#gave her a strange dissociation

[vampiricgf]

SLAS(HER) - LEON KENNEDY

SYNOPSIS... ❛ you really shouldn't answer strange phone calls. or leave your doors unlocked. or decide you're going to try turning the tables on a masked intruder with one demand: give him a show or it's your guts on the floor.❜

WARNINGS... dead dove, fem reader, creep leon, written with re2r in mind, no outbreak, stalking, voyeurism, guided masturbation, fuck or die, threats of violence, mentions of blood, death and injury, dissociation in a little bit of readers part, home invasion, inspired by ghostface/scream franchise, oral, use of a belt as a restraint

WORD COUNT... 7k+

˗ˏˋ kinktober masterlist ˎˊ˗

It started with an eerie feeling. The nondescript sensation of being watched, by someone just out of reach, just out of sight yet keeping you in theirs from some invisible vantage point. It was something you brushed off through the evening as just a weird vibe because it was Halloween and rather than go out as you’d done in the past you decided to stay home, enjoy the company of your cat and some cheesy slasher flicks they always have running on nearly every channel this time of year. 

That feeling could also be motivated by worry for your friend, working Halloween night was always hectic for everyone on duty at the station. You and Leon had been nearly attached at the hip since you met, not long after he arrived in Raccoon City. The details were a bit muddled but you knew he’d been through a rough breakup, started a brand new job, all at once. An overwhelming amount of stress for anyone, and you were a secretary at that very same job he was the fresh faced rookie in all of a year or so ago. In truth you’d been the first to greet him that day, all nervous and eager to impress. It was cute, really. 

And from that very first day he always seemed to seek you out, handing you a warm cup of coffee at just the right moments, like he knew you usually ended up with headaches by mid afternoon and relied on the caffeine and excedrin combo to make it until the end of your shift. He was always friendly, not overly gregarious but always there to chat about how your day was, if you needed help with anything. He’d even stayed late one day because your cars battery had been on the fritz, gave you a jump so you could drive home. 

A gentleman, through and through, you decided. Soon enough you were dependent on seeing him at least once a day in the cramped old breakroom or coming to loiter by your desk so he could procrastinate his reports (which you would playfully give him shit for later) or else the entire day would feel off, unsatisfying.

All in all, you considered him a friend with some… complicated feelings. You liked him, truly, but knowing he got out of a relationship at the time you met was what gave you pause. You didn’t want to push something that may not be there, after all you might be confusing his nicety for flirtation or just projecting your own attraction. And acting on that, especially if you were right, would be not just humiliating for your ego but would mean you’d lose someone you quickly came to consider a good friend. 

So, just like on many previous nights, you resist the urge to text him. To check up, make sure nothing too wild had come in over dispatch. A casual friend wouldn’t do that, would they? Instead you remain stretched out on the couch, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth and absentmindedly stroking the sleeping cat on your lap while images your mind doesn’t register flash over the tv screen. 

Maybe it would be better to get some sleep. You’d see him tomorrow and could ask about how tonight went for him, you could even bring some of those muffins from the little cafe a few blocks away from the station since most of the officers seem to enjoy them. It’s not weird if its for everyone, technically. Right?

As your mind wanders between how to walk the delicate line between your feelings you fail to realize how heavy your eyes were, how you closed them just for a second, just to take a moment and then you’d get up for bed…

~

The chime of your phone is what rouses you, blinking bleary, fuzzy eyes into the darkness of your living room. 

With a little groan you heave yourself up into a sitting position, your joints popping from being folded in an awkward position as you’d jammed yourself into a corner to curl up in your sleep. Before you can rub your eyes, readjust to consciousness, your phone is blaring like a shrieking car alarm that shatters the quiet nighttime fuge. 

With fumbling hands you grab it off the coffee table in front of you, flipping it open and hitting answer without a second thought, body working on auto as your mind catches up. 

“Mh, hello?” you ask, tongue feeling thick in your mouth after your sudden reentry into the world of the living.

“Hey there sleeping beauty.”

The tinny, computerized voice startles you, snapping you into full awareness with how alien and threatening it automatically came across,, making the skin of your arms rise with gooseflesh.

“Who is this?” you ask hesitantly, one hand clutching the phone to your ear while the other cast off the rumpled blanket so you could rise from the couch, feeling suddenly vulnerable and restless.

The voice makes a tut tut sound over the line before speaking. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, I’ll forgive you since I did wake you up. You look real cute in your sleep though-”

“I’m hanging up, don't call again.” You huff into the receiver, hands shaking as you snap the phone shut, practically throwing it back down on the wooden table as if it were made of molten lava. 

Standing you begin to pace, your cat skulking from underneath the table, clearly sharing in your distress as you rake a hand through your hair. Its okay, you reassure yourself, nothing but some bored kid pulling a Halloween prank. They sell those voice changers at all kinds of stores around this time, they probably just dialed random numbers for shits and giggles. Most importantly: no one was actually watching you sleep. Thats impossible, you live alone and no one outside friends or family know where you live. 

That last rushed thought snags in your mind and you cautiously pick up the phone, pressing the keys to see the last number in the incoming call log. Not one you have saved, and also not one you recognize anyway. The area code is local, but again that doesn’t mean it’s anything but some kid screwing around. 

You exhale long and steady through your nose, feeling your erratic heartbeat slowing down and you shake your head at yourself for being so quick to panic. 

Now it’s really time for bed, you decide, scooping up your furball before making your way towards the bedroom, keeping your eyes trained away from the window so you wouldn’t fall into the trap of peeking out of its glass panes in paranoia.

There's nothing and no one there. 

Before your cat can even finish stepping from your arms to the bedspread, your phone went off in your hand again, it’s familiar ringtone far less inviting under these circumstances. This time you don’t feel afraid as you angrily flip it open, mashing the answer button. 

“I told you not to call again. I don’t care about kids playing pranks, but find someone else to mess with, okay?” Annoyance drips from every word but before you can hang up with a satisfied smirk the voice cuts in. 

“Oh but I know you’re fun to play with, sweetheart.”  

“Do not call me pet names you freak-”

“What, you don’t like it? I think it fits you, sweetheart for a sweet girl.” It mocks you over the line, making your body flush with heat as your anger and your fear mingle into a noxiously overwhelming combination. 

“I work at the police station, quit fucking with me or I’m calling the cops and I know they’ll take it seriously.” You cross your arms, as best you can while still holding the phone. You feel smug, knowing that at least that must spook whoever it is no way they want to potentially deal with the police over a prank call-

Your illusion of control is shattered as the voice breaks out into a laugh, the kind that borders on hysterical as if you’d told such a funny joke they couldn’t hold it back. You bite your lip again, this time giving into the instinct telling you to look out the window, scan the yard outside for any sign that someone was creeping around. But nothing except the faint glow of distant streetlights are reflected back at you. 

“Oh no, please don’t call the cops on me!” the voice breaks into giggles again, “I know we’re gonna have so much fun together.” He says your name and it’s like someone dumped a bucket of ice water over your head, a million sharp pin pricks that scream for you to stop, leave, run away, do anything to get this to stop. 

“How do you know my name?”  Your question is barely a whisper.

“I know everything about you. Everything.” The emphasis on the word makes you shiver, tears burning in your waterlines. “But you know what I’m really curious about?” 

Your stomach drops but you respond despite yourself, your fingers curling around the phone's little plastic shell so hard you hear it crackling ever so slightly. “What?”

“Do you always keep this sliding door unlocked?”

It feels like your heart fell out of your ass as you break into a run, breathing harshly and hearing that unnerving, electronic laughter once more over the sound of your blood rushing in your ears. To your horror the door is ajar, pulled open with the flimsy little curtain blowing in the chill breeze, and you can’t do anything but continue staring even when you know you need to run, you need to do something, anything to get yourself out of this. 

Why is this happening to me?

As the details of the world soften at the edges, sliding down and blurring with the tears running down your face you fail to hear someone approaching from behind, fail to register anything at all until a black gloved hand claps over your mouth to muffle your shrieking. You thrash against the muscled chest of your assailant, the grip of their arms feels more like being encased by perfectly molded steel, and as you quickly exhaust yourself you’re half guided half carried back towards your bedroom. 

Alarm bells, like emergency sirens, bounce around your head, knowing in some inexplicable way that going into that room will seal your fate. There won’t be any getting out of this, any way to stop what's coming. You honestly don’t know if there ever really was. Regardless, you use up the last bit of adrenaline you have to struggle once more as you’re unceremoniously dragged into the bedroom, the darkness now feeling threatening when it was once relaxing. It’s a valiant effort, you even manage to bite down on his wrist, but it’s still not enough. Even with the bite, all you felt was cloth snagging against your teeth rather than flesh. Whoever it was must be covered head to toe in clothing, completely obscured.  

As you’re pushed down on your back against the mattress a worse sight greets you: one of those halloween costume masks staring back, your breath dies in your lungs as you freeze beneath him, feeling the planes of his body through the layers of clothes as he keeps one hand covering your mouth. 

Slowly he removes his hand and you can’t help but dissolve into a fresh round of tears. 

“Why- why are you doing this?” You can’t help the hitches in your speech as you struggle to remain focused on the man on top of you, the weight of his ribs consuming your awareness as he lies between your legs.

He doesn’t answer you, tilting his head to the side as you shiver below, bile rising in your throat as his hand drifts to caress your jaw, trailing down the sweaty column of your throat. He stops just before your chest, to your shock. 

“Don’t worry,” his voice is still masked by that chilling overlay, built into the mask itself clearly. “I’m not gonna lay a hand on you. Well, not like this.” As he speaks he lifts himself off you, sitting back on his knees against the heels of his shoes. “But you’re gonna put on a little show.”

Confusion bullies its way in front of your other more primal emotions, scooting up until your back hits the headboard and you can wrap your arm around your knees, curl inward no matter how futile the attempt at shielding yourself might be.  

“Not feeling talkative anymore, huh? That's okay, you don't really have to talk for this anyway.” You swear you can hear the smile in his tone, can tell by the way he shifts his hips that he’s getting off on this, on your fear. 

“You’re insane, some kind of freak.” You whisper, voice crackling as you try to hold back sobs. 

“Now come on, let's play nice. It doesn’t have to be all bad, sweetheart.” He shifts again, those black, endless voids staring back into your own aching, burning eyes. “It’s simple: you give me what I want, and we can both still have a good time. No harm done.” 

Only an objectively insane person would present that like a real option, as if he hadn’t terrorized you in your own home, hadn’t violated your safety, hadn’t manhandled you into compliance. 

You sneer at the mask, nearly bearing your teeth like some kind of cornered animal. “Fuck you and fuck your good time.”

His hand moves, significantly faster than your reflexes, and grips your jaw painfully, so tightly you’re afraid he might shatter the bone. “You can be such a shit listener.” It throws you for a loop, hearing him speak like he knows you, and your eyes widen while a whimper spills past your lips. “Theres plenty of time for that later,” his thumb moves to brush back and forth over your bottom lip, a gesture so tender it’s wildly at odds with the present situation. “But right now, you’re gonna give me what I want or else those cops you work with might be cleaning your guts up off the carpet in the morning. And I’d really, really hate for it to end that way.”

In the silence that descends over you both you realize there’s realistically no other way. You can’t overpower him, your phone vanished in the struggle, and even if you could get away, who's to say anyone would believe you needed help? You could be brushed off as just someone with an overly elaborate costume. Despair seeps through your body, oozing thick and sticky as tar, a pitch black loss of hope that could swallow you entirely. You can only pray he’s telling the truth, that once you’ve done what he asked you’ll at least be alive when the sun rises. Whatever consolation that may be.

He sees it, he must, because you notice the way he relaxes ever so slightly before pulling away from you again. You feel both in and beyond the confines of your body as he grabs your ankles, yanking you back down into a lying position, like you’re just a doll that needs posing. 

“Good girl.” That electric voice purrs and you can’t help the bodily reaction those words produce in you, tiny shivers quaking down your spine and spreading out over your ribs. Maybe if you pretend it’s someone else that’ll make it easier, at least bearable. His hands feel hot even through the gloves, like he could brand you with imprints of his grip right on your calves. 

“The pajamas are cute,” He gestures to the fuzzy pants covered in a cartoon cat pattern and you feel embarrassment curling around the edges of your brain, “but I’m more interested in whats under them.” 

It doesn’t shock you, in fact his words produce no reaction in your head. You were already preparing for something like this. With a pathetic whine your arms move mechanically, hesitating as they rest against the waistband of your pants. Point of no return. That's what this is, isn’t it? Would it be better to be gutted in your own bedroom, but at least have your pride intact? No, if you’re dead you’re powerless to prevent anything being done to you after that. 

So your thumbs hook in the waistband, pulling them down as your entire body is wracked with tremors so violent you almost lose your grip but with one lift of your hips they’re down past your ass and he's pulling them the rest of the way off, icy mid autumn air kissing the skin of your thighs like a reverent lover. Once those are tossed into some corner of the floor his attention returns to you, grabbing your legs again to position them wide, spread eagle and with a jolt of shame you realize you can feel your clit starting to throb against your underwear at the attention. 

“Bet you got a really pretty pussy, huh?” His fingers delicately travel up and down your calves, like hes trying to both soothe you and rile you up. Unfortunately for you, your body seems to welcome the touch, the tremors morphing into a wholly different sort of twitching as you lay there feeling moisture slicking the gusset of your panties. 

You close your eyes, steeling yourself to feel his touch moving higher but it never comes, instead it vanishes altogether and you almost whine at the absence. You feel delirious, like you’re quickly losing the thread of your previous conviction, crumbing after just a few gentle touches. It makes you feel weak, disgusted with yourself. 

“Ah ah, open your eyes for me. You have to do the work, it’s your show.” He settles back on his knees once more, clearly waiting for you to continue, play your part. 

It’s like stage fright, the nervousness you feel with his eyes on you yet wholly beyond your own vision. It’s not like you’ve never masturbated, as a grown woman you’ve confidently explored your body as thoroughly as possible, it’s the fact that a masked stranger is waiting in eager anticipation to watch your fingers dive into your cunt. 

But it’s also oddly… thrilling. Your heads all fucked up from the mixed singles between body and brain, like you fell in water and aren’t able to properly orient yourself right side up but maybe it would be easier to give in, accept it at this stage. It’s already progressed this far, right?

Maybe it is my show.

You feel light, somehow untethered as your breathing settles down, one hand running over the peaks of your breasts and down your stomach, creeping towards the waistband of your underwear. As your fingers toy with the elastic your eyes never stray from the mask, watching as his hips adjust again. It’s flattering in its own messed up way, that in this situation you do hold a particular kind of power over him. Your teeth snag against your lip as you tug the silky pair down, painfully slow, just to torture him a little bit. And you would be the biggest liar on earth if you were to say it didn’t inflate your ego like a helium balloon when you heard his sharp inhale as more of your pussy came into his view. 

“Oh shit,” he says and you laugh, despite yourself you do, dissolving into barely contained giggles. 

“What, are you a psychotic virgin or something?” you tease, forgetting momentarily that he very well could make good on his threat of spilling your organs across the floor a la Jack the Ripper. 

“Look who's enjoying herself now, huh?” 

You laugh again, at the naked absurdity of it all this time. You're about to masturbate in front of some masked stalker that threatened to kill you. What does it matter anymore if you’re afraid or not?

Your shaky laugh dips off into a soft moan as your fingers brush through your folds, finding them slick and your hips jerk as your index bumps against your clit, sensitive and needy. Under normal circumstances maybe you’d take a little more time but a part of you does want this over with as soon as possible. You just hope you’re able to come, because that’s probably part of what he wants to see. 

But it’s better to not focus on it too hard or else you probably won't be able to, so you decide to veer in a different direction, wield a little more of this newfound power over the situation. 

“Why can’t I hear your voice?” You ask, making your voice as sugary as possible, letting your lips stay parted as you rub slow, loose circles over your clit. His eyes have to be devouring the sight, you’re sure of it, but to make sure you adjust your hips a bit so they’re as wide as you can accommodate. 

He doesn’t answer you, but you remain undeterred. “I could probably come if I heard you.” 

“Don’t tease so much.” He tries, and fails, to sound firm but you hear the crack in his voice regardless of the masks alteration. You’re wearing him down, at least a little bit. 

“Don’t you wanna watch me come?” Your other hand comes up to squeeze and grope at your clothed chest as you gently swirl two fingers around your entrance before slowly pushing in, your mouth dropping open in a silent keel. The only sound in the bedroom outside your own heavy breathing is the soft, sticky squelching of your fingers curling against slick walls, plunging in and out of yourself at a languid pace. 

“Fuck, yeah I do.” The fake voice carries with it an honest tone of wonder, of bare and dangerous craving. 

“Want you to touch me,” you gasp out, rolling one of your nipples between your fingers. “Please.” You can see how hard he is, the black tactical pants doing absolutely nothing to hide the full erection he's clearly sporting because of you. 

And it works, you know it’s working, that he must be doing some kind of cost benefit analysis of it all in his head without realizing you’re laying the foundations of a sort of psychosexual coup. Without a word he climbs off the bed and your self ministrations halt, curiosity and a twinge of that fear return as you watch him unlace heavy dark boots, letting them thump against your carpet, before you watch with wide eyes as he undoes his belt, painfully slow.

It’s obvious he’s well built, you could feel that when he had you locked in his hold earlier, but as you catch a glimpse of his lower abdomen as he strips off the dark, heavy material you find yourself struggling to keep a hold of your sanity. Before you can even think to yourself, god he must be huge, you’re getting a perfect eyefull of him as his cock springs free from the confines of his boxers. Painfully girthy, just the sight makes your eyes water all over again, and hit cut tip was flushed a pretty shade of blush pink, shiny with smeared precum and you can’t help but think of how much it sucks that a dick like that is attached to a guy like this. It's a shame, really.

Either way, you’re glad to have given yourself some prep via your little “show” for him. As long as he doesn't say something like-

"Put your arms up, above your head."

You don't let on that you've got anything in your head besides fear tinged lust, obediently raising your arms up and making sure your wrists are together so he can loop the belt around. It'll be easier if he truly believes you're beaten down, pliant, rather than frantically flipping through a mental index of potential options. You weren't totally screwed even with your arms bound. With any luck, he'll tie it loose without realizing and you could slip the belt at the perfect opportunity.

But you panic, far too early, and grab the leather strap as soon as it's in reach. Of course he anticipated it, but didn't predict you'd have some renewed energy after your previous adrenaline crash so he doesn't quite block you from it in time. Or rather, he doesn't block your hand that comes down on the mask in your mixed tangle of limbs, knocking it askew and in a snap decision you yank it off revealing blonde strands and a pair of shockingly, stomach churningly familiar blue eyes.

The world holds still. More accurately, it's like a miniature atomic bomb has detonated in your home, only instead of blowing out windows and collapsing the roof it brings your racing mind and overactive nervous system to a screeching halt.

As you both breathe heavily neither of you moves a muscle, not even by one miniscule inch. With all the speed of a drop of pitch landing in a dish you feel your features twist, your hands shake so badly with anger, with disbelief. With want.

"You know I was thinking about you, before I fell asleep?" You say, barely audible but you know he hears by the way his eyes widen ever so slightly. "I was thinking about how god, you're just so nice and what if I was confusing that for something romantic?"

Your hands move as you speak, coming to cradle his face in your hands, moving in until the tip of your nose is almost touching his. You can hear the way he swallows, hard and thick, his entire body as tense as a live wire in your grasp.

"Its so fucked up, but you know, this isn't even a deal breaker for me." And at that revelation you laugh, staring into his ice blue eyes like you've just shared an intimate joke. "You said you know everything," you pull the word out, like it's stuck between your teeth, "well, there are some things about me no one knows."

Smiling now, you feel more whole and in control then you have all night and it's reflected in your movements all lithe and predatory as you straddle him, feeling the head of his still semi hard cock brush against your cunt. That sends satisfaction licking, white hot, down your back and you can feel yourself getting wet again. The truth feels fizzy, tight, in your chest as if you swallowed a baby bird that was now frantically beating its wings against the cage of your stomach.

"I'll tell you this, and we can call it even, okay?" You stare into his eyes again, hunting for anxiety or trepidation, but find none.

"Okay." He says it slow, distrustful. Well, you'll see in a moment how trustworthy your little crush really is.

"I know you were there, on scene, with some of those bodies they found in the forest out by the lake last Halloween?" He nods and you continue. "Mhm, that last girl? A screamer. God it was horrible, she just wouldn't shut the hell up. Finally I just ended up jamming the handle of the axe right in her mouth. Have you ever heard a jawbone splinter?"

"That was you?" His tone is critical and you do your best not to bristle, you have to tread carefully now.

You nod. "It was. It's a bit of a... Family tradition, basically. All those disappearances every so often, always on Halloween? They weren't all me, that'd be impossible, but I did learn from the best." You smile at him again, tasting fresh blood in your mouth as you brush a stray bit of hair from his face.

To your surprise he follows your touch, like he's chasing after it, and you're nearly overcome with giddiness. Is this what they mean when they say that people feel lighter after telling the truth?

"Are you gonna kill me?" This time it's his turn to wonder, to ask in that adorably nervous tone they all do. The same one that gets you unbelievably wound up, a spring loaded bearing just waiting to snap.

You giggle again, all sugar and syrupy sweetness. "Of course not, I really do like you, you know. That's not a lie or a trick."

To emphasize it you push yourself down a little, just enough that you can fully feel him pressing against your soaked pussy, and enough to feel that he's unbelievably hard. It's enough to make you feel dizzy, lightheaded. You genuinely believed there was never, would never, be anyone who really understood you. And more than that: could love you regardless.

"Y'know, we can still put that belt to use... If you want." Your lips ghost over his as you whisper it, and you can hear his breathing freeze in his throat.

"You still up for that?" He sounds both incredulous and horny, hands running up and down your sides, bunching your top up until you reach down, pulling it over your head to be cast into the abyss with your other clothes with a grin.

"No mask this time, I wanna see you." You coo at him, clambering off his lap to stretch out on your back against the bed.

At that he cracks a small smile, eyes glazed over in awe as he stares at you and it makes you preen. He's just like you. A perfect match. Leon doesn't keep you waiting, just as eager and clumsy as he was when you first met and it endears you to him all over again.

His lips capture yours in a kiss full of heat, like opening an oven door only to be blasted in the face with searing air, and your teeth clack together as your tongues slip serpentine over and under one another. By the time he pulls away to trail spit slick kisses down your throat you feel that ache coming back into your clit full force.

You whimper, clutching at his shoulders and tugging at the shirt he still had on, desperate for full skin to skin contact. Luckily he obliges your neediness quickly, yanking the offending cotton barricade over his head and adding it to the forlorn pile.

With a shy smile he grabs for the forgotten belt and you once more obediently raise your arms above your head, this time with no ulterior motives than the selfish anticipation of pleasure. You do make a mental note however to ask how he feels about asphyxiation later.

As the leather settles against your skin you give a few light, experimental tugs, gasping when you feel his lips travel across your chest, between your breasts, and over the plane of your stomach until hes scooting back, warm breath fanning over your inner thighs and causing a fresh round of goosebumps to rise over your arms.

You can't help but squirm as he kisses the side of your knee, your thigh, coming so so close to where you want him but then veering to give the other leg the same treatment.

"I should have figured you're, ah, a huge tease." You barely get the words out as his tongue flicks, light and gentle between your folds.

After that one taste the man between your legs transforms in some way you can't identify, like some new neural pathway was unlocked the moment his tongue touched you and his arms hook around your thighs, fingers digging so harshly into the flesh you can feel the sting of his nails threatening to break the surface and he sucks in your clit with abandon.

You can't help the way your mouth drops open in a silent wail, hips lifting up from the bed as if you're trying to make sure he doesn't let up for even a second but you don't have to worry, the slurping and suckling noises crowding your bedroom emphasize just how focused he is on lavishing you.

It's unlike anything you've ever had before, the feeling of his mouth overpowers your other senses, leaves no room in your head for anything except him, him, him. Your fingers grip his hair, pulling less than gently on his silken locks, but it doesn't deter him or even slightly distract him.

The pressure in your abdomen quickly builds to catastrophic levels, and his name is ripped violently from your throat in a primal wail as your hips grind against his face, the burn in your legs coming from both the overextended muscles and the fact that his nails have broken skin, little beads of bright crimson dotting the surface.

Pain and pleasure in equal parts, to you that is bliss of the highest order. And finally, like a gift fallen from the sky right into your lap, there's someone who might understand that.

As you come down from your orgasm visions of blue eyes, bloodied floors, a boyish grin, and steaming viscera blend behind your eyes and your cheeks hurt from smiling.

[ymechi]

Who is the real Creator?

To be honest I had no plans of even adding Wanderer but he casually came in and inserted himself into this story and he is here to stay.

-TW: cult au, yandere, impostor au, mentions of being hunted down, mentions of trauma,

-Gn reader and darling (please tell me if I mess this up message me and I will fix it)

part 1, part 2, part 3, this is part 4, part 5

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Reader woke up with a yawn stretching their limbs and with heavy steps going to the washroom. After they finished their business they turned the stove on to make some tea and prepared breakfast. The morning was rather lovely, the sun was shining again and the birds were chirping and the trees were swaying softly. 

They sipped their tea quietly as they watched the scenery outside. With a hum, they packed up their bag with books for today's classes and headed to the Akademiya. One of the perks of being promptly isekai-ed was the instant teleportation. They thought of the teleporter near the Akademiya and white light enveloped their eyes. After a few seconds, the sights changed. Most people had gotten used to their and the traveler's teleportation antics and paid Reader no mind. 

They hummed a tune as they headed towards class. 

In a rather unexpected surprise, they saw Wanderer, they did not expect to see them today. It looked like he was heading towards them. Reader gave him a wave but their smile fell as they saw the serious expression on his face and not his usual one. 

He looked at Reader and nodded. 

"I expect you know what this is about, Lesser Lord Kusanali wants to meet you at her office."

Reader tensed and their eyes widened. They tried so hard not to think about yesterday.

The sting of a cut, gold blood, broken old friendships. 

They rubbed the thumb they had cut off. Wanderer looked at them with an unreadable expression, he then turned away his head and spoke.

"We can take the longer way so you can get your bearings."

He turned away and started walking. Reader stumbled and could do nothing but follow along. Despite his harsh exterior Reader knew he meant them well. If the situation was not urgent Reader bet Wanderer would have told them to forget it.

Knowing it was a serious matter did not help things. All morning they were in an odd serene calm trying to dissociate from the revelations of yesterday. They rubbed their forehead. Reader hoped they had more time to process the situation and go about their routine before they came to a conclusion or answer or whatever. 

All the time while they were walking Wanderer was quiet leaving them to their thoughts. Reader was not familiar with the way to Nahida's office. They must have taken an even longer route as they kept taking certain twists and turns and Reader could swear they entered the same hall as before. It was honestly kind of sweet how he took care of them in his own way. 

The sun enveloped his figure causing the decorations on his hat to shine and casting a gentle shadow on his face. Wanderer's face was unreadable but there was something kind in his eyes Reader thought they could see.

Reader sometimes did wonder if he knew it was them who gave him his new name. 

Wanderer must have thought he gave enough time for Reader to prepare themselves because they stood still near tall intricately carved double doors. Reader gulped. They did not feel ready at all. Wanderer knocked on the door and Readers heart rate started going faster.

"Please come in."

It was Nahida's voice. It was oddly comforting, perhaps they had gotten too attached to the Archon without Reader knowing it. 

Wanderer opened the door and held it open for them. He still had that strange look on his face as he looked at Reader. 

As both Wanderer and Reader stood in front of the Archon, Reader took in the office. It was large and spacious and decorated with books (as expected), large glass windows let in the sunlight and it was decorated with plants giving it a welcoming feeling, knowing Nahida it was probably intentional. 

Reader tried to distract themselves from the topic that will be discussed. Yet the inevitable would happen.

"I am sure you know what will be discussed so I will cut to the chase," she looked at Reader with a sorry expression, "It will soon be announced that Darling is not the Creator, as you both will know this event will cause wide panic and confusion. I am sad to say this might affect you as well Reader for your safety I hope you will stay here with me until things calm down.

Reader nodded and said nothing further, they could still feel Wanderers staring at them from where he stood. Did. . . he know?

Nahida then stared and Wanderer who took his gaze off Reader to stare back at the Archon. It felt as if both were having a conversation in their minds in the end the Wanderer nodded and left them alone. 

Finally, it was just Nahida and Reader. 

Reader felt a bit uneasy despite feeling safe next to the archon.

"I know you might need some more time to process what happened yesterday but unfortunately we may not have the time. I want to ask you what you want to do now."

Huh?

At Reader’s confusion, Nahida continued.

“You are the Creator as such you can take your rightful position and rule, you can live in the bigger temples or you can go to other Archons and live with them. Anything you choose I will of course respect.”

Reader was rather dumbfounded. They expected Reader to rule- a rightful position? It really went over their head. They did not want or desire to rule and they had no idea what they would do in a temple Reader was not the ascetic kind. What would they even do in other Archon’s places? Most of them were not kind to Reader.

Nahida was waiting for their reply. Reader wrung their hands and replied. 

"Uhh - well, is it okay if I just stay here?"

Nahida blinked.

"Yes of course if that is what you want. Sumeru welcomes you wholeheartedly," she said with a smile.

At that Reader let out a breath and relaxed their shoulders. It seems the daily life that they had built could still be protected.

"Once again I am sorry to say there are still problems that are unsolved namely your identity, I won't force you to reveal it but I do think it is best to tell the acolytes," she said looking regretful. 

At that Reader grimaced. Nahida said nothing further and looked and waited for Reader's reply. Reader looked down on their feet. 

It would be a smart decision as what they say would have a public sway and it would be best if they were told from the source rather than hear it second hand and later come here and demand answers. 

Reader was, still is, scared they were also frustrated. Just for how long are they going to feel like a helpless person? They did not want to continue to run away feeling scared all the time by the people who had wronged them. They should not be the one in hiding and being in fear all the damn time. Reader had enough of running away for a lifetime already.

"Fine they can know but I will be the one to tell them."

At their statement, Nahida looked surprised but she schooled her expression and smiled. She nodded towards them.

"Of course you can, if you need me I will be there with you."

Reader once again relaxed their shoulders and smiled. 

"That would be nice thank you."

"There is no need to thank me I would do that for any friend of mine."

Reader's chest felt warm. Honestly, Nahida was just so sweet to them. They felt happy that even in a foreign world they managed to get such a good friend.

"Ohh right since I am telling the acolytes I think I can tell wanderer as a practice run."

"That is a good idea let me get him again he should be waiting outside."

Nahida called over Wanderer who once again stood next to Reader in front of Nahida's desk. Reader glanced at him again and struck while the iron was hot.

"Apparently I am the creator."

Wanderer blinked at them but otherwise said nothing. It was Nahida who spoke. 

"How about we take it from the start," she said with a sympathetic expression aimed at the Wanderer.

Reader left Nahida to explain most of it as they had to take a break already from saying the truth and they honestly did not know how to properly explain everything that happened yesterday. By the end of the explanation Wanderer had a thoughtful expression.

"So the real Creator was the one hunted down what a twist of fate," he said and crossed his arms.

He looked a bit contemplative before Reader could say anything Wanderer faced Reader and bent down - no he kneeled.

Reader spluttered and felt like a deer in headlights watching the usually proud Wanderer kneeling.

"H-hey please get up there is no need-"

"I apologize for my earlier behavior it was unbecoming to act in such a manner in front of you, our golden lightning. I hope I did not offend you."

"Wait please get up this is so uncomfortable!"

After Reader said that wanderer got up and did not face them directly. Reader swallowed their saliva and tried to think why Wanderer had such a one-eighty in their personality. They did not think Wanderer would care about the Creator or the status of it from how they talked they were wrong by the looks of it. 

To make such a prideful person kneel on a flip of a switch. . .

Once again they had no idea what the weight of the Creator was and what it held for the people of Teyvat. 

"I understand I am sorry for the distress I may have caused you," he said and put a hand on his chest and looked down to the floor.

Reader gulped. 

"P-please just act as usual, I- you," they paused trying to think of the right words, "When I first came here I was a mess and you helped me, I am the one who should be bowing."

"Please don't it was the least I could do for you as the Creator. Back then if I should have done more."

Reader hated this. When they wanted to tell wanderer they did not expect it to turn out this way. They did not want this weird worship and formal attitude. 

"Please stop I don't want this, Not any of this. I wanted you to know because I see you as a friend," they said and clenched their hands.

Wanderer looked surprised at the admission, almost as if taken aback. Reader would have laughed at his face if the tension was not thick. He looked down for a bit and then back at Reader again.

"I will be honest I am not sure how I am supposed to reply, you are our Creator the one we all worship, yet you consider me out of all people a friend. . ."

He trailed off and Reader wanted to retort.

"Of course, I do, when I first came I was a mess and you still took care of chores around the house and bought groceries even if it was on Nahida's orders but you still did it all without complaint and you taught me a lot which you did not have to - all this to say you are a dear friend of me so please don't act so formal and weird. You are a precious person to me and I hope you think of me at least as a friend."

After they were done with their spiel they took a deep breath realizing they were out of air. Wanderer lowered his hat his face obscured but Reader could faintly see his face being red. 

. . .

Oh-.

 Reader felt the blood rush to their face and they looked away. 

Nahida who had watched it all laughed quietly.

"I must say I am quite jealous of you now. You know Hat Guy, it's not every day the Creator themselves expresses their gratitude like this."

At the mention of the silly nickname, Reader relaxed and also laughed.

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

Taglist: @resident-cryptid @probablynoposts @esthelily @mitsukashi @charming-mage @chaoticfivesworld @irisxiel @dulcedelechenginamo @yu-ulda @samohxt2-0 @pinkpainc @vianitry

[vinestaffery]

Scythe X cop or detective reader where Scythe kidnaps reader to join her cult or somthing

of course!! im a bit tired atm and my schedule bursted up again, so the other people that have requested, i will be taking a bit of a while to post them fully, but i promise i am working on them!! sadly this is gonna have to be a drabble, im so sorry </3

Characters: Scythe, GN! Reader Prompt: One-sided Romance I think???, Small Drabble Warnings: Usage of (pet) names; Mentions of murder; Slightly descriptive but vague of how Scythe killed civilians; Religious themes; Kidnapping; Drugging; Scythe being a literal serial killer; Indoctrination(?)

Days were never suppose to be this harsh. You were always looking for new angles for the strange disappearances of many civilians in Lost Temple, yet it seemed like every new case was to mock your work.

Someone was watching you, for all you know.

Days were becoming longer, more dissociative then regular. Someone was watching you, you could feel it. It was like being played with like prey, if anything, a piece of meat in the claws of a carnivore.

But, it didn't let you shoot you down off your pedestals. You still, somehow, no matter what found a way to link to your suspects. White, gold and teal clothing, and the way the victims were left.

Cut, bloodied and garnished. Ripped apart in one slick-move, a slice. Head, shaven off of it's horns before being squashed like a tomato with a heel.

You were connecting up the dots to your very last suspect; Scythe.

You met her a few times, once at a bar, another when you had nearly gotten into some beef with some stragglers late at night. She was somewhat always there to support you, but would be never seen again. You took note of this.

When the investigation was left up to you, the police huddling outside for their break; the sun blared down below the alleyway. The shadows were your spectators, witnesses to a brutal massacre of several.

It was her. It was her, how she always disappeared, how everything seemed to become more of a blur. She was always there.

All she had to do, was find her, or catch her in the act.

"I'll get you, one way or another," you whispered to yourself.

"Well, you've bet to get on wit' it, don'tcha?"

A voice seemed to silence all thoughts. You didn't turn to face the new opponent.

You readied your hand-gun that was strapped to your left thigh, hand hovered cautiously over it.

"You and ya littl' ol' brain, finally come to make senses haven't cha? Fufufu..." Scythe laughed, a claw raised and a large weapon rested on her shoulder.

Your heart was thumping, you had no clue what had happened to the people that were here before; blood leaked across the floorboards.

"You must watch yourself, Snake, or else," you threatened, vile in your throat and hatred in your words.

"Or else what, my fine sheep, you goin' to do something?" Her name-calling was getting on your nerves. "The sheep, the one who follows, threatenin' big ol' me? Why, what a show."

"You best watch your tone, or else I'll get those men to take you away-" "And do what? Shoot me with this?" She plucked a gun from her pocket, you could hear it fall and chatter on the cold, hard ground. It rung in your ears.

"Say, maybe if you are ta hear me out, I'll leave ya' be!" Scythe snarled in a smirk, eyeing at you as you gave a small turn. Your hand still readied by your waist.

"And what must that be?" You questioned.

It took her seconds before she was up close, hand over your prepared one as she pulled you into a hold. Your hands, crunched in her soft leather glove while the other one, outstretched and squished by her metal.

"Scream, and everyone in this town's blood will be on your hands, rabbit," You were petrified but held in your sounds, clogged in your throat. You could just throw up.

She took notice, and started dragging you away. In a sorts of type of kidnapping, it was uncomfortable. She caressed your cheek, holding you close as she kept viable eye on you.

Everything started to become fuzzy, did she slip a drug into you by chance? No, she couldn't have. That's not her sense of style. But, everything and everywhere became unrecognizable.

"That's it, we're nearly there, my sweet," Scythe was astonished at how you were still able to walk, to even keep yourself up with her as you seemed to become tired and unable to respond.

Her scorpion tail came back close to her once more.

"Fucking- scorpion.." You pointed out, the tip of her stinger dripped a certain chemical before you fell into the warm-heated sand.

Light's blared into your face as you suddenly awoke. Your back was in pain, brain spinning and pleading to be free from it's coffin.

"Fuck-.. where?"

"Ah-ah ah! Don't want the doctors hard-work to be demolished shall we?" Scythe's voice rung through the room. It echoed in your ears.

"Where am I!" You screamed, but it seemed no use as she walked over. Her heels clicked to the solid, clear marble ground.

A hand reached over, two clawed fingers pinched at your chin and made her look up. God, she was tall, and quite beautiful, for a serial killer. "Wouldn't wanna wake up the others now, do we?" Her scorpion tail threatened as it reached in view.

Eyes widened, and a simple nod in command. She let go in a rough manner.

"Now, you best listen to me, or else you'll end up the same way those people ended up," Your ears wanted to close, but you made eye-contact with her.

She took it as an agreement.

"You've rose quite an interest in me, my sweet. I wouldn't think such people like ya' would be so heavily fascinated in my work of art," Work of art? What is she talking about? Those were never work of art. Those were polished crime-scenes of horror. Onslaughts.

"Now, I wouldn't want my favourite detective, my favourite sheep to be close to finding out about me now do I?" You shook your head.

"Good. Now, if you want to live and make it out of this room alive, you best follow my words," Alive?! "What do you mean 'make it out alive'? I have no deeds to share with you!" You spat.

"Oh, but you mustn't think of it that way. Think of it as a way of... saving you and mine's life. You see, I work for someone quite special deity," Special? Who could be anymore special then the SfOTH? The respected deities, gods if you will?

"There's no one as special as the SfOTH, those deities would crush someone as despicable as your boss."

That struck a nerve.

"You best keep that mouth shut, or else I will do more damage then what my boss would do to you and everyone in this god-for-saken town," Her weapon in hand, you squeaked. You stayed quiet once more.

"... Now, where was I? Ah, yes. I want you to join me, in order to protect you from the harms that might come your way for your... case," "Work with you?" "Yes."

You could nearly laugh! But you couldn't, you'd die.

"...Any benefits?"

"Oh, darling. Benefits were already arranged the first time we met," You snarled. Of course, she was planning this all along at the very start.

"Now, do we have a deal?"

Silence.

A long, period of silence.

"Well?"

You couldn't stop thinking about your family. Your friends, people you considered close.

"You best answer me, clock is ticking."

Your father, mother, what about your pets? What about, what about, what about?!

A slam of the chair, and a rising heat of pain strucking your face as you cried out.

"I've given you one chance at this, now you best answer me! Yes, or nay?" Scythe knelt down to face at you.

"One."

No Answer.

"Two."

No answer.

"THREE-"

"I ACCEPT! I will join your stupid- fucking team!"

...

"Good."

[1427]

i love you (always forever) pt. 2

Daryl Dixon x sister!ofc (Ladybug)

Summary: In the winter of ‘95 Daddy died. Leaving Lady to finish up her senior year in high school, and Daryl to brood over when to sell the house. The summer of ‘96 is the first time Lady feels alive.  Daryl wants to give her one last summer before she has to grow up for real.

Setting: bumblefuck Georgia, doublewide in the woods, Dixon Property. Late June 1996. 

Warnings: INCEST, poorly written SMUT, hardcore mackin’, dry-humping, oral (all around & a lot), size!kink (explicit discussion of how big daryl is compared to Lady), public stuff, fingering. 

Word count: 7.2k (ish)

A/n: some things to note; Lady is 18, it’s mentioned in part 1 but I feel like I should still say that she’s not underage. Also, I feel like this has some pacing problems (more notes at the end) ?? Stuff that’s italicized in purple is dialogue being said in the movie they’re watching. Good luck guys

18+ mdni

// Part 1 //

I just keep on having all these strange thoughts.  

What kind of thoughts?  

Just thoughts.

Funny thoughts about you and me.  

Tell me.  

I couldn't.  

They're just thoughts.

They don't mean anything.

Lady, in the face of picking a movie for such an occasion, had put on Blue Lagoon. It was one of momma’s and it wasn’t like she had such a big selection to choose from, just a bunch of made for TV movies momma had recorded and a few tapes Merle had stolen from the video store.

Lady doesn’t understand subtlety anyway. 

You’re always staring at my buppies. 

Only because they look so funny.

Lady didn’t necessarily like the movie because it was cousins, just the feeling it gave her. She put it on thinking maybe Daryl might feel it too. The lightning coming from inside to throb at the surface.

She’s surprised she’s still even breathing. Knowing he’s just waiting for her to do something. But he’d said… Lady knows the move she has to make is to kiss him. That’s what he’d meant. That's what people do first, before anything else.

Kiss him? Lady’s frozen; how would she even do that? She doesn’t know. Can’t figure out for the life of her what she’d do with her hands, how does she even get closer? What about her legs? Where is everything supposed to go?! 

Lady would do it, she’d be on him already, if she could just figure out how.

“Bubba-“ her voice is soft. Too soft for Daryl to hear it. 

Daryl’s nursing his 6th beer. Or maybe 7th. He’s getting pretty lost in all of everything that was happening with Lady. Up in his own head in an effort to definitely and absolutely not think about what was happening now. Whatever move Lady was trying to pull here with him putting on this tape. Of all the ones she could have picked. 

Daryl’s gone a million miles away. Thinking about what had happened this morning. Again. Staring at the television unblinking as if it were projecting images of her. Lady and her sweet pink lips asking if she could touch him again. Her ass bouncing under her towel. And the way she didn’t even bat an eye when he came on her face. He feels like he’s fucking dying. His insides all twisted up. Gotta be because he knows it’s wrong. Definitely that and not because he really wants to feel her mouth again. Not because he wants to watch this time, and tell her how good she’s doing. Definitely. Not. That.  

Kiss me.

You're all sticky.

So what? Kiss me.

Every time he does stop to feel bad about it he remembers that he didn’t even do anything. Lady did. Lady had asked for a kiss goodnight, and Lady had put her hands and her tongue on his cock while she thought he was sleeping. Daryl figures it’s not his fault he can’t stop thinking about what Lady did. With her soft-as-a-kitten hands and her sweet wet mouth. Fuck. 

Completely stuck in this loop, he watches it repeat on the TV screen. Forgetting the reason he’d dissociated in the first place, the thing he was gonna be coming back to? Lady; probably definitely obviously wanting to do it again.

“Hey, Bub -“  Lady tries to get his attention one more time. “Daryl!” she claps her hands together so hard her palms burn.

Daryl blinks back to reality. “Huh?” he says it like a shrug.

The pause between getting his attention and what she was about to say is an eternity. 

“Can I kiss you?” Lady, feeling so brave and still so so small against how special she knew this memory would be. 

Daryl's heart doesn’t skip a beat, his breath doesn’t get caught in his throat. He looks down at the bottle he’s holding, trying not to smile, and shakes his head at her in amusement. He knows that if anyone else had heard what she was asking to do, if Daddy had heard? She’d be getting the whooping of a lifetime right now. But to Daryl it just sounds like something he knew she was gonna say. At least she didn’t say the word cock again, “Why, though? Why d’ya wanna? M’not even a good kisser, Bug. Can’t teach ya nothin’.”

Lady chews on the side of her lip, her head faced directly toward him while her eyes look anywhere else. Thinking of what to say, how to tell him. The words, her feelings, all jumbled up inside and trying to break out. She wants to be flirty and cute and romantic and have the one answer that would take away all his worries and shame and just be the brother she was used to. The one who aided in every scheme or plot or game she was playing. She pleads with her mouth to be fucking smooth. Be glib or flip or cool or sly or something. It’s not. Instead it vomits all her thoughts like she’d been choking on them.

“I was gonna ask if I could practice kissing on you. Ya know? Because I figured then you mighta felt like maybe you oughta. But then that felt too much like lyin’. Cuz I don’t wanna kiss for practice, Dar. I wanna kiss for real.” She stops to breathe, but there’s no second-guessing. “I just don’t understand what’s the big deal? I know it’s not allowed but I want to.” She finally looks at him, her voice serious, “I just want to and I don't get why you don't want to too.”

They both know she’s not just talking about kissing. “Jus’ not s’possed ta, Lay. ‘m s’possed t’keep ya safe.” 

Lady looks at him like he’s lost his fuckin’ mind. Where was she ‘unsafe’? He wasn’t making any sense to her. She stands up and chugs the rest of the now warm drink. “You’re not makin’ any damn sense, Daryl, I am safe.”

Lady’s frustrated but she’s not heartbroken. Leaving the fort/living room to go to the kitchen and get another drink. Muttering to herself the whole way out of the room, “Why the fuck wouldn’t I ‘be safe’? What does that even mean? Stupid dumbass horseshit doesn’t even make any fuckin’ sense. Shit. Ass. Shit!”

Sometimes when Lady got real good and mad she’d turn into a little version of Merle. Same way Daryl did when he was angry. Same way Merle turned into a little version of their daddy. When Lady did it though, it wasn’t scary. Just was funny. Lady, so little and so angry and too damn sweet to actually say anything mean. Just strings of curse words and questions to no one. 

She opens the fridge with an exaggerated sigh meant for Daryl to hear. Staring at the two wine coolers left, unsure if she actually wants another one. She thinks about what he’d said again. Keep her safe!? It was starting to sound like a lie. She clacks the underside of her knuckles against the fridge door and lets out another noise. A groan or a warble or shiver with a voice. Daryl isn’t sure what she's going on about but it makes him laugh from the other room. 

Lady decides against having another wine cooler. instead fixing to steal Daryl’s joint from his pack of smokes and figure out if he was lying about being ‘cross-faded’ or whatever he’d called it. Maybe if she smoked, just a little, she’d be able to figure out the magic words. Lady steps just outside the front door quietly, hoping Daryl would get zoned out again and not come looking.  

💕

Daryl’s still sipping at his beer and waiting for Lady to come back. Trying to find his own set of magic words to answer her question. Knowing without any doubt that he’s fucked, absolutely completely totally fucking fucked, the second he stops being able to come up with any reason at all. 

💕

Daryl finds Lady sitting out on the front step. Her knees hugged up to her chest, she’s leaning forward and ripping grass from the ground. He opens his mouth to say something but closes it just as fast. Deciding instead to walk down and post up next to her. 

Lady moves to make room for him but doesn’t acknowledge him more than that. Daryl feels around on the ground for the roach he knows he’s going to find because he can smell it. Once he does he brings it up to her face, “Ya smoke this?” 

“Aliens. Just missed ‘em,” laughing to herself. 

He puts the joint between his lips, smiling and feeling for his lighter somewhere in his pockets, “Yer real funny, bug.” His mind’s somewhere else. Doesn’t care that she didn’t listen and smoked the pot after drinking. She was safe. She was always safe. 

Daryl takes a drag just a little too long and coughs out the exhale. Passing the joint to Lady while he’s working through it. She takes it, hitting it gently this time, and manages not to cough at all. 

They just sit together for a while, watching the moon come out from its hiding place behind the clouds. Lady feels the shimmering faeries all over her skin, in her stomach. She can see them in the moonlight in her brothers eyes. 

Lady’s been looking at him. Can’t seem to stop. Just staring at the small space between his jaw and his ear and the curl of hair that didn’t belong there.  “You gonna grow it out now that Daddy’s dead?” 

He moves his chin in a nod, just barely, “Think so.”

Her hand flits to the spot, taking the same strands she’d been staring at between her fingertips. It had only been a few months but his hair was longer than she’d ever seen it. Daryl moves his head to look at her. He didn’t mean to move in a way that put her fingers just so gently against his cheek, but it was too late. 

They share a look in the same way they’d shared the silence - both of them knowing exactly what the other was thinking. Both of them thinking exactly the same thing. Daryl knows what she meant when she said she wanted to kiss for real. That she just wanted to feel it. 

Lady and Daryl both move like they’re going to go for it at the same time. Lady stops. Her heart is in her throat and the faeries are buzzing right out of her body. Had she seen that right? Was he really about to?

Daryl doesn't let her hesitation stop him, leaning over and taking her lips with his own the way she’d wanted the first time she’d asked. A real kiss. Slow and passionate and on purpose. He’s in his right mind but he’s not thinkin’. Just doin’. 

Lady eagerly returns every move of his lips with her own. Getting acquainted with the feeling and starting to understand the rhythm of it. 

Daryl was lying before when he’d told her he wasn’t any good at kissing. He holds her still by the back of her neck, moving into her deeper. Lady opens her mouth the instant she feels his tongue slip across her lip.

One second they’re kissing under the moon; and it’s taboo and it’s ‘wrong’ but it’s almost innocent. Still so sweet, and filled with uncertainty —-

and then their tongues meet. 

And they turn into something else. 

Lady moans just at the feeling of his wet something touching her wet something. Daryl’s never heard her make a noise like that before and it ignites a new part of him. He needs to hear it again. To feel it again. Lady’s perfect sweet voice coming apart against him. 

They’re immeshed. Their mouths moving against and with eachother, deeper and faster and with more everything. Like they were eating eachother alive. Legs knocking together, Lady’s clawing at his shirt and when Daryl moves his other hand around her waist she moans again, shaking. 

He pushes his tongue almost all the way to the back of her throat. Even with them closed, Lady can feel her eyes rolling back into her head. Moaning again into his mouth, but this time it comes from somewhere deeper. 

His fingers squeeze into her a little harder before he pulls away again. Just lookin’ at her. Eyes closed and trembling. “C’mon.” He pulls on her hand a little to get her attention, all lost in herself. 

Lady knows he wants to get inside and probably back to the a/c but she's afraid once this moments over she’s gonna have to try and convince him for 5 more hours to let her do it again, “I don’t wanna go inside, I wanna stay out here kissin’ you.” 

“Can kiss insi’, bug.” 

She’s beaming, fished her wish and then won the fuckin’ jackpot. “For real?” 

“C’mon.” Daryl gets up with Lady right behind. Before now it had always been the other way around. 

💕

The second they get to the living room they melt back together. Not even one step past the sheet Daryl grabs her wrist and pulls her into him again. He doesn’t want to wait for either one of them to get stuck up in their heads again. It was too late anyway. 

Doesn’t want to think about Lady. Wants to feel her. Needs to beg that tremble from her vocal chords again. 

He pulls her down to the bed and on top of him. Helping her place her legs on either side of his hips. Focusing in on how soft her thighs are underneath his fingertips, he squeezes. 

Lady pulls back, looking down at his hands so high up her thighs, his thumb dangerously close to her heat. She's beyond comprehending the things he’s making her body feel. A light almost inaudible gasp escapes her as he squeezes again, but that's not what Daryl wants to hear. 

Daryl isn't thinking about the fact that Lady's never done any of this stuff before, he's not even thinking about the fact that it's Lady who's ontop of him. It's Lady that he's touching. Sweet little girl Lady, who'd barely even been kissed before just now. He's staring at the space between her thighs. Her tiny sleep shorts riding up her pussy and he can make out every detail through the thin fabric, lips spread and almost spilling out the sides. Daryl forgets for a second where he is, moving his thumb over just an inch, pressing hard into her clit through her shorts. 

Lady let's out a surprised cry, her hips bucking forward into him, her body falling down with two hands flat against his chest. Daryl's cock twitches at the sound and Lady feels it right at her entrance. Her head shoots up and all of a sudden they’re looking each other in the eyes. With all the lights on. 

In this moment, there's no hesitation. No question of if they should or shouldn't be doing this. The look shared between them is only comfort. Lady, knowing it’s Daryl, knowing he’d never let her do something the wrong way.  

And when Daryl sees that blown out sparkle in Lady’s eye? Knows that look. She wants him. And if Lady wants it? Can't be ugly. Just can't. 

It's only two seconds, but it's everything.

Lady's mouth is back on Daryl's like it had never left, her tongue pushing through to his the instant they come together. His hands move to her hips, grinding her down into him. She can feel him, hard like when she had seen it pushing through his boxers. Now hard and pushing up into her. The feeling, the thought, groaning into his mouth at all of it. 

He does it again. And again and again. Pulling her and pushing her over his clothed length as she assaults his mouth. Her tongue and lips slowly losing rhythm until she moves herself to suck and bite on his neck instead. The noises coming out of her are the most precious he’s ever heard. 

Eventually Lady starts moving her hips on her own, and Daryl can feel the bump of her hard clit as she grinds herself on top of him.

Lady’s got one hand behind his neck and the other gripping at the fabric of his shirt like it's going to save her. She’s humping her brother like sometimes she humps her pillow, hips moving in deliberate circles, so close to an orgasm she can taste it. Soft light mews coming from her lips in breaths. She can't look at him, she wants to forget he's even there. She's embarrassed. But she cums anyway. 

Cascading through her limbs before tiding back to make room for the shame. Her hips won't stop shaking and she's afraid to look at him. 

Daryl’s high on the whole fucking experience. Watching, feeling, hearing Lady come apart ontop of him. 

Daryl's going to hell. Knows it and doesn't care. Something about it being his sister is sending him over the fucking edge. Of course it was gonna. Kissing is one thing. Being used for your cock so your little sister can hump you until she cums is something else.

He pulls her up against his body a few inches. Weaving his fingers through her hair to hold the back of her neck, he kisses her forehead. Smiling deviously against her skin, “Y’wanna make me cum again?” 

Daryl had only ever been comfortable talking to one girl like that, and that was a real long time ago. But with Lady he didn't have anything to hide or be worried about. Knows she's gonna say yes, knows she'd get mad if he'd wanted to and hadn’t asked her. 

Any embarrassment Lady had been feeling is forgotten like she'd never felt it in the first place. She sits up. Looking down at her fingers as they play with the fabric of his tee-shirt all bunched up against his stomach. “With my mouth?” she asks with a coy smile. 

“Only f’ya wanna.” 

“Well, is that what you meant?” she looks him in the eye, waiting for an answer. 

“Yeah, s’what I meant.” he nods, gliding a hand from one thigh, over her stomach, and then onto the other one. His other hand reaching behind her body to squeeze her ass. Daryl’s not worried about being too forward. Not thinkin’, just doin’. 

Lady shivers under his touch, his needful hands feel so much better than the ones she'd imagined. Never thought it would feel so much bigger than skin on skin and different kinds of pressure. To be desired? To be touched simply because he wanted to and couldn't help himself — it radiates into her soul.

“I wanna.” She nods with a whisper, moving off of him to sit and wait.

Daryl gets up and falls back into the couch, beckoning Lady over with a nod of his head. As she crawls towards him Daryl’s working on his belt, his button, his zipper, but he’s just staring at her. God, even his ex-girlfriend never looked that desperate to suck his cock. 

Lady was chomping at the fuckin’ bit waiting to taste him again. Sitting between his legs, staring. Waiting. He finally works himself free, and Lady is melting into a puddle of drool. She sits up on her knees to get closer, but Daryl’s stroking himself slowly and she’s never seen something so…

With Daryl leaned back and looking at her like that, doing that. She’s never seen anything so fucking hot. Doesn’t even have another word to describe it. So. Fucking. Hot. So goddamn fucking hot that it rewires her brain chemistry. 

Daryl smirks, which to Lady just makes it hotter, he can’t believe she’s watching like this. He can’t believe how much he’s getting off on her watching. Never did this in front of a girl, not even his ex-girlfriend, and they’d done everything. 

“S’what? Don’ wanna use tha’ mouth yet?” 

She shakes her head quickly, but her eyes are fixed, “I do, I do.” She opens her mouth like she’s gonna keep talking but closes it. Daryl notices the way her eyes go big and seem to sparkle when he gets to the bottom of his stroke. He holds himself around the base and lets the full heavy length of his cock wave back and forth. 

Lady’s so turned on that the, “Holy shit,” she’s thinking tumbles out of her mouth and into the air. 

Daryl, with his fingers still firmly gripping around the base, directs himself down toward her. His cockhead only centimeters from her open mouth. “A’least spit on it, bug.” 

She’s so mesmerized, she doesn’t look up, “For real?” 

“For real, gimme a good one like I taught ya.” 

She haucks a good one right on the tip, only an inch away from her mouth. He pulls himself up and out of her immediate reach again, using her spit to coat his aching appendage. Daryl wasn’t really jerking off, just showing off for Lady. Honestly? He was torturing himself. 

Now, covered in wet saliva, Lady can see every glimmering detail. Every ridge and vein and he’s holding himself tight again, it’s so fucking big. “Is everyones this big?” 

Daryl gives an unexpected laugh, “S’not tha’ big, bug.” 

She reaches her hand out and wraps her fingers around him, just above his hand. Daryl groans at the feeling of her. She’s trying to figure out if she can close her hand around him, but apparently she can’t, “Look, Dar, my fingers don’t even touch.” 

“Fuck,” the word comes out just like the groan. Lady likes hearing Daryl like this. All a mess because of her. 

She smiles before biting her lip, “It’s thicker than my wrist, bubba.” 

“Is it?” He asks her, with a playful smirk. He only asked to get her to prove it. When she lets go of his erection to hold her wrist next to it for comparison Daryl grabs her grabs her hand. Pulling her arm up by her palm he measures his dick next to the length of her forearm. Jesus fucking goddamn Christ. 

Lady, after being thrown off by him grabbing her like that, just gawks. They’re the same fucking size. His cock and her whole fucking forearm. “What the fuck?!” 

“‘m big n’all but Lady, yer little.” He lets her have her arm back but she’s still just holding it up next to him trying to figure it out. How was that ever gonna fit inside her?

“It didn’t look that big this morning.”

“Don’ gotta be scared. F’ya wanna stop, we can.” 

“No! No,” she puts her hand back around him, “don’t wanna stop.” 

Daryl’s hand is right below hers, he starts to move up on himself hoping she’ll follow. She does, placing her pinky over his index finger as they both start to jerk him off together. Lady’s not using nearly enough pressure, so he moves his hand from below hers to around. Squeezing her fingers tighter, moving her hand faster than they’d been. 

Daryl starts to finally feel it building, getting closer to an orgasm than he’d been all night. His eyes close for only a few seconds before he hears and feels Lady spit on his cock again. 

“Fucking christ, bug.” He says, looking down at her. Sitting up on her knees with her lips spread just waiting for him to put it in her mouth. He guides himself, in her hand, to her outstretched eager tongue. 

Lady just watches it get closer until she can devour him. Not like this morning, she laps at him with no abandon. Licking and sucking at his head like she was making out with it. Daryl’s eyes keep closing at the feeling, and he keeps opening them to watch. 

Fucking beautiful. Absolutely perfect. She doesn’t know a damn thing about sucking a cock and it shows. Still feels like heaven, still’s gonna make Daryl bust a fat one. Can feel it, he’s just about to, and then Lady takes his whole head in her mouth while looking up at him at the same time. 

“Fuck, Lady. M’gonna.” 

She knows what he means, but why was he telling her? Was she supposed to stop? She doesn’t, instead she takes him even further into her mouth, eyes flicking back up to his again. 

Daryl and Lady are completely locked onto each other as he cums down her throat.

Lady could feel it happening before it happened, his cock getting even harder before it pulsates between her lips.The first shot goes to the back of her throat, making her gag, but she stays put. Taking all of it. 

Daryl watches Lady doing her best to swallow it. Coming to terms pretty quickly that he came down his sister's throat. The fact that it was while looking in her fucking eyes is a little harder. He puts himself away before joining her on their bed. Laying her down on his chest while they both stare at the ceiling. 

“Didn’t have ta swallow it.” He tells her. 

“I wanted to.” 

“Did good, bug.” 

“I know.” 

He laughs, his rumbling chest shaking Lady’s head slightly, “Oh? Y’know? How’s that?” She didn’t do that good. 

“Shit, Bug, fuck. Jesus christ ‘m gonna cum.” She makes groans and grunts in between curses. 

“Alrigh’, quit it.” He regrets asking. 

Lady sits up to rewind the tape and Daryl stands to turn the lights off. Meeting back in bed, Lady curls up into him, and they both finally manage to fall asleep.  

💕

For about a week Lady and Daryl do that night on repeat. Drinking a few drinks, smoking a little pot, making out while Lady humps him until she cums, and then Daryl sits on the couch and Lady sucks him off. 

She’s gotten better at it. A lot better and real fast. Daryl had to show her a couple things, but he didn’t count it as teaching her. Just showing her how. Doesn’t know why he thinks they’re different, but one felt dirty and the other one didn’t. Didn’t wanna ‘teach’ Lady anything. Just wanted to experience it with her. 

Lady didn’t need much showing how anyway. She’d picked up the sucking part, using both hands, her tongue and her lips. She’s started using her cheeks and her throat too. 

Today Lady had asked Daryl if she could blow him while they drove around town. He’s got his keys in his hands before she even finishes asking. 

💕

Lady’s laying down on her stomach across the bench seat of the truck, feet kicked up in the air, Daryl’s cock lolling out of her mouth as she lays her head on his thigh to look at him. 

Daryl glances down for a second to see her hand holding his length flush against his leg, mouth around the head of him, suckling his cock like it’s a lollipop.  

At least once a day Daryl’s sure he’s witnessing the hottest thing he’ll ever see in his whole life. He pulls over onto the side of the road. Lady’s been at this for 10 minutes and he could probably last longer but he doesn’t want to. 

She doesn’t move while Daryl parks the truck. She’s learned to recognize the look on his face, and how it meant she was doing just exactly the right thing. She’s still laying on his thigh, one hand on his cock to keep it pointing down and into her mouth while she sucks just the tip of him off, swirling her tongue all around. 

Daryl throws the truck in park. Looking down, he grabs her head with both hands, pulling her just barely off of his thigh so he can move his hips. With both feet planted to the floor and his back against the seat he starts fucking into the back of her throat. Her cheeks stretching out around the girth of him made all the more explicit by the light of day. She starts making that noise again. Daryl pulls Lady off of him by both sides of her head, a string of saliva still stuck to his dick goes with her, glinting in the sunlight. 

At least once a day Daryl’s sure he’s witnessing the hottest thing he’ll ever see in his whole life, “Why d’ya like it like tha’?” 

She’s staring at him with wide eyes, her voice small, “Whad’ya mean?” If Lady could have it her way she’d live with his cock in her mouth.

“When ‘m rough. When ‘m doin’ the work.” 

“Never liked workin’, Daryl.” She goes to move herself back to him, but he holds her head still. 

“Lay, no. Wanna know why.” But Daryl can tell by Ladys expression that she doesn’t even know. “Figure it out.” 

He lets go of her gently, allowing her to go back to doing whatever she wanted to be doing with him. Daryl puts the truck back in drive, figures he’d give Lady some more time doing her new favorite thing. 

💕

“Y’good, bug?” Daryl leans down over her shoulder to ask. They’re walking the farmers market. Not some nice fancy fruit and veggies stand, the farmers market. Everyone and their momma trying to sell old tape collections and knick-knacks like it’s a permanent yard sale. As Lady was walking in front of him he’d noticed her moving around all funny. Doing an uncomfortable dance to readjust something without anyone noticing. 

“Shuddup.” She hisses back at him, an unmistakable blush spreading across her cheeks. 

This just spurs him further, he skips a step to be right up against her, “Wha’s goin’ on in yer pants?” 

She stops and turns around to face him, their bodies so close but not touching. Lady takes a quick look around, there’s a bunch of people nearby, walking right past them, but no one’s looking at them. 

She sighs, reaching down into her shorts before pulling her hand out and putting it in Daryl’s face. So coated in her own slick that it stretches to fill the area between her fingers when she moves them apart. Daryl wonders if he could blow a bubble with it, and then immediately pushes her hand back down and looks around to see if anyone else had watched her do that. 

Seeing that no one’s caught them at the very same time he feels it, his own hand, now covered in her. 

Daryl had been losing his fucking mind over her. Her down there. Her pretty pussy that he hasn’t gotten to see or taste or feel. Yet. He’s not ever gonna push her to do something, he’s not even gonna ask her. She’s the one that’s gotta ask for it. That’s gotta want it. So it can’t be ugly. 

Lady’s looking at him, waiting for some kind of reaction, til Daryl lifts his arm with a smile and a nod. Aggressively and publicly sucking on the side of his hand. The bit between his wrist and his pinky and part of his palm, all coated in sticky perfect sweet Lady. He looks down at her with a grin before walking away, knowing she’d follow. 

She’s on his heels, grabbing his wrist as he weaves through the crowd. Lady pulls hard on his arm to get him to stop moving right when they’re in the thick of it. People bumped up on every side, Daryl turns back to face her and Ladys right up against him, hugging him and pulling his hand between them. Pushing him down the front of her pants, she spreads her legs and urges him further by his forearm. 

It happens so quickly Daryl can’t even react at first. His hand just pressed against her. Soft, and warm, and so wanting. Her cunt was so wet and running down her legs it knocked the wind out of him. So wet his fingers slip right through her delicate folds and rub right up against her clit and her hole at the same time. Lady reacts with buckled knees, holding on to his arm for stability. Her eyes closed and her body shuddering around his hand. 

He pulls back out just as quickly, righting Lady to stand up straight. He doesn't look around to see if anyone's watching, just takes his wet fingers and slowly puts them against and past her parted lips. 

Time seems to stand still, eyes locked on each other, Daryl's fingers edging deeper into her mouth. And then someone bumps into Lady, her body rocking forward and into her brother's larger frame. Wrapping his arm around her, he starts pulling her back through the market. Ending up along the fence that bordered some woods. Thick and on a decline, Daryl knows no one will see them back here. 

Lady doesn't know the plan, but she's too turned on to care. So burning up that even the tall grass itching at her skin feels like little lightning kisses. 

It's not long before Daryl decides they've gone far enough. He pushes Lady up against a tree, just looking down at her while he tries to catch his breath. She’s looking between them, starting to mess with his belt before he stops her with one hand, “Thinkin' ya migh’ lose yer min’ soon if ya don' jus’ ask.” 

She lets go of his belt, keeping her hands in his, “...ask what?”

“Fer me ta touch ya, bug. Yer so fuckin’ wet I don' know how yer still walkin’ around.”

She blushes, and tries to get out of his grip on her against the tree. Daryl lightens up a bit but doesn't let her go, “are ya always like tha’?” he asks. 

She looks toward his chest instead of up at him, biting the side of her lip while nodding gently, “I mean, yeah….” 

“Need ya ta ask, bug.”

“Why?” She finally looks up at him, genuinely confused. 

“Cuz. Gotta be you tha’ wants it.”

“You don't want it?”

“‘nough ta ask.” He tries to clarify but she still doesn't completely understand. Daryl shakes his head, “Forget it. Jus’ cuz, Lay. Cuz I said.”

She nods, scanning the ground next to them like it has the words to put together, “I don't know what to ask for, Dar.” She puts her hand against his chest, “I want it all.”

Daryl smiles, can't help it, Lady doesn't even know what to ask for so she sucks his dick in wanton misery for a week and then when she finally does ask it's to go all the way. Lady fucking would. 

“Lay, ‘m not fuckin’ ya fer the firs’ time out in the fuckin’ woods behind the market. Jus fuckin’ ask me ta touch ya b’fore I take ya home instead.” 

“Touch me.” She says it before he's finished talking. 

Daryl's on her in an instant. Overwhelming her mouth with his own, finally letting his hands feel her everywhere. 

He starts at her breasts, which he's already touched over her clothes but never underneath, never pinching and rolling her nipple between his two fingers before now. Her gasp ebbs into a moan as he continues to squeeze and prod at her.  

Daryl leans back, breaking his assault on her mouth to pull up her shirt and assault her there instead. But once he's got his eyes on her exposed skin he just stops. His hand coming up to grab at her again, cupping the small soft mound of flesh with his whole hand. Watching as his thumb brushes over her nipple, hard and pink and perfect. He traces his fingers down her stomach, rubbing his free hand over his dick. 

Daryl's fingers come to rest at the hem of her shorts, looking up at her before pulling the waistband down past her hips, then onto the ground. 

Lady just watches, letting her body sway with the pull of her clothing being removed. Steadying herself with her hand on his shoulder to keep from falling over. Daryl feels her hand, and for some reason it makes him want to stay down there. Hadn’t been planning on it, was just gonna touch her with his hands. He figures touching with his tongue is still just touching, and she’d already asked for that. 

Besides, Lady puts her mouth on him all the time. Still, Daryl looks at her before he does, leaning in and peering up. Making it obvious what he was silently begging permission for. Lady meets his eyes, responding to his request by stepping one foot out of her shorts and spreading her legs. 

His face buries up and into her, licking every spot around her pussy. Her thighs and all the strings of her mess, his tongue taking large swathes up each side of her lips. Lady’s legs are already shaking so much that both her and Daryl realize she’s not going to be able to stay standing on her own. 

“S-sorry.” She squeaks. 

“S’okay, bug, just don’t know where to put ya.”

On your cock, she thinks. Lady’s brain can only think about his cock. How she knows it’s hard and in his pants and not in her mouth. Sure, Daryl’s mouth on her feels good, but it’s not the same. 

“Just want you inside, Dar.” She’d been good at just dealing with the ache, it seemed to ease when he was in her mouth. Even though it wasn’t what her body needed, she guesses it’s close enough. 

She's not looking when he invades her hole. One finger, and she’s shaking and shivering and every muscle in her body tenses up. 

Daryl goes to pull out and Lady scrambles to hold his hand where it is. He huffs a laugh, “Shit, Lay, was gonna put it back in again.” 

She’s not listening, her ears ringing, her vision whitehot and blinding. Daryl pulls out of her only to stand up. Lowering his head down to take her lips. And like it was every time Lady and Daryl kissed, they’re ignited. More than before. Everything seems to escalate their desperate need for each other. Their want, their desire itself, seemed to feed its own flame. 

Daryl’s hands are at her naked hips, Lady’s losing herself in his mouth. She hadn’t realized that she’d put her feet together until Daryl’s hand pushes between her thighs and moves her legs apart again. He pushes his finger back into her, breaking their kiss and pulling a moan out with it. He pulls his finger out slowly, not all the way, before pushing back in again, just feeling her warm walls clenching tightly around his finger. He can’t stop himself from adding another. Wants to stuff her full and change her whole fucking life. 

She groans and he presses himself against her body, fucking his two fingers into her as deep as he can reach. Daryl makes sure she’s braced tight between himself and the tree, pushing against her hard to keep her still, before he curls his two thick digits inside of her. His fingertips petting the so-soft spongy part of her, they don’t stop even as her back tries to arch her right off the tree and onto the ground. 

Daryl peels her from the bark, keeping my her up with his knees bent so she can reach her arms to wrap around his neck and hold on. He keeps moving his fingers hard against her g-spot, that groan coming out between gasps and other moans and yelps and every beautiful sound Lady could make. 

Daryl leans Lady back into his arm, still assaulting that spot with his fingers but instead of curling them into her he starts moving his hand back and forth inside her with his shoulder and forearm. Pulling and pushing, the sound of her cunt squelching into the air, the sopping sounds getting audibly wetter. 

Lady leans back so far in Daryl’s arm that he decides to just place her onto the ground. Hadn’t wanted to do that, but it’s too late. Lady, on the ground naked from the tits down and looking up at him like she doesn’t even believe what she’s feeling is real. “Please.” She whines, Lady’d never asked like that before. 

He wishes he could fuck her in the woods, even if it was gonna be her first time, but he just can’t. “M’gonna, jus’ lemme look atchya.” He’s squatted down next to her, rubbing his rough palm all over her blushing naked skin. 

“You can look when we get home for as long as you want, please, Daryl.” There she was saying it again. Begging him. Lady can’t take it, the cool ground feels refreshing against her flushed body, but the heat is coming from inside and Daryl was right. Lady was close to losing her damn mind. 

Daryl watches her writhing in front of him for a beat longer than he needs to. Can’t help it, definitely sure this time that this is the hottest thing he'll ever see in his whole life. Lady's bare body all down in the sticks and dirt with her legs spread. Her messy pussy swollen and red and waiting for him. 

He puts his hand down on her chest, running his fingers along her skin so lightly. So barely there. Lady trembles, closing her eyes at the feeling, her back arching off the ground, “Please.” She begs again, grabbing onto his arm and trying to push it between her legs. 

Daryl shakes her hands off his arm and continues to kneed at her breast. Grabbing hold of it harshly before bringing his mouth down to lick flat long purposeful strokes into her nipple. 

Her eyes wide as she raises her head to look down. Her tit in his hand is lewd. The nipple filled out with fat and puffy, she watches until he completely envelopes her between his lips. The wet muscle of his tongue flicking deep into her nerves, her whole body starts spasming underneath of him. 

And then it's. Oh, it's everything. Lady is on fire from the inside again, like when she hit Daryl's pot the very first time and she'd turned into a rabid dog. And now she's feral in heat in the woods, her desperate cunt being filled by her brothers thick fingers and she burns. Burns so hot and alive it rips through her body in screams that Daryl's never heard before. Don't think Lady's ever made before. 

She's primal. Screaming and moaning and panting and falling apart. Faeries burning alive and singeing every inch of her soul on the way out. 

As she's coming down, Daryl easing his fingers out of her, a high pitched whistle cuts through the air. 

6’ tall and dirty. Hairy and sweaty. Roughneck. 20 feet away and just staring at them. Daryl moves quick to cover Lady up as she scrambles her top down and back to her shorts by the tree. 

“Fuck off.” Daryl calls back flipping him the middle finger, while Lady wrestles her shorts on. The man just watches, doesn't do anything else. Watches as Lady and Darly hurry away and out of the woods. 

💕

Lady scoots over on the bench seat as they roll down the road back to their house. She goes to put her hands on his lap but he moves them away. 

“What's wrong?” 

“Know tha’ guy.” 

“So?”

“Wha’ if he knows you?”

“He doesn't.”

Daryl nods, using his free hand to grab a smoke. Lady helps him light it and they drive home in silence. Lady, curled up next to him. Daryl, a million miles away worrying, for the first time, that maybe he shoulda said no. To the drive, to touching her, to what they were doin’. To all of it. 

Didn’t think before now how maybe it could hurt Lady. How if anyone found out… 

Cursing himself to hell and not back because he doesn’t deserve it. Shouldn’t have taken her out in them woods like that. Not the same as their woods. Those woods don’t know shit about keepin’ secrets.

💕

A/n: I also cringe so hard when “bust a fat one” but it's Daryl and it's 1996 and I just. It just is, okay? It's in the middle of some of his internal shit and IT just IS. (I wanted to delete it so many times but I can't. I've come to terms with it, so should you. pls)

As far as pacing… this type of relationship takes buildup and I couldn’t figure out where to cut down. Like I took out about 1k in the first “scene” and it still feels like it’s dragging to me but I also feel like I’ve read it too many times to know. Also the smut parts… I feel this need to detail and describe and it’s probably overboard but when I’m reading fic I find myself always wanting more of that so idk. Maybe it’s too much? Idk I’m new I’ll figure it out. 

Ty for reading 💕💕💕

[dean-a-mean-tae]

Of The Tunnel | Stray Kids Extra Member

WARNINGS: Mention of self-harm, mention of sl!tt!ng, racism, discrimination, dissociation, JYP, I think that's it.

Nicholas Ross Master List | Requested: Yes | Light At The End Part 1

You don't realize how much you need someone until they're gone. Things were different. He started washing and brushing his hair consistently. He stopped the old hair care routine, and he's been getting it straightened more often. His hair stylist stopped complaining. She even congratulated him.

"Finally fixed your hair," The woman laughed as she brushed through Nicholas' hair. It didn't hurt. It felt nice. The brush glided through his hair, only snagging on looped strings of hair. "See how easy I can brush it now?"

He hadn't heard anyone talking about him. People still commented about his skin, but he couldn't do anything about it. Eventually, he'll have to cut his hair. His hair is too long for a man. His stylist said so.

"Why are you so quiet?" 

He did it again. Nicholas has been spacing out a lot recently. He thinks the boys are starting to get suspicious. He'll have to be more careful.

But it was too late. 

"I don't think I've ever seen you with your hair straightened. Has it always been this long?" Chan asked, watching Nicholas lean forward to brush his hair into a messy bun. Nicholas was quiet as he sat up, rubbing his back to relieve the ache.

The boys noticed something wrong as soon as it started. Things were different. There was no running through hallways or jumping on one of the members. No one burst into the bathroom while they were showering to talk to them.

Their clothes were returned to them with no note or anything. But they all knew who gave them back. His door was always locked now. None of the members could sneak into his room and steal his body heat during the night.

They can see him, and he can hear them, but Nicholas isn't with them.

"Where's your mind, Nick?" Hyunjin whispered, sitting next to Nicholas on the couch. He looked strange with straightened hair. They all were used to Nicholas' gorgeous curls framing his face. Now, he had a long ponytail of damaged hair.

"Your hair is thinning," Minho hummed as he ran his fingers through Nick's hair. Strands fell with each movement, and the two men could feel their hearts shatter at Nick's silence and the dull look in his eyes.

Today, Nicholas walked into their dressing room and was greeted by all the members. It wasn't until he got comfortable that he noticed their eyes. They watched him as he grabbed a bottle of water up until he sat in the stylist's chair.

"This is an intervention," Changbin said, leaning forward on the table. The members glared at him, and Changbin flinched.

"That's not what we practiced," Hyunjin huffed, side-eyeing Changbin as Jeongin shoved Changbin.

"I saw it in a movie and was trying to lighten the mood," Changbin explained.

Did they notice? Of course, they did. When did they not? This wasn't his childhood. They weren't his parents. They paid attention to the small things. 

"You're harming yourself," Chan said, and Nicholas tilted his head.

Was he harming himself? Nicholas wasn't hurting himself. He tried hard not to. Why would they think that? Are there cameras here? He doesn't think today was recorder day. Hopefully not.

Maybe Chan could see the confusion because he continued, "You're not slitting anything, but you're still indirectly hurting yourself." 

The door opened, and Nicholas watched everyone rush to look normal. They would have to continue this conversation later. He's happy. This was a bit one-sided, anyway.

There she is again. Nicholas doesn't understand why they chose this woman as his hairstylist. He watched her finish setting her station before yanking the hair tie out of his head. 

He winced. Another 6 or 7 strands of hair ripped from his head.

"Your hair is too long," The woman grumbled as she looked for a brush. Next to them, Jisung looked over his makeup artist's arm.

"But if I cut it, my curls will be extra small," Nicholas argued. Though, his voice could barely be heard over the chaos in the dressing room.

"It's not like it will be in those knotted curls anymore," His stylist huffed, rolling her eyes as she ran her fingers through his hair. It stopped in the middle of his back, much too long for a boy.

Jisung's makeup artist walked away, and he looked at Felix. They both nodded before looking back at Nicholas and his stylist.

"Your hair is staying straightened," She ordered, and Felix's eye twitched. The stylist twisted Nicholas' hair in a bun. He looked a little like Hyunjin, but his hair was thinner.

After the stylist left, Jisung and Felix split up. Jisung went to speak with Changbin since Chan and Minho left to check on their props. While Felix went to Nicholas, his arms wrapping around the older boy's shoulders as he whispered in his ear.

"I miss your curls."

Nicholas hummed, and Felix frowned at the reflection in the mirror. Nicholas Ross, his best friend and member of Stray Kids, was miserable. His hair, once luscious thick curls, was straightened and thin. The makeup on his face could only hide his sunken face so much. He could see the bags under his eyes peeking through.

He looked just how he felt.

"We'll fix this. Your hair will be healthy, and you can wear it with pride," Felix mumbled, watching Changbin and Jisung come into the room with Chan and Minho following.

"You promise?" Nicholas whispered, and Felix felt his eyes water at the tears in his hyung's eyes.

"I promise."

"Can't we just get her fired?"

"Not without proof," Chan sighed, fingers pressing against his eyes. Three people groaned as Minho threw his head back.

Only Jisung and Felix heard the stylist. This would be a classic he-said-she-said moment without proof. They would have to wait for the next time she worked with them again. But at the rate this was going, Nicholas probably wouldn't have any hair left by then.

The door to Chan's room opened, and the five occupants watched Seungmin close the door behind him. He calmly sat on the bed next to Chan and handed him his phone.

"When will you tame these knots?" The woman groaned as she brushed through Nicholas' hair. You could hear the brush ripping through his hair.

"What knots? I brushed and platted my hair," Nicholas hissed. His voice trembling with pain.

...

"You don't think your hair is unprofessional?" She asked, pulling at Nicholas' curls. He frowned at her in the mirror.

"I'm not being mean. I just don't want you to look lazy," She explained. "The puffy curls were cute when you were younger. You're older now and need to look the part."

...

"Did you hear?" Another woman whispered. "He only washes his hair once a month, twice if his members help him.

The woman in front of her grimaced in disgust, "Could you imagine the build-up?"

...

"Your hair is too long. We need to cut it," The stylist said.

"It's not like it will be in those knotted curls anymore," The woman huffed. "Your hair is staying straightened."

"Is this enough proof?" Seungmin asked, and Felix flung himself at the younger boy.

"You're amazing, Seungmin. You know that?" Jisung asked from his place behind Chan's shoulder. The older man was sending the videos to himself.

"I know," Seungmin grinned.

"Now we have proof. What do we do?" Changbin asked, looking around the room. Minho hummed in thought.

"You and Chan will go straight to JYP about it. I'll stay here with the kids," Minho answered. Everyone nodded before splitting up. Minho, Seungmin, Jisung, and Felix went to the Maknae + Minho dorm, while Chan and Changbin went to the company.

It's hilarious how often JYP is just lurking around the building. It wasn't hard for Chan to see him, and it wasn't hard for Changbin to find the stylist. They were in a meeting room. The videos had just been played, and JYP sighed in irritation.

"So," he started, "do you have anything to say?"

"I wasn't trying to be rude," She said, looking between JYP and a very angry Changbin. "It's just having his hair straightened is easier for me."

JYP's eyebrows furrowed. "Your job as a hairstylist is to cater to his hair needs. Not make his hair bend to your will."

"I already have to use special products for him," She said as she slid a list of the different products she used to use. Another much smaller list filled with the products she uses now was placed after it.

"The least he could do is make my job easier."

"You're not very well educated are you?" Chan asked, carefully looking between the list and the blatant price difference. The woman gasped, offended. 

JYP raised his hand to stop a potential argument and turned to the woman. "If you can't do your job and nurture his hair while making it look good, then you won't have a job. You're fired."

"I'm fired for asking him to keep his hair straightened?" She huffed.

"No," JYP started, leaning forward in his seat to look her in the eye."You're fired for racism and discrimination. The proof is right here."

"Where's Nicholas? He can vouch for me," The woman shouted as she looked between the smug members.

"Nicholas isn't available at the moment. The others are helping him get his hair routine back on track," Changbin sighed, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

It was clear no one was on the woman's side, and she stood. Her chair fell back from the force. She ignored it, grabbing her bag and coat, the woman left the room.

JYP sighed as he turned to Chan, "I'll find someone else. Tell Nicholas I'm sorry this wasn't handled sooner."

"Of course," The younger man nodded before he and Changbin left for the dorms.

When they entered the dorm, they were greeted with everyone spread throughout the room. Minho and Felix were by the table, picking through the tray of snacks while Jisung and Seungmin were fighting over what movie to watch.

On the couch sat Hyunjin and Jeongin with Nicholas in front of them. The taller boy had a towel around his shoulders while the other two were plaiting his soaking hair. A spray bottle was next to Hyunjin's foot, while a container of curl cream leave-in conditioner was next to Jeongin's thigh.

"What's all this?" Chan asked, waving his hands at the mess of blankets and pillows. It looked like they went to the 3racha + Hyunjin's dorm and got their blankets, too. 

"We're having a self-care sleepover," Felix cheered, tossing a bag of chips at Nicholas. Hyunjin and Jeongin shouted, pulling him back when he moved too much.

"When did you guys learn how to do his hair?" Changbin asked, sitting by Nicholas and wiping a glob of leave-in off his temple. 

"We were learning before the witch messed with his hair," Hyunjin answered as he sprayed another section of Nicholas' hair before brushing the ends.

"Not a witch," Nicholas laughed. He missed the look of adoration from his members as he continued laughing. Felix crawled over and began tickling him. Jisung, Changbin, and Seungmin followed after him.

"Please tell me she's gone," Minho whispered. 

"She is," Chan smiled from his place beside him, watching the chaos before them. 

"Chan, tell them to stop! I don't wanna mess this braid up!"

Nicholas Ross Master list | ©️DEANAMEANTAE2023

Tags list: @bada-lee-ily, @jinnie-ret, @hwxnghyynjin, @foxilsdenn. @rensahazard, You can be added by asking in the replies, sending me a message, or doing an ask thingy.

[nokonomi]

CreepyPasta OC. Yes guys I know I know I know I KNOW ANOTHER ONE WHY?!

So uh, meet Louise/Luise, and SHE IS NOT EMO GUYS TRUST ME! (She is emo lol)

Okay so Uhm she basically grew up in a part of a rich neighborhood honestly to say, spoiled kid, but she didn’t like the attention she was receiving. Her parents always abused her to be “pretty” her mother had said to her that “beauty matters, nothing else!”

I So she was basically ripped of her childhood and instead forced to be a child diva which she didn’t want to be. What did she want to be? All she wanted to be was a lawyer or medical surgeon. Her father passed away and it was just her and her mother, which her mother was very abusive and always despised her, shrugging off that her supposed “depressive state” is caused by her lack of confidence and beauty.

is beauty all that matters though? She doesn’t know. Know hated and bullied, she constantly roams through the hallways of her school, being shoved for who she is now. She had to take pills at the age of 13 for some disorders she had before (which I will name later) when her mother found out she had disorders, her mother basically said she was a nobody. Instead of listening to her, Luise fought back and tackled her mom, got spanked a few times, and showed her the pain she grew up with being pressured to be pretty. She doesn’t care about being pretty. All she wanted was to have loving parents who could eventually tell her that they loved her for who she is. But she never got that. Murdered her mom and escaped the house into the woods, leaving a trail of her mom’s blood. There she met the strange faceless figure of the man who had been haunting her. The Operator/The Slenderman.

“Louise. You do not have to live in constant pain of being pressured to be pretty. Come and live with us, and you shall be free.”

Louise was horrified, but had the horrible decision to either go back or stay with this monster. She obviously panicked and over thought, and ended up passing out. Slenderman took that as a yes and took her in to the mansion, where she met the rest of the residents. From 17 to 23 now. Been at the mansion for 5 years. Now a proxy that works for Slenderman.

now for some facts! who does she target? well she targets cruel and abusive parents who force their kids to be pretty. She calls it “freedom”

why did she do this? To escape the torture of being pressured and abused to be pretty. When she had pimples, her mom basically tried giving her surgery by her own hand. Which meant she gave her surgery without any doctors or anything. It didn’t disfigure her skin but it did leave a gash she hides on her left eye.

what’s one of her disorders? PTSD, and Dissociative Amnesia Disorder. She cannot remember her past anymore, but for some reason when someone calls her “pretty” it causes her to go into a panicked state. Maybe because of her ruined childhood, that is. So avoid calling her pretty. so she won’t suffer.

is she Emo? YES SHE IS EMO. well she’s planning on dying her to hair to a more 2000s style but I LITERALLY CANNOT FIND A HAIR COLOR TO GO WITH BLACK RAAA. BE FAIR GREEN OR PURPLE? what an Emo girl. so Kawaii.

who does she get along with most? Honestly she gets along with people who make sure to give her a safe distance. She doesn’t really talk to anybody except for Liam/Cody (X-Virus) She warms up to the guy. (HE’s MY FAVORITE) Cody and her talk about trauma they had, so they both traumadump onto each other. For right now she is not ready for a relationship until further notice, but she still has a little (BIG) crush on him. Toby? He’s fine. Jeff? she doesn’t like him. but she still talks to him. just doesn’t like his behavior or anything at all. hates whenever he tries to bring up “OMG YOU ARE SO PRETTY!”

sexuality? she’s dated a few girls and boys back to back in Highschool, maybe if they weren’t such bitches she wouldn’t have ended up like this in the first place. Considering dating Liam/Cody maybe? but her sexuality is bisexual/straight. she had a little crush on Nina but realized she was probably taken by Kate so yeah no.

Ooooo! she looks up to Liu as a father figure since he is much older than her. he’s like the father she’s never had before. begs for him to make her cereal in the morning but her lazy ass is too lazy.

[hiskillingjar]

i love the gender swap version so much ! if you’re accepting request can you please post part 2 i love your work <3

let's go lesbians let's go!!

i took this literally btw. as in this is just continued from my last girlfriend to death post. 2500+ words, lesbicious daddy kink usage dubious consent on all levels lol

🥀

"No, no, no, please, don't-"

The begging words from the laptop were cut off by the buzz of a chainsaw and a blood-curdling scream, a shower of blood and viscera covering the camera lens recording…whatever was happening.

You had found that people generally didn't beg or plead for mercy in the videos Law showed you, and it was a little strange that this person was.

Most were just stoically resigned to their fate and completely dissociated from their own mortality, eyes dead and skin pallid, and didn't struggle or even scream that much when a gun was pressed to their temple or a knife was plunged into their throat.

It seemed peaceful, you thought, and a little like the current state you were in.

Law kept her fingers tangled tightly in your hair while your head bobbed up and down in her lap, taking her cock deep into your throat and stimulating it with your tongue whenever she gave your hair a tug, expecting more effort from you, demanding more without words.

Your cunt was throbbing from the implication of her using you like an object, a sex toy, while she smoked a joint and watched her gory videos still playing on her laptop, but you couldn't touch yourself to the idea of your depersonalisation while your hands were cuffed to the foot of her bed, keeping you pinned, keeping you prisoner.

You didn't put up much of a fight, though. You didn't struggle or scream.

You were resigned to your fate, much like the sadsacks in her videos.

"You like this, don't you? You like when I…"

Law's breath, stained with the smell and intoxication of weed, came out lowly, like she was speaking from the very back of her throat between desperate, heavy gasps and her grip on your hair was starting to tighten again as her short nails dug into your scalp.

"You like it when I use you? Mph, when I fuck your mouth like my own personal sex toy?" She finished, stammering a little around the uncharacteristic words, raising her joint to her lips for another steady inhale. "Ahh…you're so pretty," She added with a dreamy smile (barely visible in your peripheral vision), a stream of smoke falling from her pretty lips as she set the still-burning joint down and pushed her palm into her bralette, palming her small breasts. "So pretty when you're sucking my cock."

She pushed your head down as far as it would go, your lips stretched tight and barely reaching the base of her, despite how much you were panting and spluttering.

It really was true what they said about trans girls.

"Mmm, god, I can't even fit it all inside you," She mumbled deliriously to herself, letting her body flop back against the bed as she groped herself even more and tried to force your head down, tried to force her cock even deeper down your throat. "Your mouth is so tight…ahhh…"

A thick string of glistening drool and pre-cum (sharp tasting like saline) pooled down your chin as she pushed in deeper, almost triggering your gag reflex and cutting off any and all oxygen going to your brain.

Triggered out of your haze of dissociation, you tried to pull back, not to stop in anyway, just to give yourself a breath of air, but she kept your head pinned down in her lap, not relenting for even a second, winding your hair around her palm so she had an even better grip of you.

"I could suffocate you," She mused airily, her fingers rubbing soothing patterns against your scalp, her voice a gentle (and again, sickeningly maternal) coo. "It would be so easy. Just keep you on my cock until you're convulsing and begging for air, and just…watch you wilt." She chuckled to herself, cutting herself off with a low moan as her back arched, her hips raising against your face and pushing (somehow) even deeper into your throat. "You probably wouldn't die, either, not for a long time, anyway. So I could keep you forever. Just like this."

You moaned helplessly against her cock, unable to meet her eyes as your own rolled back into your skull and you pulled at your cuffs hard. You weren't as much scared of the threat as you were endlessly turned on and eager for any kind of relief that she'd let you have.

But this wasn't about you. It was about her.

You were hers, and you were there for her to use as she wanted, even if you had to die for her to get off.

It was almost peaceful. Blissful.

You couldn't think of a better way to go.

🦊

"Ahhnn…ohhh, oh god, Ren!"

You moaned, loud and desperate and open-mouthed, as your back arched against the bed, the chains of your cuffs rubbing against the hotel room's bedframe, a harsh noise that did nothing to distract you from your own searing pleasure.

Ren hadn't let you take off the cosplay despite stripping herself off to her underwear as soon as you got back to the hotel. So, you were lying there, clothed and bound and totally disheveled with your petticoats shoved up around your waist, bucking your hips up restlessly against her hungry mouth on your cunt and the dangerous little toy she was holding against your clit.

Each time she indulgently suckled your cunt, the pornographic slurp of her tongue running along your wet slit, was so hideously loud, even over the constant buzzing of the toy, inching up little by little as she grew even more desperate for your pleasure as you were, but those sounds were nothing compared to your desperate keening moans, whines, and whimpers.

"God, you look fucking possessed," Ren said with a yipping laugh as she looked up at you, her golden eyes wide and almost manic while they were staring so intently. Her lacy bra and panties were almost see-through, exposing her dark areolas and the soft bush of pubic hair that dusted her cunt, and made you all the more desperate for her as she sat up, licking her jaws. "Mm, your cunt is soaking wet, baby. Like I could slide my biggest toy inside of you and you wouldn't even feel a thing."

You bit your lip with another needy moan, your eyes glazing over as you thought about her toys back home, the strap-on that she could switch out and change, depending on how much she wanted to torture you.

What you wouldn't give to take that fucking strap on now?

"Mmph, please, please-"

"What are you begging for?" She said with a mean smile, leaning close to you but not moving the buzzing toy for even a moment. "You want me to fuck you, to let you cum?" She tilted her head, her ears tipping forward on top of her head as her tail began to wag a little more. "Hm? What is it, sweetie?"

"Fuck meeeee~" You pleaded, looking up into her eyes, pleading for her mercy with everything you still had left. "Please, I'm desperate for it, please..."

"Oh, silly girl, your voice is slurring." She interrupted with another laugh, yipping and barking like a hyena, taking the utmost pleasure in how much you needed her. "Wow, you really must have been way drunker than me! I'm already sobering up, but you?" She ran her tongue over her lips again as she slid the slider of the vibrator up, making it buzz louder and faster against your sore clit. "Hah, you sound so cute and dumb when you're tipsy!"

You shrieked as she pressed a little more weight against the vibrator, pushing it harshly against your clit and rubbing each ridge against the throbbing muscle, making the pain (and pleasure) all the more intense.

"Ren, pleaseeee," Your voice was a near sob as you pulled hard at your cuffs, almost wanting to hide your flushed, sweating face from her hungry gaze. "Please, please, I can't, I can't-"

"Maybe we shouldn't go to the con tomorrow, hm?" She mumbled softly, rubbing a tight, little circle against your cunt with the vibrator, stimulating even more, making your body thrash erratically. "Maybe I should just tie you to the bed and edge you all day long." She grinned again, the way she did when she had a particularly hideous idea to tell you. "Let in the housekeepers too, so they can get a good look at you."

"Nooooo," You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to pull at your cuffs again, opting to hide your face in your trembling bicep, against the scratch tulle of the cosplay's blouse. "No, no no, noooo…"

"Yessss~" She giggled and reached up to your face with her free hand, pushing your head back into the pillows and forcing your eyes together as she brought her face down to yours. "C'mon, baby, you know you're way too dumb to make decisions for yourself right now. I mean, just look at you. You're a mess." She tilted her head to the side, her ears flat, a condescending look of sympathy on her pretty (pretty) face. "That's why I'm here to take care of you."

"And I'll always take care of you. That's what we agreed to, right?"

🔨

You gasped brokenly each time you were pulled down onto Strade's strap-on, words slurred into helpless gurgles and grunts as her full hips slammed against your backside loudly, rhythmically, like a well-oiled machine, the leather of her harness sticking to the sweat running down your arse and hips.

She kept one hand on your shoulder, the other on your hip, both grips authoritative and controlling as short nails dug into your soft flesh, sure to leave a mark, a bruise, and remind you of the encounter for days to come.

"God, you're taking it so well, fraulein. I knew you were a needy, little whore, but this is something else." She growled with an unseen smirk, her accent even thicker as she grew even more aroused, pulling you down even more on the massive toy, to the point of discomfort (to the point of you moaning even louder, any protests slurred into whines.) "Mm, taking it like the dog you are, aren't you?"

"Uh huh," You slurred in idle agreement, your head still swimming from the drink as she pushed a hand into your sweaty hair and pulled your head back, forcing your back to arch and your arse to be raised even higher, the grip probably better than the one on your shoulder and much more painful for you.

You had a sense that that was Strade's ultimate goal.

"Yeah? Kleiner hündchen, little puppy, is that it?" She asked with a rasped chuckle, hooking her chin over your shoulder as the hand on your hip slid up to palm your chest, her own (covered by a sports bra, her shirt haphazardly unbuttoned to reveal a soft stomach) pressed to your back. "Wanna prove that to me? Bark then, if you're a dog."

"Ahhnn…" You moaned helplessly as she rolled one of your pierced nipples between her thumb and forefinger, pressing somehow even deeper inside you, the head of the strap-on so deep that it felt like it was penetrating one of your organs. "F-Fuck…"

"That doesn't sound much like a bark to me, little dog," She laughed again, pressing her drooling mouth against your shoulder, nipping your skin and leaving behind even more bruises as she continued to palm and grope your chest. "Do as you're told or I'm gonna have to get nasty."

You whimpered feebly as she slowed down her thrusts, angling the massive toy even deeper inside you and idly thrusting up against the sensitive bundle of nerves that made up your g-spot, making you clench tight and your body stiffen in shock and brain-melting arousal.

"Come on," Strade then rasped, her voice dipping down lowly as she pressed her lips to your neck, warm and wet and waiting to bite. "Bark for Daddy, or I'll look for something else big and sharp to stick into your guts, hm?"

Your body spasmed as you clenched even tighter around the toy, letting your head drop down to your sweating chest.

"Wuff wuff," You mumbled softly, your voice a slurred murmur as she continued to fuck into your body like a toy, a pile of meat.

"What was that?" She asked airly with an evident smile to her voice, the hand on your chest reaching up to your chin to force your head back up against hers, hips once again smacking against your backside as the pace picked up. "Come on, that was nowhere near good enough! Let me hear you properly."

"Wuff wuff!" You yapped a little more loudly, going as far as to subtly wag your arse to prove how good of a dog you could be for 'Daddy'.

"That's it! That's perfect!" She praised, as the hand on your hip descended to your front to idly circle your clit, her thick fingers toying with the muscle as you whimpered and whined and arched forward for even more, consequences be damned. "Such a good dog, fraulein. So good for your Daddy."

You whined needily as your shaking hands reached up to hers. The hand on your chin ran down to your neck as she grabbed your throat and pulled you even closer against her, and as each hand circled her thick wrists, you found yourself unwilling to push away each of the sensations, the shortness in your breath pushing you over the edge all the more.

"That's a good girl," She whispered against your neck, running her tongue over each sensitive spot and leaving behind a mean little nip against your jaw. "Such a good, well-behaved pet for me."

Her voice was filled with an almost cruel and predatory kind of amusement, but you barely had the brain about you to care, focusing only on the pounding heat in your cunt and her fingers rubbing your clit.

You'd be a good dog as long as she wanted, just as long as you kept feeling this maddeningly delicious torture.

[quietlyimplode]

ignite your bones

After the fall of General Dreykov, and the remnants of the Red Room still at large, Natasha first year at SHIELD is anything but healing. Labeled a traitor and a turncoat, Natasha tries to find her footing in a strange new world.

Whumptober 2024: Day 20 - it’s not your fault

Warnings: nightmares, waking dreams, dissociation, visions of Yelena

Word Count: 1.3k (gif not mine)

Summary: Clint and Natasha have a discussion. Natasha takes watch which does not lead to positive outcomes.

The day passes slowly. Clint talks because it’s all he can think to do; he talks about SHIELD, about how much he knows, he tells her about the strike team that came after them.

“They weren’t always bad, but they weren’t good, you know?”

He talks about music.

She says that Maria likes Blink182. He laughs and takes credit for it.

He tells her of his own preferences for music, then movies and tv shows.

She listens with interest.

All she could tell him in return, if she was to disclose things about herself, was probably her favourite Disney movie.

He rests at noon, throwing a ball he finds in his bag and letting the sadness and grief sit in his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he says, as they eat another granola bar.

“I… I don’t understand. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. SHIELD, out of everything, was not supposed to be… corrupt. I’m hoping by the time we get back, it’s flushed, and we can… start over. But…”

He takes a breath.

“You can leave. I promised safety. And it hasn’t been like that for you. If you want to leave. You can. I can help, I’ll get you out of the country... and I don’t know. We can figure it out.”

Natasha is quiet.

She motions for the ball that he’s been tossing up and down.

Passing it across, she catches it and throws it back.

The repetitive motion is regulating.

“I… don’t want to leave,” she decides.

It’s in the moment, but she knows as soon as she says it, it’s the truth.

“Where would I go?”

Russia has spies everywhere. The widows? They were pervasive.

She was under no illusions that killing Dreykov meant that the organisation was gone.

It was just decimated into pieces.

He looks guilty as he throws the ball back to her.

“It’s not your fault.” She means it as she says it.

Madam always used to tell them it was their fault for whatever happened.

The Red Room gave them all the necessary tools for survival. If they didn’t, well, that was their own fault.

She throws the ball back.

“It’s not about cutting off the head of the monster anymore, is it? We did that with Dreykov. But monsters are everywhere.”

“I’m sorry,” Clint says again.

Natasha tries to smile.

“It’s not your fault,” she repeats.

“Yeah.”

He throws her the ball again and then walks to the bathroom.

She squeezes the ball, annoyed that she couldn’t help him, not like he’d helped her. Not even to provide some assurances.

.

The evening of the second night, Clint offers to take the first watch.

There’s a quietness in the woods. She loves it.

There’s no surveillance and no cameras.

Natasha revels in the fresh air, and the smells of the wood and the greenery that surrounds them.

She’s sure there’s no threat to them, not now. If anyone had followed them, they would have caught up by now.

“Have you heard from anyone?”

The burner phone sits inert in his bag and he shrugs.

“No.”

She feels he wants to ask more.

“You can ask if you want to,” she tells him, wondering what he wants to ask.

“What was your nightmare about?”

Natasha shakes her head.

“Something else.”

He thinks.

“What’s the longest you’ve ever stayed awake?”

“Twenty six.. No seven hours,” she admits.

“You?”

“Thirty one.”

She raises her eyebrows, impressed.

“Sniper mission. Iraq.”

“Escape and evade mission, Chechnya,” she replies.

“I slept for like two days afterwards,” he smiles.

“I… didn’t,” she replies seriously.

He nods, perhaps regretting the question.

“I’ll go first again tonight,” Natasha offers, remembering her nightmare and wondering if she could stay up the whole night. Sleep is better with handcuffs. They dull the nightmares, make it easier to cope.

She wishes she knew why.

He shrugs.

“What do we do tomorrow?” she asks.

He looks at the phone again.

“I think we try to call Maria. If she doesn’t answer, then Coulson, and if he doesn’t, then Fury. I think touching base with any of them gives away our position, so maybe we should try to hike to the closest gas station first?”

Natasha nods.

“Is it strange that they haven’t called?”

Clint shakes his head.

“Maybe not. The number was in a dossier in SHIELD. You’d have to know what you’re looking for to find it… and if they haven’t been able to get back to check…” he leaves the thought hanging.

Natasha understands.

“Do you have a place where you can meet?”

Clint thinks on it a moment.

“Maria would go to a café, one with internet and a computer. She’d pick one close to the interstate. Coulson, I think, would go to a hotel. It would be be a chain hotel. He’d check in under a pseudonym, probably from his favourite book.”

He pauses.

“Fury, I’m not sure.”

“It gives us places to start.”

He yawns.

“We’ll find some breakfast and go from there.”

As if on cue, his stomach rumbles and he laughs at himself.

“Okay, wake me in four hours,” he holds up his watch and she holds up hers.

“Okay,” she lies.

He lays on the bench, the blankets covering him.

Yawning, he sticks his gun under the pillow and closes his eyes.

.

The world is pitch black when it starts, howls and yips and the swaying of trees. Creaking branches set Natasha on edge and she feels fear at the unknown curl in her gut.

“Why didn’t you save me?” Yelena’s voice comes from behind her.

She whirls to find no one behind her, the whispered voice disappearing on the wind.

“I loved you,” the voice tells her, its disfigurement grotesque. Natasha opens the door, the cold rush of air hitting her, the howls louder now.

Yelena’s small body lays on the porch, beaten and bloody.

“The Red Room was my home,” comes the monotonous voice.

“Why didn’t you warn me?”

The door slams and Clint grabs her hand.

“Natasha!”

The vision disappears and she forces herself back.

Gulping breaths, Natasha pushes down the panic.

Yelena’s not her real sister.

She didn’t know how it would end. It’s not her fault. It’s not her fault.

Clint says her name again, but it’s like he’s far away.

Body beaten, did she do it?

Gun in hand.

Graduation.

She’s better off dead.

She can’t breathe.

The coyotes howl and she knows how they feel.

Her hands feel wet. She can’t be crying, they’ll punish her. The world blurs, what if they’re here?

She sucks in a breath but it’s too much for her deflated lungs, and it comes up as a wheeze.

She hears her name again.

Natasha. Black Widow. Natasha.

Who was she really?

Traitor.

Traitor.

Traitor.

Hands on her face and she has no energy to push it away.

Always hands on her.

She has no power.

She’s their puppet.

Yelena.

She’s dead.

She killed her.

“Natasha,” the disembodied voice comes again.

“Natasha.”

.

He didn’t know.

Clint sits her down, her face ashen, eyes unseeing, and breathing ragged.

She’d seemed okay, when he’d gone to sleep, had been talking; as much as she usually did, anyway, and asking questions, planning with him.

He has no idea what happened, just the cold blast of air when she’d opened the door. He’d scrambled, slammed the door shut and she’d just stood there.

The lack of response had terrified him.

He’d only seen her like this once before, and he has no idea how she came out of it.

Clint pulls the towel from the bathroom, wetting it and pushing it into her hands.

There’s almost no reaction.

“Natasha.”

Nothing.

He hesitates.

He touches her face gently, wipes it with the towel.

He repeats her name.

Again and again.

But there’s nothing.

.

[whomeidontknowthem]

I was trying to articulate why I like "bad characters", and bitter realism is definitely a reason there, but I was also walking around a much more complicated and also trauma dump-y reason. But fuck it, why not indulge my habit of oversharing on this site, right?

I was, for a period of time that wasn't even that long ago, a kinda Caretaker. And I was bad at it.

It was all honestly kinda whumpy in retrospect.

Whumpee appeared in my life one day, wishing to escape an awful situation and having nowhere to go, so of course I let her in. She was obviously traumatized, and I had enough experience with it to know what was going on, and I tried my hardest to help.

A lot of stuff happened. Holding her bleeding body after she lost consciousness in my bathroom? Check. Having her startle and and stare at me in uncomprehending horror when I did such strange things for her like buy her favorite candies? Check. Spending hours and hours hugging and comforting her through another nightmare, another panic attack, another episode of not being able to move? Check. Holding her hand as she went to a therapist, encouraging trying but allowing her to back down when she ultimately thought she didn't want that? Check. Check check check check. She told some of the wildest stories I've heard before or after. With how some of them went, being a mess of trauma and coping mechanisms was completely understandable.

I tried. My absolute damn hardest. To be the kind of person I wished was there for me: to be steady and calm, supportive no matter what, give her whatever comfort and help I could, never flinching when it crossed my boundaries, because I wanted to help, right? I wanted what was best for her. She deserved so much better, and she didn't have anybody else to turn to, how could I say no?

(tw sexual assault until the end of this paragraph. One of the ways that helped her feel loved and safe was physical contact. I am bad at it. I don't like being touched. But she wanted it, and so I gave it to her, hours of dissociating and waiting for it to end because I wanted to help her. With the need for physical contact came the desire for sex. One day, she touched me and hinted at doing sex (it wasn't the first time) and I fell apart, unable to stop crying for a whole dozen minutes, shaking and wanting nothing more than for everything to stop. I calmed down, and she asked if I was okay, and I answered that sure. She told me it made her feel bad that I didn't want to have sex with her. I didn't want her to feel bad. I gave in. It wasn't the only time, as you can imagine. I was trying to help her -- in whatever way that came.)

Either way. It lasted for about a year. Her health did get better -- no more collapsing on my bathroom floor or being incapable of moving for long stretches of time. She was often exhausted and always brittle, and I tried my damn hardest to never show any frustration, any anger. Healing is hard and recovery isn't linear and it's gonna hurt before it gets better. I knew that from experience. My last suicide attempt was less than a month before she moved in.

I couldn't hide that I was, too, exhausted beyond reason most of the time. Most of my waking time, my every thought was dedicated to trying to figure out what was best for her. Give her time and attention and love, and then swallow back my own triggers when she pulled away because I worded something wrong. Give her my everything, and refuse to acknowledge it was taking a toll on me, because that one time I brought it up she burst into tears and refused to talk to me in fear of being too much. I was trying to help her. I was really, really trying.

I needed a break, and the summer break was coming, and I was expected to come to my hometown and take care of my little brother and my overworked mother for a bit. I told... Whumpee: "I was going to see my family for a bit." I invited her to come with me and promised to visit her in just a couple of weeks. I left her the keys for our shared flat and my credit card in case she needed money.

Two weeks in, she wrote to me that she'd talked to her family (the awful situation she was running away from in the beginning). They told her I was abusive, holding her back and limiting her, and who knows. Maybe I was. I didn't know how to navigate any of that, and I tried to talk her out of continuing with that job she took that threw her back to the whole nose bleeding to the point of dizziness and near collapsing. I didn't want her to hurt herself (kinda because I didn't want to deal with the consequences, because I already felt like I was spread way too thin, trying to care in any way I could), and that was limiting. Maybe I should have let her do whatever she wanted. Just be a safe space for her to return to? I tried to be that, genuinely, but apparently I failed.

Whatever. I don't think I was ever cut out to be a caretaker.

She told me in that message: the fact that I called my mother and brother "family" meant she wasn't my family. Meant I didn't love her. I promised I did, and reminded I was coming home to her soon. Just another week?

By the end of the week she told me she never wanted to see me again. Her right. I didn't try to stop her: it was her decision. I was trying damn hardest to let her decide things and respect these decisions. If being with me sucked and she wanted out, I was damn sure going to respect that. In the beginning, she wanted me to promise I'd never leave her, and I did promise that, ignoring my every reluctance to say the words like "love" or "forever", letting her in and working my best to stump out any of my trauma reactions that would have made me push her away. She promised to stay, too, but that was okay. She was obviously allowed to change her mind. I almost started to believe those nice words she wanted to hear from me, but I knew a forever was a silly fantasy. It was okay. I wanted what was best for her.

I told her that, and by the time I came home our shared flat was empty. It was dirty, too: dishes left in the sink, fridge turned off for some reason, with piles of rotting food inside. That was something to fixate on, the frustration of having to clean up mold instead of the pain of the fact that I had failed and was never going to see her again.

I've never talked to her again. I wanted to. But she told me in no uncertain terms that I was an abusive asshole holding her back, and I didn't want to distress her by reminding her of my existence. If that was so bad, it's for the best if I don't remind her.

As far as I know she's alive. I hope that she's doing better now. I don't know if she does, but I sure damn hope that she found something that works better for her. I was sure not that. Not enough.

But either way. Undoubtedly good caretakers that only want the best and somehow never fail make feel uncomfortable. Guilty, I suppose? They annoy me both because I never had such a person in my life, and because I failed to be such a person. Seeing a character unflinchingly take the burden of the other's whole existence and then manage it, somehow, makes me feel like even more of a failure than I already do. If they can do it, surely I should have tried harder? Be less selfish? More considerate? Less broken, in my own way? Give her more space to make her own decisions, and help her deal with the consequences whatever those were. I don't know what I could have done differently or better, but surely there had to be something. Surely.

I had panic attacks about that for half a year afterwards. Arguably, I had a near panic state just the other week, because of that experience and other fun experiences of my life that are definitely not trauma, nuh-huh. Just thinking about it -- about being required to give my all to someone, again, to push away every emotion, every discomfort, every desire to cry and ask to be left alone, or cry and beg to stop her from leaving. I felt trapped, many times. Letting her hug me when I didn't want to be touched, staring at the ceiling and waiting for it to be over. Desperate for it to be over, sometimes. It sucks that it was like that. She deserved someone who truly wanted her in every way, not the tired facsimile of care.

It took a toll and I wish it hadn't, and I wish I could be better at pretending it hadn't, and I wish I could have been satisfied with making her my entire world (she hated it, when I spent time with other people, I barely talked to any of my friends during the year) the way she wanted to make me hers. I wish it didn't hurt so much more than a year later, some potent mix of failure and guilt and loss and relief and loss again.

It sucks that it went like that.

I'm glad that she left, because I wouldn't have.

Real life is too complicated to put into the nice easy boxes of whump tropes. And that kinda sucks.

[allisluv]

COMING CLEAN

chapter eight — allies

pairing: finnick o’dair x fem!oc

content warnings: dissociation as a result of trauma / complex ptsd. lmk if i missed any!

word count: 2.4k

previous part — next part

Everything has sharpened into focus when Dahlia pries her eyes open. The colours are far too bright to be real but it is comforting and soft and warm and heavy. She doesn't want to leave this version of home, even if it's not real.

She fishes on the shoreline with her father while Ivy teaches June how to swim in the lake. River plays cards with them while they dry out in front of the fire. Wyatt, Violet and their daughter join them for dinner and her ribs ache from laughing so hard by the time her world-famous chocolate cake is served. Her mother strokes her hair and sings her to sleep.

After a while, Dahlia blinks herself back to consciousness, where everything hits her like a tonne of bricks. Her head reels from the shifts in realities and she only grows more confused when she sees Finnick O'Dair wringing his hands together by her bedside. "What are you doing here?"

Finnick's head snaps up so fast that she wonders if he gave himself whiplash. His hair sticks up in odd angles from where he's been running his fingers through it and when he catches her eye, his face softens.

"Hey." His voice is gentle and it's only then that she realises he's holding her hand. He's tracing patterns over her bruised knuckles, which means she must have lashed out during her dissociated state. "You never showed up for training. I got worried." Dahlia's body trembles with the cold and he's quick to see it. "I can lie with you if you want; I run warm."

Dahlia nods carefully and shuffles over in the bed so he can slip in beside her. He pulls back the duvet cover and slides underneath, inching his way closer before finally reaching out and linking their pinkies together. She melts into his touch, leaning her weight back against his chest. He wasn't lying when he said he ran warm. "Finnick?"

"Yeah, honey?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"Are you real? Or have I made this up in my head?"

"I'm real." He traces patterns into the back of her sweat-soaked t-shirt. "I promise."

Dahlia doesn't know why she believes him but she does. It's a strange feeling because she never trusts anyone this easily. For some reason, it's different with him; she just can't seem to figure out why. She turns onto her side to face him. "Finnick?" He strokes her hair out of her eyes and hums to show he's listening. "I'm glad we're friends."

Finnick's lips twitch into a soft smile. "Me too."

The weight in her chest eases a bit now that she's warmer and she easily slips back into her made-up world. Her mother, Stella, braids her hair and recalls stories from her teenage years as they sit in the bright meadow of District Nine.

When she comes back to reality again, Finnick's warm hands are the first thing she can register in her hazy mind. Their pinkies are linked together and his fingers are combing through her hair.

She blinks, trying to get a grip on her surroundings, and opens her mouth to give him an explanation. As if he can read her mind, he cuts her off gently and says, "You don't have to say anything. You can tell me in your own time."

Dahlia's heart squeezes at that. She's so used to people demanding answers out of her that she slips away. She thinks it's nice that Finnick wants her to go at a pace that is comfortable for her.

"Thank you." Her voice is scratchy like sandpaper. "Finnick?" He hums again. "Do we have our second day of training today?"

He brushes her damp curls out of her eyes. "Yeah, but we have plenty of time before we have to get ready. We could always get some breakfast if you're feeling up to it. I'm certain Juniper said something about pancakes and black coffee being on standby," he coaxes.

"You definitely know the way to a woman's heart, Mr O'Dair," Dahlia grins and gives him a playful tap on the nose as she props herself up on her elbows.

Finnick can feel the weight on his chest lifting ever so slightly now that she's back to her witty self. "So I've been told." He pulls back the duvet covers and helps her off the high mattress.

Dahlia is thankful that it's quiet when they enter the dining area. Juniper and Wyatt must still be in bed because a few straggling Avoxes are the only people who seem to be awake.

Finnick orders them breakfast and sits beside her at the grand oak table. He doesn't try to make small talk, which she's beyond grateful for, and they sit in silence until an Avox returns with two plates of pancakes, a tray of fruit, a bottle of maple syrup and a steaming pot of coffee.

Dahlia tends to forget how hungry she gets after her episodes and she scoffs a quarter of those pancakes down in record time. "How long were you with me for?" she asks around the rim of her cup.

"Since yesterday," Finnick answers honestly. Her brows shoot into her hairline and he reaches up to smooth out the creases in her forehead. "I was worried when you didn't show up for training," he reiterates.

"Did I miss anything?" she frowns.

"Nah," he shrugs. "Everyone wants to be allies with Katniss after she showed off her skills in the simulation booth but I think that was bound to happen at some point or another."

Dahlia nods and cranes her neck to get a look at the clock on the wall behind her. "Shouldn't we be getting a move on? Training starts at ten, right?" She discards her linen napkin onto the table and moves to stand. She sways on her feet and Finnick is quick to link an arm through the crook of her elbow.

"We don't have to go to training if you don't feel it up to it," he offers.

Dahlia shakes her head defiantly. "I can do it."

Finnick smiles. "I didn't doubt that for a second."

˚＊✿❀༓❀✿＊˚

Dahlia spends the first half hour of training eyeing up the sickles at the armoury wall. She hasn't touched one in ten years and part of her wants it to stay that way, even if it is impractical.

She debates seeking out Finnick, which wouldn't be difficult considering his gaze is permanently glued to her face, but part of her feels embarrassed about letting her guard slip with him earlier this morning.

She lingers near the survival stations, overwhelmed with choices and feeling herself losing her grip on reality, until a friendly face approaches her.

Peeta Mellark stumbles over his feet and catches himself on the side of the table. She holds her tongue for once in her life; the doctors had to amputate his leg after his games last year and no matter how horrible people think she is, she's not going to poke fun at him for something he can not control. His eyes are kind as he says, "Hi!"

Dahlia offers him a tiny smile but she lacks the same level of enthusiasm. Her fingers awkwardly fidget with the collar of her training outfit. "Hi. Did you want something?" She squeezes her eyes shut when she realises how unfriendly that sounded. She can already envision Bloom's scowling face in her head. "Sorry. That's a force of habit."

Peeta's laugh is warm and inviting. In a way, it reminds her of Juniper. "It's okay. You just look a little lost. Do you want to come over to the camouflage station?" He jerks a thumb over his shoulder, where the morphlings from six are painting sunsets on each other's saggy yellow skin.

Dahlia thinks about telling him no, but what has she got to lose? Juniper told her to go out and make some allies and at least this way, it proves she tried. "Sure."

Her feet move on their own accord and before she knows it, her skin is being painted different shades of green. She slips back into her own world, where she bakes cherry scones and knits a jumper, before being harshly ripped back to the present. "You're quite good at this."

Peeta's tongue is poked out in concentration but he glances up when she compliments him. His cheeks flush a warm red and she struggles not to laugh. "I used to do all the decorating for the cakes back home. We own a bakery," he explains, turning his attention back to his artwork.

"That sounds nice. My sister loves baking," she answers. It's the first time she's spoken about her family since being reaped. It feels strange, like she has let slip a secret that no one was meant to know. Her eyes swim and she fights to stay tied to the here and now.

"Really?" Peeta seems surprised by her sudden revelation. "What's her name?"

"Ivy. She's just turned seventeen." Her nose scrunches as the paintbrushes tickle her skin.

Peeta doesn't push for more than she's willing to give and she's grateful. She doesn't feel up to talking about home, not when she knows she can never go back.

She masters the basics of camouflage with a lot of help from Peeta, and in return, she teaches him how to start a fire — her games were held in the mountains, so she has a bunch of experience in that department.

Dahlia gets ready to leave her first day of training with a spring in her step now that it's looking like Peeta wants to be her ally. Katniss might need a bit more convincing but she's sure that between him and Haymitch, they can pull it off.

Her hand is pressing the button for the elevator when a voice calls out her name. Dahlia glances over her shoulder, coming face to face with this year's head game maker, Plutarch Heavensbee.

He's a stout man and although his smile seems genuine, there's something a little off-putting about him. "Could I have a word please?" He poses it as a question but both of them know it's anything but.

She purses her lips and reluctantly trails behind him into the soundproof apartment overlooking the gymnasium.

Plutarch lets the door slam closed once they're both settled inside. He props himself up against a table, steeples his fingers together, and after a beat of silence, he says, "I'm sorry that we aren't meeting under better circumstances. Why don't you have a seat?"

Dahlia sizes him up, trying to take his measure. Her time in the Capitol has taught her that everybody has an ulterior motive. Plutarch gestures to the chair opposite him but she doesn't move. As far as she's concerned, she needs to be close to the door in case she needs to make a quick exit.

Plutarch seems to catch onto the fact that she has no intention of sitting down, and hauls himself to his feet instead. His voice is barely above a whisper as he closes the distance between them. "I'll be frank with you, Miss Holloway. I'm sure you've seen first-hand the effect that Katniss Everdeen has had on the districts. She's ignited a fire in the people and I don't need to point out that we're teetering on the edge of a rebellion."

A muscle ticks in her jaw as she jumps to the most logical conclusion. "You want me to kill her. That's what this is about?"

Plutarch shakes his head. "No," he whispers. "I want you to protect her."

Dahlia crosses her arms over her chest. "Alright, now you've lost me."

Plutarch trudges back to his seat once more and reluctantly, she follows suit. He chews his words, tongue darting out to wet the edges of his lips. "District thirteen has not been destroyed as you've been led to believe. It's perfectly intact, Miss Holloway, and I wish to prove it to you if you'll give me the chance."

Dahlia grinds her teeth together, jaw working overtime. "For argument's sake, say I believe you. What do I get out of putting my life on the line for her?"

Plutarch doesn't seem deterred by the harshness of her words. "I will make it my top priority to get your siblings out of District Nine unscathed if you promise to stick to the plan and work with the others."

"What others?" Dahlia bristles.

"Mrs Flanagan, Finnick, Johanna, Beetee, Wyatt and Wiress are among some of those who have agreed to help keep Katniss safe in the arena."

"I'm not exactly a team player," she mutters.

Plutarch tilts his head to one side, careful eyes studying her face. "Dahlia, I know you're going to have a hard time believing this, but I'm not the enemy. I know you have no reason to trust me, or anyone else, for that matter, but I'm offering you a way out of what you've been forced into. I am giving you an opportunity to be on the right side of history."

Dahlia chews the inside of her cheek. She wants to believe him, but she's been screwed over so many times by the Capitol that she's terrified of falling for another one of their tricks. If she puts a toe out of line, she might as well be serving herself up on a platter. "What do I have to do?"

"You weren't nicknamed The Angel of Death for nothing, now, were you?"

Dahlia pushes her shoulders back and crosses her legs out in front of her. She's worried about pushing the boat out and having this backfire on her, but as her mother said, if you never ask, you'll never know. "I want you to guarantee the safety of Bloom, Juniper and Malaki."

He arches a disbelieving brow. "Do you really think you're in a position to be making demands, Miss Holloway?"

She leans forward, propping her elbows on her knees. "That depends. Do you want my help or not?"

[jimcornflake]

Ch4 - Mantis

A/N: I had my first seizure a couple months ago and this description of it is based off of my personal experience. Also Yay! Chappie Four! Whoopi!

🎀

Asa examined you, sprawled on your back with a terrified look on your face as you tried to sink in to the floor for protection. You scooted back in to the nearest corner, your knees tucked up to your chest and your hands out in front of you, trembling violently. Your eyes were wide with fear and sparkly with tears, including a single one that rolled down your cheek.

…Charming. He thought and resisted the urge to smile at the adorable way you thought that you could defend yourself in any way.

His eyes were suddenly drawn to a flash of pink and black between the gap in your legs. Before he even registered that he was eyeing your panties, your legs crossed and you wrapped your arms around them tightly.

You had stopped crying. The tears had left streaks of black down your face and your eyes looked strangely blank. Your lights were on, but nobody was home. You’d either gone in to shock or dissociated.

Asa actually huffed in amusement at how scared you were. Did he really come across as that kind of man? Oh. Well… yes. He suppose he did.

He tested to see how deep you’d spiraled already by bending down and ruffling your hair with a gloved hand. Your eyes had followed his movement, but you had no reaction.

Conscious, but not quite lucid. Interesting. He’d have to put that in his notes about this latest capture. First, he had to deal with his other problem.

He left you in the room by yourself to get acquainted with your surroundings as he went to go endure the rest of the long, long night ahead of him.

it wasn’t hard to find Arkin. He was in a hospital, having his injuries tended to.

Asa wasn’t one to ask for help, but he decided to cash in a favor from an old friend he’d helped out many a time. He watched from the parking lot where he could see Arkin through the window, a pair of binoculars in his hands.

A woman entered the room in hospital scrubs. She was short, with dark hair and dark eyes and a warm, pleasant face.

Arkin watched her as she prepared a needled on a tray with a bottle of medication of some sort next to it. He showed confusion and said something, most likely to ask what it was. The nurse eased him back down in to his bed as she gave him an explanation and began to search for a vein in his arm.

Once found, she inserted the needle and pressed it all the way down to the stopper. Once she was finished and had disposed of the needle, she turned on her heel and left the room, not bothering to give him any sort of bandage.

A few moments passed and then Arkin suddenly tensed up. He rigid and began seizing, his jaw hung open and his eyes rolled back in to his skull. A fountain of vomit welled up in his mouth, trickling out slowly as he choked to death on it.

The same small dark haired woman exited the hospital a moment later and walked back to her car. Before getting in, she turned back and gave Asa a very serious nod. He returned it and then she got in her car and drove away.

🎀

Hi! Did you like this? If so, please check out my other works! Thank you and have a beautiful day! 🩷

[aviculor]

Another thought just popped into my head. What if all the wacky phenotypes in One Piece are because of devil fruit lineage factors? On top of all the nonhumans like minks and fishmen and mermaids, it's apparently normal for a full-blooded human to be 20+ feet tall or have horns. We've seen devil fruits that make you bigger (like the one San Juan Wolf ate for complete overkill). And as I said in my previous post, Saint Jay Garcia Saturn possibly just opened up a pandora's box for the existence of demon zoans which could explain the likes of Kaidou and Moriah.

What if the Void Century was what happened after devil fruits first came into existence? The original fruit users freely had children, passing on traits given to them by their fruits which caused said children to be born as mutants. The world government covered it all up. They made devil fruits restricted and controlled exclusively by them, and they banished all the mutants they could find to remote islands in the Grand Line. The ones who could never pass as human, that is. The ones that looked like animals, the ones too large to live in cities, the ones with extra body parts. They all had to go. But a pair of small horns here and there, some sharp teeth, growing only a few feet taller than normal...those flew under the radar and remained in the gene pool. That's how we got characters like Shoujou and Merry. What is the difference between Shoujou and an orangutan mink? Or Merry and a sheep mink? Their ancestors weren't Different enough to be banished to Zou 800 years ago. For those who weren't so lucky though, those centuries of isolation caused the inhuman traits to become endemic to their islands- cemented into the populations generation after generation until none of their offspring could ever be human-passing. They became known as the minks, the giants, the long-arms, the long-legs...yes, even the fishmen and mermaids since we know thanks to Kaidou that Fish Fish fruits exist. All of these "races" are freely able to interbreed with humans and eachother, showing that they are still fundamentally the same species. Which is best demonstrated by the Charlotte family where Big Mom basically has a bingo card she's filling out of races she's had children with. And it's no coincidence that so many pirates are people with physical abnormalities; while people like Kaidou and Big Mom and Moriah are Certified Human by pedigree, their differences have nonetheless alienated them from Polite Society (tm), essentially forcing them into lives of crime.

Which actually reminds me...while we all know Big Mom is a 28 foot tall cannibal that enters dissociative feeding frenzies, another unusual thing about her is that when you work out the timeline for her menagerie of children (which thankfully someone else did on the wiki), you'll notice she gave birth every year for 42 consecutive years. That is not just strange, it's so physically implausible that I would also consider that to be evidence of of devil fruit lineage. An invisible mutation from a paramecia user centuries ago in her family tree. This idea explains everything, all the superhuman feats from "ordinary" people we see in the series. Maybe even haki. And the world government doesn't want anyone to know.

[merlot-and-chardonnay]

A Lark Among the Wolves and Dragons: Chapter 53

Masterlist Chapter 52

Hey just a heads up for this chapter. That thing we've been anticipating since Chapter 22.5 is now coming to fruition. It took some time, but it's happening. And more is to come as we follow Aemma into the rest of the  events of House of the Dragon season 1 and into season 2.

This was definitely one of my favorite stories I've composed so far.

-------------King's Landing------------

Helaena sat on the settee, supposed to be focused on her embroidery, but instead felt herself begin to dissociate, almost if her soul was leaving her body to Seven knows where.

She saw bits and pieces of a vision somewhere between time and space. She saw the Wild Hunt chasing after Cirillia. She saw a woman of ashen hair astride the she-dragon. And behind the ashen hair woman was an older woman of stout appearance, copper skin, and dark hair. She looked familiar to Helaena, though she wasn't sure how. It was the Lady of Larks, the princess realized.

Helaena recalled a memory long ago when she was still a baby, being held in her mother arms. She strangely remembered the Lady Lark's comforting touch, how it was enough to placate the young princess in her stressed state. The Lady of Larks was alive.

She could see the woman here in King's Landing...in the Red Keep. She sees a great force of power threaten to buildup in the middle of Maegor's Holdfast, threatening to raze the place to the ground. She could see her cousin Aemma in the middle of that power force, she could see Aemma filled with rage and grief as she had failed to stop a plot being carried out...from outside forces that work for her father. She could see the Lady of Larks approach the energy barrier, breaking through and grabbing onto her daughter and pulling her in to console the girl in her rage-filled grief.

"I'm here...." the Lady Lark says, "...I'm here..."

"I'm here," Helaena repeats in a soft voice.

"Yes, I can see that," Aegon says, rolling his eyes, rudely interrupting his sister-wife's contemplation, before taking another gulp of wine. It was lucky for the both of them that the children were taking their midday naps at this moment, they shouldn't need to see their father in the inebriated state he was currently in.

Helaena kept silent for a bit. Since she and Aegon had been wed, there was always this tension between them. Sometimes Helaena felt Aegon wasn't even making the effort to try and understand her, it's almost if they were not speaking the same language.

Nevertheless, Helaena decided to speak what was on her mind, even if her brother-husband was the only one who might listen. "Do you remember anything of the Lady of Larks?" Aegon gave a frown in response, "the Lady of Larks?"

"She used to live here in court," Helaena explains, keeping her focus on her needlework, "she was here when you and I were mere tots. She had...a soothing touch."

"Funny," Aegon makes a mirthless laugh, "I was under the impression it was her voice she was known for. Helaena said nothing more and resumed her work. Now that she had mentioned it, Aegon found himself trying to remember remotely anything of the Lady of Larks, the woman whom- in a different life- would've been his good mother had he been wedded to Aemma. He knew she was part of this court when he was nearly a toddler of three and Helaena was still a newborn, but truthfully, he couldn't remember anything about her. Did she have any thoughts of Aegon as a young babe? Did she ever hold him or sing to him when he was playing in the nursery with Aemma? He'd like to imagine maybe that was so. Aegon would like to imagine that maybe had the Lady of Larks stayed, she could've been a mother figure that he needed, or just someone who would care for him for who he is, not for what he would become. 

But he also remembered the words he spoke to his cousin in anger, going as far as to call the Lady Lark a mutant loving whore who willfully spread her legs for that cursed witcher, that so-called White Wolf. Aegon had regrets in that regard. He was angry that Aemma could be ever so loyal to a parent figure who had clearly abandoned her, the way she mourned when she learned her mother perished in some Continental riot years ago. He had made his peace long time ago that his own parents had little regard for him, especially his father. When that time comes when that man finally passes, Aegon knew for certain that he would not shed a single tear.

"Only the Swallow could save her from her fate," Helaena mutters in a soft voice that her husband could not hear.

--------------Loc Muinne-----------------

"I don't understand," Aemma says, taking in the new information she just received from Radovid when he made it known he would announce at the Loc Muinne summit that he intends to take Aemma to wife and make her queen of Redania.

"You...you intend to take me to wife," Aemma continues, "I...why?" "Why?" Radovid lightly scoffs, "a king needs a queen. And I've been putting it off for far too long. My court expects me to wed and further my line, something my brother was unable to do." "But why me?" Aemma brings up, "wouldn't any woman in your court be better suited? Or a royal from any of the remaining Northern realms? What about Saskia herself? Unless...*sigh*, right of course. If this has anything to do with my family's dragon-"

"It's more than just your dragons," Radovid insists, "aligning with a powerful dynasty, one whose might is well known even as far as the Continent, would show the Northern realms as well as Nilfgaard that the might of Redania is one to be reckon with. Even without your family's dragons, announcing our intention to wed would become a symbol of an alliance brokered between mine and yours. Think of it this way. Your father's family stayed in my abode six years ago as my honored guests. To repay this kindness, your father spoke of plans to break your current betrothal with your cousin and wed you to me instead simply because it came with better political advancements. I am merely making that betrothal official at the summit." "Last I checked, the Targaryens never brokered any alliance with any of the Redanian nobles or you for that matter," Aemma scoffs, "don't think for a second any private meetings you held with my father would count as such."

"In this Game we play, it is...sometimes made necessary to omit certain truths, while stretching out others," Radovid admits, "as far as anyone attending the summit is concerned, what transpired between myself and the Rogue Prince is the truth, and your father is not here to refute these claims." "But I'm here," Aemma says with confidence as she stands, "What makes you think I won't refute claims of a betrothal pact made six years ago? What makes you think I couldn't refute such things in my father's stead?"

Radovid said nothing in response. "I think it best then that you have your guards to stand aside so I may leave," Aemma almost sneers, "save you the embarrassment you were certain to receive should you make that announcement and I say no."  "By all means, then," Radovid seemingly concedes and stands aside so Aemma could leave. As she was about to cross the threshold however, the Redanian king speaks once more, "of course I should mention one of your companions is playing guest in the dungeon as we speak."

That stopped Aemma in her tracks, "companion?" he couldn't be speaking of Phillipa, she already saw what Radovid did to her, he wouldn't have any intention at this point to blackmail the princess to cooperate so as to spare the life of the woman who conspired in the assassination of the late king. Perhaps it was Saskia he was referring to, but that didn't exactly make sense given that Saskia was a key attendee at the summit.

"The witcher, Geralt of Rivia," Radovid reveals, "he currently sits in the dungeons, restrained. Word of mouth is you have come to care for this mutant. However, he also stands in an awkward position, having recently...witnessed certain events that wouldn't exactly put me in a good light. I have no intention of releasing him until after the summit, and though he swore never to speak of what he has seen...I have often been informed more than once in my life that the only people in this world capable of holding their tongues are the dead." 

Aemma felt her heart to race, realizing what Radovid was implying. If she didn't cooperate with his plan, he might be inclined to have his soldiers ensure Geralt's silence...permanently.  "So...if I stay..." "He will be spared and promptly released afterwards," Radovid assures, "now I must make myself presentable for the summit. Servants will arrive shortly to help you do the same, princess."

Aemma still wasn't ready to let Radovid have his way, "If my father finds out about this, what makes you think he won't mount his dragon and sever your head with Dark Sister?" She challenges. "What for?" Radovid gives an amused huff, as he's about to walk out with an air of triumph, "I have not laid a finger on his daughter, nor have I taken your maidenhead by force. Far as he would be concerned, I have given his beloved child the upmost hospitality."

"Then what about Uncle Jaskier? What would he say about all this?" Aemma brings up, now causing Radovid to stop in his tracks. He turns to face the princess, "how did-" "Did he not bring up what became of my mother?" Aemma continues, "how father tormented her? Kept her in Dragonstone and in King's Landing like a bird in a cage? What do you think he would say if he were to learn you were now doing the exact same thing to his niece?"

It took a moment before Radovid answered Aemma in a low tone, "he is not here...and whatever does a king have concerns for the opinions of a lowly bard?" 

Aemma saw another flashback from Radovid's past with Jaskier right as the king walked out. It appears so much had changed during that time between them. Radovid clearly wasn't the same man he is now than when he first met Jaskier.  Just moments ago, Radovid had gave the order to put out Phillipa's eyes for refusing to look him in the eye and submit. 

The act of a cruel man.

Aemma knew now she could not trust Radovid. Even if he did assure her he would release Geralt after the summit, whose to say he wouldn't go back on his word? Whose to say he wouldn't claim it was for the sake of politics or something else entirely? Whose to say he would even show any hint of kindness to her despite being related to a man he once deeply cared for?

Aemma had no other choice to sit on the bed and wait. As Radovid had said, servants came into her room with a copper tub and hot water as well as a dress for Aemma to wear for the summit. Aemma looked at the dress. Red and Gold. The colors of Redania. Aemma could barely remember the last time she's even worn a dress since she's been traveling the Continent.

After a tense soak in the tub, the water becoming dark and muddied from all the dirt and grime Aemma had accumulated from Flotsam to Vergen, the servants helped Aemma into her new dress and brushed out her clean, dampened hair. Looking in the mirror, Aemma could see she now cut the image of a princess. After spending the last six years in rugged leather tunics and trousers, and coloring her hair brown, this all felt foreign to Aemma now. Yet, it felt refreshing at the same time, giving her a chance to re-embrace her femininity, and also bringing Aemma back to her time in King's Landing when she would wear flowing, luxurious dresses of varying colors. Only thing that seemed different now was she was a little taller, and her hair was shorter, having only reached to barely the tops of her shoulders.

If only the circumstances for this occasion were different from what they were now.

Part of Aemma was almost hoping Aemond was here right now. Or Cirillia, she would be able to swoop in and save her from this place, rain fire on whoever would dare to cage Aemma.

A guard knocked on the door, announcing that the summit was due to start soon, and he was here by order of King Radovid to escort her. Sighing, Aemma nods and allows the solider to take her to the summit to meet her fate.

-----------------------------Loc Muinne Summit---------------

By the time Aemma was brought to the summit, the delegates were already exchanging heated words with one another.

Among them included John Natalis of Temaria, King Henselt of Kaedwen. And of course Saskia...and Radovid.

"You are all mistaken, Radovid," Saskia insists, "Vergen is free!" "Free, what does that mean precisely?" Radovid scoffs. "Lormark is not Kaedwen and Aedirn no longer has control of Upper Aedirn," Saskia explains, "we have rejected Prince Stennis." "King Stennis." "And handed King Henselt's army a resounding defeat," Saskia continues. "Your forces, my dear, are nothing but a motley array of rebellious peasants and elven brigands," Radovid sneers, "Sooner or later, they will need to swear allegiance to someone, or they will be defeated and dispersed."

"The peoples of the Pontar Valley will swear allegiance to me. Queen Saskia," Saskia declares, "Henselt, Last of the Unicorns, has sworn to recognize the Pontar Valley as a free realm. Phillipa Eilhart witnessed it." "Ah, ah, ah," Radovid warns, "Phillipa Eilhart awaits trial in my dungeon for treason." "She WAS in your dungeon," Saskia corrects, "but is no longer. She will sit at my side in Vergen as my royal advisor. Additionally, I named Princess Aemma Silverlark of House Targaryen as my heir."

"Noble as that is, having made such a declaration, I'm afraid, will be a conflict of interest," Radovid tuts, "for you see, six years ago I hosted the girl's father and his family in my halls during their travels across the Continent. It was the first evening, Prince Daemon Targaryen had agreed to broker a betrothal between myself and Princess Aemma. I have kept this betrothal secret for six years now. I would've made this official earlier, but the princess had disappeared from her home six years ago. Vanished without a trace, never to be found...until today that is."

Right on cue, Aemma was brought before the summit, wearing the red and gold dress. "Silverlark. Is...is this true?" Saskia questions. Aemma looked to Saskia and back to Radovid. She didn't have much of a choice, especially if Geralt was still trapped in the dungeon. If Phillipa was free, however, what if that meant Geralt had managed to escape? But what if she had just left him behind? Would dare make that risk and gamble with the witcher's own life?

Little did Aemma know that Geralt had managed to escape the dungeons and was hiding amongst the crowd who were witnessing the summit happen. Along with Iorveth, Criston, and Ivan as well.

"I...it's true," Aemma answers painfully, "my...my father did broker a betrothal between myself and Radovid. He found an alliance between our houses would be most beneficial."

There were gasps among the witnesses.

Distracted from the commotion, no one saw Saskia slip away. The sorceress Sile and the Nilgaardian ambassador that was present then took this opportunity to present demands to restore the Conclave so as to once again assign mages to royal courts as they once had during prior to the Thanedd coupe. Additionally, the ambassador then had the Nilfgaard soldiers produce Letho bound and on his knees, having the witcher confess to the murders of Demaved and Foltest, while also naming the sorceress who conspired for the assassinations. The Lodge of sorceresses.

Before anything else could happen, a gold dragon appeared, disrupting the summit. The dragon swooped in, driving the soldiers and delegates away, grabbing Sile in its talons. Aemma's eyes widen, recognizing this was the same dragon from La Valette castle. It turned its gaze towards Aemma now. The princess turned to run, but the dragon was faster and grabbed Aemma with its other talons. "Let go! Let go!"

"Aemma!" she hears Geralt call out. Aemma turns to see the aforementioned witcher along with Iorveth and the knights. The dragons drives them away with her fire before taking Aemma and Sile to the tower, dropping the two of them at the top.

"What? What's going on?" Aemma demands as she eyes the sorceress fiddling with the megascopes, "Sorry, princess, but it looks like our plans have failed," Sile says, "that prick Letho betrayed us all." "I don't understand, what plans, what is going on?" "I don't have time to explain," Sile insists, grabbing Aemma by the arm, "we'll have to start over. Phillipa may not have been able to keep you in line, but perhaps I can use you to salvage what is left." "I'm not going anywhere with you!" Aemma exclaims. "You don't have a choice."

"Why. Don't. I. EVER. Get. A. Fucking....CHOICE!"

Aemma feels herself losing control, the power inside her starting to build as it had before back in Vergen, "WHY ARE THE PEOPLE AROUND ME KEEP TRYING TO CONTROL ME?!" Aemma demands, her voice becoming distorted as her being radiated with energy, "MY FATHER TRIED TO CONTROL MY MOTHER, AND NOW EVERYONE ELSE KEEPS TRYING TO DO THE SAME TO ME! FOR WHAT?! ALL FOR SOME FUCKING POLITICAL PLAY? SOME GAME OF FUCKING THRONES?!"

The power within Aemma burst forth, its strength strong enough to push Sile against the wall and destroy the megascopes. Sile looked to the woman with fear in her eyes. "Can't...control...it..." Aemma strains out. The energy burst force again, causing the top of the tower to explode, bricks and debris scattering all over the place. Geralt, who was making his way towards the tower, fighting the dragon on the way, felt his silver medallion hum like crazy. The witcher felt the ground shake, strong enough to knock him off his feet.

It was this moment, Vhagar and Cirillia made it onto the scene. Astride Vhagar was Aemond and atop Cirillia...was Ciri, who had already sensed the power of the Elder Blood radiating from a league away. She knew right then Aemma was once again in trouble. "So...much...power..." Ciri hears Aemma in her mind, "Can't....control...it..."

Ciri looked to the tower and saw a vortex of energy swirl at the top. Though the magic energy was translucent, keeping others from seeing who was in its heart, Ciri was able to see who it was. "Aemma!" Ciri calls out.

"Ciri!" Aemma called back telepathically, "this...this magic...it's too much...I can't control it!"

Ciri became fearful. If she couldn't bring Aemma down to Earth, the Elder Power would consume and destroy her from the inside. Ciri needed to reach the heart of the vortex, but the she-dragon Saskia was keeping her and Cirillia from accomplishing that task. Seeing Ciri and Cirillia needed help, Aemond guides Vhagar to distract dragon Saskia, chasing her away from the tower, giving Ciri the chance she needed to reach the vortex. Cirillia called out for her rider in distress. "I'll take it from here," Ciri informs the dragon, "I'll rescue your rider before you know it. I have a promise to keep, after all."

Ciri guides Cirillia to the top of the vortex, where she could see Aemma in the center. Ciri slides off the saddle and grabs Aemma, embracing her for dear life. "So much power," Aemma says once again in her distorted voice. "Aemma, you need to fight it," Ciri insists, "you need to take control of this power. If you don't, it will control you and consume you." "I can't stop it!" Aemma shakes her head, "I can't...I have no control. I have no say in anything anymore!"

"Yes! You do!" Ciri counters back, "you can do it! Let me help you!" Aemma looks to Ciri, sadness on her face, "how do I know you're not trying to control me?!" "I never wanted that!" Ciri assures, sadness on her own face as she been in similar situations as Aemma had, "All I wanted was to protect you. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you, but I'm here now. Please, Aemma. I want to help! Let me...please."

Ciri takes Aemma's hand, "repeat after me!" Ciri recites the incantations she learned from Avallac'h, having Aemma repeat them back to her.

Slowly the vortex started to die down, and the magic began to fade.

Aemma closed her eyes, allowing Ciri to embrace her. She even felt herself embrace her back. When she opened her eyes again, Aemma realized she was no longer at the summit, at the tower. Instead, she was in the forest outside Loc Muinne.

She looked ahead to see Ciri was still embracing her. "You're...you're here," Aemma says, "I'm...it's not a dream this time. This is real." "It is," Ciri nods, "it was real too. When we saw each other again in time and space. When you helped save your mother from the Wild Hunt. I don't think I would've been able to do it without you."

"All I wanted was to see my mother again," Aemma sighs, "that's all I wanted. I wanted to learn the truth."

"Well, I know she wanted to see you again," Ciri says with a smile, looking ahead of Aemma seemingly nowhere, "isn't that right...(y/n)?"

Eyes wide, Aemma look behind here. From the shadow of the trees appeared a woman. The same woman Aemma saw in her visions, in that place between space and time. The same woman she helped Ciri rescue from the Wild Hunt.

The Lady of Larks...

Her mother.

Eyes moist, Aemma had no words at this moment, she didn't even notice Ciri slip away, though her mother saw the look Ciri gave as a farewell before she left through a portal.

"It's...it's you..." Aemma says as she approaches you, "it's really you. You're here...my...my mother."

You stood there, unable to believe the site before you. Your daughter. She was here. After 16 years, you and her were seeing each other again. She had grown. She wasn't the little tote you knew last when she was ripped from your arms from her father. She was a woman grown now. So much time had passed, but here you were now.

"Aemma...Aemma," you speak in a broken voice, "Aemma, is it really you?" "Yes...yes, mother...it's me," Aemma nods, tears slipping from her eyes, coming closer, "I'm here, mother. I'm here." "Aemma...Aemma," you feel tears slip from your own eyes, "Aemma...my Aemma...Aemma's here. My Aemma. I never thought this day would come."

"I've been searching the Continent," Aemma says, sobbing almost grabbing your arms, "I've been looking everywhere for you. I...I was waiting so long." "You...you've been waiting for me?" you ask, shocked that was even a possibility that your daughter was waiting for you to return to her.

"...I've never stopped waiting!" Aemma sobs out.

Finally the two of you embrace. Tears flowing out like a burst damn. Happiness and joy as well as sadness. "Oh, Aemma...my Aemma!" "Mother...my mother! My mother's here!"

"I'm here," you say, over and over again just to even confirm this was all real, and not a dream, "I'm here...I won't leave you again...never again."

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

The two of you walk back to Loc Muinne. Even though everything was in ruins at this point, and Nilfgaard had officially declared another war with the Northern Realms, some good had come out of this.

Geralt managed to save Saskia, breaking the spell Phillipa had over her.

Saskia had left shortly after Jaskier joined up with Geralt, eager to start composing his newest ballad for the events of Loc Muinne.

"Uncle Jaskier!" the bard heard Aemma call out. "Aemma?" He stop in his tracks the moment he saw you appear behind your daughter. "...(y/n)?" You felt the tears come to the surface once more seeing your brother, which burst out the moment Jaskier embraced you, spilling his own tears. "Jaskier....Julian, please don't cry," you say, though there was no heat in your statement. "I can't..." Jaskier sobs, "my sister...my sister is here. She's alive. This whole time...I thought..."

"(y/n)..." you pull back the moment you saw him, the man you loved.

"Geralt!" you sob out, practically sprinting towards the witcher. Geralt ran at the same pace, the two of you almost colliding, falling to your knees in a deep embrace. He feels you bury your face into your neck, "Geralt...Geralt..." You were almost certain you felt Geralt shed tears, wetting your hair.

Aemma and Jaskier join in, hugs all around. It didn't matter what was going on and what had happened. As far as you were concerned, the whole of your family was here. 

After 16 years, you were all together again.

Chapter 54

[akunari]

Hey, everyone! I just wanted to share my own experience about potential plurality. It's gonna be a loooong post, sorry!!

I'm not gonna talk about my childhood, firstly because I don't remember it, and secondly because it's not that important (I just know it caused C-PTSD). But, it's important to say that I was very lonely in middle school, and so the presence of my imaginary friend started being stronger. Let me explain who this imaginary friend is:

His name is Rex, and he is a black wolf. I was obsessed with wolves for years since I was a little child, and his presence soothed me.

So, when I was 11 years old, I felt him with me. He talked to me, reassured me, and even gave me advice! Since I knew he was in my head, I imagined him beside me to make me feel less lonely. Sometimes, I felt more wolfish during the moments Rex felt I was in danger. So, my mood and behaviors changed a lot since Rex took control of my body sometimes. From a cute, shy little girl (I'm a trans guy, but I didn't know back then), I became a cold and mature person, even more so around guys.

For other children, I was a freak, and even more so since it happened that I talked out loud with him. Even when I had a friend, he was still here, and Rex didn't like this friend. He was right. Years later, I understood she used me for her own needs, and so I stopped talking to her suddenly, and she just didn't care. Rex told me not to answer her anymore, and I listened. I started having new friends in high school, and so I talked with Rex, and I asked him to leave me now because I needed to be normal, and a normal person doesn't have an imaginary friend, right? After that, I stopped hearing from him.

But, I could still feel his presence. He was here. Sometimes, I acted more coldly like him, yet I tried to hide it. But, it happened that some words left my lips, and they weren't my thoughts. Anyway, I forced myself not to see that, and I forgot about him.

Huge time skip! I am now 22 years old. I discovered I was fictionkin and therian months ago, and I have a kintype that is different from others. He transformed me each time I "kinshift," making my behavior and mind change completely. From being introverted, I became extroverted. From being interested, I became annoyed. I like philosophy and cleaning, I become bored with them and even hate them. Besides this strange kintype, I also act more childish sometimes. (These childish behaviors were always here, yet I had to grow up as they became less present outside) I don't talk, I am shy and scared easily, and I hug my plushies while watching children's movies. I can't control anything, and if I try to stop those shifts from happening, I end up having a huge headache.

And one day, I thought maybe I was plural. It's important to know that I discovered DID and OSDD when I was 19 years old and that I discovered plurality a few months ago. All the things I explained happened before I knew these terms. When I thought that maybe this kin was, in reality, a headmate, I suddenly remembered Rex. His name, his appearance, and his voice. And, I used my tarot to maybe communicate with him, and the cards I pulled were so representative, telling me that I should listen to my inner voices. And then I said his name out loud, and a huge feeling of relief and sadness invaded my heart. I wanted to cry, but it wasn't my emotions. It was Rex's. At least, this is how I understood it. 

I often "dissociated", even in high school (my mood switched so much I thought I had BPD!), and it still happens. I don't hear voices, but I do feel they want to say something. But sometimes, I'm surprised by my thoughts. Like, in a philosophy class I was enjoying, I heard, "Oh, it's so boring..." and then someone replied, "No, it's interesting." When I "dissociate", I remember everything or, if it was because of a negative trigger, my memories are blurry. When I "dissociate", it's like my vision becomes blurry and narrowed, I can't focus on anything, and after a few minutes of zoning out, I often feel different. Like I'm someone else.

This is how I feel, and this is why I think I might be plural. I'm not self-diagnosing myself. (I will wait for my appointment with the psychiatrist in February to get one.) But, for now, I can't deny that it's a huge possibility. Even if I'm not diagnosed with anything, in the end, my feelings are still valid. And as much as I am scared that I might fake it, I remember that I don't fake because faking means you know you are faking, and so I would actually be mistaken. But, with all that, can I have mistaken anything?

What makes people sure they are plural? Do they overthink as much as I do? Do I need to wait a bit more to see if I have more "strange experiences" to say I am plural? I don't think I am creating those symptoms since they have been here for years now.

Sorry for the long post, I'm not even sure if someone will read it, hehe. But if you do, thank you, and feel free to share your thoughts with me ^^

[ellaenchanting]

50 Days of Fetishes List

50 days of writing about what turns me on:

1. Pocketwatches

2. Trance Face

3. Being "Period Angry"

4. Teacher's Pet (Being "Good")

5. Needy and Greedy (Feeling "Forbidden" Emotions)

6. Dapper Gals

7. Slow Dismantling

8. House Special (Doing the Play the Other Person Feels Best/Most Experienced At- Or Enjoys the Most)

9. Conspiring/Plotting

10. Denial/Orgasm Control

11. Being "Hot" (Looking Pretty/Attractive to Someone)

12. That First, Delicious Moment of Sinking into Trance

13. Casual Fucking With

14. Resistance Play

15. Evocative Hypnotist Smiles

16. Connection in Trance

17. Kneeling

18. Pleasure Conditioning

19. Homework

20. Involuntariness (Feeling Like Things Are Happening without Conscious Volition)

21. Evil Therapist Tropes

22. Skill

23. Attention (Having Someone's Attention)

24. Innocence (And Being Corrupted)

25. Relaxation as a Pathway to Arousal

26. Almost-Telepathic Rapport

27. Incredibly Deep Trance

28. Oral Fixation

29. Amnesia/Memory Play

30. Strong/Buff Women (and Rasslin')

31. Being Clever

32. Being Taught or Coached

33. Dominance

34. Witchcraft (Witchy Tropes)

35. Camp

36. Fucked Up Ageplay

37. Covert Hypnosis and General Hypnotic Sneakiness

38. Intentional Vulnerability

39. Keeping it Simple

40. Accents

41. A Touch of Patronization

42. Bad Hypnosis

43. Team Ups

44. Dissociation

45. Voice Changes (and Hypnotic Voices)

46. No-Win Conditions

47. Begging

48. Comfort Kink

49. Partner Enthusiasm

50. Words

It's strange- I thought when I finished this I'd have a very clear picture of my sexuality and what turns me on. Looking at the list overall, it feels pretty piecemeal. It's hard to sum up something as vast and quirky as "what I think is hot" with a list.

Still, I'm glad I wrote it. My goal was to write a spontaneous entry every day and doing that gave me some insight into both how I was feeling during different days and how different fetishes feel exciting at different times. It also helped me think deeply about what turns me on about some of my fetishes and why they're interesting to me. I may add entries past 50 if more thoughts come up. (The 50 was always an artificial limit I posed on myself anyway.)

As I was writing, I felt like I was covering a lot of switchy interests and being very conscious of the ways I enjoy play from the bottom and from the top. The entries felt pretty balanced between top and bottom as I was writing them. I even tried to make them more balanced- when I wrote a bottom-leaning entry, I'd try and write a top-leaning entry the next day. However, when I look back, there are about 24 items I enjoy primarily as a bottom, about 14 I enjoy primarily as a top, and 7 that feel 50/50 pure switchy. (The rest don't really neatly fall into top/bottom/switch categories.) That's more lopsided than I anticipated. I don't know if that signals I'm more of a bottom-leaning switch or if it's the result of having recent new, exciting bottomy play with a new partner and fantasizing more about that. I wonder if my list 6 months from would be different.

I'd be curious if any of you out here have thoughts on this list. Is there anything that's surprising? Anything you want to ask about? Especially if you know me well- is there anything obvious I'm leaving out?

If this kind of exercise sounds fun to you, I encourage you to try it! @misscammiedawn finished her list yesterday- it's here if you want to see her entries. Both @ultinath and @h-sleepingirl are doing projects - Nath was writing hypnokinky essays and Sleepingirl has just started writing their own days of fetish entries. I highly recommend you check all of these Tumblrs out for insights and some great, thoughtful writing.

[outeremissary]

I'd like to know more about Asperia!!!❓, and 🚶‍♂️

Whoa, Asperia time!! Thank you!! Asperia is such a Lot even just focusing on Asperia Specifically

[Thematic Headcanons]

hc + ❓ for a headcanon of the receiver's choice

Asperia had a nickname in the underworld for a long time (among those aware of the Temple, at least): the Brat Princess of the Bhaal cult. It had a few layers to it. One of them was that Asperia came to power as the leader of the cult remarkably, notably young- barely more than twelve years old. A child prodigy, you might say (although it wouldn't be entirely accurate). Not the only reason, though- he was also infamous for seemingly unpredictable moods and whims and for being incredibly difficult to deal with (even for a Bhaalist). Some of this "moodiness" and tendency to forget things was, though nearly no one knew, because "Asperia" wasn't always the same person, but that was the impression that formed the reputation. And it was definitely deepened by Asperia's tendency to dismiss any accusations of forgetting things with "clearly it wasn't (and you aren't) important enough to be worth remembering, so I don't see how this is my problem." Truly nothing covers for lost time like a sincere belief that other people matter so little that they can pass out of existence without consequence. Asperia was also known for generally self-aggrandizing behavior, frequently referencing personal divine superiority to others, treating most people as servants (very expendable ones), and always being accompanied by that damned butler. She gave the macabre impression of being an entitled rich kid who expected everyone knowing about her daddy would flatten any obstacle in her path.

Oh, and the fact he sometimes did literally call himself "princess of murder." Charming.

hc + 🚶‍♂️ for a habit-themed headcanon

Hm, Asperia's habits... aside from the obsessive religious devotion, there are a number of quirks. One significant thing about Asperia is that he has a tendency to dictate a lot of his thoughts and actions out loud when Scleritas is nearby. She expects that Scleritas will then remind her later of anything she's forgotten, or write it down so she can refresh herself (not that she should need to- that would imply Scleritas isn't there to be called on and obviously her butler would never leave her waiting). It's a dramatic, grandiose behavior for the person who claims not to bother keeping track of things beneath them, but it's a habit that most of the alters kept (and were encouraged to by Scleritas) and because of that was a significant counterbalance to losing time. Is something confusing? Ask Scleritas what's happening. He'll remind you of what "you" told him so brilliantly. It's important to note that Asperia was virtually unaware of the dissociation until shortly before the events of the game, so to Asperia this really was Scleritas reminding her of events so trivial to a divine prodigy that they slipped her mind. Those hours of careful work Paracelsus put into this project: Asperia's achievements, as long as Scleritas can describe them. Joslyn negotiating some internal troubles in the cult: Asperia did it, they were just a bit preoccupied to think much of it.

Of course, not a perfect method. Scleritas isn't always around, for one thing. Servants must sometimes be away keeping house. And sometimes Asperia had killed him for some reason or other and he hadn't come back quite yet. But more than that, there was someone who didn't like to talk to him: Kasander. Most of the blanks in Asperia's life past a certain age that they could never seem to fill were times they had switched with Kasander. Alarming blanks, considering that those were times that "Asperia" seemed to be doing everything that they shouldn't. That was always unsettling. But even though Scleritas could never give the concrete dictions to explain away secondhand reports of strange behavior, talking to him was still always good for making the worry disappear. There was always a theory there. Always something to make it rational, or to show how to make it up to Father when it was misbehavior that couldn't be explained away.

Of course, Scleritas knew what was happening all along. But it was much easier to mold an Asperia who didn't know- especially when those oral records were so easy to change to suit a moment's need.