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minervadashwood · 1 year

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Daryl Dixon x gn!Reader (plus size) - Soulmate AU

Careful

Summary: You have a soulmate you've never met. When their injuries stop appearing on your body, you worry that they're dead. As the apocalypse starts, you're convinced of it. How very wrong you are.

Note: This story is a one-shot AU of the Scars and Stitches (Tumblr | AO3) universe. I think it can be read as a standalone, but if you want to read the whole series first, go right ahead. There is one specific event referenced in the chapter "Safe" (Tumblr | AO3). You can check that single chapter if you’re curious. Huge thanks to @livingdeadblondequeen for giving me this idea of soulmates who experience each others’ injuries and pain. This story contains: angst, scars, blood, a secretive Daryl Dixon, and a happy ending. Word count: 3.3K

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The first scar happened when you were only four. One day, you were playing outside, just after a summer storm, making mud pies with your little brother. There, up to your wrists in wet, squelchy mud, sudden scrapes appeared on your hands, your knees, and your left cheek. Your brother screamed for your mother, and he started weeping uncontrollably. “Y/N’s dying!” he said, over and over. But you weren’t. Each of your scrapes, including the slashing wound on your forehead that bled profusely, were treated at the kitchen sink. You bawled through it all, but back then your mother was gentle. She soothed you with kind words, a soft touch, and endless patience.

More injuries came after that. Your nose was broken in the third grade, your wrist in the fourth. Not a month went by when you didn’t get bruised or banged up. Your mom went back to work, taking the nightshift with your dad at the local coal refinery. You were racking up doctor’s bills right and left, and the insurance was better with both of them working.

When you were twelve, your mom sat you down one Friday night--morning for her--and told you about the birds and the bees, including soulmates. She explained that the reason you got hurt so much was because out in the world somewhere, your soulmate was getting hurt, too. You cried, worrying about the person who was injured so often.

After that, your own troubles started. Your parents took up drinking, and your cozy little trailer became a nightmarish prison. The first time your mother slapped you, you sent a silent apology to your soulmate. They’d been hurt so much already, and here you were making it worse.

At fourteen, a fight with your mother, who wielded a broken lamp, left you bleeding from a gash in your oblique. Your younger brother got in the family car, barely able to see over the steering wheel, and drove you to the doctor’s office to get you patched up. You had a jagged scar from that, and so must your soulmate. Every night you prayed to that distant person, telling them that you loved them and that you were sorry. Not for anything specific, but just because both your lives seemed to be filled with pain.

But the worst scars came when you were fifteen. You were in English class--your favorite--when your back erupted into a sharp, bruising pain that made every other injury feel like tiny scratch. You wailed, right in the middle of class, falling out of your desk chair and writhing face down on the floor. You jerked as more and more pain hit you, the force of it shaking you right to your bones. Then the bleeding started. Huge cuts formed under your shirt, soaking the garment in seconds. Your teacher ordered all the students out of the room, and she called the nurse on the intercom. You were in a fog of pain and tears, and soon too weak for even that. You woke up in the hospital, laying facedown on a gurney, your little brother at your side.

More came later, bruises on your face from what you eventually realized were fistfights, once a sprained ankle. Another broken nose. Then a third. But as you grew up, left home, and got your library degree on a state scholarship, the hurts came less and less.

You half wondered, through most of your twenties, if your mate hadn’t simply died from all their hard living. But deep down, you still felt a connection to them. Whether that was false hope or something else, you weren’t sure.

Now, you are somewhere in Georgia, staring down miles of abandoned cars. Your arm is in a sling because one of your companions put you in a wrist lock two nights ago. You have two friends here. A stressed out cop and a surly redneck. The latter keeps a close eye on you. He knows about your scars and about your mate, whom you are certain is dead.

After Shane hurt you, somehow Daryl found you. Tipsy from the liquor he’d been drinking, he took one look at you and demanded an explanation. After you showed him your arm, he wrapped it with an elastic bandage and fashioned you a sling from a pillowcase. The whole time, you sat there and cried your eyes out. You went on and on about your lost soulmate, all the pain they’d been through--all the pain you’d been through. Daryl listened, silently, his expression sometimes tense and sometimes soft. He is a man of few words, to say the least.

(You never noticed that since that night he started favoring his left arm, and that he usually sleeveless hunter took to wearing long-sleeve flannel.)

Daryl catches your attention as the group begins to split up to search the nearby cars. “‘M goin’ up ahead to get some gas wi’ T-Dog.”

“Okay,” you say. “I guess I’ll look for clothes and medicine. Maybe find something that will actually fit me.”

“Will ya try ta stay close ta the RV?”

You nod with a half smile. “Don’t worry about me, I’m one handed at the moment, and not looking to be a hero.” Daryl leaves you with a nod, and you watch him walk away from you; his broad shoulders seem large enough to carry the weight of the world. Maybe they do.

Rick approaches you a few minutes later, convinced that Daryl is the one who hurt you. You fall back on the lies you and your brother would spin after your parents had too much to drink. Lori demanded your silence, and you want to keep your promise.

“It didn’t happen to me,” you explain, “I have a soulmate. I thought they were dead, but hey, guess what? Miracles do happen.” The end of the world apparently has made you snarky. You give Rick the short version--not the weeping monologue Daryl suffered through.

“Maybe you’ll find them,” Rick says, squeezing your shoulder reassuringly.

Getting back to your task, you somehow find a suitcase with plus size clothing. Most of it is in floral prints or with obnoxiously bedazzled phrases like “hot stuff” and “super cute” spread across the front. The other options include garish Hawaiian prints and stretched out polos. You aren’t picky. If something might fit, you grab it.

You have a good-sized bundle when Daryl suddenly grabs you and pulls you to the ground. In doing so, he has saved your life, again. Under a jeep, you huddle with him, holding your breath as he glances around and grips a long knife in his hand. The walkers pass you by, miraculously, and Daryl helps you to your feet. Just as he did after the CDC exploded, he holds you close, his arms wrap tightly around your thick middle as he whispers in your ear.

“Ya did real good. It’s gonna be alrigh’.” A moment passes before he loosens his arms and lets you go.

You wonder what he must think of you. Some helpless person who cried and moaned over a bruised wrist. Someone who needs constant looking after because they can’t protect themselves in this world.

Not all of your group fared as well as you and Daryl. In fact, he has disappeared into the forest. You sit with T-Dog, stitching up his arm and digging through long-lost Merle’s stash for antibiotics.

Later, as if you’re some child to be handled, Daryl demands that Glenn take you to the farm, ostensibly to take care of T-Dog. But you know better. You’re in the way and virtually helpless. Daryl doesn’t want you underfoot while he continues the search for Sophia. You can’t blame him.

At the farm, your scant first aid knowledge isn’t much good when there’s an actual physician around. You are partially relieved. Carl has much better chances without you getting in the way.

Carol, practically a walking zombie--no, not that kind--only frets and cries. Normally, Lori would comfort her, but Lori has her own troubles. You help organize the camp, before it gets too dark, pitching tents and making up beds for Daryl, Shane, and Carol. After, you sit with Carol, and she tells you stories of Sophia, some that break your heart and some that make you smile. Her tirades against Rick bubble up in between the tales. You let her talk; it’s not like Rick’s around to hear, anyway.

Night has fallen long before you hear the now-familiar sound of Daryl’s motorcycle. He talks with Carol, and the woman cries and pounds her fists against his chest. The sight affects you so much that you feel pressure on your heart, the repetitive pulsing almost making your ribs ache. You watch as she cries herself out, and Daryl’s head hangs low. Unable to bear the sight, you leave to get some food and water for him.

Carol escapes into her tent, and as she leaves, you bring the food to Daryl. You sit next to him while he eats in silence.

You want to hug him again, like you did in his truck, like you did on the highway, but it’s clear his mind is elsewhere.

“Thanks fer the grub,” he mumbles, standing up.

“Sure, no problem. Did you get enough to eat? Drink?”

He nods, biting his thumbnail and looking at the ground.

You know he’s exhausted, but there is something boyish and lost in the way he stands and the drooping of his shoulders. All at once, he reminds you of home, of family. Indeed, a wave of familiarity overtakes you, as if you have known Daryl all your life.

Ignoring the voices of your better angels, you reach up and gently draw his hand from his mouth to hold it in yours.

He lets out a long sigh and runs his thumb over your knuckles. “We got someone keepin’ watch?”

You stare at your joined hands in the moonlight, at Daryl’s thick, calloused thumb moving over your skin. His touch grounds you, somehow. Nothing is okay right now, but with Daryl next to you, this chaos feels almost bearable.

“Dale on the RV, T-Dog in the camp,” you answer. “We set up a tent for you. You need some rest.”

He nods.

Still holding his hand, you lead him to a small copse of trees, where his tent sits, apart from the others. You know that Daryl likes his privacy.

On the way, you tell him about Carl, about Otis and Shane heading out in the morning. You tell him about Hershel, too, warning Daryl that the man is protective and opinionated. You finish just as you reach his tent, and you reluctantly let go of Daryl’s hand.

(You don’t notice how he clenches and unclenches his fist, or how he puts his other hand on that wrist, trying to dull the pain there.)

“Ya got a place to get some shut-eye?” he asks, his voice raspy and soft.

“With Carol. Don’t want to leave her alone overnight.”

He grunts, giving you a small nod. Resisting every urge to hug him, you turn and walk back to Carol’s tent. Sleep comes fast, but Carol’s cries wake you up in the night, over and over. Each time you try to comfort her until eventually she falls asleep again.

The next day, in the late afternoon, the heat has taken its toll on you, so you find respite in a shaded part of camp, drinking from a bottle of water. The grass, soft and tempting, practically invites you to take a nap. Even without Daryl or Rick close by, you are relatively safe, so you give in.

When you wake up, Dale’s face is directly above yours. His hat askew, his brow covered in droplets of sweat, Dale’s mouth is moving, but you blink in and out of consciousness. Another concussion, you think, that would make three, now.

Forcing yourself to focus, to stay alert, you try to sit up, but Dale holds you down, his lips moving even faster now. A shadow moves above. It’s T-Dog with bandages and a bottle of tequila. His voice becomes a muffled sound, then all at once, you hear Dale saying your name, over and over, telling you to stay still. T-Dog shouts for Andrea, but she is nowhere to be seen.

“Wha--”

“Save your strength,” Dale tells you. “We’re just trying to stop the bleeding before we get you inside.”

The throbbing in your head gives way to a white-hot burning in your belly. You hurt from the inside out, as if something has clawed its way through you and left agony in its wake.

A soft touch wipes a cloth across your brow. The blood on it catches your eye. The throbbing in your head must be bleeding.

“Was it a bullet?” Carol’s voice asks. She cradles your head on her lap. “They must have fallen and hit their head, too.”

“Can’t be. We would’ve heard somethin’,” T-Dog replies.

Aches, bruising and intense, bloom all over you, like smatterings of hammer blows on your joints, torso, and legs. A whimper passes your lips, but the others don’t seem to notice these fresh bumps. You start praying, like you did all those years ago, telling your soulmate that you love them, to be strong, to get themselves to safety.

Consciousness comes and goes, at one point your shoulders are caught in a bruising grip, but no one is actually touching you there. Quickly, after that, new agony rips through your open wound, making you scream and moan on the ground.

Dale’s hands are shaky, you feel the trembling at your wound. All at once the three of them turn you on your side. You can’t help the piercing scream that erupts from your mouth.

“Whatever it was, there’s an exit wound,” Dale says. “Didn’t see that at first.”

A pair of hands press against your belly and another at your back.

The new pain has you on the verge of fainting until the disembodied voice of Andrea shouts, “WALKER!”

“Shit!” T-Dog exclaims.

All of a sudden, he lifts you. The world whizzes by, a steak of green in your peripheral and a wisp of clouds overhead.

Something slices across your temple, a quick burst of pain that fades in the wake of your torso being shaken and jostled as you are carried across uneven ground.

You can’t keep your eyes open. The voices around you are silenced and your vision goes dark. Again.

“That’s two more rounds of antibiotics, Rick. Your people can’t seem to stop getting hurt.”

“I understand that, Hershel. A few of us will go out in the morning and look for what you need. For now, I need to know if they’re going to be alright.”

“They’ll need some time to recover, but, yes, they’ll be fine. Eventually. Now, I need to check on my own family.”

You hear a door slam shut, and force open your eyes. “Rick?”

The room is dark except for the light from a lantern near the table. In a chair next to you sits the deputy.

“You gave us quite the scare today,” he tells you.

“What happened?” You try sitting up, but think better of it when you realize you are shirtless under the covers. You have more scars than words to explain them.

“Daryl was tracking Sophia, fell off his horse, and down a ravine.”

You clutch the covers to your chest. “Is he okay? How bad is it?” You tremble in the bed, sick with worry.

Rick smiles and says,, “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

You turn to see Daryl laying next to you, his head wrapped in gauze. Distantly a door opens and closes: Rick making a quick exit.

Daryl’s eyes are watery as he speaks. “Didn’ ‘spect ya ta find out like this.”

He takes your hand and places it on your forehead. Instead of hair, your fingertips trace over gauze. You realize it's wrapped around your forehead, just like it is his.

Your heartbeat pounds in your chest, sounding in your ears like the hastened beat of a bass drum.

Next to you, Daryl slowly pulls the covers down to his waist. He has a tank top on, but it does not cover the bandage on his stomach. The white gauze has been placed on the same part of his belly that caused you incredible pain before you blacked out.

“All I thought ‘bout out there was gettin’ back to ya. Jus’ thinkin’ of ya hurt as bad as me. I had to pull the arrow out to stop the bleedin’. I know it hurt like hell.” He lays on his side, but under the covers, his hand finds the soft flesh of your stomach and rests there. “‘M so sorry. Fer this, fer everythin’. If I knew before--” his voice cracks, but he keeps talking. “If I knew ya was ou’ ‘ere, gettin’ hurt ‘cause of me, I woulda been more careful all them years. I knew I didn’ deserve ya the moment ya told me all them times ya prayed to your soulmate, worried ‘bout him, ‘bout me.”

You take his hand and use it to pull him closer. His rough fingertips find their way to your upper back and hold you gently.

“I don’ deserve a soulmate, let alone someone like you,” he whispers. “Look what I done to ya. All yer life you been hurtin’. ‘Cause of me.”

Tears fall from your eyes. You cup his face, stroking your thumb on the apple of his cheek. The scruff from his beard pricks your skin, but the discomfort is welcome. “You’re real and here. That’s all that matters to me. You weren’t the one to carve up my back or break my nose. The world did that, to both of us.”

You move closer to him and cradle his neck until your noses almost touch. “I’ve been dreaming of you all my life, Daryl, scars and all. Your life--our lives are told on our bodies. Every scar a story of the time before we met. I want to write a new one. Together.”

He stares at you in the orange lantern light, and a few tears fall down his cheeks. Heart in your throat, you stay silent, watching him watch you. You lose yourself in his eyes, the soft way he gazes at you, unblinking and searching.

“I wanna kiss ya,” he mumbles. “I jus’ want ya to feel somethin’ good from me, an’ not all this pain.”

“Okay,” you whisper. “I’d like that.”

Daryl’s hand snakes up your back until it cradles the base of your head. The world goes silent the moment his lips touch yours. The taste of him sets off fireworks in your soul, as if part of you was not truly alive until this moment. You kiss him back, all those years of praying and crying over him coalescing so that you can forge this new path, together.

Some time later, you break apart, lips wet and swollen from endless, slow kisses, kisses trying to make up for decades spent apart.

“Was tha’ alrigh’?” Daryl asks, biting his bottom lip.

You smile for what feels like the first time in your life. “Not sure. We better do it again. Just in case.”

The end. Thank you for reading!

==Taglist==

@livingdeadblondequeen @phoenixblack89 @green-eyedladywrites @in-this-minute @takeabreathdeath @ravendixon @gypsytraveler86-blog @xojdmasf @daisy107 @angelrenee239 @sleepyamaya @no-tresspassing @carol @taintedxkisses @bl4ckt00thgr1n @glitch0o0 @micheleamidalajedi @lonelywolfheart @jad3djay @catholicraisin @harringtonstudios @brittney69 @littlelovebug98 @aureolinb

#mdop #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x you #twd #twd fanfic #plus size #plus size reader #plus size fanfic #minerva writes #scars and stitches #dd/xm #nonbinary reader #enby reader #gender neutral reader #daryl dixon x plus size reader #daryl dixon x gender neutral reader

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postsofbabel · 2 months

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#posts of babel #screenreader unfriendly #HTML posts of babel

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agox · 1 year

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Last night I got high and wrote a program to find all of the unused elemental symbols. It turns out there’s 585 of them and it’s much less interesting the next day.

One interesting finding: I couldn’t be bothered to generate all possible one and two letter strings, so I asked ChatGPT to write me code that would do all that for me. It worked surprisingly well!

['a', 'd', 'e', 'g', 'h', 'j', 'l', 'm', 'q', 'r', 't', 'x', 'z', 'aa', 'ab', 'ad', 'ae', 'af', 'ah', 'ai', 'aj', 'ak', 'an', 'ao', 'ap', 'aq', 'av', 'aw', 'ax', 'ay', 'az', 'bb', 'bc', 'bd', 'bf', 'bg', 'bj', 'bl', 'bm', 'bn', 'bo', 'bp', 'bq', 'bs', 'bt', 'bu', 'bv', 'bw', 'bx', 'by', 'bz', 'cb', 'cc', 'cg', 'ch', 'ci', 'cj', 'ck', 'cp', 'cq', 'ct', 'cv', 'cw', 'cx', 'cy', 'cz', 'da', 'dc', 'dd', 'de', 'df', 'dg', 'dh', 'di', 'dj', 'dk', 'dl', 'dm', 'dn', 'do', 'dp', 'dq', 'dr', 'dt', 'du', 'dv', 'dw', 'dx', 'dz', 'ea', 'eb', 'ec', 'ed', 'ee', 'ef', 'eg', 'eh', 'ei', 'ej', 'ek', 'el', 'em', 'en', 'eo', 'ep', 'eq', 'et', 'ev', 'ew', 'ex', 'ey', 'ez', 'fa', 'fb', 'fc', 'fd', 'ff', 'fg', 'fh', 'fi', 'fj', 'fk', 'fn', 'fo', 'fp', 'fq', 'fs', 'ft', 'fu', 'fv', 'fw', 'fx', 'fy', 'fz', 'gb', 'gc', 'gf', 'gg', 'gh', 'gi', 'gj', 'gk', 'gl', 'gm', 'gn', 'go', 'gp', 'gq', 'gr', 'gs', 'gt', 'gu', 'gv', 'gw', 'gx', 'gy', 'gz', 'ha', 'hb', 'hc', 'hd', 'hh', 'hi', 'hj', 'hk', 'hl', 'hm', 'hn', 'hp', 'hq', 'hr', 'ht', 'hu', 'hv', 'hw', 'hx', 'hy', 'hz', 'ia', 'ib', 'ic', 'id', 'ie', 'if', 'ig', 'ih', 'ii', 'ij', 'ik', 'il', 'im', 'io', 'ip', 'iq', 'is', 'it', 'iu', 'iv', 'iw', 'ix', 'iy', 'iz', 'ja', 'jb', 'jc', 'jd', 'je', 'jf', 'jg', 'jh', 'ji', 'jj', 'jk', 'jl', 'jm', 'jn', 'jo', 'jp', 'jq', 'jr', 'js', 'jt', 'ju', 'jv', 'jw', 'jx', 'jy', 'jz', 'ka', 'kb', 'kc', 'kd', 'ke', 'kf', 'kg', 'kh', 'ki', 'kj', 'kk', 'kl', 'km', 'kn', 'ko', 'kp', 'kq', 'ks', 'kt', 'ku', 'kv', 'kw', 'kx', 'ky', 'kz', 'lb', 'lc', 'ld', 'le', 'lf', 'lg', 'lh', 'lj', 'lk', 'll', 'lm', 'ln', 'lo', 'lp', 'lq', 'ls', 'lt', 'lw', 'lx', 'ly', 'lz', 'ma', 'mb', 'me', 'mf', 'mh', 'mi', 'mj', 'mk', 'ml', 'mm', 'mp', 'mq', 'mr', 'ms', 'mu', 'mv', 'mw', 'mx', 'my', 'mz', 'nc', 'nf', 'ng', 'nj', 'nk', 'nl', 'nm', 'nn', 'nq', 'nr', 'ns', 'nt', 'nu', 'nv', 'nw', 'nx', 'ny', 'nz', 'oa', 'ob', 'oc', 'od', 'oe', 'of', 'oh', 'oi', 'oj', 'ok', 'ol', 'om', 'on', 'oo', 'op', 'oq', 'or', 'ot', 'ou', 'ov', 'ow', 'ox', 'oy', 'oz', 'pc', 'pe', 'pf', 'pg', 'ph', 'pi', 'pj', 'pk', 'pl', 'pn', 'pp', 'pq', 'ps', 'pv', 'pw', 'px', 'py', 'pz', 'qa', 'qb', 'qc', 'qd', 'qe', 'qf', 'qg', 'qh', 'qi', 'qj', 'qk', 'ql', 'qm', 'qn', 'qo', 'qp', 'qq', 'qr', 'qs', 'qt', 'qu', 'qv', 'qw', 'qx', 'qy', 'qz', 'rc', 'rd', 'ri', 'rj', 'rk', 'rl', 'rm', 'ro', 'rp', 'rq', 'rr', 'rs', 'rt', 'rv', 'rw', 'rx', 'ry', 'rz', 'sa', 'sd', 'sf', 'sh', 'sj', 'sk', 'sl', 'so', 'sp', 'sq', 'ss', 'st', 'su', 'sv', 'sw', 'sx', 'sy', 'sz', 'td', 'tf', 'tg', 'tj', 'tk', 'tn', 'to', 'tp', 'tq', 'tr', 'tt', 'tu', 'tv', 'tw', 'tx', 'ty', 'tz', 'ua', 'ub', 'uc', 'ud', 'ue', 'uf', 'ug', 'uh', 'ui', 'uj', 'uk', 'ul', 'um', 'un', 'uo', 'up', 'uq', 'ur', 'us', 'ut', 'uu', 'uv', 'uw', 'ux', 'uy', 'uz', 'va', 'vb', 'vc', 'vd', 've', 'vf', 'vg', 'vh', 'vi', 'vj', 'vk', 'vl', 'vm', 'vn', 'vo', 'vp', 'vq', 'vr', 'vs', 'vt', 'vu', 'vv', 'vw', 'vx', 'vy', 'vz', 'wa', 'wb', 'wc', 'wd', 'we', 'wf', 'wg', 'wh', 'wi', 'wj', 'wk', 'wl', 'wm', 'wn', 'wo', 'wp', 'wq', 'wr', 'ws', 'wt', 'wu', 'wv', 'ww', 'wx', 'wy', 'wz', 'xa', 'xb', 'xc', 'xd', 'xf', 'xg', 'xh', 'xi', 'xj', 'xk', 'xl', 'xm', 'xn', 'xo', 'xp', 'xq', 'xr', 'xs', 'xt', 'xu', 'xv', 'xw', 'xx', 'xy', 'xz', 'ya', 'yc', 'yd', 'ye', 'yf', 'yg', 'yh', 'yi', 'yj', 'yk', 'yl', 'ym', 'yn', 'yo', 'yp', 'yq', 'yr', 'ys', 'yt', 'yu', 'yv', 'yw', 'yx', 'yy', 'yz', 'za', 'zb', 'zc', 'zd', 'ze', 'zf', 'zg', 'zh', 'zi', 'zj', 'zk', 'zl', 'zm', 'zo', 'zp', 'zq', 'zs', 'zt', 'zu', 'zv', 'zw', 'zx', 'zy', 'zz']

#programming #programming while high

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in-sightpublishing · 5 months

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Ask A Genius 651: Sirius XM

Author(s): Scott Douglas Jacobsen and Rick Rosner Publication (Outlet/Website): Ask A Genius Publication Date (yyyy/mm/dd): 2021/12/08 [Recording Start] Scott Douglas Jacobsen: Go ahead. Rick Rosner: You asked about the future of comedy. We’ve talked about this before. Since I’ve been driving my wife’s car with Sirius XM, which has several comedy channels, I’ve been listening to nothing but…

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ddsfotografiablog · 2 years

Photo

#stablediffusion #ai #IA #dds #fotografía #fotografia #fotos #photos #photo #pictures #picture #Málaga #somosmálaga #somospalmapalmilla #arte #digitalart #art (en Málaga, Spain) https://www.instagram.com/p/CjrKUFZI-Xm/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#stablediffusion #ai #ia #dds #fotografía #fotografia #fotos #photos #photo #pictures #picture #málaga #somosmálaga #somospalmapalmilla #arte #digitalart #art

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k3tsub4n · 2 years

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Time Span Agent Name Agent Faction Date (yyyy-mm-dd) Time (hh:mm:ss) Level Lifetime AP Current AP Unique Portals Visited Unique Portals Drone Visited Furthest Drone Distance Portals Discovered Seer Points XM Collected Portal Scans Uploaded Uniques Scout Controlled Resonators Deployed Links Created Control Fields Created Mind Units Captured Longest Link Ever Created Largest Control Field XM Recharged Portals Captured Unique Portals Captured Mods Deployed Hacks Drone Hacks Glyph Hack Points Completed Hackstreaks Longest Sojourner Streak Resonators Destroyed Portals Neutralized Enemy Links Destroyed Enemy Fields Destroyed Drones Returned Max Time Portal Held Max Time Link Maintained Max Link Length x Days Max Time Field Held Largest Field MUs x Days Forced Drone Recalls Distance Walked Kinetic Capsules Completed Unique Missions Completed Peace Link Points Months Subscribed

ALL TIME k3tsub4n Resistance 2022-09-19 06:11:19 9 2616349 2616349 1407 337 14 1 1 11808934 1 1 5172 740 185 10152 3 1404 6554734 538 345 487 4545 482 264 1 21 1344 267 201 101 2 54 38 30 13 4471 31 789 30 6 1 6

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nexofesuhobe · 2 years

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gixikagiwu · 2 years

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Auriol digital thermometer h14269 bedienungsanleitung cafissimo

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sonobixolago · 2 years

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GEEMARC AMPLIDECT 285 BEDIENUNGSANLEITUNG SIEMENS >> DOWNLOAD LINK vk.cc/c7jKeU

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telefon mit 5 mobilteilenconrad dect telefon audioline d285 dect bedienungsanleitung deutsch gigaset mobilteil

Bedienungsanleitung 2249707 Audioline D285 DECT Mobilteil Blau Mit seinem simplen Design und farbenfroher Optik ist das Audioline D285 ein gleichermaßen Schwerhörigen-/Senioren-Telefon, schnurlos, Geemarc AmpliDECT 350 Siemens Gigaset AS285, Schnurlos-Festnetztelefon mit Anrufbeantwo. Göppingen. Emporia GD61ABB Riesige Tasten und einfachste Bedienung Schwarz Geemarc AmpliDECT COMBI 295 Combo Seniorentelefon schnurgebunden (+Anrufbeantworter+ ) Siemens Gigaset VOIP Telefonanlage. € 700 PayLivery Geemarc Zusatz-AmpliDECT 350 schnurloses Schwerhörigentelefon Deutsche Version. € 39€ 49 PayLivery.

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lowucimit · 2 years

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wawacidajemu · 2 years

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Lavatherm 57300 bedienungsanleitung target

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minervadashwood · 2 years

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As requested.

Touched - Protective!Daryl Dixon x PlusSize!Reader (she/her)

Gifs are by the prolific and talented @daryl-dixon-daydreams. Follow them for writing and lovely, lovely gifs! (Links: One & Two)

Dividers by @firefly-graphics who also deserve a follow!

This was requested by @sweetpeapod, and I fell in love with her idea immediately!

Daryl x chubby!reader - "Can't you see that you're hurting me?" I have thoughts about this. So reader and Daryl have feelings for each other, but neither one know because idiots in love ofc. Daryl is protective, maybe a bit touchy feely (for him), just like casually sitting pressed against her when she's cold, hand on back to guide her, gets closer than necessary, that kind of thing. And one day reader snaps because she's so in love and thinks he doesn't feel the same and she's hurt because he's always so nice and almost loving (genuinely loving) and it's like her heart is breaking every time she remembers they are just friends. Then BAM love confessions....

~ One ~

Carrying a basket of chicken feed, you were walking to the coop when your foot found a tiny hole in the grass. You fell, twisting your ankle on the way, chicken feed flying everywhere, as a stinging ache sprouted from your ankle.

It wasn't a second later when you heard hurried footsteps behind you, and you turned your head to see Daryl Dixon—handsome, strong, reliable Daryl Dixon—running straight for you.

He squatted next to you, his well-worn boots squashing the feed beneath them. Then Daryl's hand was on your shoulder. You tried to slow down your heartbeat, but it was impossible. He was easily the most attractive person you'd met in your life. And not just because of his muscles and his athleticism, but because of his pure blue eyes (and the softness that lingered behind them).

"Ya alright?" he asked.

He looked at you so intensely, you blushed. You shrugged, not trusting yourself to speak.

Daryl frowned; perhaps you'd annoyed him.

You tried standing up, but Daryl's hand on your shoulder held you in place. "Lemme get a look at it," he said.

He moved to squat by your injured foot. You watched as his fingers began unlacing your boot, and you were utterly fascinated by his movements. Then he was pulling off your boot and your sock. His rough fingers grazed your skin; you thought your heart might beat its way past your rib cage.

Oblivious to your inner turmoil, Daryl—ever so gently—turned your ankle this way and that, asking you if it hurt and how much.

He said, "I don't think anythin's broken, but we best get Doc to look at ya.” He shoved your sock in your boot and picked it up. He wrapped the untied laces around his belt, then he held out his hands to you.

His hands felt just as lovely and strong and rough as they looked, and as he helped you stand, the muscles in his arms swelled. You wondered why he had kept your boot and sock, that is, until he scooped you up and carried you to the farmhouse.

While Hershel conducted his examination, Daryl kept frowning silently.

As you suspected, it was a simple ankle sprain.

You made to stand up, but with a terse "Stay here," Daryl left the house. He returned a half hour later with a walking stick he'd fashioned from a tree branch.

That afternoon, while you were resting at the camp with your ankle propped up, you watched as Daryl lugged some dirt over to where you'd fallen. For the next hour or so, he set about filling the hole, ensuring no one else would get hurt.

~ Two ~

All winter, you’d huddled together for warmth, Daryl and you. All the families had each other, and even T-Dog and Carol grew closer during those hard, cold months.

Every night, Daryl found his way to you, somehow. Whether it was after a hunt or after his watch shift ended, every night he’d be there. He’d rouse you from your restless sleep then crawl under the blankets with you.

There, in the darkness, with Daryl’s soft breathing and his body less than an inch away, you began to fall in love with him. What had been a schoolgirl crush at the farm was now an almost mournful longing for your protector, your friend.

Yet, despite sleeping so close to you, Daryl never touched you, not once.

In the waking hours, though, small—almost insignificant gestures had you hoping for more. At mealtimes he’d sit next to you, cross-legged, his knee just touching yours. Then he would always help you stand up when it was time to get moving again.

His hand at the small of your back became, not exactly routine, but expected. Every new shelter meant he’d guide you inside, his rough and gentle hand ushering you to the night’s safe haven. Sometimes he would grab your wrist or elbow to keep you from danger. And each time he touched you, something came to life from deep within. Your heart would be lighter each time he was near, your steps a bit surer, your mood a bit happier.

But then night came, and his deceptive nearness made you ache and hurt. The same joy he brought during the day became a jagged blade at night.

He didn’t see you the same way as you did him, that much was clear.

~ Three ~

After the prison was cleared, it was time for your group to move into your new home. Right away everyone began settling into the cells on the bottom floor, but you eyed the cells along the catwalk up above.

This group was your family, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t have a little place of your own, a room where no one would be constantly walking by. A place where you could nurse your hurts in silence, and—if you were honest with yourself—a place where you could get away from Daryl.

Speaking of the bowman, you didn’t hear him approaching you until he spoke. “Where ya want your stuff?”

You turned to see him shouldering your small pack of belongings, and under the same arm he had a pile of blankets and a pillow. Were those for you, too?

You pointed. “Somewhere up there. Maybe the one closest to the window?”

He nodded.

You reached for your pack, but he gave a slight shake to his head. Then, he placed his free hand on the small of your back and guided you to the staircase and upwards.

At your cell, he placed the bedding on the mattress and set your bag on top of the pile.

“Thanks,” you told him, trying to smile and be grateful.

Again, his response was a slight nod. He walked past you, squeezing your shoulder as he did.

Later, you heard him huffing and grunting just outside your cell, and when you looked out, he was carving out a place of his own. However, it was not in a cell. Instead, Daryl was hauling a mattress out to the perch, not three feet away from you.

He caught you watching him. “I’ll be out here if ya need me, ya hear?”

He gazed at you; his eyes soft but his body coiled with tension.

You nodded, “Okay.”

~ Four ~

Moving into Alexandria had you more frightened than being on the open road. The false sense of safety was one you’d learn to mistrust.

The first night all of you huddled together in a single room. While you were taking care of Judith, Daryl had laid out a bed for you, just a few feet behind where he was keeping watch out the window.

The whole time he never spoke, never gave you an explanation for why your bed had been placed there, nor why he’d made a bed for you and you alone.

Daryl had been different since the prison, since Terminus. Quieter even. While he still had the same sense of duty and protectiveness, he kept even a greater distance between the two of you. Rarely would he look you in the eye, and gone were his teasing smiles at dinner when he tried to sneak food onto your plate, and you caught him in the act.

Despite these changes, on the long trek here, his habitual gentle touches persisted. His palm on your lower back as he led you along dangerous terrain. A squeeze of your elbow to reassure you just before you camped for the night. A hand on your shoulder after the group had fought off yet another slew of walkers.

On the night of Deanna’s welcome party, everyone attended, even Daryl. So, you had no excuse to hide away in your shared house, not when Rick had convinced gruff, rugged, taciturn Daryl to go.

It was only a half hour until the voices became too loud, the peering eyes and small talk became insidious (to your mind), and you were rushing outside, away from the crushing walls and flood of people. People who could turn on you at any moment and walls that hid secret dangers waiting to kill you…once you let down your guard.

Outside, you managed to get your breathing under control, on some level knowing the Alexandrians hadn’t meant you harm, but part of you refused to accept that truth.

Soon, a familiar hand was on the small of your back, and then the homely smell of a rolled cigarette enveloped you.

He didn’t say anything, and your anxiety began to morph into fury, a fury borne of sadness, fear, and desperation. Despite being surrounded by people now, only a few mattered to you. And he was one of them.

His hand moved in slow circles on your back, and he exhaled slowly, smoke flowing from his mouth and floating away in the night air.

You wrenched away, turning and glaring up at him. As usual, you couldn’t see his face, at least not entirely, and it only made you angrier.

“Can’t you see that you’re hurting me?!” you sobbed, your tears betraying the sadness you truly felt, the sadness and rejection you were trying to mask with rage .

Daryl took the cigarette from his lips and stared down at you, his body taut and rigid. “Is it the smoke? Never bothered ya before, but I can put it out.” He put out the cigarette on a nearby bench and carefully placed it in his pocket to save for later.

“It’s not the smoke,” you said, voice trembling. “It’s—it’s every time you touch me! It hurts, Daryl! It hurts knowing that’s all I’ll ever have from you. Because—because I want more. I want more than your hand on my back or squeezing my shoulder.” You closed your eyes as distant memories fueled your despair. “I want you everywhere, Daryl. And it hurts that you don’t feel the same way about me.”

“You can’t wan’ me,” he mumbled. “Not after what I let happen to ya.”

Your tears kept falling. You weren’t sure what you’d been expecting, but it wasn’t that. He should’ve been letting you down easy, saying It’s not you it’s me, or whatever excuse suited an apocalypse.

“I don’t understand,” you cried. “Make me understand, Daryl!”

“What’s to understand?” he shouted, a hand roughly sliding through his messy hair. “Prison fallin’ apart, leadin’ ya into the hands of cannibals. Not findin’ enough food for ya—or anyone else.”

Your throat constricted. You were certain you heard a catch in his voice, like he was on the verge of crying, too.

“None of that is your fault,” you told him.

“ ‘m no good for ya, Y/N. Ya deserve better.”

His words nearly broke your heart. You swallowed against the lump lingering in your throat.

“There is no one better,” you whispered. “I’ve loved you for three years, Daryl. I can’t not love you. And it hurts. It hurts so much.” You took a shaky breath. “When you touch me but won’t look at me, when your hand is more like a ghost, not giving me anything to hold onto.”

“I ain’t a ghost,” he said. The hair was finally out of his eyes, and those eyes were staring into yours. Your heart stuttered in your chest as he closed the small distance between you.

“You want me to touch ya still?” he asked, his voice low. “Here?” He slid a finger along your jaw.

You nodded.

“An’ here?” His other hand slipped around you—again at the small of your back—and this time he dragged you right up against him. Then he slid his hand all the way around your waist, to your hip. His grip no longer light, but satisfyingly strong, immovable.

“D-Daryl?” you breathed, gazing at him in wonderment.

“How ‘bout here?” he asked, as he touched his forefinger to your bottom lip.

“Y-yes,” you whispered. “There.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Daryl breathed, his face getting ever closer to yours, “I been wantin’ ya for so long. But I was scared.”

Your voice was hoarse for some reason. “O-of what?”

His hand on your back found its way under your shirt, his hardened fingertips on your skin. He squeezed and soothed your soft flesh, all the while keeping your body flush with his own. He stared into your eyes. “Scared that I let ya down. How could ya want me, after all this?”

You sniffed, so overwhelmed by the sadness and regret in his voice. None of that had been his fault, yet he was carrying that weight as if it were part of him. Why didn’t you notice it sooner? You thought you loved him, and yet until this moment you didn’t realize how selfish you’d been to not see the pain he was in.

You clutched at his black button-down and never broke eye contact with him. “You never let me down. You saved me at the prison, and you fought off those cannibals,” you told him. “I never feel safer than when you’re with me, Daryl. You’re my protector, my—” Well he was the love of your life, but somehow those words wouldn’t make it past your lips.

He huffed, pulling his head away. “Ain’t no hero.”

You put your hands on either side of his face and brought him back to you. “You’re my hero.”

Daryl let you hold him in place, and your hands slid from his face as you put your arms around his neck.

“Can I kiss ya?” he whispered.

“You always could,” you replied.

His lips met yours, and you clutched at him for dear life. It was like a dam had burst, and Daryl had no more reservations about making you his. He tasted of cigarettes and beer, he felt like coming home, like his kiss was all you’d ever need.

Now, both of Daryl’s hands were beneath your shirt, his touch solid, real, and persistent. “Does it still hurt?” he asked.

You shook your head. “Not anymore.”

~ End ~

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