#warm bodies imagine

[crystalflygeo]

How to Warm Up your Dragon ft Zhongli + fem!reader

cw/tags: ngl this is MOSTLY VERY FLUFFY but it has a veeeery spicy part ehehehehe, praise kink, biting, bit of rough sex, creampie, dirty talk. Reader is technically Fontainian but you can ignore that tbh

notes: Y'ALL THIS HAS BEEN ON MY WIPS SINCE BEFORE FONTAINE IT'S BEEN SOSOSOSOSO LONG I started writing at the start of winter here, now it's summer lmao but hey at least it's winter in the northern hemisphere so... enjoy the snow and dragon man!! Also also... no one guessed what the gift was but Rin was the closest!

Your mother always used to say the way to a man's heart was with food.

you wonder if that applied to archons... er, dragons? adepti?

In any case...

Zhongli has always been a... particular eater. A very refined palate. It's not that he was hard to please, to tell the truth. But he always seemed to have an extra comment, something to add or change to a dish to make it ‘a little more special’.

But you'd quickly find out he had a soft spot for broths and soups, bamboo shoot soup being his particular favorite. Even when it took a lot of hard work and time to prepare, the way he did so was worth it, simply spectacular.

That's why you could almost cry with joy when he happily praised one of your favorite dishes. A fantastic soup d'oignon passed down on your family. Nothing to add, no extras or corrections, he'd enjoy it to its fullest talking about the creamy texture and unique flavor of the cheese so different from those found in Liyue.

So, today you decided to prepare it. Nothing better to warm up on this chilly season, and besides you'd just received a shipment of ingredients from your family.

The rhythm of a knife on a cutting board fills the air, along with a delicious smell. You finish slicing the onions into thin strips and add them to the pot at the stove, humming lightly while stirring. You really hope nothing would keep your dear Zhongli too busy today, so he could be just in time to enjoy this while still fresh and warm.

You turn off the other burner as the beef stock had already warmed up, and start washing some dishes while keeping an eye on the food. It is… rather amusing just how domestic this all feels. Not too long ago you were adventuring over Teyvat, facing off all sorts of crazy dangers, exploring, and never stopping in one place and now… now this feels like home.

And that is without taking into account who your fiancé even is. The former Geo Archon. You shake your head with a light chuckle. It’s still so weird to think of such an imposing figure from legends to be so… him.

You dry your hands and start to pour the broth on the now-golden onions, stirring.

Zhongli is sweet, caring, attentive, wise, with just the right words at the right time. Admittedly a bit airheaded at times, funny when he wants to be. A refined gentleman through and through unlike anyone you’d ever met.

And he loves you.

And you’re engaged.

Warmth rises up to your cheeks along with a small smile as you lower the heat and start grating the cheese.

You heard sounds at the front door and then steps. Oh, early today. Zhongli walks up to you with a smile, greeting you with a kiss on the cheek, his hands resting at your waist as he leans in from over your shoulder. “Welcome home, Li.”

“Thank you” He replies in that deep suave voice. “That smells good my love, would you like some help finishing?”

You shake your head a little. “Please, there’s no need, you just got home. Go take a bath and unwind a little, I’ll finish here and we’ll eat.”

Zhongli looks as if he’s about to say something but simply nods. “Hmm, alright then.” He pulls you a little closer in his embrace, as if he’d missed your contact, your scent. Zhongli inhales deeply, tension seeping off of his body and he gives a soft kiss at your shoulder before almost regretfully pulling away. You chuckle a little and stir the pan.

How domestic and loving indeed.

…

Later when the food is ready and served, he returns to the small kitchen dressed in much more casual and comfier robes. Your eyes linger a little on the small expanse of exposed skin at his neck and chest and then stop at the way his long hair is tied up in a bun.

“Not washing your hair today?” You ask casually, taking your seat.

 “I… Perhaps I have gotten rather used you doing it. I simply didn’t feel like it.”

You can’t help the short laugh that escapes you, even as you try to cover it a little. “Is this your way of saying you wanted me to bathe with you?”

His golden eyes twinkle. “I would certainly enjoy indulging in that more often.”

Your cheeks flush and you avert your eyes.

He takes a spoonful of soup and hums, closing his eyes to appreciate the flavors. “The finest ingredients cooked with true expertise. Simply divine, my love, thank you.”

“Flatterer.” You say, a little embarrassed but he can see right thought it, your little grin, the little shift in your posture.

“I am simply stating the truth.” He replies and continues eating. You can see his shoulders relax and the small satisfied smile at the warm food, it makes you a little giddy as you start eating as well.

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

bundling up during winter was obvious, right?

Putting on layers and layers of clothes. And true, perhaps Liyue didn't get as cold as other nations such as Fontaine, Mondstadt or of course Snezhnaya, but maybe it was exactly for that reason the temperature drop seemed to affect everyone all the more. Besides, the people would take any excuse to show off their fancy coats, scarves and other cold-climate outfits.

Zhongli naturally wore many layers, and he did mention once or twice he wasn't as affected by the cold. Yet, his business partner had gifted him a thick snezhnayan cloak.

The thing was entirely ridiculous, too bulky with a fluffy overtop, the colors dark and cool not matching Zhongli at all.

And yet he'd used it! (Only twice... but still)

You were not jealous, not at all.

You just wanted to... give him something he'd also enjoy and wear around, yes. Something personal, something he’d like and look at and remember you.

But what?

Ugh, it’s not like you were really well versed in sewing. Back at home you’d even had some machinery for that, but here in Liyue… you wracked your brain thinking what could you give him. He had quite a few elegant outfits, fitting him perfectly and enhancing all his attributes, all personally tailored by one of his late Yaksha so they held immense sentimental value as well… how could you compete with that?!

Right, right, it was not a competition. You sigh. Zhongli will probably be happy with anything you give him, but still…

An idea pops into your head and you can’t help but chuckle. Oh, it’s so silly… but maybe…

Simple enough, personal, something he’d use during the cold season only around you. Could work, you decided as you pick up your things to go visit the textile shop.

If nothing else, it could at least get a good chuckle out of Zhongli, right?

And so, for a few days you work on your little project. Turns out sewing was indeed a little harder than expected but you were trying your best. The kind lady who’d sold you some excellent wool had also given you some tips and they proved to be most useful indeed!

Regrettably you didn’t exactly have the right measurements so you more or less eyeballed them. Eh. It’ll be fine…

Zhongli almost came close to finding out too, though you were inconspicuous enough. You’re sure he suspects something.

“It will all be worth it, it will all be worth it…” You mumble to yourself with a frown as you finish trimming one of the stitches. Your fingers hurt.

…

“Li! I have something for you!” You exclaim happily, hands behind your back holding the wrapped-up item you had worked so hard on. An excited glow on your smile and bright eyes.

“Oh? Am I going to finally see what you’ve been guarding to secrecy this past week?” He replies coolly with a knowing smile, amusement dancing on his tone as he places his teacup down.

Nothing escapes him.

“Yes” You present him the gift, your hands then fidget nervously, having nothing else to do now. “I hope you like it! It’s… my first time doing something like this… i-it may not be that good, it’s kind of silly but-”

“Darling please do not fret, I would love anything you give me.”

Your shoulders relax.

Zhongli unwraps the paper and finds a rich dark brown fabric staring back at him, he picks the item and opens it, trying to gauge its shape, thick wool, a little rough around the edges but you did mention it was your first try and he is honored enough you’d make such effort for him.

However…

What is it exactly?

He turns the item around trying not to show too much confusion on his face as to insult you or make you feel bad, it looks like… a severely oversized legwarmer?

“It’s…” You start, feeling a little shy and silly once more. “…for your tail.”

Recognition shines in his eyes and he blinks at the item. 

“You- I know you like to let loose a little around the house and let your illuminated beast features show, I love you tail too but I know… the scales get cold easily a-and usually we just bundle up with a blanket but I thought-”

“I love it.”

You stop running your mouth as soon as he utters those words, Zhongli looks at you with a gentle calm and your heart could melt at the sincerity in his expression. “No one had ever made something like this for me.”

He stands and unfurls the item, then, in a flash of gold his dragon tail manifests, majestic as ever and swaying lazily, the tuft of fur at the end flickering with each move. He maneuvers a little to slip the ‘tailwarmer’ on and though it sags a little, much to your relief it at least fits nicely. There is a yellow diamond pattern near the base that you’d started working on but deemed too difficult for a first try. It was a cute little detail though, maybe next time.

“Warm and cozy.” He chuckles and you beam at him, before letting out a squeak as said dragon tail curls around you, pressing your forward against his chest.

“Thank you, my love.” He cups your face and kisses your forehead.

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

The air is hot and heavy as soft moans and grunts fill the room.

Well, this was certainly a way to warm up… and get some good cardio.

You pant and squirm on the plush surface of a heavenly mattress as the familiar weight of the ex-archon descends upon you. His arms going from a golden orange hue to a deep charcoal, lines of gold thrumming across his skin, glowing softly in periodic pulses up strong muscular arms. Golden horns rise from soft brown hair curled at the tips, two on each side like a crown, while a powerful scaly tail wraps around your calf holding your leg up, spread.

This is Rex Lapis. Morax. Any other number of names he had. This is the Geo Archon.

“Zhongliii!” You whine, his hands caressing your body, claws teasing along your skin, pinching a nipple, fangs grazing your collarbone and a long serpentine tongue licking a hot stripe across your neck.

The head of his cock teases at your entrance, already rock hard and burning like a brand, your hips canting for more. For him to finally fill you, to feel his thick overwhelming girth stretch you, breed you… you want to be filled so full it overflows, so that it dribbles down your thighs and ass in thick, slick rivulets of his love.

“Patience my love.”

You whimper and jerk at that, about to cry out for him again when he rolls his hips and sinks in your warm hole. Your breath catches in your throat as your head throws back on the soft feather pillows.

He pushes into you inch by inch, carving a space for himself with a soft rumbling groan. His lips seek yours as his hands slide to your hips and press hard enough to bruise. His kiss devouring, all-consuming with need as he bottoms inside you, hips pressed flush.

Gods you feel so full, stretched and filled every inch and then some, and he doesn’t allow you a moment to pause and adjust either. A beast of a man in the best of ways, he withdraws halfway, only to slam forward in a fluid firm thrust.

“Mng-! Ah!”

“Mine. All mine. S-so warm and thigh- nghh…”

His pace starts slow, his voice alone enough to drive you crazy with how deep, carnal, animalistic it is against your neck. Sharp canines teasing the elegant column of your throat as he moves.

“Oh! so good… Li… f-faster… faster ple-ahhn!” Your voice pitches high as you babble, pleasure coiling on your gut.    

“As- you desire…” Strained words still sounding like the very embodiment of sex, his voice so sinfully deep, so erotic it washes over you like liquid silk, like molten gold, only heightening the sensations of his quickening pace. In and out, in and out, skin slapping on skin. “You’re… you’re so perfect for me-”

You take him so well, your legs spread wide, your back arched, your insides molded to his length, enveloping him in the most mind-blowing of heats. The bed creaking as Zhongli delivers another powerful thrust, hitting a sweet spot deep within you and making you elicit a sharp keening sob of a moan. Your hands scrambling from the sheets to seek purchase at his back, curled up under his arms to scratch viciously trying to hold onto something, anything as he drives into you thrust after thrust after thrust-    

“I’m- I’m gon-ahnn! Z-Zhongli… ooohh!”

Fuck you are close. So, so close…

He nips at the soft spot between your neck and shoulder. “Almost there… little one.” He huffs between strained grunts and you whimper at the pet name. Golden claws sink on the bedsheets, gripping thigh for leverage as he moves faster, frantic, hips like pistons he fucks into you like a wild animal, the bed rocking, shaking with each thrust. “C-close…”

You mewl and moan, unable to form coherent thoughts anymore but just feel the hot burning pleasure, his warm puffs of breath on your skin, your sweating bodies dampening the sheets and you desperately want to feel his warm seed inside you, filled to the brim with his creamy cum.

“Pleasepleaseplease i-in! In-s-ahh!” You come with a sharp cry, vision blurring, muscles clenching, your insides squeezing around him, milking him for all he’s worth.

It was enough, the tipping point for the dragon, his thrusts shallowing out until he ruts as deep as he can and shoots his load inside you with a guttural groan. Thick spurts pumping inside you before it pools out around his own cock, leaking from your body until there’s nothing left to give.  

Everything is hot… so hot… the air heavy and musky with the scent of sex…

…

Zhongli slumps softly atop your body after what feels like ana eternity, his cock still comfortably nestled within your slick walls, cushioned by fluttering muscles. You lay beneath him, sweaty and shivering, breathless, chest raising and falling rapidly in small gasps as you struggle to catch your breath but oh, how you took his away…

 Beautiful, truly… your half-lidded eyes glazed over, barely able to open admits your exhaustion, but still able to whimper soft little moans as he trails fluttering reverent kisses along your neck and collarbone. Soft, chaste, loving and tender touches.

“Ahhn… mmm…” He chuckles softly at the endearing sounds you make as he eases out of you, the subtle friction enough to sent fire to your nerves, followed by a strange emptiness that mellows down to buzzing contentment.

He lies to the side and pulls you close towards his chest, his tail finally letting your now sore leg rest, uncoiling from it to curl around you both, you settle there with a sigh, eyes sliding shut. “So good for me.” Zhongli gently brushes some hair away from your face and places a kiss at the crown of your head, resting his chin there. “Rest now, dear.”

“Mn.”

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

You smile as Zhongli places the two steaming teacups on the table before scooting over and welcoming him with the blanket surrounding you. He settles on the couch with you cuddling close and passing the book on your hands to him. Your fingers brush and he sets the book on his lap before taking your hands on his, cradling them close to his face before blowing a warm breath on them. You blush and let out a little airy laugh.

“What is this? Dragon breath to keep me warm?”

He hums against your skin, piercing golden eyes staring up at you. “No, just my love for you.” He kisses your knuckles and fingers.

“You…” You mumble, averting your gaze.

He chuckles and kisses your wrist then before leaning in close and kissing your cheeks, your forehead, your nose, anywhere he can reach.

“Ngah, wait you affectionate big lizard!” You squirm and he laughs fully now.

“Just seeking my adorable fiancée’s warmth” He nuzzles onto your neck, kissing there too and making you yelp. “Gorgeous.”

“A-Am not!”

“So precious when you get all shy and flustered.” He gets your jaw this time when you move, so close to your lips.

“Stop! You menace…” You pout and this time you cup his face, staring for a moment at his handsome features, your thumb brushing close to one of the red markings under his eyes.

This man. This dragon. This god.

Oh, how you love him. He warms up your heart.

“Here, I’ll warm you up proper…” You whisper softly, pulling him close and tilting your head to slot your lips together.

Just as you warm up his.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Lan Wangji Goes To Lotus Pier AU: Part 4: Deranged Bedfellows

(Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4.5)

[wlw-cryptid]

i- uhm . hgnj, hbgnjmkgh bhnjgmkh you. made me wet. im keeping this in the vault forever

[sshewonders]

WARM BODIES

Chapter 03: The Archer

chapter synopsis: While out on your mushroom-picking quest with Glenn, unbeknownst to you, danger lurked just around the corner. Fortunately, a mysterious man with a crossbow intervened, saving you from becoming a geek's dinner. However, he wasn't alone; he had his unsettling brother, who left Glenn visibly shaken, demanding to know where you and Glenn came from. Luckily, you observed that the man with the crossbow was a hunter – precisely what the camp, or more specifically, what you needed.

chapter warnings: This chapter contains strong language, perverted content, tense moments with firearms, mild violence, psychological distress, and a suspenseful atmosphere. Daryl Dixon being hot as hell, but sassy.

word count: 3.2k words

author's note: Hello! I sincerely apologize for the delayed update. I was deeply engrossed in some work, but here we are! Our crossbow-wielding redneck has finally made an entrance! To be honest, I invested significant effort into detailing Daryl's characteristics. I aimed to avoid the cliché of love at first sight, wanting him to align closely with Norman Reedus's portrayal in the first season – somewhat sassy, if you catch my drift. By the way, thank you immensely for the support you're providing; it truly motivates me to write! Thanks again, and I hope you enjoy reading!

MASTERLIST

NEXT CHAPTER >>

You stepped out of your tent, your attire a deviation from your usual style - a thin blue and white striped flannel, complemented by a white tank top. Back in the day, your wardrobe consisted primarily of sweaters, sweatpants, and the occasional leather jacket and pants. But Atlanta's blazing sun left you with little choice.

"Damn, it's hotter than me," you muttered to yourself, reminiscing about the more temperate climate back home, far away from the unrelenting southern heat.

Emerging from your tent, you clutched a red bucket and secured a small hunting knife to your belt, your trusty brown sling bag slung over one shoulder. Shane, ever the vigilant protector, had his shotgun slung casually over the other shoulder as he called out to you.

"Hey, you pickin' mushrooms?" Shane drawled in his annoying voice.

You turned around, squinting at Shane from the intense sunlight. Your eyes, an inherited trait from your father, were sensitive to the bright glare, while your brother boasted your mother's striking blue eyes, which never failed to spark a twinge of envy on you.

"Yeah?" You responded, raising an arm to shield your eyes from the sun.

"Wait for me. I'll come with you."

"No."

Shane, his voice oozing with frustration, barked, "Y/N, for the love of... it ain't safe out there alone!"

Your irritation flared, and you snapped back, "I can handle myself, Shane. I've survived this long without you babysitting me. I don't need your damn help."

Narrowing you eyes at Shane, you made it clear you didn't need his assistance, nor did you particularly relish his company on the excursion.

Shane, not one to back down, flashed a glare. "Y'know this world ain't what it used to be. Better safe than sorry. Besides, can't let ya out there with that little peashooter of a knife."

You sighed, your reluctance clear. "I can handle myself, Shane. I told you."

Before Shane could respond, Glenn, appeared on the scene. "Hey, guys, no need to argue, alright? I'll go with Y/N. Better two pairs of eyes than one, right?"

Glenn, carrying a bucket with just a few mushrooms, happily trotted behind you. He'd successfully convinced you to bring your recurve bow along, and his grin was the picture of contentment. However, you couldn't quite wrap your head around the idea. Why on earth would you need a bow for a mushroom-picking trip? You didn't have the faintest clue about hunting or shooting arrows at moving targets like walkers or animals. Still, you carried it with you, albeit with a puzzled look.

The sound of Glenn humming "Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da" by the Beatles filled the air as you continued your journey. You suddenly stopped in your tracks and turned to face Glenn, a deadpan expression on your face. You dropped your sling bag to the ground, making a thud that seemed to mirror your exasperation. Glenn's humming came to a halt, and he wore a concerned expression. "What's wrong?" he asked.

You let out a long, dramatic sigh and voiced your confusion about why you were lugging your bow around for mushroom picking. "Tell me again why I had to bring my bow? Honestly, just admit it that bringing the bow was completely useless."

Glenn, ever the optimist, replied, "It's not useless, Y/N." Your raised eyebrow silently demanded an explanation, so he continued, grinning all the while. "I've noticed that when you're carrying that bow, you become way more focused and aware of your surroundings. It's like the bow is giving you some kind of 'hunter's power' you haven't fully unlocked yet."

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at Glenn's explanation. "You're probably making that up, Glenn," you scoffed, though a part of her wondered if there might be a grain of truth in his words.

Glenn, undeterred by your skepticism, persisted with a good-natured grin. "I'm serious. I've seen it. You might not be a hunter yet, but it's like your instincts kick in when you have that bow. Trust me, it's not just for show."

You shot him a half-smile, still not entirely convinced. "Well, it'd be nice to unlock some super-secret bow skills," you quipped. "But for now, it's just extra weight I'm carrying around."

Glenn chuckled, picking up his bucket of mushrooms and you continued on your quest. "Hey, you never know. Maybe one day that bow will save our lives."

You smirked playfully, nudging Glenn's shoulder with your elbow. "Alright, I'll keep it handy. Just in case we come across any killer mushrooms out here."

You both continued the walk through the woods until your sharp eyes spotted a cluster of mushrooms nestled beside a decaying wooden log. Eager to add to your collection, you both knelt down to start plucking the mushrooms. Glenn questioned, "Hey, are these mushrooms safe to eat?"

You fingers gently inspecting the mushrooms as you gathered them, offered a reassuring smile. "Yeah, these are the same kind my father and I used for stew that one time when we went camping. It's a good thing my brother didn't come along with us; he managed to sprain his ankle, being a bit of a dumbass."

As Glenn continued to gather mushrooms, he looked over at you, curiosity in his eyes. "Hey," he began, "tell me about your life before all this craziness."

You scoffed playfully and replied, "My life doesn't have much to tell, Glenn."

Glenn persisted, "Well, I told you about my background, so why not share yours with me?"

You laughed, shaking your head. "First of all, you told me your background because you were bored and couldn't keep your mouth shut, and you're a bad liar," you teased. "And second, my life was pretty ordinary. Just Y/N Grimes, nothing special."

Glenn pouted and playfully begged, "Come on, there's gotta be something interesting about it."

You deeply sighed, and then shared your family history, revealing that your older brother played a significant role in your upbringing. Raised by your nurse mother and town sheriff father, you and your brother spent much of your childhood playing outdoors. Despite your parents' busy schedules, they ensured you both were well-cared for. Your brother, your constant companion, played a pivotal role until he went to college when you were seven. Your mom occasionally took you to the hospital where you befriended the staff, while your dad, a sheriff, introduced you to art at the police station. You developed a love for bows at nine, excelling in archery and winning awards in competitions, choosing it over baseball.

Curiosity getting the best of him, Glenn asked you, "Hey, why haven't you mentioned your brother's name to anyone? Same goes for Lori, she's never mentioned her husband's name, and Carl hasn't talked about his dad's name either."

You bit your bottom lip, a hint of sadness in your eyes, and shrugged. "I guess I just don't feel right saying his name, especially now that he's... well, probably not around anymore. Lori and Carl might feel the same way." You let out a soft sigh.

With the bucket nearly full of mushrooms, Glenn flashed you a soft smile. "You know, if it weren't for you, I'd probably be a geek's dinner that time, dehydrated and all."

You returned his smile, your expression equally warm. "Don't mention it, Glenn. I just did what was right."

You and Glenn strolled through the forest, your footsteps barely making a sound on the soft, damp ground. Glenn held the bucket of freshly picked mushrooms, while you carried your recurve bow.

The forest enveloped you both in its tranquil beauty, the trees rising tall and proud, their branches creating a canopy that filtered the fading daylight. The deep blue sky was speckled with hints of orange as the sun began its descent. You admired the interplay of shadows and light as you followed Glenn's lead.

Glenn's hiss drew your gaze, your voice tinged with concern. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

Glenn replied hastily, a touch of urgency in his voice. "I need to pee. Just need a minute."

With that, he disappeared behind the tree, leaving you to quip under your breath, "Well, I guess even the apocalypse doesn't stop Mother Nature's demands."

You rolled you eyes in response and settled down on a sturdy log. With the forest's canopy above you, you gazed up at the sky, marveling at the delicate dance of leaves and branches against the deepening blue backdrop. Evening was approaching more swiftly than you had anticipated.

Setting your recurve bow against the log, you picked up the bucket and inspected your mushroom haul. A tinge of disappointment washed over you as you realized you both had collected only a handful of the edible fungi. It wouldn't be sufficient to feed the entire camp.

"Shit," you muttered to yourself, a longing for something more substantial like venison crossing your mind. If only you possessed the skill to hunt with your recurve bow, you fantasized, you could be inside your tent savoring a venison barbecue.

Then, something in your guts told you that something was wrong.

As you cautiously held your recurve bow, an arrow ready to be nocked, she heard the distinct sound of a gun being cocked, followed by a muffled whimper. Your senses went on high alert, and you pinpointed the source of the noise, noticing the whimper was stifled, likely by the hand of someone nearby.

You moved carefully, your gaze scanning your surroundings but finding nothing out of the ordinary. An eerie silence hung in the air. "Glenn," you called, concern lacing your voice, but received no response. You inched closer to the large tree behind which Glenn had disappeared, still hearing no movement.

Growing more uneasy, you called out Glenn's name again, you tone pleading as you asked him to stop playing this prank. "Glenn, this isn't funny! Come on, where are you?"

But then, it hit you: Glenn didn't carry a gun. The dread intensified, and you readied your recurve bow, albeit knowing you couldn't fire an arrow with precision if the target was moving.

Your heart raced with worry as the thought of something terrible happening to Glenn crossed your mind. Your concern grew so intense that you failed to notice the approach of a geek that crept up behind you. Only the sound of a low growl snapped your attention back to the present. You spun around, panic in your eyes, and found yourself face to face with a ravenous-looking geek.

A startled yelp escaped your lips as your mind raced, and then, as if fate intervened, an arrow sliced through the air, embedding itself deep in the geek's skull. Before you could process the rescue, another rustling of leaves drew your focus. You immediately nocked an arrow and aimed at the source.

Your heart pounded as you locked eyes with a man, an unmistakably living one. He held a crossbow, which was aimed directly at you. In response, you pointed your recurve bow at him, the tension was palpable. He was dressed in tattered, sleeveless attire and jeans, his skin marked by dirt and blood. But what caught your attention the most were his piercing blue eyes, narrowed and locked onto you with a mix of curiosity and caution.

A taller, older man in equally as dirty clothes wielding a handgun emerged behind the tree, covering poor and shaking Glenn's mouth.

You swiftly shifted your recurve bow, your eyes blazing with anger, from pointing at the archer with the crossbow to the man who had kidnapped Glenn. You glared at him, you frustration and anger palpable in the intensity of your gaze.

The man had a smile that made you uneasy. He looked at you up and down lasciviously whilst licking his thin, dried lips. The man spoke with a sly grin. "Well, ain't you a sight for sore eyes. A pretty little thing out here in the woods."

You maintained a guarded silence, apprehensive that opening your mouth might escalate into something more ominous. The tension hung in the air, as you weighed the consequences of uttering a word.

"Well, sweetheart, the name's Merle. Me and my baby brother are just fellas tryin' to survive in this world gone to hell. What 'bout you? Out here all alone?" Merle asked.

Fear coursed through you as Merle introduced himself and pressed the handgun against Glenn's temple. Glenn whimpered and cried, and you, your hands trembling, kept your recurve bow at the ready.

Merle, his eyes never leaving you, spoke in a low, threatening tone. "Put the damn bow down, girl, or I won't think twice about puttin' a bullet in his brainpan. You ought to be polite to man holding a gun."

You reluctantly lowered you recurve bow to the ground. Glenn, still shaking, looked at you with pleading eyes. "I'm so, sorry..."

Your heart ached for your friend, but your focus remained on Merle, who had a dangerous glint in his eye. You couldn't help but wonder about the other archer lurking behind you.

Merle suddenly released Glenn, and the younger man rushed to your side, positioning himself behind you as a shield. Merle's laughter filled the air as he walked over to where Daryl stood, still pointing his crossbow at you.

You anger seething beneath your usual shyness as you shot a defiant glare at the two men. In ths tense moment, you may not have felt adorable, but your determination was unmistakable.

Merle's rough voice cut through the tension, "Where y'all come from? What you doin' in these woods?"

You shot back with a determined but cautious glare, refusing to answer. Your silence spoke louder than any words.

Merle's eyes locked onto the bucket of mushrooms you were carrying, and he leaned in, inquiring, "Are you just out here gatherin' stuff?"

Daryl, however, didn't lower his crossbow. Merle wondered if that was the reason you weren't answering his question. He couldn't contain his frustration and yelled at Daryl, "Lower your damn crossbow, little brother!"

Daryl, a bit wary, lowered his crossbow, his gaze lingering at you with an unreadable expression. Merle, however, let out another wild laugh and inquired, "Y'all got a camp or somethin'?"

Glenn was about to respond, but you cut him off with a curt, "Fuck off."

Merle's temper flared, and he pointed his gun directly at you, the barrel aimed at your forehead. You didn't even flinch, your gaze steady and defiant.

Your fiery glare remained locked on Merle, who continued to cackle manically. It was evident he might have been high. Even with the tension, you couldn't help but sense Daryl's gaze on you, so you turned to him, your expression less fierce. Your careful appraisal seemed to make him uneasy as he shifted his focus and tightened his grip on his crossbow.

Your eyes then took notice of the lifeless squirrels hanging from his body. He held his crossbow with a hunter's grace, a professional stance that didn't escape your observation. It all clicked for you now – these two strangers in the woods, Daryl and Merle, were hunters, or at least one of them was. It was evident that Daryl was the skilled one.

A myriad of questions flooded your mind. Would they prove valuable additions to the group at the quarry, or would they bring nothing but trouble? They were, after all, just strangers, weren't they? However, you decided that you needed to find out for herself. The prospect of gaining skilled hunters and learning new survival skills was too tempting to ignore, even if it meant taking a risk.

However, before you could say something, Glenn, positioned behind you, leaned in and whispered his concern. "I know what you're thinking, don't do it. This feels like a bad idea. I've got a bad feeling about it."

You turned to Glenn, reassuring him, "Trust me. We need their skills and help."

You then turned to the two strangers, Merle and Daryl, and sighed heavily. "Listen, if we take you back to our camp, will you agree to one thing? To help us get food? No one in the camp knows how to hunt."

Daryl scoffed, rolling his eyes, "Can't ya teach yourselves? I ain't a damn teacher," he said. "Ya got a bow, why don't ya teach yourself, huh?" He then spat at you.

Although somewhat hurt by his words, you glared at him. "Listen, Robinhood," you began, "Last time I had a bullseye was with target practice, not a growling, flesh-hungry, walking dead."

Daryl retorted with a scowl, "Maybe if ya spent less time jawin' and more time learnin', you wouldn't be dependin' on others to keep ya fed, woman."

You scowled at him, saying, "Relax, dude. It's only been a week since the world ended. It's not as if the world gave me a heads up or warned me about the geeks and how to deal with them."

Daryl shot back with frustration, "Well, ain't that just peachy? Should've figured, talkin' to someone who thinks the end of the world is an excuse for ignorance."

Before you could reply or even deliver a hard slap, Merle intervened, placing his hands between you and Daryl, attempting to calm you both down. However, you knew it wouldn't be of much help.

"Calm down now, baby brother. It ain't the right way to talk to a pretty lady," Merle drawled with a sly smirk, then drawled his gaze over you, "Especially a lady like this, bambi," he drawled, licking his lips.

It was awful; it made you feel small and somewhat frightened under his perverted gaze. Unbeknownst to you, however, Daryl noticed the slight shaking of your hands.

"Shut up, Merle," Daryl spat at his brother, then turned to you, drawling, "Just bring us to your camp, and then we'll talk about a deal."

However, as expected, Merle couldn't resist injecting his usual dose of crudeness. Leering at you, he remarked, "Well, hope you don't mind a bit of dirt, sweetheart."

Displaying a sense of decency, Daryl quickly intervened with a stern expression and a firm command, "I said, shut up, Merle!"

"Shut up yourself ---"

Then, Glenn interfered, cutting Merle off. He positioned himself in front of you, puffing his chest out, though his hands were both shaking. "If you say another perverted thing to her, trust me, you'll regret it for the rest of your life."

[leftoverspagehhti]

This is what I mean when I say *puts in a snow globe and shakes aggressively*

[stupid-and-cute-are-enough]

for the past 4 days, i've descended into madness over the anon getting turned into an animatronic. behold. 2.6k words @get-rammed i've gone insane

as always, i spew BTS lore in the tags

“Alright, that’s everything,” his Handler announces, finishing the paint on his last claw. They give his hand a satisfied pat. Monty watches as they turn away and begin packing up their things, making idle chatter as they do, offhandedly mentioning that they hope it isn’t too late by the time they actually get to head home. They told him earlier that they’ve got a meeting with the higher-ups once they’re done tonight, and it’s been weighing on him all day.

“I don’t think you should go to that meeting,” he says because he can’t take it any longer.

They pause. “What do you mean?”

“I just… I don’t think you should go.” Monty clenches his fists in his lap. It doesn’t feel right. If it was any other lame meeting announced in a staff email, sure, but this isn’t one of those. They were approached in person. No documents, nothing written; just pulled them aside this morning and told them something about enhancing the Handler experience. All of the other Handlers have gone home already, too, and there’s nothing that they could want just his for that meant anything good.

They huff fondly. “I don’t really have a choice, Monty.”

They keep getting ready, a sinking feeling forming in Monty. He tries again to explain that it’s a bad idea again but is gently shut down. His Handler hugs his head on their way out, an act he’d usually eat up and crave more of, but tonight, he feels like rejecting it. It just feels so wrong.

“Sweets, please, don’t go.” He grabs onto their sleeve. “I got a bad feeling about this.”

Their face softens. “I hear you, Monty, but I have to. I’ll probably get fired if I don’t.” They laugh a little. “I’m sure everything will be fine. Worst-case scenario, they dump a mountain of work on me. Everything’ll be okay. I’ll see you tomorrow, big guy.”

—

They announced a new animatronic the very next day.

The announcement made Monty raise a brow because even with his debut as a Glamrock, as rushed as it was, Fazzbear Entertainment still took their time to milk it for all its worth. Surely, with a brand-new animatronic, they’d pull out all of the theatrics. But, no, management had just called everyone backstage (Monty was grabbed by Chica’s Handler because his still wasn’t here, and it worried him. They always tell him if they’re going to be late) and spilled the news.

It’s another gator, which, geez, thanks, corporate. It’s dressed in actual clothes, unlike the rest of them. It’s a little smaller than Monty, with a sleeker design. Monty eyes the new thing up and down. There’s something… wrong with it. Monty feels it. So does the rest of the band. It stands across from them, eyes too wide, taking in too much yet too little information at the same time. Its hands are clutched together, held tightly to its chest. It’s a shambling mess, really. Barely finished and definitely not ready for crowds. The thing really needs a Handler, which only reminds Monty of the empty space by his side.

It’s different from them. It doesn’t fill its body like it’s supposed to. A feeling of uneasiness washes over the room. Even the other Handlers look a little disturbed.

After the incredibly lackluster introduction, dampened by the uneasiness of everyone in the room, management gives up on pleasantries and snaps at everyone to prepare for opening time. They leave without further explanation, not even telling everyone what the newcomer is supposed to be doing. Everyone takes the chance to leave as fast as possible, abandoning the barely functional animatronic where it stands.

Something in Monty tells him to linger, as disturbed as he is. The sinking feeling he had last night returns tenfold.

It looks too familiar. Cautiously, Monty approaches the thing, eyeing the uniform it wears. He dares not to peek at the nametag displayed proudly on its chest. The animatronic tilts its head up at him slightly, or at least it tries. Monty can hear the inner mechanics going, but it remains frozen. He stands uncomfortably in front of it, unsure of what to do. Everything about it feels wrong. Everything about this feels wrong.

He peeks at the nametag, and his world comes crashing down. Surely not. They couldn’t have shoved a whole person, a full consciousness, inside of an animatronic, could they? That technology doesn’t exist, right? Right?

Monty reaches out a shaking hand, staring into the bot’s blank, red eyes. It can’t be. Fazzbear has done some fucked up, shady stuff, but they wouldn’t do this, would they? This has to be too far. It has to. His hand touches their forearm, feeling the all-too-familiar fabric of the Handler uniforms under his finger pads. He meets their eyes, registering the terror behind their blank stare.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Hey, it’s... I, uh-”

“M-” Their voice fries out, and their jaw moves unnaturally. But it’s enough for Monty. That’s their voice. That’s their voice. Monty feels something vile fester inside of him. If he could get sick, he would. That’s them. That’s them in there. They’re in there. That’s his Handler, who he saw just last night, in there.

Their stare is so blank. Their hands are clutched together so tightly. That’s them.

“Oh, sweets…”

His hands slide down their arms to take their hands, snagging his thumb on the cuff of their uniform as he goes. Something there catches his eyes, though, something a human eye would miss, but something he’s been trained to notice. A tiny speckle of blood stained into the fabric. Their blood.

Monty sucks in a breath, his grip on their hands tightening. They were hurt when this was done to them. They bled.

“Let’s go to my green room,” he says. He keeps his voice gentle, but there’s also no room to argue. He doesn’t think they could, anyway. They don’t respond to him or make any kind of movement, so Monty moves for them. Slowly, painfully, he guides them up to his green room, keeping a gentle set of hands on them the entire way. They stumble and would’ve fallen without Monty to catch them. Their tail drags limply behind them. They probably don’t know how to use it for balance yet. The word yet makes Monty’s heart hurt.

He ensures the door stays open as they shuffle into his room, hovering over them until they’ve been cautiously guided to sit on the couch. They don’t need to struggle to stand anymore. Monty doesn’t think he could handle seeing it.

“Everything’s gonna be okay,” he says. It’s a lie. It’s an awful, horrible lie, but what else is he supposed to say?

They try to speak again, but their voice fries into something that sounds like a quiet cry. Their body begins to tremble, their hands clenching around each other even harder. All tell-tale signs that they’re crying, but they don’t have tears anymore. Instead, their eyes just stare into the wall, unresponsive.

“I’m so sorry, sweets,” he says as they weep. He sits beside them on the couch, cautiously wrapping his body around theirs. He doesn’t know if the different sensations will upset them even further, but he also doesn’t know what else to do.

“H-” A billow of steam rolls out of their jaw, rattling their whole system. The sudden movement startles Monty, making him pull away.

“Hey, sweets, you-” Monty glances into their eyes, wide, sightless, terrified, with a slack jaw pouring steam, “you need to calm down. I know it seems like I’m askin’ the impossible of ya, but you’ll overheat yourself, and I dunno how to fix that.”

Their body shudders, unresponsive to their mind. Monty doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how to help. He remembers what they did when he first came online and when he was given his new body. They surrounded him with familiar, comforting things, but his Handler doesn’t live here like he does. At least they didn’t. Their greatest comforts are probably far out of Monty’s reach. He searches around his green room, trying to find anything he knows helps them relax.

He spots a fidget they used to love playing with during his noon charging sessions. It should be simple enough; it just needs a pushing and pulling motion. Nothing complicated. But his Handler’s hands don’t react, even as he pries them apart and presses the fidget into their palm. Their fingers remain tense, not even twitching.

“Okay, something easier. I got it. I’ve got you.”

Monty reaches and grabs one of the oversized plushies lying beside the two of them on the couch. It’s big enough for him to comfortably interact with, so it should be good enough for them, too, right? He places the weighted plush in their lap, tucking its arms in so his Handler doesn’t have to do it themself. It looks like they try to wrap their arms around the plush, but the thing just ends up getting knocked to the floor. The failure to get their arms to work only serves to upset his Handler more as their hands begin trembling, the metal of the digits clinking together. 

Monty looks up at them, scared for them. Scared with them. If they can’t function, they’re going to be decommissioned– not fired, not still alive, decommissioned and dead. Gone forever. Their head has turned slightly, staring intensely at something, so Monty follows their line of sight. His gaze lands on their jacket that they accidentally left last night, draped across a chair. Now a little shaky himself, Monty gets up and retrieves it for them.

He realizes once he gets back that it doesn’t fit them anymore. It used to be so big on them, but it doesn’t fit now. Their favorite jacket, the one they wore every day, doesn’t fit anymore. He drapes it over their shoulders, bringing it around them tightly. Their shoulders are bigger under his hands. Wider. Their body is like his own now and so very, very different from what it used to be.

He retakes their hands, kneeling in front of them. He meets their eyes, which stare deep into whatever kind of soul he has.

“Look at me, Chere,” he says, squeezing their hands, trying to ground them. He’d tell them to breathe with him, but they can’t anymore, and he doesn’t know if that’ll help or upset them. “I’ve got you. I promise. I won’t ever, ever let anything else happen to you. I promise.”

Their hands squeeze his own, and Monty lets out his own version of a sigh of relief. The shaking in their limbs begins to die down, the steam eventually coming to an end. He smiles at them, keeping his hold on their hands solid. He praises them softly, rubbing their knuckles.

Their eyes meet his properly, and Monty can see the hurt and the fear in their eyes. They shift, jaw moving experimentally.

“I… can’t breathe,” they say.

Monty’s heart breaks for them. They try to shift, try to grab onto their jacket and pull it tighter around them, but their limbs won’t cooperate, and the metal of their fingers slips against the satin material.

“Here, you gotta… you gotta grip with the pads of your fingers. Like this,” Monty says, taking hold of their hands and guiding their fingers to do so. A shudder runs through their system, getting their hands to tighten and pull, if only slightly.

Monty steps back to take another look at the design of their new body. A gator, like him. Their hair is soft and synthetic, with a little product to keep it sleek, so at least that wasn’t taken from them. In a bitter-sweet kind of way, Monty can imagine helping them style their hair in the morning when the dust settles. But Monty still has trouble adjusting to his mohawk, so he can’t imagine what it’s like for them right now. How long it’ll take for that dust to settle. They’re smaller than him. Sleeker. A little more compact and able to fit into tighter spaces. Probably equipped with the same processing power Monty has, and he prays to whatever is out there, none of the guardrails. Overall, they’re… built to work. They were hurt, maybe even killed, their body broken, disposed of, and shoved into this body to work. To work! They never get to go home again; they never get to have a life outside of the Pizzaplex ever again, all so Fazzbear Entertainment could have another obedient little worker.

Monty shoves down his anger. They don’t need that right now. Instead, he turns his energy to muster up the best smile he can, affirming the correct motions with their hands.

“There you go, you’ve got it.” His smile wavers a little at their silence. 

They stare at their hands, their new, robotic, alien hands. Hands that don’t listen when they tell them to move. A body that doesn’t listen. They grip around the fabric of their jacket, feeling, in a way, the mechanics whirr in their arms. But they don’t feel the silky fabric anywhere but their finger pads. They feel the warmth of Monty in front of them, holding onto them, but only in broad strokes. It’s not like skin. It’ll never be like skin. There’s no more blood, only coolant (they feel so cold), no nerves, no organs. No lungs. Those things are still there, in a way, in a robotic sense.

All of the essential bits keeping their body moving are still there. But it’s not their body. Flashes of blood and mutilation streak across their vision the longer they stare. They have claws now. And a snout. And a tail. They always thought it’d be kind of cool to have a tail, who doesn’t, but not like this. They don’t want this. They want to go home and lay in bed and fall asleep and hope that this is some god-awful dream. They want to fight with their ID at the stupid maintenance tunnel exit, and drive home tired, and wake up five hours later to come to work and do it all over again. 

“... sweets?”

They look up to Monty, sight still a little unclear. He looks worried. He looks scared. They don’t think they’ve ever seen him scared. He tentatively takes their hands, prying the fabric away before they rip something.

They stay there, Monty kneeling, Handler sitting, staring at each other. Lost, scared, confused. Neither quite sure what to say.

“I wanna go home,” they eventually settle on. They can see the resolve in Monty crack.

“I know, sweets.” He rubs their knuckles again. They’re disturbed by how little they can feel of it. “I’m so sorry they did this to you.”

They want to tell him that it wasn’t his fault, that he has nothing to be sorry for, but the words don’t come to them. So, instead, they sit in silence. Awful, dreadful silence.

Eventually, Monty stands, still holding their hands in his. “You’ve gotta be getting… tired,” he murmurs. “Here, I’ll show you how to get charged.”

His Handler know how. They’ve helped Monty settle in to get charged a million times. But it’s different now. They need to charge. Their battery isn’t running low, they don’t think anyway, but the emotional drain is enough for them to take the carefully offered out. Monty gets them set up, gently explaining things as he goes, like what it’s going to feel like at first and how entering standby will kind of feel like sleeping (at least, what he’s pretty sure sleeping feels like). When everything is said and done, and Monty is sure they’ll be out for a while, he turns to eye the big door that separates his room from the rest of the Pizzaplex.

His curtains are closed, and he’s going to make sure it stays that way. For a long time.

[r0semultiverse]

Imagine fucking a jinchūriki & they use their tentacles, tails, extra appendages, and/or chakra tendrils on you.

[einsatzzz]

OC Crossovers (1/3): Tea Time with Myr and Lidija (@myrmyrtheorca 's OCs!) Kurumi may or may not be telling Lidija about shoujo manga while Myr is just chilling there and relaxing from the nice atmosphere.

[kitteqq]

mmm billyswag angst panel. billy is venting about the guest war... (click for quality lawl)

[frenchfrywrites]

Hmm... TWST thought. You're doing a particularly frustrating bit of homework, but one of the other students (your choice which) is comforting you while you work... By snuggling up on your lap and cockwarming you. They're snoozing, arms wrapped around you and head resting on your shoulder, and their warmth and weight help keep you centered when your homework makes you want to tear your hair out. And on top of that, you can drink all the caffeine you need without having to run to the bathroom constantly... You and your warmer have both agreed to just use each other. As soon as any piss forms inside you, you just let it drizzle out into them, and they return the favor whenever they need, quietly spilling across your lap.

YESSSS LETS GET INTO IT!!!!!!

I gotta be so real, my mind went to malleus first. He's just dying to be close to you, and comes to you begging quietly to be filled. When you tell him you've got a lot of work to do he gets all pouty (ofc he thinks he's hiding it well lmao) and is like... Okay 🥺😔.

So you tell him you could give cock warming a try and he's delighted, eagerly agreeing to the idea. He's amazing at cock warming, and is such a good boy for you, staying so still, completely content in just being filled up.

I don't know if I think he'd fall asleep on your lap, but he absolutely drops into sub space.

When you start pissing in him he'll clench tightly around you, and moan, but he won't move even if he wants to get off so bad. Nothing turns him on so badly as being used like a urinal <3

Of course it's also fun to think about some more bratty and eager characters (cough cough, Leona, Cater, and Lilia cough) who would have such a hard time stopping themselves from moving that you tell them if they're good for you, you just might piss inside of them. Then and then they're good and still for you, even going so far as to help you with your work (anything that'll guarantee your piss inside them)

[lesbiancosimaniehaus]

Geniuses on twitter composing entire threads about how Taylor swift and skinny women can’t feel fat bc it’s harmful to “people existing in fat bodies”…. Lmao. I’m skinny, by all accounts, and technically of a healthy weight for my height etc and I still feel fat all the time. It affects no one but myself and possibly my wallet.

[kpopgirlbtssvt]

Hi!! Does anyone know of anyone who takes requests for R from Warm Bodies? I’ve been trying to find blogs who wanna write for him🤧🤧🤧

[sysig]

Spoiled rotten (Patreon)

[sshewonders]

WARM BODIES

Chapter 05: Doubtful

chapter synopsis: Daryl and Merle arrive with supplies. When you ask Daryl to teach you hunting, he dismisses you. Frustrated, you turn to sketching in your tent for emotional release.

chapter warnings: Social isolation, rejection, and self-doubt themes as the protagonist struggles to fit in, seeking validation and finding solace in art.

word count: 1.4k words

author's note: Don't you just love it when writers depict Daryl Dixon in Season 1 just as Norman Reedus portrays him? He's an annoying jerk in Season 1, and I kind of hate it when writers make him out of character, suddenly super sweet. Anyway, enjoy reading!

MASTERLIST

NEXT CHAPTER >>

The Dixon brothers set their tent at a distance, out of sight from the others. You could still keep an eye on them, given that your and Glenn's tent wasn't too far from the Dixons'. While Daryl was busy skinning the squirrels he had caught, Merle had gone off somewhere, probably into the woods to retrieve their pickup or something. Daryl wasn't exactly the sociable type, and when Carl approached him to ask about his cool crossbow, Shane sternly instructed the boy to stay away from the Dixon brothers. You couldn't blame Shane, though. He was just looking out for Carl, right?

Later around lunchtime, Merle returned with a red, worn-out pickup and a motorcycle on the back. A group of men, including Shane, Jim, T-dog, Dale, Morales, Glenn, and others whose names you didn't know, gathered around the pickup. It was loaded with a small arsenal of guns and ammo, enough to provide a bit more security but not nearly sufficient to arm everyone.

Daryl began frying some squirrels, and you observed from a distance while hanging your laundry, which had been washed by Carol. You had a plan - to talk to Daryl and ask him to teach you how to hunt, so you could help bring food to the table and not leave him hunting alone.

After finishing your chores, you made your way to the Dixon brothers' tent. Merle was still absent, probably indulging in who knows what in the woods. The sun was slowly descending in the afternoon sky.

"Hey, Daryl," you started, your voice slightly shaky due to nervousness. You weren't great at socializing, especially with strangers, and there was an unfamiliar lilt in your voice. You cleared your throat, hoping to ease your awkwardness. "I just wanted to thank you for giving some squirrels to Dale. He's cooking them for dinner now. So, thank you."

Daryl, his eyes hard and unreadable, looked up from the pan where he was frying squirrels. An uncomfortable silence hung between the both of you as you tried to decipher his expression.

Then, Daryl scoffed, still focused on the squirrels. He plated more of them, his gruff voice expressing his reluctance to chat. "It's nothin'. It's part of the deal, what tha' cop said, and my brother agreed to it."

After a moment, his gaze returned to the pan, fixated on the sizzling squirrels. He then put a few cooked ones onto a plastic plate, adding another batch to the pan, which crackled with the sound of frying. You kept your distance from the hot oil.

As the oil sizzled and popped, you flinched, your frustration growing. Daryl didn't seem to care much about your unease, and you clenched your fists in frustration.

"Damn it," you muttered to yourself, releasing a heavy sigh. You felt like you were failing at this whole conversation thing.

Daryl glanced at you, a hint of curiosity in his hard eyes. "What?" he asked.

You gathered your courage and got straight to the point. "I need you to teach me how to hunt," you said, causing Daryl's eyes to lock onto you. "Please."

Daryl stared at you, as if you had lost your mind. He offered a disdainful glance and finished frying the squirrels before transferring them to a plate. "Ain't a damn teacher, girl," he scoffed, making his way toward his tent.

Unwilling to give up, you followed him, an anxious expression on your face. "Please. I really need to learn how to hunt. I want to be useful here."

Daryl's harsh tone continued, making your heart sink further. He spat out, "Why don't ya teach yourself? You're an archer, ain't ya? Or are you too delicate for that too? Some people just ain't built for this world."

You felt your heart sink, his response making you upset. You mustered up your resolve and replied, "I may know how to shoot a bow, but I don't know how to track, skin, or prepare game. That's why I need someone like you to show me. Please."

Daryl continued to give you the cold, harsh stare. His annoyance was apparent as he sneered at you, "You ain't cut out for this kind of life, girl. You should stick playin' with your bows and let the real hunters do their job. Ain't nobody got time to babysit you."

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. You felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment and anger, but you kept your composure and replied, "I may not be cut out for it now, but I'm willing to learn. So, sorry for bothering you, Daryl." With that, you turned away, your eyes glistening with unshed tears, and walked back to your tent, leaving Daryl to his squirrels.

Inside your tent, you stared at you recurve bow with a sense of hopelessness. What was the point of begging someone, especially a skilled hunter, to teach you how to hunt if they clearly despised you? It felt futile. You couldn't help but feel proud of bringing Daryl and Merle to the camp, securing a valuable source of food and weaponry. Still, a small part of you had hoped that Daryl would agree to teach you.

You had always excelled in archery. You had won numerous awards and accolades before the world fell apart, both at school and in town events. But now, in the damned new world, everything was different. Target practice on stationary darts was nothing like aiming at moving and dangerous creatures like the geeks.

You grappled with a deep sense of inadequacy in the camp. Every time you attempted to help with chores, the older women insisted on taking over, believing the tasks were too strenuous for you. When you expressed interest in gathering firewood, the men gently discouraged you, stating that such labor wasn't suitable for someone of your stature. Trying your hand at cooking resulted in laughter and ridicule, with a past incident involving almost setting a pot on fire being the source of the amusement.

You despised it all. You couldn't stand being treated like a child. You were twenty-seven years old, after all. You and Glenn were of the same age, yet he had been remarkably useful to the camp, taking on various tasks like firewood collection, car repairs, and even venturing into the city for supply runs. For you, it was an ongoing cycle of feeling inept. You had been seen as useless before the world turned to chaos, and it seemed that nothing had changed since.

You couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by a sense of self-doubt. You thought about your brother, who had always been there to support you and push you to be better. Your eyes began to well up with tears as you reminisced about those moments.

Your voice cracked as you muttered to yourself, "Why can't I just be strong and useful like Glenn?" You wiped away a few tears and took a deep breath. It wasn't just about being strong physically; you felt a deep need to prove your worth to the group.

You set your bow aside, your trembling hands reaching for the worn leather bag beside you. With a deep sigh and tears glistening in your eyes, you carefully unzipped the bag, revealing the art materials within. The act of unzipping the bag felt like unearthing a piece of your past life, one that was filled with colors, inspiration, and dreams.

The sketchbook, its pages slightly yellowed with age, felt cool to the touch. You opened it gently, revealing a blank canvas waiting to be filled. Your charcoal pencils, meticulously organized by size, lay beside the sketchbook. The variety of pencils, from 4H to 6B, held the potential to capture the depth of your emotions.

In the dim light of your tent, illuminated only by a flickering candle, you began to draw. Each stroke was a release of the tension that had built up inside you. Your hand, guided by your emotions, moved with nothing but sadness.

Tears streaked down your face as you allowed your emotions to pour onto the paper. The sketch took shape, revealing a face with furrowed brows and eyes heavy with sorrow. The lines of the sketch mirrored the turbulence within your soul, the turmoil you had been trying to contain.

Time seemed to stand still as you poured your heart into the artwork. By the time you put down your charcoal pencil, the sketch was complete. You gazed at your creation, your tears now dried on your cheeks. The intensity of the emotional release left you feeling drained yet strangely relieved. The sketch captured a glimpse of your inner world, a silent cry for understanding and acceptance.

Art had been your solace for as long as you could remember, and it was a reminder that even in the darkest of times, you could find a way to express yourself and heal.

@celtic-crossbow @maackiimoo @duckmania127 @xmaeyonaiise @richardsamboramylove55

[wally-two-shoes]

Have a quick doodle of swaddled salad. :3

[whydoistilllikethehost]

After a few minutes, I saw a bright, familiar sign in the distance. I took a deep breath and wiped my eyes clear. 

"Ian, could you do me a favor?" 

"Anything you want." 

"I want fast food." 

To me, this was a sort of a last meal - the final gift to the condemned.

---click for higher quality---