fucking unfair of them. And the ice cannibal spirit isn't even the only spirit we do this with. We don't just avoid saying its name out of fear, it's also out of respect and protocol.

I've also never seen this person on ndn tumblr, & they don't seem to have an "ndn" tag. This might be a case of a White person suddenly claiming Native heritage to get in on a conversation that isn't theirs to have. With the way they're acting, talking about Native spirituality, etc, this sounds more like a White person with maybe some Native ancestry who doesn't actually hang around other ndns just trying to be an authority on something they have no fucking clue on & that they got all their information from white websites, because virtually everything they said was wrong.

[maowives]

this isn't a coherent thought yet but I'm like fairly certain that the proliferation of the framework of fictionkin is rooted in the fact that for many people (in particular, children who have not been given the language to identify and articulate the underlying phenomena animating their experiences), these identifications with characters provide a mythological scaffolding upon which they can start to build a way to make sense of the difficult interpersonal and intrapersonal experiences they've undergone. this may seem trivial to some, especially to those who participate, as it's clear that part of the draw of "Fandom Culture" broadly is that it affords an (ostensibly) unified theory of analysis and engagement for intimate interpersonal and intrapersonal experience, by way of storytelling and the curation of particular fictional experiences which resonate with the reader. it feels evident to me that this is more often than not, designed both as a method of communication, seeking to provide (relatively) broadly legible shorthands and handholds for articulating painful or otherwise important personal experiences which would otherwise be complicated or simply emotionally difficult to express, as well as a form of identity-crafting, in which these characters form the building blocks of an internal symbolic language that, when rearranged and ordered in a particular manner, enable the user to understand their experiences and their internal responses to those experiences. frankly I think it's quite an elegant solution, and one which I understand the utility of. in particular, I think it's relevant and understandable that these kinds of frameworks arise in the particular political contexts in which they do. further, it seems clear to me that many of the more reactive and reactionary elements of these kinds of contexts frequently arise from a deeply felt defensiveness about the sanctity of these internal frameworks and spaces, not because of the sanctity of the thing itself, but rather the ways that these symbols act as placeholders for particular individual experiences of particular and deeply felt narrative relevance and importance. said in another way, the sanctity of the particular reading of a character or a story are not valuable in and of themselves but rather for how they act as stand-ins for The Self. an example might be in the ways that "Fandom Discourse" tends to produce heated conflicts between different people who interpret different characters as having different kinds of essential moral qualities, as these characters do not function as characters in a text but rather as placeholders for either the reader or other people relevant to the reader's life, whether they be loved ones or agents of harm, or both. it becomes easy to understand why contending understandings of a particular character's "moral quality" become very high stakes very quickly, as the coherence of the individual's particular meaning-making system, and therefore, the integrity of a particular narrative about one's own life, depends on a particular reading of that character.

and, while, as I mentioned above, I do think it makes sense for this framework to function the way it does, and while I do think it is, broadly, an elegant solution to a difficult problem, I think it is hobbled by a few factors.

Using other people's fictional characters as a mythmaking device requires necessarily having inconsistencies and misalignments as well as implementing an active practice of Character Curation.

Conversely, using one's "OC's" as a shorthand for personal experience and expression requires other readers to be heavily invested in, and acquainted in, this particular idiosyncratic mythology.

These frameworks, while undoubtedly valuable for their legibility to others within the shared fandom space, are both imperfect, in that they never are able to communicate exactly what an individual sets out to communicate, as well as incomplete, in that their explanatory power borders on nil.

Because of the previously discussed contending interpretations of given individually relevant characters, these frameworks tend to promote intense and heated conflict between contending camps who, all in all, are most likely fighting over some relatively inconsequential quibbles of personal idealist moralism at worst, or just simple miscommunication and misunderstanding at best.

Because of this fact, ingroup compliance is heavily, heavily policed, and the space becomes more and more encouraged to adopt increasingly draconian and reactionary methods of control.

these observations are not intended to be a moral condemnation of these practices, as savvy MaoWives readers will know that OP does not traffick in idealist moralisms or other such quibbles. however, I do think that identifying the particular gap of where a unifying theory with explanatory power may come in handy for encouraging people to make sense of their own lives in terms that they have more control over, and which have more robust analytical tools. again, savvy MaoWives readers will be able to see the predictable turn to articulating the value of using a dialectical materialist and Marxist-Leninist analytical frame for these kinds of things, but further, perhaps more particularly, I could see a place where family abolition as a framing device may be significantly more helpful in encouraging interpersonal abuse survivors to make sense of their experiences, rather than the readily accessible, but inevitably incomplete, frameworks of using particular characters as social signifiers of experience, and mythmaking devices for intrapersonal awareness.

[I apologize for the length of this post. I did not have the time to write a shorter one.]

[trip-the-cal-fantastic]

Thinking about dad!Jake with a deaf son and Uncle!VanFleet.

Jake, Josh, Sam, and Danny all learn sign language to communicate with the little boy.

Jake loves playing guitar for him. If he's playing his acoustic, he lets his son put his hand on the body of the guitar to feel the vibrations. If he's playing electric, he sits on the floor directly in front of the amp with his hand on the speaker. Sign language came easily for Jake, his hands able to move fluidly, just like playing guitar. Jake was his son's favorite person to sign with, him being the easiest to communicate with, sometimes not even needing signs, just certain looks.

The boy likes to sit on Sam's lap while he plays piano, resting his hands on top of his uncle's and pressing the keys, being able to feel the vibrations of the piano. He does the same thing with Sam's amp when he plays bass, his hand on the speaker while he sits in front of it. Sam's sign language is really, really good, also because of the instruments he plays. Jake's son loves signing with Sam, his uncle's facial expressions making the conversation more interesting.

He sits safely on the floor next to Danny's right foot so he can feel the thunder of the bass drum. Sometimes, he sits with his back pressed up against the front of the drum, feeling the thump with every kick. Danny is oddly really good at sign language. He was also able to pick it up pretty easily, and his signs are very clear. The boy loves, loves, loves signing with Danny, his signs fluid and easy to understand.

When Josh, or anyone, sings to him, he lays his little hand on his throat so he can feel his voice. He does this when Josh is just talking in general. Josh is pretty good at sign language, talking with his hands being something he was used to. Other than Jake, the boy signs with Josh most often, enjoying the way his hands move differently from everyone else's.

[cyberclouddream]

Ascendant Sign vs Sun Sign

Our Ascendant sign represents the innate demeanors we project, while our Sun sign represents what we want to be recognized and acknowledged for by others, what motivates us at our core.

Examples

Gemini Rising: you may make small talk or mingle with everyone; you may have an eclectic or playful appearance; often use humor or wit to connect with others

Gemini Sun: you may enjoy any form of communication that allows you to share your thoughts; tend to jump from one interest to another; you deeply value open-mindedness and communication

Leo Rising: you may immediately capture attention when you enter rooms; your clothes stand out; you may use bold gestures or an enthusiastic tone

Leo Sun: you may pour your heart in artistic endeavors; you crave recognition for your talents; you deeply value authenticity and self-expression

Libra Rising: often smoothing over tense situations; you may appear elegant or aesthetically-pleasing to others; you often use polite and considerate language

Libra Sun: you gravitate towards an field concerning beauty, design, and creativity; you prioritize partnerships and understanding loved ones; you value fairness and justice

Capricorn Rising: often observing first before engaging with others; appear classic and polished to others, favoring neutral colors and tailored pieces; focus on relevant topics than small talk

Capricorn Sun: drawn to leadership roles that allow them to climb the ladder; focus on pursuing long-term goals for success; value responsibility, loyalty, and tradition

Pisces Rising: often quietly observing and listening to pick up on the emotions of others; may appear whimsical and soft in style, with fabrics or color that reflect their artistic expression; tend to speak in a poetic or abstract way

Pisces Sun: drawn to forms of art, music, and writing; find fulfillment in service-oriented roles; they value empathy, compassion, intuition, and understanding

[gayferrari]

whenever someone mentions how different charles sounds in his three languages (french, italian, english) i think about a comment i read where he probably learned them all differently. like french he is obviously the most natural and eloquent because that’s his first language and the one he speaks most frequently with his friends and family, then italian he sounds a bit more professional and technical because he learned it through karting and mastered it probably through ferrari, and he probably picked up english to communicate with other competitors and do interviews, which is why he always sounds more friendly and ‘media-trained’ in a sense, and he probably had to appeal to sponsors to get them to look at him and support him.

like it’s funny but also endearing to me as a trilingual because i sound aggressive in my first language, shy in my second one, and then confident in english because that’s how i learned them (aggressiveness through my family, shyness because of living in a crowded city, and then confident because i learned english through professional speakers 😭)

Oh Charles def has been PR trained to within an inch of his life!! imo though he actually sounds quite chill and casual in Italian as well, both in interviews and the bits and pieces I've seen in his vlogs, it's definitely a language he uses with some of his friends (I don't doubt they use it at work as well, but the official workplace language remains English).

So imo there's a difference between how he sounds in French/Italian (very much A Dude) and then in English he's either, like, very media trained OR kinda... whimsy, idk. A bit more dramatic? I feel like it started during his twitch streamer era (and his "casual" english really improved 2020 and 2021). I cannot exactly describe it but he sounds so damn manic in English

IDK, just comparing these two different PR videos where he gets very handsy and very giggly with his teammate but one of them is from the Prema days another one is from 2023. The way he introduces himself in the first video vs the second video... "hello everyone" vs "HELLO!!! EVERYONE!!!"

dunno if I'm making any sense but I think his streamer era left a mark.

Anyway I totally feel you about shifting personalities with languages... WHO hasn't been there!! relatable for us as well as Charles

[smollbean42905]

hi, could you write a fluff fic about carl x deaf!reader ? i think it would be cute if she could teach him sign and he could learn through books enough to tell her his feelings. maybe she was at alexandria when he got there and kinda kept to herself because no one could communicate with her but he was determined to.

i love carl and twd but i rarely see any deaf/hoh fics as a deaf person. thank you and have a good day ❤️

Here ya go lovey! I hope you like it!

I tried to make sure that the information on cochlear implants(since they're mentioned) is correct, I hope I got it right..

Sign

Isolation and Silence were your friends. Hiding was a friend, a cowardly friend, but one non the less. You were born deaf, when you were five your loving parents got you a cochlear implant. You could hear for the first time ever, at the young age of 5. The cochlear implant never left your head unless it was charging, using a USB cord.

But all of the safety the implant brought you was put on hold as the world ended. There was no way for you to charge your implant, so fear set in. Your parents changed as well once the world ended, your father became more strict and less loving. Your mother became more quiet and reserved. You felt more alone then ever once your implant died.

Anger went through your veins as you heard the beeping that meant that the implant has died. The last thing you heard was that cursed beeping. Sadness creeped in after that once the world went silent. You were so used to sound after 6 years of it, being only 11 at the time of the apocalypse. The next year your mom took the easy way out, your father became angry. He never tried to communicate with you, even though you both knew sign language. You were a bit rusty but was remembering it slowly. Two years later, your father allowed himself to be eaten by walkers. At the age of 14, you were alone, alone in a world were sound was critical to survive. A world where you had to look over your shoulder and starve and stay awake for days on end to make sure you were safe.

That was until Aaron found you one day, you were asleep in the back of your family car and allowed yourself to sleep. Aaron gently spoke to you trying to wake you up, but you didn't stir. He reached out with some hesitation and placed his hand on your shoulder, at the mere touch of his hand you sprang up with horror on your face. You tried to speak, to show you were a normal surviver, but the words came out in slurs, you couldn't hear yourself speak. The welcoming vibrations in your ears as you spoke was gone, there was nothing.

Aaron looked shocked and was trying to talk to you, you read his thin lips and he seemed to say, are you drunk?. You grew confused by the question and started to sign on instinct, his eyes widened. He didn't know sign language, he's never interacted with someone who was deaf before in his life. He got a bit closer to you so you can read his lips,

Are you alone?

You nod your head after a moment, he seems to frown and speaks to you again

Would you like to go somewhere safe?

You nod again, anywhere but the outside was safe. Aaron smiles slightly at your nod and he holds his hand out to you, you slowly take it with some hesitation and he gently tugs you out of the car. He looks around as you gather your things. A blanket you've had since you were a baby, and some books you've held onto. Books about ASL, or American Sign Language, everything fit in your bag. You were out of food or water so you didn't have much, Aaron leads you away from your home and you both walks in silence. One more willing than the other, and after a days walk you get to Alexandria.

You look up to see a large guarded area with people stationed on both sides of the large gate, each holding a good sized gun and staring down at her. Aaron must of said something making the gate open. He ushers her in and leads her to Denise, the leader of the close knit group, and she looks at you and begins to speak. Aaron seems to of cut her off, and tells her of your condition. Denise looks a bit saddened by the news, no one here knows sign language so communication will be very difficult.

"We'll station her up in an empty house for now"

"Why? She can stay with me for now"

"No one knows sign language Aaron, talking with her will be difficult."

"She reads lips, that's how I got her here"

"She is to go to an empty house for now." Denise had the final word, as usual, and Aaron is forced to comply. He brings you to an empty house and goes in front of you so you can read his lips

This is your home for now, I have to go back out

You nod as he tells her everything, finding it of no use to sign to him. He walks away after a moment leaving you alone. You let out a sign as you're isolated once again.

As the days go by, your actions don't change, Aaron never comes back to see you as he's to busy with his job so you stay alone. You go outside and sit by the lake, you're favorite area, with your feet in the water. You close your eyes as you can feel the vibrations of other walking nearby and the gently moving of the water that's around your feet. This is your daily routine, some kids try to come up to you and speak but you never reply, obviously, so they give up after a moment and walks off to never try again. Ron tried it, Enid tried, as well as every single teen in the small sanctuary. They all try to be friends with you but since you don't reply and seem to ignore them, they all think you're rude.

That was until Carl Grimes and his group enter the area. Aaron brings them back and he sees you by the lake, so he addresses the group.

"That kid over there" he points to you

"I haven't got their name but they're deaf, not rude." He knows of the kids finding you rude or entitled so he makes sure everyone knows of your condition. Carl's gaze lingers on you as your open your eyes and looks at the water. You can feel someone's gaze on you and look around seeing Carl looking at you. His face is blank but his eyes are narrowed slightly, as if he's trying to figure you out. His eyes go to their normal size as you make eye contact. Rick makes Carl follow the group, leaving you to your own devises once more.

As the days went on and Carl got to knows some of the teens, each said the same thing about you, that you're rude and entitled and speak to no one. Carl tries to tell them that you're deaf, but non believe him. So he decides, for some reason, to go up to you. You're at your usual place, with your eyes closed and bare feet in the water. You looked so peaceful that Carl feels a bit bad when he sits next to you and gently pokes your arm making you jump. His face stays blank as you look at him quickly, no one has touched her or gotten her attention in any way besides speaking so this was new. He starts to speak slowly, so you can read his lips

Hi, I'm Carl

You have a bit and sign your name, the letters being almost drawn in the air seem to amaze him slightly. He's never seen someone sign before. The use of your hands catch his attention as he watches the language.

Can you teach me?

He asks you, you nod after a moment of shock and adjust yourself to face him more. You sign a simple hello, the simple wave of your hand, he copies. You mouth the word "hello" he copies you and does the sign again. You begin to sign the alphabet, your hands amazing him as you sign the 26 letters effortlessly. He copies you slowly as you do it again, you mouth the letter that corresponds with the hand movement. You sign his name slowly,

C

A

R

L

He watches you and copies you again.

You both didn't realize that you gained some attention, Rick and Michonne watch you two.

"He's never done this.." Rick whispers softly. He had to deal with a teen angsty Carl for the last few years so seeing him willingly socialize with someone was shocking.

You sign your name slowly and he whispers the letters to himself softly then repeats your name to himself once he understands it. He says it again a bit louder making you smile, seeing him say your name was nice. No one has said your name in about a year, so it was refreshing to see. You continue teaching him sign language, finally gaining a friend after so long.

[necrotic-nephilim]

after seeing the poll about who in the batfam could be Deaf, I am now obsessed with how the masks could affect their sign. If they use their signing space differently when in the vigilante persona or not. Signing is so distinctive to each person that the code switching they do would be interesting to see play out in their ASL. Also thinking about what family signs the family would use to refer to batshit things in their lives. q

YEAH YOU GET IT.

(the poll in question) i am deeply fascinated by the mechanics in which Deaf culture could play into the Batfam. bc most of them are wearing masks that would heavily inhibit ASL (given ASL is an expressive language) so i think it's more likely they'd use something akin to Makaton or Military Hand Signals that are not a fully developed language, but a communication aid, with a given set of signs for the typical things that need to be communicated in the field. meanwhile they'd be more likely to use ASL casually. (i'm unsure who all in the Batfam is confirmed to know ASL, but i know at the very least Bruce and Tim are)

i'm also very drawn in by the idea of other firms of assistive communication/tech used aside from just ASL. i personally find it believable that the masks of any of the Batfam could include automatic captioning tech that only they see through the inside of the mask, similar to captioning glasses at movie theatres, if they were Deaf/HoH. also how you would modify the concept of comm links to be more accessible, potentially projecting the message visually through the person's mask or maybe a wrist communicator sort of situation, depending on their personal preference. how the Batfam in general would interact with each other if one or multiple of them were Deaf would be heavily shaped and i think it's so fun. and i *love* the thought of personal signs they'd have to come up with bc well, ASL is hardly equipped for their lifestyle. also fun to consider sign names and if sign names are unique to the person or unique to the mantle. (eg, would the sign name for Robin be specific to which Robin, or just the mantle at large) there's so many little things that would change and i just think it's Neat. most people are approaching the poll from the perspective of their character of choice having hearing loss from vigilante work (which is a super valid way to approach it and i love those headcanons) but personally i find it fun if the deafness is a pre-existing condition and already something the Bat has been dealing with for years and thus approaches vigilantism needing to modify their gear slightly from the standard norm. how they could influence how Bruce trains them, emphasizing other senses. how they'd likely be far more tactical on the field, pressing their hands against something to feel for noise, ergo their gloves may be designed to more easily pick up vibration. (cannot tell you how much i do that irl) whether or not they'd hide it from the larger hero world is also an interesting question. it's all a fun internal struggle as well, internalized ableism and all. so much you could do with it!!

[cels-not-so-secret-love-affair]

trading voices (remus & regulus - muggle au)

a/n: i like to think regulus and remus would get on. this is an exploration of how that might look! i, unfortunately, do not know much bsl (although i should probably get on it, it would be useful). so if you have experience signing, i welcome any and all comments you might have on my presentation of it here!

You can sign?

Regulus’ pale hands move quickly, imbued with curiosity. His eyes are bright and calculating, turning his attention to his brother’s new boyfriend properly for the first time and dissecting him with his gaze.

Yes. Sirius didn’t tell you?

No, never. Are you deaf?

Sort of. Not completely. It’s called sensorineural hearing loss.

Remus finger spells the name, long, scarred fingers settling into each letter with careful and deliberate intention. He makes a face as he does so, and then smiles. Regulus watches his eyes crease up and notes his crooked teeth and decides he quite likes this smile. He’s smiling because he means it.

Long name! I had an accident, when I was younger. It damaged part of my ear. I wear hearing aids because of it, and I also learnt to sign. I don’t get to use it very much though. Only with my mum.

Wow. I had no idea.

Sirius told me you about you. I was pleased when he said you used BSL. Needed another conversation partner - was worried I was getting a bit rusty.

This, to Regulus, is a ludicrous idea. Watching Remus, the way he moves, the fluidity of his gestures and the expressions he makes alongside them - Regulus would have thought communicating like this came about as naturally as breathing. It’s like he walked out of the womb with all this language, all this life to him. It’s sort of magnetic, in a quiet, subtle type of way.

Did my brother tell you about why I sign?

A little. I don’t think he did a very good job explaining it, but he tried.

Right. Sometimes, the words just won’t form in my mouth. They get stuck. I can’t explain it very well myself. Speaking is too much a lot of the time. And then I met this kid, called Evan, and he had a sister, called Pandora, and she taught me how to sign. I found my voice like that.

I’m glad. From what I’ve seen, you have a lot to say.

What do you mean?

Remus grins at him a second time, eyes alight with mischief.

When you were with Sirius. I don’t know what he said, but it must have been stupid. You swore at him when he turned his back. Motherfucker!

He imitates Regulus’ expression, rolling his eyes and gritting his teeth in annoyance as he signs the insult. Then, the act dissolves, and he breaks back into that well-worn smile of his, evidently very much amused. Regulus shrugs matter-of-factly.

It was the only good description I could think of.

I like you.

Insulting your boyfriend is what gets me into your good graces? Strange.

I love him, but he really can be a wanker sometimes.

[creatingblackcharacters]

hi!! sorry if this is a rude comment, and i know this isn’t exactly relevant to your blog, but i noticed at one point when you were talking about the black/Black thing (i read up on it because of this blog, and found it very interesting) you mentioned something about people with disabilities.

in the post, you mentioned a friend with a disability who prefers that label, and the way you phrased it makes it sound like it’s the label all people in the disabled community prefer, which isn’t quite true.

i’m not sure how much you know about the subject, but there are 2 main ways to refer to disability: person-first language (pfl) and identity-first language (ifl)

i could give you my messy little explanation, but emily ladau’s book ‘demystifying disability’ —incredible book btw, highly recommend— says it better than i could.

Person-first language (PFL) does just what it says: it puts the word “person” first, before any reference to disability is made. This type of language is all about acknowledging that human beings who have disabilities are, in fact, people first, and they’re seen not just for their disability. So when using PFL, you might say “person with a disability” or “person who has Down syndrome” or “people who use wheelchairs.” The logic here is that disability is something a person has, rather than who they are, so by separating any mention of disability from the person and putting it second, you’re showing that you respect the personhood of someone with a disability.

Identity-first language (IFL) is all about acknowledging disability as part of what makes a person who they are. So when using IFL you might say “disabled person” or “blind person” or “Autistic people.” In this case, disability isn’t just a description or diagnosis; it’s an identity that connects people to a community, a culture, and a history.

she uses ifl for herself, and expands on the reason a bit more in her book —which is still very good lmao— but this ask is already longer than i intended it to be, and still painfully off-topic (i wasn’t going to say anything but i kept thinking about it sorryyyyyy) so i’ll shut up now, sorry about that!

Hi, I must admit, I don't know what post you're specifically speaking about so that I can understand what you're talking about and apply this knowledge. Can you link me the post?

[clemencetaught]

POST - IT NOTE ! ( from Patrick to Deva )

when there is no paper one must learn to adapt ( post-it note meme w/ @uroborosymphony )

“Excuse yourself from the group half past nine and leave through the southwest exit. She’ll be on break for fifteen minutes.”

( Slipped into Deva's pocket while on the way to an event. )

“6 males and 4 females, all between ages 18-23. 74 is among them. Snow’s not happy; the council wants to put them all on the chopping block- will let you know if I find out anymore.”

( Slipped into Deva's notes. )

[fl00mie]

honestamente, no sé

to prevent confusions i'm giving credits of every fankid in order (starting with the tall one)

layden (fresh x ink fankid) by @/sugary-alienn dot (cross x ink fankid) by @/yo-honne abstract (reaper x ink fankid) by CATA-824 on wattpad gradient (error x ink fankid) by @/askcomboclub paper jam (error x ink fankid) by @/7goodangel palette (dream x ink fankid) by @/angeutblogo blueprint (swap x ink fankid) by @/pepper-mint aiden (zack x ink fankid) by ariscastleart

[sysig]

The familiarity is not very comforting (Patreon)

[lurkingteapot]

Every now and then I think about how subtitles (or dubs), and thus translation choices, shape our perception of the media we consume. It's so interesting. I'd wager anyone who speaks two (or more) languages knows the feeling of "yeah, that's what it literally translates to, but that's not what it means" or has answered a question like "how do you say _____ in (language)?" with "you don't, it's just … not a thing, we don't say that."

I've had my fair share of "[SHIP] are [married/soulmates/fated/FANCY TERM], it's text!" "[CHARACTER A] calls [CHARACTER B] [ENDEARMENT/NICKNAME], it's text!" and every time. Every time I'm just like. Do they though. Is it though. And a lot of the time, this means seeking out alternative translations, or translation meta from fluent or native speakers, or sometimes from language learners of the language the piece of media is originally in.

Why does it matter? Maybe it doesn't. To lots of people, it doesn't. People have different interests and priorities in fiction and the way they interact with it. It's great. It matters to me because back in the early 2000s, I had dial-up internet. Video or audio media that wasn't available through my local library very much wasn't available, but fanfiction was. So I started to read English language Gundam Wing fanfic before I ever had a chance to watch the show. When I did get around to watching Gundam Wing, it was the original Japanese dub. Some of the characters were almost unrecognisable to me, and first I doubted my Japanese language ability, then, after checking some bits with friends, I wondered why even my favourite writers, writers I knew to be consistent in other things, had made these characters seem so different … until I had the chance to watch the US-English dub a few years later. Going by that adaptation, the characterisation from all those stories suddenly made a lot more sense. And the thing is, that interpretation is also valid! They just took it a direction that was a larger leap for me to make.

Loose adaptations and very free translations have become less frequent since, or maybe my taste just hasn't led me their way, but the issue at the core is still a thing: Supernatural fandom got different nuances of endings for their show depending on the language they watched it in. CQL and MDZS fandom and the never-ending discussions about 知己 vs soulmate vs Other Options. A subset of VLD fans looking at a specific clip in all the different languages to see what was being said/implied in which dub, and how different translators interpreted the same English original line. The list is pretty much endless.

And that's … idk if it's fine, but it's what happens! A lot of the time, concepts -- expressed in language -- don't translate 1:1. The larger the cultural gap, the larger the gaps between the way concepts are expressed or understood also tend to be. Other times, there is a literal translation that works but isn't very idiomatic because there's a register mismatch or worse. And that's even before cultural assumptions come in. It's normal to have those. It's also important to remember that things like "thanks I hate it" as a sentiment of praise/affection, while the words translate literally quite easily, emphatically isn't easy to translate in the sense anglophone internet users the phrase.

Every translation is, at some level, a transformative work. Sometimes expressions or concepts or even single words simply don't have an exact equivalent in the target language and need to be interpreted at the translator's discretion, especially when going from a high-context/listener-responsible source language to a low-context/speaker-responsible target language (where high-context/listener responsible roughly means a large amount of contextual information can be omitted by the speaker because it's the listener's responsibility to infer it and ask for clarification if needed, and low-context/speaker-responsible roughly means a lot of information needs to be codified in speech, i.e. the speaker is responsible for providing sufficiently explicit context and will be blamed if it's lacking).

Is this a mouse or a rat? Guess based on context clues! High-context languages can and frequently do omit entire parts of speech that lower-context/speaker-responsible languages like English regard as essential, such as the grammatical subject of a sentence: the equivalent of "Go?" - "Go." does largely the same amount of heavy lifting as "is he/she/it/are you/they/we going?" - "yes, I am/he/she/it is/we/you/they are" in several listener-responsible languages, but tends to seem clumsy or incomplete in more speaker-responsible ones. This does NOT mean the listener-responsible language is clumsy. It's arguably more efficient! And reversely, saying "Are you going?" - "I am (going)" might seem unnecessarily convoluted and clumsy in a listener-responsible language. All depending on context.

This gets tricky both when the ambiguity of the missing subject of the sentence is clearly important (is speaker A asking "are you going" or "is she going"? wait until next chapter and find out!) AND when it's important that the translator assign an explicit subject in order for the sentence to make sense in the target language. For our example, depending on context, something like "are we all going?" - "yes" or "they going, too?" might work. Context!

As a consequence of this, sometimes, translation adds things – we gain things in translation, so to speak. Sometimes, it's because the target language needs the extra information (like the subject in the examples above), sometimes it's because the target language actually differentiates between mouse and rat even though the source language doesn't. However, because in most cases translators don't have access to the original authors, or even the original authors' agencies to ask for clarification (and in most cases wouldn't get paid for the time to put in this extra work even if they did), this kind of addition is almost always an interpretation. Sometimes made with a lot of certainty, sometimes it's more of a "fuck it, I've got to put something and hope it doesn't get proven wrong next episode/chapter/ten seasons down" (especially fun when you're working on a series that's in progress).

For the vast majority of cases, several translations are valid. Some may be more far-fetched than others, and there'll always be subjectivity to whether something was translated effectively, what "effectively" even means …

ANYWAY. I think my point is … how interesting, how cool is it that engaging with media in multiple languages will always yield multiple, often equally valid but just sliiiiightly different versions of that piece of media? And that I'd love more conversations about how, the second we (as folks who don't speak the material's original language) start picking the subtitle or dub wording apart for meta, we're basically working from a secondary source, and if we're doing due diligence, to which extent do we need to check there's nothing substantial being (literally) lost -- or added! -- in translation?

[raionmimi]

Super Mega Ultrawatch!Symmetra is Vishkar's failed kaiju experiment. She's become more aggressive towards people, but doesn't particularly seem interested in fighting either. They have to provoke her into turning into her kaiju form to fight the heroes

She really likes Lifeweaver's biolight plants though, it's one of the few things that snaps her out of her rampages. In this au, he takes her with him when he leaves the company