#trapped in farm hell

[bittersweet-in-boston]

i just reread this. So good. So much cackling.

I can’t stop thinking about @silentwalrus1‘s sweaty trash disaster Soldier and his suspect internet browsing habits while trapped in farm hell. 

Full size for maximum absurdity

[bladeobrona]

so a friend got mad at me because I told them that if they had been willing to go into party finder, they’d have likely cleared p8s by now. 

they’ve been lamenting that they have made zero progress in the past few weeks on p8s. the thing is, they refuse to do party finder and will only go in with a full fc group.

they lashed out at me over pointing out that a fc full group has not really been possible the past few weeks because of schedules. the main tank has recently gotten a job and one of our healers has been busy with his job, getting ready for fatherhood, and traveling over the holidays. hell, a lot of us have been busy BECAUSE of the holidays.

I feel like my friend unfairly lashed out at me over it when I’ve been willing at every point to work with them to clear p8s and have been asking almost every fucking day if we’d be able to work on p8s for them. to get them into part 2 of p8s. 

[loudclan-clangen]

The World Ender by Lord Huron would be perfect for this moon

Anon you're so right and also I'm losing my mind over this song rn.

I had been imagining "God's Gonna Cut You Down" by Johnny Cash for this moment but this song has all the vibes I loved from that one plus lyrics that are literally perfect for Wildfirecry, this is such a good pick!

Okay, SO: 7 farm cats attacked Fiercestripe's patrol. 4 of them were killed (Coal, his two sons, and one of Bee's sons), and 3 of them survived, but were wounded (Spider, Bee's other son, and Butterfly's son). These 3are the cats that Wildfirecry tracked down and killed in Moon 29 Part 3. He didn't kill anyone but those 3 toms!

No artistic liberty here! Wildfirecry committed at least three real life war crimes!

Absolutely! There's not a whole lot more to them than what is shown. I haven't put a ton of thought into Forestclan because they're already gone, but I imagine that they were a lot more religiously focused than Loudclan is. Their Starclan literally lived in the stars, and thus they were almost everpresent during the winter, and absent in the summer, when they were believed to hide underground. For this reason, if a cat died in the summer their body must be buried in order to join Starclan, and if a cat's body could not be buried, then they would be lost to wander until the sky darkened again. On the other hand, if a cat died in the winter, they would be left out to decompose in the open air, so that their spirit could ascend up to join Starclan in the sky, and burying them would leave them lost until Starclan returned underground. The rites that Wildfirecry performed doesn't allow for either of these fates. It traps a cat's soul somewhere in the middle, suspended in the air too low to escape into the sky and to high to shelter underground. I don't know if I've talked about it before, but I don't think the valley territories have a dark forest or equivalent "cat hell", so this is truly the worst punishment that Wildfirecry can bestow upon them.

It's Fiercestripe we're talking about here, she didn't waste time with some lovey-dovey good bye. She wants vengeance just as much as Wildfirecry does, if not more, and she only has a moment to speak to him. They'll have time for softness later, for now Wildfirecry has a job to do and she's here to help him do it.

I imagine that Rosehiptree would have been the one person Wildfirecry told that he was leaving. Quietly, before he excused himself, he told her that if he hadn't returned within a moon that she needed to go to the Black Water Pool and get her lives. While Wildfirecry didn't intend to lose all of his lives, he didn't want to promise to come back when he couldn't assure it, and honestly dying and passing his lives on to his only remaining daughter to make sure she outlives her illness is not necessarily a total loss in his book. Rosehiptree did that math, and considering everything she knew about her dad, decided that he was definitely not coming home. She relied a lot on Songpaw after their conversation, and even now that Wildfirecry's back and she's doing a little bit better, she still treats him as her anchor. She knows that Wildfirecry HAD to go do what he did to be able to live with himself, she's even thankful that he did it so that she doesn't have to fear Spider coming back, but he still left her when she needed him, and Songpaw didn't.

Thank you! That's a great compliment! I think it's pretty likely that you've spotted at least one of the ships being foreshadowed in Moon 30, but the real question is did you catch them all???

[bistaxx]

I do love the idea of most of the characters being in a "sleep" state with their dreams being whatever games the streamers are currently streaming like yeah-

like yeah in Fit's dreams he's living on a farm he inherited from his grandfather in a small rural town, Bagi and Pac both coincidentally dreamed of working at a supermarket, Foolish is stacking fruit in his dreams, Cellbit drempt of being trapped in some sort of ghostly murder hell school then later of being a puzzle solving professor, Roier escaped his rat astral projection and was Melissa in his dreams but now he's rolling down the streets of San Andreas, Tubbo is dreaming that he's been on a live camera feed for days on end with no break as something called a "streamer", and Phil is Sonic the Hedgehog

[veilofwinter]

#SOMETHING UNEXPECTED

pairing: Dina x Ellie x Reader

tags: smut, fingering, MY LOVES

Life seemed average, a repeated cycle you could never seem to get out of. Bland, overused and average.

“YN, you need to get out more! All you do is work and sleep!” Jesse complains. But how could you “get out more” if the whole world was under attack by human beings infected by fungus?

“Jesse, m’not going out tonight. I gotta patrol early tomorrow, I don’t have time f’drinking.” You scoff, closing the book you were reading and placing it in the nearby nightstand. “You’re so boring, you never do anything fun.” He rolls his eyes and exits the room.

You never enjoyed parties anyways. You always felt like an outcast to this whole group of people, you were surprised they even let you stay this damn long. You had showed up out of no where and yet they let you in after a check for infection.

The day continued like usual. Eat, Work, Sleep, Repeat, and obviously the necessities. You groan as you awake, your hair bed head a lot messier than usual. You rub your temples as you exit the hard bed that was seemingly put together from sheets and scattered pillows found around.

You somehow found yourself assigned to early patrol with Ellie and Dina. It wasn’t that you disliked them, it was that you liked them a little too much. Somehow, they distracted you from your daily routine, always pulling you somewhere you didn’t need to be, forcing you to explore things you’d never explored. But today it seemed there was a lot of tension in the area. The snow not making it any better as the freezing air made the freeze of the silence grow thicker.

Silence engulfed the whole ride, until they approached an abandoned warehouse that had a harsh smell of weed. Inside a whole farm of it, just growing like nothing. “Hey hey, I haven’t seen this shit in forever.” Ellie says picking up a jar. “Does weed expire?” She asks turning to Dina, having finally spoken a word to each other. “I guess we’ll have to find out?”

A loud bang was heard, causing you to flinch as you turned to see that the snow had trapped all three of you inside the weed smelling warehouse. “God, I did not want this.” You roll your eyes, removing the gloves you wore. “Fuck…!” You kick something nearby. “Whoa there, it’s not that big of a deal, we can just stay here until it dies down. Then we can try moving the snow.” Ellie suggests, removing her coat and settling in a nearby couch.

You watch as Dina does the same, grabbing a lighter that seemingly still worked to light the joint they’d found in the jar. “This still hits.” Dina says with a small smile, passing the joint over to Ellie. You sigh, removing your jacket and looking around to search for another exit. “Hey, why are you so quick to leave? Live a little and come smoke this with us.” Ellie says, looking at you with her low eyes as the weed seemed to already be taking effect.

“I’m good, I don’t smoke. I didn’t smoke before either.” You roll your eyes, looking around once more, seeing that there were no other ways out. “Just come and sit down. It’s like you have a stick up your ass or somethin’.” Dina says, tilting her head to look at you. You groan, stomping over to them both and settling on the couch. “Here, I think ya need it.” Ellie giggles, egging Dina to do the same.

“I said I’m good.” Dina takes the joint, “Just one time, it won’t kill ya?” She takes a drag from the joint, blowing it into your face, causing you to retract. “Fine.” You finally give in, inhaling the smoke. You cough quickly, the biting sensation in the back of your throat lingering. “Okay what the hell?” You ask, hunching over to cough. “It’s fine, happens when it’s your first time. Try again.” Ellie helps you sit up, guiding the joint to your lips.

“When you inhale, inhale it slowly. So, it doesn’t hurt as bad.” Dina says softly, placing her hand on your thigh unconsciously. You flinch slightly, inhaling the smoke, letting it drape into your lungs slowly. Blowing the smoke into the air, you feel yourself becoming a lot more relaxed. “That was better yeah?” Ellie asks, watching you as she inhaled the joint and blows the smoke into your face.

“I guess so.” You say quietly, everyone feeling the effects of the weed. It hits you harder, your head spinning softly, your eyes getting heavier, and the stir between your legs becoming a lot more prominent. “Should we have another Dina? I’m not sure she can handle two.” Ellie says, looking at your slouched appearance.

You shake your head. “I’m good, I think.” You chuckle. Ellie nods lighting another, placing it between her thin yet plump lips. You watch her, your eyes entranced by the way her lips wrap around the joint. Dina slides her hand further up your leg, catching your attention. You turn to her, a smirk dawning her lips as she tilts her head to get a better look at you.

Ellie hands the joint over once more, this time leaning over you a bit more than usual. The feeling of her skin warming you up a lot more then you already were, her perky and uncovered breasts swaying in your face. You blush softly, your face tinted slightly. The thoughts that run through your head becoming unholy, but you blame it on the weed. Dina takes a drag, inhaling slowly. Suddenly she leans into you, your lips parting as she connects her lips to yours and exhales the smoke back into your lungs.

It was random, causing you to flinch softly. “Did ya like that? Or should I stop?” She slides her hand up your thigh further, her thumb gliding over your clothed cunt softly. Ellie watches, her eyes lingering over your figure. You look at Dina, the sinful thoughts running through your head starting to take over. “I-I don’t do this. I’ve never-“ Ellie silences you, putting the bud of the joint into the couch to let it burn out.

“We got you.”

Like usual, with Ellie and Dina you were doing something you didn’t usually do. Your legs spread open as Dina licked up the slit of your wet and dripping cunt. Ellie grips her hair, guiding her to eat you out just right. Your hands gripping the side of the couch as you whine and groan Dina’s name out into existence. Her arms wrapped around your thighs to keep your legs open as you shake, throwing your head back as she hits the spot that makes you tingle just right.

“Fuhh-ck!” Your head falls back off the couch, Dina’s fingers mingling with the hardened buds underneath your shirt. “Feel good pretty?” Ellie asks softly, looking down at you. You nod, droll pooling at your lips. Dina slides her finger into your core, your back arching into her as you fuck yourself with her fingers. “Fuc- Dina! Oh good-“ You grip the couch harder, the knot in your stomach growing tighter.

She eats you like it was her last meal, her eyes never leaving yours as she penetrates you with another finger. Ellie continues to guide her, hitting all the spots inside you just right. Her hands come down to your chest, running her thumb over the nipple as if she was admiring the way they bounced as you used Dina. “Yesyes.. right there!”

You grind against her face, feeling yourself become a lot needier. The high you felt earlier could never compare to this one. Her hands spreading you open just right, your eyes shut tightly. “Look at me hun.” She says softly, diving back into you as you open your eyes to look down at her. Ellie watches in awe at the way you open up to Dina’s fingers. “Oh shi- I’m gonna cum Din-“ Ellie suddenly moves Dina’s hand away.

You catch your breath, confused as to why she was depriving you. “I wanna turn too.” Dina rolls her eyes. “You could’ve at least let her cum first. I’m sure she can handle two orgasms.” You watch as they talk about you like you're not even there. “Okay then, think you can handle two pretty?” Your eyes pan to Ellie, nodding slowly as you lean back once more. “Good girl, see I told ya.” Dina says, sliding her digits back inside of you.

She decides not to start slow this time, her fingers using you quickly. “I wanna taste you c’mon.” You feel the high you were on coming back, your hands gripping her hair softly. Your eyes don’t leave her as Ellie leans back, watching the both of you as she waits patiently for her turn with you.

“C’mon hun, wanna taste your cum.” Dina speaks sinfully, causing you to fall over the edge. “Oh- cumming! Please!” You release on her fingers, back arching over the edge of the couch. Your legs shake as you orgasm like you never have before. She sucks softly on your sensitive bud, you whine softly. “Gotta take one more for Ellie, she wants a taste too hun.” Dina slaps your cunt softly.

You nod, spreading your legs once more. The adrenaline running through your body causing you to work against how sensitive you were. “Go in then you needy fuck, go get your fill of her before she changes her mind.” Dina slaps Ellie’s arm softly, wiping her face of your essence. Ellie leans in, kissing your stomach, kissing the inside of your thigh, then kissing your fold softly. “I can’t wait anymore.”

She suddenly licks, causing you to close your legs. “Ah Ah C’mon now. You keep ‘em open f’me do the same for El.” Dina spread your legs back open, leaning against Ellie. You whine, feeling sensitive as Ellie continues with her endeavor. She spreads your folds, sliding her finger inside to replace Dina’s. The length of her finger hitting a spot inside you that Dina didn’t hit before.

“Ah, wait! You- god!” You try to close your legs once more, but Dina slaps your inner thigh, holding them open. “Hey, stop it. You said you could take it so take it like a big girl.” Dina giggles, rubbing your inner thigh softly. You chant Ellie’s name, her fingers curling slighting inside you. You grip her hair, riding her face as if she were a dildo and you were a pornstar.

Dina feels her arousal pooling in her pants, sliding her hand down into her jeans as she touches herself at the sight of you. Your bottom lip I’m between your teeth as you groan, Ellie’s hair gripped in between your fingers. She enjoys the sight of it all. Ellie kissing your stomach again as she adds another finger, speeding up just enough to make you scream. “I’m- oh shit! Ellie please…!” You hold onto her wrist to keep her from moving away, riding her fingers and clenching around them.

“Gonna cum pretty, I wanna taste you as bad. S’not fair Dina got to try it first.” You whine, unable to speak. Dina throws her head back as she feels herself about to release around her own fingers. “Gonna cum together yeah? Cum with me YN.” She says breathlessly as she rides her own fingers. Ellie snickers, “ya just couldn’t wait could ya?” Diving back down to devour the essence about to release from you.

Your head spinning softly, your back arching, you ride her fingers until suddenly. You burst, cumming and squeezing around her fingers, your head falling back and your legs shaking like never before. “E-El oh Fuck! Yesyesyes!” You spread your legs more as she licks it all up, not leaving one drop of you behind. “Taste so good pretty.” She says quietly into your cunt.

Dina cums as well, her legs shaking as she slows down, circling her bud slowly. “Oh yes..” she leans back, pulling her hand out of her jeans. “Wanna taste?” She asks, leaning forward and placing her fingers into your mouth, allowing you to suck them clean. Your eyes low, the high still rippling through you.

“Let’s do this again sometime.”

I want them both so bad...

[a-twistedheartslonging]

Accidentally courting bunny boys by nuzzling and sniffing them

Rabbits smell heavenly especially from the top of their head to the back of their neck. Of course Yuu didn't just start deeply huffing the bunbuns, they waited until their friendship reached a comfort level to do that.

But when it did? Oh boy

The bunnies are 100% ready to pop a ring the moment yuu snuggles them and inhales after having a long and stressful day.

Epel has already talked to his family about his new human friend. The farm is sunny and much more comfortable than living in NRC, plus meemaw is ready to propose to yuu to be their grand child in law if Epel takes too long.

Riddle on the other hand has to fight with himself mentally. Yes he loves them, yes he wants to marry them but he needs to approach this calmly. He needs to butter up his mother to have her approval. Yuu being considered 'exotic' can help balance out the fact that they're not nobility, and if that doesn't work maybe he can try baby trapping them to convince his mother to let him take responsibility. No he didn't actually do any trapping since they expected that after his heat, but his mother doesn't need to know that.

"-deeply huffing the bunbuns-" instantly gave me this mental image.

I've had buns but they never really smelled like anything unless their cage was stanky.

Anyways, the "-yuu snuggles them and inhales after having a long and stressful day." Makes me think of Yuu tiredly popping open the bun boy's uniform shirt buttons and burying their face into the chest floof before letting out a loud deep sniff and our boy his so flustered.

Riddle probably yells something about Yuu being indecent despite loving it. Epel is smug as hell and trying to act all cool and brags about how Yuu must "love his manly musk."

Riddle's mom is gonna be a bitch no matter who he gets with but having a human mate could look good to his mom, don't go thinking she's going to stay out of your guy's personal lives though. She's prob gonna want Yuu to get a makeover and do etiquette classes and ask about kids as soon as you're married, though obviously, you can't until he's done with school and working and expects abstinence until said marriage.

Epel's fam are the most sweet and chill people, gonna be asking about when he's going to bring Yuu home for a visit as soon as they find out about his little human friend.

They must feed the human and make them want to stay.

[princessbrunette]

you were headed to the control tower. it was the haven above the camp that saw everything, heard everything — and yet felt so out of reach and oddly peaceful. that’s where apocalypse!pope always resided, and today was like no other.

obviously, at the end of the world it’s not often you see anyone skipping around, singing and jumping for joy — but pope had been real moody. it was totally valid, since sarah died and all… but the group had finally been finding ways to cope. moments of solace. moments of laughter and joy where you could forget for a second what the world had become. but not pope, no — he’d lost so much. he was tense, you could see it in his body language from the way his shoulders were all tight and you could see the hunger for revenge in his eyes. there was nothing you could do or say to ease that, hell — you’d come to terms with the fact he’d probably drive himself straight into his death over it… but you could try and prolong it. take some weight off his shoulders even for a moment.

“knock knock!” you hum brightly, not wanting to startle him as you poke your head round the door, the sweet chime of your voice accompanied by two solid wraps at the tower door. you were still a little out of breath from climbing all the steps up when pope glances over his shoulder at you before promptly removing his headphones.

“oh, hey.”

as you step inside, you’re quick to gently close the door behind you. you got the sense that pope enjoyed being shut off from the outside. when he realises you’re here to stay, he swivels round in his chair to face you — slumped in his hoodie. “anything i can do for you?”

“no uh, thought i’d hang for a bit if that’s okay?”

his first instinct is to say no and busy himself with something else — but it was you, so his eyes soften and he shrugs.

“well, i’m not much fun right now. i’ve spent hours checking through the index of radio stations i can connect mine to. whoever we heard last week must’ve just been passing through.” he converses, wringing the wire of his headphones between his wrists. “or it’s rafe, just messing with us.” at the mention of the eldest cameron his nose curls and his eyes are cast down angrily — never missing an opportunity to spit venom at the killer.

you nod sensitively, shuffling a little closer. “right, yeah. could be.” you breathe — and let him cool off until he’s back with you, eyes flickering back up. “do i smell…”

that pretty smile reaches your lips and you dig into your pocket, pulling out the joint. “should’ve known you’d pick it up.”

some guy on your camp had been farming cannabis since you’d let him in. he offered a pretty sick trade, do his daily tasks and he’d hand you a generous lump— even roll it for you if you bat your lashes. pope grins too at first, and then it’s like he catches himself and he swallows it down, clearing his throat.

“yeah…uh, as much as i’d love that right now i should probably… keep the signal clear. you know, just incase.” you wanted to grip him by the shoulders and shake him. just let yourself have fun. stop punishing yourself.

“pope,” you deflate. “it’s been a week since you’ve come into contact with anyone through the radios. you’ve been sitting in here, cooped up, alone. just… a few hours of relaxation. that’s all i ask.” you pull out the doe eyes, and it’s like he’s the tiny insect in your venus fly trap because it works and he tips his head back sighing before nodding.

“fine. do you have a lighter or are we gonna have to do this the old fashioned way?”

an hour passes — and with the help of the stale doritos in your backpack, a joint, and some well deserved giggles, somehow you’ve relaxed pope to the point of having his pants around his ankles, ass scooched right to the edge of his seat where he slumps back, legs open with you between them.

you stare up at him sweetly through red iris as you pull off for a moment, savouring the moment and licking up his pearly precum. he lets out a sigh, squeezing his eyes shut as if momentarily regaining the consciousness.

“how did we… end up here?” he strains and you hum out a sound that resembles ‘i dunno…’ before pulling off with a wet pop.

“jus’ enjoy it… you taste good.”

“fuck.” he sighs, resting the crevice of his arm over his forehead as he leans back. you push him further into your mouth, and it’s like something snaps — the resistance he’d been putting up. momentarily, he’s limp — before suddenly he’s pushing his hips up, gagging you.

“shit, i’m sorry. i’m so… fucking sorry.” he moans, gentle hands contradicting his actions as he caresses your hair and rubs at your scalp with his thumbs all whilst using you as handlebars to fuck your throat. wet gags fill the room, and if you weren’t so hazy and out of it you might’ve needed a moment— but instead you let him, aroused and lazy as he manhandles your face. “feel so good— you— make— me— feel— better.” each word is punctuated with a thrust, before soon he’s throwing buckets of his warm seed down you.

there’s not a second of hesitation post orgasm before his guilt settles back in and he’s leaning forward, eyes wide and red as he holds your cheeks watching you sniffle and splutter.

“hey, hey— was i too rough? i’m sorry beautiful. god, i’m sorry.”

as soon as you can speak, you do. “pope, s’okay!” you squeak, letting out a giggle that relieves him enough to pause, catching his breath. “i liked it. i liked seeing you let go.”

“…probably let go a little too much.” he’s pulling his pants up and you shrink a little, watching him spin back round to the radios. “knowing my luck i missed something, missed a communication or—”

“you didn’t.” you interrupt, and he turns back round, analysing you. before he says a thing, your brows furrow. “nothing happened. you just relaxed. come down to the house pope. sleep.”

“i sleep in here—”

“not tonight.” you’re still on your knees, clammy hands clasped pathetically on your lap with his arousal actively drying into your skin. “please.”

pope blinks, melting just a little more once before leaning down and pressing a kiss to the centre of your forehead.

“okay.”

[sim0nril3y]

12 Days of Kinkmas | Day Two: Cumplay

Note: It's day two of our Kinkmas and this time Simon is filthy. Enjoy, my loves <3 Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!Reader Warnings: No mask Simon (It's my personal headcanon in his regular life he probably wouldn't wear it), established relationship, p in v, cumplay, cum eating, canon-typical swearing.

The sound of heavy panting filled the room, low grunts and high whimpers, a wet slapping of skin colliding passionately against skin. It was erotic. Your legs were thrown up over Simon’s shoulders as his hips slammed into your own over and over. Your body shook and trembled from the impact of each thrust and all you could do was simply take each sharp snap against your form.

It seemed that Simon was on a whole new level tonight. You had gone out to the pub with some friends and something had clearly set him off because you had barely stepped foot through the door when he had grabbed you, kissed you until you were breathless and demanded who you belonged to, needing you to call out his name in ecstasy.

Simon’s brows furrowed as they focused on every pinch and movement on your pleasured face, beads of sweat trickling down your skin and collecting into your collar bone. He had been fucking into you relentlessly for what felt like hours now, coaxing orgasm after orgasm from your worn body.

“Fuckin’…” Simon growled under his panting breath. “Fuckin’ hell…” He hissed lowly, snapping his hips with very little rhythm now. “Fuck… Fuck…” Voice strained and muscles wound tight Simon was unable to hold back any longer, pressing his hips shamelessly hard against your own, making sure to bury himself to the hilt as he pumped you full of his load. “Fuck…” Simon whispered, forehead pressed against your own, cock pulsing inside your sensitive walls. “Good girl…” He complimented. “Tight little cunt takes everything I give her, eh?” A breathless laugh followed as he ground his hips tightly.

The two of you stayed trapped there, his hips pressed hard against your own, ensuring that his cum stayed planted deep inside. Kissing your forehead softly Simon leaned back to be kneeling between your legs and observed the way a mixture of your cum leaked out around his softening cock. “Fuck…” He whispered, glancing up at your fucked out face and asking. “Y’thirsty, babe?”

You gifted him a heavy nod as you answered. “Y-yeah.” Squeaking as you felt his cock finally pulling from your walls, gasping when you felt his mouth suddenly on you. Gazing down your body you flushed as Simon lapped and suckled at your overly sensitive cunt, tongue curling inside your recently pummelled walls to collect his cum that was seeping out and once he was satisfied Simon climbed up your farm, leaning over your face and quirking his brows at you.

As if being able to read his mind, you pried your lips open and allowed Simon to deposit a long string of his cum into your mouth, humming the second that it hit your tongue. You accepted every last bit, collecting it across your tongue, waiting until Simon finally commanded. “Swallow.” You did without hesitation, gulping it back and then reopening your mouth as proof that you’d followed his orders. “Good girl~”

A sweet and proud giggle fell from your lips, leaning up to peck his lips before whispering. “Jokes aside, I’m actually thirsty…” You pouted cutely then and Simon smirked and nodded. “I’ll sort that…”

12 Days of Kinkmas | Regular Masterlist | Ask | 15-12-2023

[theocddiaries]

[IN THE CAR] Tim: I don't see Dami anywhere. Dick: Keep looking. Jason's friends said he went this way. Bruce: And how were those punks your friends? Whatever happened to Roy? Jason: We… had a fallout. Bruce: Honey, I'm sorry. Why didn't you tell me? Jason: Jesus Christ, I screamed it into your face about ten fucking times! But no one ever pays attention in this family. [silence] Bruce: Do you kids really think I don't-- Radio: A helicopter has crash-landed in a storm culvert. According to police, a young boy is trapped in the water of the culvert at the corner of 139th Street. Dick: That has to be Damian. [They arrive at the place, full of firefighters, police people, reporters and some civilians]. Bruce: That's my son down there. [Grabs the megaphone from the fire chief]: Damian, we're here, baby! Daddy's gonna save you! Damian: … Go to hell! Bruce: What the fuck did you just say to me?! Damian: I'm mad at you! You don't care about me. You never cared about me! There's always something more important for you to pay attention to. I only exist so you can yell at me and ben--ground me. And when I needed you today, you told me, "Not now." Well how about now, Father? Bruce: Oh… He's absolutely right… [Through the megaphone]: Son… I'm--I'm sorry. I have been a terrible father lately. Dick [Takes the megaphone]: Your father is very sorry, Dami. Damian: And I'm mad at you too, Richard! Dick: At me!? What did I do!? Damian: You spent all your time with that stupid scissor-spoon that I cut my fingers on! Dick: It was called the Forkoontula, and it's still in the development stages, but you're right. I guess I have been ignoring you a lot lately, too. I'm sorry. Bruce [Takes the megaphone]: But that's over, sweetheart. I'm very sorry. I told myself I'd be a better father than my own dad, and that starts now. You kids mean-- You mean a lot to me. I love you. All of you. Just please come on home. We'll talk about it. Damian: …Can we go see horses then? Dick: Of course! All the horses you want! Bruce: For God's sake, Dick, just get him a fucking Lego farm! Dick: Bruce!! Bruce: Okay! Sure. We can look for horses. But no further promises than just go and look. Damian: Nice! Bruce: I don't want anything larger than a pony. Dick: We'll have to build a stupid stable, and you know it…

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Meet Cute

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: Reader is surviving in the apocalypse alone, until she meets a stranger who needs her help, even if he doesn't want to admit it. This is a reimagining of when Daryl gets hurt trying to find Sophia in Season 2, in which the reader shoots Daryl instead of Andrea. This can be read as stand alone, but can also be read as a prequel fic to "Your Fault," describing how reader and Daryl met for the first time. (I'm so bad at summaries, please forgive me).

Era: Hershel farm era.

Tropes: Angst, Fluff (if you squint at it), Patching up someone's wounds.

Warnings: I mean, I don't think there's any. I'll say references to past trauma with survivors, but mentioned only once or twice and not detailed. Blood and gore, because the reader is patching up Daryl's wounds and of course zombies. Cursing, not a lot, but a few words.

Word Count: 4.1K (Oops) (Seriously did not mean for it to be this long.)

Note: There is minimal use of (y/n).  Any references to the reader besides the (y/n) is done using "your" or "you". I tried to proofread the best I could, nobody's perfect. If you don't like, don't read, but if you do like you're my favorite!

Internal monologue is done in italics and is in first person.

ENJOY!

Main Masterlist

Future Fic "Your Fault"

******************************************

It was raining and you were having a bad day. You weren’t having a bad day because it was raining, you actually liked standing in the rain, feeling the cool water drip down your face and through your clothes made you feel alive in the best way. It was difficult to find things that made you feel alive, especially after two months in the zombie apocalypse.

You considered yourself lucky, the first day everything went to hell you had slept through it. Pulling a double at the hospital downtown knocked you out and you woke up to the screams and the pounding of feet in the hall of your apartment building.

By then the phones were gone, electricity to the city had been cut off and you were hopelessly alone. Not unwelcome, due to the fact that it had been you on your own since your father had died a year earlier, but still acute enough for you to notice. It took you a week to leave your apartment to try and scavenge for food, even then you were not ready for the carnage that waited on the streets of Atlanta. After another week you realized that you needed to get out, it was too dangerous to be there. The military had failed and there was nothing left for you in the city. So you packed your backpack and said goodbye to your old life. Finding the cabin outside Atlanta was fortuitous, especially after you ran out of gas in the middle of nowhere. That being said when you found it originally, it had its quirks. No windows, a door that hung off its hinges, blood stains on the wooden floors, and no running water all made the cabin less than ideal.

But after two months it was home.

You sigh to yourself as you reset the trap, hiding it underneath the wet dead leaves as rain dripped from the treetops above. Someone or something was getting into your traps. It was the third time in a week it had happened and you were starting to get annoyed. You suspected it was a walker, since you continued to find bits and pieces of squirrel in the forest around the trap.

You continue your trek in the half-circle one mile out from the cabin. It was a nice spot, dense forest with a small creek that ran through, small enough to cross, but enough water that you didn't have to worry about going any further to find it. The only time you left the cabin was to scavenge, but that took a few days of preparation.

Rain pattered softly over the fallen leaves, weaving in and out of the canopy above, and kissing your skin. Being alone never bothered you before, but the thought that you might be the last person on earth was different. It was one thing to choose to be alone, another thing to be forced into it.

The sound of shuffling and sliding leaves makes you pause, ears peeled. You did not see too many walkers where you were and figured that because you were in the middle of nowhere there weren't enough people to turn.

The shuffling gets louder and you duck behind one of the trees, drawing your pistol from the belt at your waist. It was a gift from your father when you moved to Atlanta to start your residency. Target practice every week made you a good shot and helped blow off steam when shifts at the hospital were tough. Unfortunately, you hadn't been able to find many bullets, which prompted you to carry a hunting knife on the opposite side of your waist. The only ammo stores you found were stripped down and desolate. Sometimes you worried what would happen when you ran out.

You hear the heavy exhale of the walker as it continues through the woods behind the tree where you are hiding. You peer around the tree trunk, watching it shuffle along. It's wearing dark clothes, blood dripping from its side as it hunches over and travels away from you. A crossbow is strapped along it's back at an awkward angle and every step it releases a heavy exhale.

You click off the safety. Probably the same walker that's been eating all my squirrels. You think to yourself as you aim the gun at the back of the walker's head and take in a deep breath. But just as you pull the trigger, the walker stumbles to the left and the bullet scrapes along the outside of the walker's skull.

Shit.

As it falls, it hits its head on a tree stump and lies still, face down. You come out from behind the tree cautiously, replacing the pistol at the holster on your waist and pull out the hunting knife. The walker doesn't move.

Okay. I can do this. I can do this-

You tap it with your boot. It groans once, but doesn't make an attempt to get up. Wait. If its groaning and not moving is it not-

You bend down and grab the back of the walker's shirt, avoiding the crossbow to roll it over, and suddenly realize, it's not a walker, it’s a man.

SHIT.

"Hello?" You poke his chest once, twice, but he doesn't respond. "Um- Sir? Are you okay? Can you speak?"

Why did I just call him sir?

The man groans softly, but does not open his eyes.

SHIT.

You hadn't run into many people in the apocalypse. Saw them from afar, but never approached one. Your father had instilled in you that desperate situations bred a new kind of person. No one could be trusted. The one time you had run into a group, you learned that the hard way. You shake it off and look down at the man on the ground.

He's covered in a layer of dirt and grime, a necklace of walker ears hangs over his dark green tank top, a large hunting knife hangs from his waist next to a child's doll, and blood soaks through the side of his shirt.

Why does he have a doll? Is he like one of those truckers on the highway that has a teddy bear strapped to the front of their semi? Because that's kind of weird.

You stepped closer to examine where the blood has stained his shirt along his side. He's really hurt.

You raise your head to look around the forest around you. He doesn't have a pack, his camp must be nearby. Which means that there might be others that come looking for him.

You look back down at the man where the bullet scraped through his hair, watching the blood trickle down the side of his head. You think about leaving him there. I don't know him. I can just walk away no harm done-

You bite your lip. I can't do it. I can't leave him here. You curse your conscience. Now I just have to haul him the entire mile back to my cabin, without waking him up or hurting him.

Great.

*******************************************

Dragging him back to the cabin through the woods and up the front steps took over an hour. You were too afraid to drag him back quickly, afraid that it would do more harm than good especially because you were unsure how bad the wound on his side was. He hadn't woken up, a bad sign, but you were optimistic.

Guilt momentarily fills your chest. You wouldn’t have shot him if you knew he was still alive. You probably would have just let him go on his merry way. But then you think about how he stumbled.

If I let him go, how far would he have gotten? Maybe me taking him is better than the alternative.

Staring at him laying on the hardwood floor made you wonder if this was a bad idea. You didn't know him. He might have a group somewhere and he might be faking to find out where you lived.

If he is faking he is certainly committed. You mused gazing down at him again.

He was older than you, by a few years at least, with brown hair that stuck out in different directions. Your eyes sweep his clothes, nose wrinkling at the strand of walker ears around his neck. His clothes were dirty, covered in dirt and dead blood. You had taken great care with his crossbow, setting it down on the small wooden table that you usually ate at, noticing how clean it was.

He must really care about it.

You couldn’t help but notice how small the man looked laying on the floor. And it made you feel more guilty about shooting him.

You walk away to get your medical bag, it was on the makeshift kitchen counter on the right back wall. The cabin was one room, in one corner there was a giant cabinet filled with whatever cans you could salvage, in another there was a wooden counter with a non-working sink, a small fireplace sat on the left wall, and in another there was a small twin sized bed covered in mismatched blankets. You had been prepping for winter, moving further and further into town to salvage what you could and storing chopped wood against the inside wall by the fireplace. The thought of winter scared you more than you’d care to admit. Especially with the squirrel traps giving less and less each day.

I wonder if this is the person stealing all my squirrels. You frown to yourself. Maybe I shouldn't help him.

You hear a strange sound behind you and as turn around, bag in hand, you notice that the man isn't on the ground anymore. He's standing, crossbow drawn, pointed directly at your chest.

Great.

"Where the hell am I?" The man growls.

Your chest tightens in fear. By the time I reach for my gun he’ll shoot me.

"It’s okay." You force the tremor from your voice, trying your best not to look frightened. The bag drops to the ground  and you hold up your hands in front of you in a gesture of surrender. "You're at my cabin. You're safe."

"Why?" His eyes narrow as he takes another step forward.

This was such a bad idea. Granted I also would have that reaction if I woke up in a strange place.

"I'm a doctor. I just wanted to make sure you were alright. You collapsed and I noticed you were bleeding."

He backs up towards the door without turning around, eyes wild, body tense, ready to spring.

"Wait please. I feel really bad-"

The guilt is back now as you look at the scrape along his head and the blood soaked shirt.

"Why?" The man narrows his eyes.

 "Because I-" You scrunch up your face in embarrassment. "I thought you were one of those things and I shot you. I'm sorry."

"You shot me?"

"Yes. I mean, you stumbled at the last second and I missed, but I'm also pretty sure that you hit your head pretty hard."

"What?"

"It felt wrong to leave you there.”

“I don’t need your help.” He spits.

“You’re probably right.” Your hands are still palm up in front of you. “But I thought it would be stupid if you survived this long with those things out there and then died from an infection. That's pretty pathetic." You smile sheepishly at your attempt at a joke to lighten the mood, but he doesn't smile.

Well the good news is if he leaves I'll never see him again, and I'll be able to forget about this entire awkward exchange. Who am I kidding? It’s going to haunt me at night, right up there with the time I tripped and ate it on the way to the microphone at my 8th grade talent show.

"I don't want your help." The man says again as he turns to go, but groans when he feels the muscles on his side strain with the movement.

"Please." You breathe. "It'll take ten minutes then you can leave and we never have to see each other ever again."

His eyes are still narrowed. They skate across your body sizing you up. “Are you alone?”

The question makes a cold shiver travel down your spine. It's the question that made you avoid other survivors, the question that made you tie your hair up under a hat, wear oversized clothes to hide your body, and a scarf to hide the bottom half of your face.

“If I say yes are you going to attack me?” Your throat is thick when you ask it.

He shakes his head.

You watch him curiously, but even though he’s pointing a crossbow at your chest you don’t think he’s lying. “Then yes.”

The man stands there for another few seconds. “Five minutes.”

“Fine."

He makes no move to lower the crossbow.

"Is it okay if I move or are you going to shoot me?" You raise an eyebrow.

The man sighs and finally lowers the crossbow, which you take as confirmation that you can pick up your medical bag.

What am I doing? I should have just let him leave. You think to yourself, watching the way his eyes dart around the cabin.

You both stand there awkwardly for a second. “You can just sit on the bed. It'll probably be easier than the chair.”

He sits down, but places the crossbow next to him on the bedside table, as if preparing for you to attack him.

You tried to remember the training you had for dealing with unwilling patients. Of course when that happened the hospital let them leave, but you didn’t want him to leave. You felt guilty for shooting him and you felt guilty for dragging him all the way here. And despite not knowing him, you were worried.

He could barely move without it hurting, what would happen if he left? One of those things were sure to get him on the way back wherever he came from.

You pull up a chair, so close to him that your knees are almost touching, and place the bag on your lap, looking through for your supplies.

“How long have I been here?”

“A little over an hour. Took me a while to drag you here. You’re heavier than you look.” You smile up at him, but he continues to frown.

“Are you really a doctor?”

“Why would I lie about that?” You shuffle through the bag, placing the supplies on the bed.

“I don’t know.” He shifts. “You don’t look like a doctor.”

“Because I’m a woman?”

“No. You're just-“

You wait for him to think of it, but he doesn’t finish his sentence.

Okay.

“This is going to hurt just for a second.” You soak the cloths in the antiseptic and raise one to the side of his head. The man flinches away from your touch with narrowed eyes. “For this to work I’m going to need to touch you.” You say softly with a gentle smile. You were under the impression that he wasn't mean, rather he just wasn’t used to other people.

He leans forward, looking away from you to give you access to the side of his head. Your left hand brushes away the strands of hair from where the bullet scraped along his head, dabbing with the cloth along the shallow wound. You were happy to note that it didn’t need stitches, but you still wanted to clean it out. The man doesn’t wince when the cloth touches his skin.

“I’m y/n by the way.”

He waits a beat. “Daryl.”

You continue to clean along the wound, concentrating on getting as much blood and dirt away from the opening.

“Have you been out here alone this whole time?” Daryl asks.

“Yeah. How about you?”

“No.”

Guess he doesn’t say a lot.

When you finish with his head, you start to reach for his shirt, but Daryl jumps hand twitching towards the crossbow.

“It’s okay." You smile at him.  "I want to look at your side. If you could just take off your shirt-"

“No.”

“But I have to see it-“

He frowns at you. Finally, Daryl pulls up his shirt only enough for you to see the wound on his side, but no further. Just under the cloth of his shirt where it stops, you see remnants of pink scar tissue.

You try very hard not to look at the pink scar tissue, but you were curious. Was that why he didn't want me to take off his shirt?

He’s not looking at you. In fact the only time he made eye contact with you was when he was holding the crossbow.

“You might need to lie down for this one.”

Daryl eyes you again, before finally he lays down on his side, still not looking at you. The wound on his side is deeper, two piercings that go from the front of his abdomen and through to his back.

Did he shoot himself with the crossbow? How is that even physically possible?

“What happened?”

“Fell.”

“Uh-huh. Well, I think I’m going to need to pour the antiseptic in this one and it's going to hurt. You can hold my hand if you want.” You put your left hand on the bed as a peace offering. He doesn’t take it.

Or not.

As soon as the liquid touches his skin, Daryl fists his hand in the mountain of blankets, clenching his teeth together.

“I know I’m sorry.” You can't help but touch his arm and he flinches back away from you. “But now it’s clean and you don’t have to worry about infection.” You go through the motions with the stitches, pulling the needle through the skin smooth and steady, surprised that Daryl does not react to the needle. You reach for a bandage to cover the affected area. "Okay, so keep this clean, don't raise your arm up too high or the stitches will rip, change the bandage in a day or so. I'm going to give you one to take with you. Do you want some painkillers? I think I have some in here somewhere."

"No."

"Okay." You stand up and move out of his way so that he can get up from the bed, before beginning to look through the bag for a spare bandage.

Daryl stands there for a minute with his crossbow dangling from his right hand as if he's not sure what to say.

"Here." You hold out a bandage.

"Don't need it."

"Are you sure?"

Daryl nods once.

"Well if you rip your stitches or decide you want another bandage, you know where to find me." You can't help but smile at him. 

As much as you were afraid of him at first, you couldn't help but like the interruption in the monotony of your day. And despite his gruff exterior, you liked talking to him. Which was surprising given the fact you hadn't liked talking to anyone else in the past.

He doesn't say anything, instead he starts to walk to the door of the cabin, but he stops. "Thanks." Daryl doesn't look away from the door.

"You're welcome. Be careful out there."

And then he's gone, leaving you in the still silence of the cabin once more.

********************************************

The next few days pass as they usually do. You check the traps, scavenge for water, read a book by the fireplace at night, but every time you leave the cabin you hope to see Daryl again, hope that he'll come back because he needed that bandage or maybe will just come by to sit in utter silence.

That last bit seemed the most in character.

You didn't want to admit to yourself how disappointed you were in the silence that followed his exit. Not because he spoke that much, but even his presence in the cabin made whatever this was easier. Before you relished in the fact that you were alone, but now after you met him, it felt too quiet.

However, you had noticed more dead in the area over the past few days and that made you worry.

What if Daryl never made it back to wherever it was he was going? What if he had gotten attacked as soon as he left? You tried not to think that, because Daryl looked capable enough to survive in the apocalypse. Definitely seemed capable when he held a crossbow to your face.

You jolt awake to the sound of someone frantically knocking against your door.

What?

You tighten your hand on the hunting knife under your pillow before you sit up in bed. Maybe I dreamed that.

Someone kicks open the front door of your cabin.

Definitely didn't dream that.

A ball of fear lodges in the back of your throat as you grab the gun on your bedside table, holding it up between you and the dark figure standing just inside the doorway.

"Y/n?" A familiar voice shouts.

"Daryl?" You lower the gun watching the dark figure turn to barricade the door.

"We have to go."

"Daryl what's wrong-" As soon as the words come out of your mouth, you hear the moaning and shuffling of the dead  followed by the pounding of hands against the door.

Fear makes your entire body freeze. You had been in Atlanta long enough to watch the chaos, watch what happened in the streets, the memories of what you saw keeping you awake more than one night, memories of the masses of bodies swarming survivors and the ungodly screams that followed.

"We gotta go.” He grabs your wrist and hauls you out of bed.

In case of an emergency like this, you always slept fully dressed. You clip your belt around your waist before putting the gun back in the holster and throwing your oversized jacket on over your t-shirt. Your pack is on the floor by the back door. The medical bag is small enough to shove inside the black backpack.

“Come on!” Daryl grabs your hand and pulls you out the back door, dragging you through the woods behind him.

You glance over your shoulder. The moonlight above illuminates the mass of walkers that surely would have destroyed the small cabin and you inside.

He came back for me. The thought makes a surge of gratitude warm in your chest. He didn't even know me and he was willing to fight his way through dead infested woods to save me.

Daryl shoots one that stands in your way, glancing behind him to see the mass of walkers that follow, before letting go of your hand and reloading the crossbow.

“Where are we going?” You shout running behind him, gun drawn.

“Up ahead-“ He responds over his shoulder.

You break out of the tree-line onto a road, where a motorcycle waits haphazardly on the edge of the long grass.

He jumps on the motorcycle revving the engine once, looking up at you expectantly. You don’t hesitate. You kick your leg over the side and wrap your arms around his waist to secure yourself. Daryl's muscles tense as you do, but the motorcycle shoots off, the sound of the engine masking the moans and shuffles of the dead emerging from the trees behind you.

You drive for a few miles, far enough that you put your face into Daryl's back to block the onslaught of wind that comes up over the road.

As soon as Daryl hits the interstate he weaves through the broken cars, before finally parking in the median. The world sounds quieter without the roar of the motorcycle, you notice as the smooth silence of the night returns.

"Why did you come back for me?" You ask him, as you get off the seat before you can stop yourself.

Daryl lights a cigarette, not meeting your eye. "You helped me."

"After I shot you."

"You missed." He shrugs.

You snort. "I did." You look out over the desolate interstate where cars are haphazardly parked and empty luggage cases spew clothing onto cracked pavement. "So what now?"

Daryl blows out a lungful of smoke. "You could-" He stops.

"What?"

"Well." Daryl shifts his feet, taking another drag of his cigarette.

"Daryl?" You try to catch his eye worried that he's going to tell you to go away, that he's going to say goodbye right here right now.

"My group is supposed to meet up here." He doesn't meet your eye. "If you want you could come with us, but you don't have to." In the moonlight you swear you see his ears turn pink.

"Well," You sigh looking around. "How else am I going to repay you for saving my life? Might as well stick around."

"We're even."

"No. I think saving someone from zombies trumps suturing a wound. Plus, somebody's got to make sure you don’t shoot yourself with your crossbow again."

Daryl frowns. "I didn't shoot myself with my crossbow."

"I think that you did and that you're too embarrassed to say anything. But don't worry, your secret's safe with me."

He continues to frown at you, but it only makes you smile wider.

I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

***********************************

Thank you so much for reading! If you liked this, be sure to read "Your Fault!"

[nmakii]

I CANT HELP IT! IM SORRY but we know Al dies in his late 30s early 40s so we can assume he at least got to watch his kids grow up into young adults? What happens when Al dies and reader is “set free?” Only to figure out her children aren’t all who they seem to be? I can see reader’s son possibly becoming a corrupt detective/cop and perhaps her daughter gets into fashion or becoming a teacher? Im not sure what Emi’s future might be but im very curious on your thoughts!

UH OH, SHE’S LOSING HER CONTROL!

[hold up! read the rest of the story first!!]

— and when it seemed like there was no more hope, the monster of the house was slain.

and so, 12 years passed by like a breeze. despite being trapped in this hellhole called home, it was all worth it. for the children, all of it was worth it. noah, just 22 and he’s already a fine policeman, keeping the people in line. and the family treasure, emilia— aged 15, and yet a smart little girl. starting her own little farm outside, from cotton to potatoes, and keeping the family afloat. such wonderful kids, it’s a miracle alastor’s manipulations didn’t rub off on them.

1933, times were tough— the stock market crashed, the bank had failed, and everyone was living off of rations. thankfully, radios gained more popularity, and alastor had profited off of it, making sure his little family was fed with a roof over their heads— he seemed to not only enjoy the newfound wealth, but also the suffering in the streets... suitable for a monster such as himself. and while he worked, you and emilia had used the cotton from her farm to create and sell dresses, your own little effort to the community.

still, that didn’t change the hell that was outside your little safe haven. it wasn’t rare for young men to knock on your door, begging for work. and while your heart felt for them, it couldn’t change what alastor had in mind for them. he’d bring them in— down into the basement. and that very night, suddenly there was meat on the table.

you knew what he did, you weren’t an idiot. he gave you that man’s flesh. but, you did what you had to do. for the children, so that they’re well-nourished. and against your better judgement, you followed through, serving what seemed to be a steak. your husband seemed to love your ultimate submissiveness, one way or the other, you’d give into his ways. although it made your stomach churn, the very thought of eating the poor man, it was hard to live during these times, it was what had to be done.

and, it was why you let your children on a hunting trip with him. “little emi’s first trip! you excited, lil’ sis?” noah laughed, patting his sister on the head. “don’t do that, you’ll mess up my hair!” emilia frowned back. alastor laughed at the two as he held you by the waist, “oh, those two!” he mused, looking back to face you. “we’ll be home in time for dinner, my love. i love you so very much!” he smiled, kissing you all over. you hated whenever he did that— when he acted like he’d done nothing wrong, yet you didn’t fight back. what point was there to it? 15 years, and he’s managed to keep you in this house, there was no more use in fighting back.

“okay. just keep them safe, alastor.” you said as he pressed his nose against your’s. he smiled against your lips and laid onto you one final kiss. “don’t you worry your pretty little head, my dear. i’ll protect them with my life.”

and, that was the last time you saw him.

when your children came home, they looked frightened. “m..momma…” emilia whimpered. “oh, baby, what’s wrong? where’s dad?” you asked, running towards them to make sure they were safe. “…ma…” noah let out. “dad’s dead…” he said, ashamed to look you in the eye. “he’s… dead..?” you asked, dazed. “momma! i-i didn’t mean to!” your daughter cried, pulling you closer to hug. “you didn’t mean to..? emi, what happened?” you pulled your daughter far away enough to see her teary-eyed face.

“…i shot dad…” she said, hiccuping in-between words. your eyes widened at her words. “d-dad was on his knees in the dirt, so i thought he was a deer ‘n i shot him…” she explained, wiping her tears. “momma, i don’t wanna go to jail.” she cried out. “don’t worry, baby. you won’t go to jail. you didn’t mean to…” you kissed her on the forehead.

standing up properly, you looked your son in the eyes, wet as he tried to hold his tears back. “baby, i need you to show me where dad is, i’ll take care of it.” you said. “y-yeah, ok, momma… i’ll take you there…” he nodded his head. “emi, go prepare dinner while i’m gone. momma will take care of this mess.” you told her as she nodded her head.

when you arrived, alastor’s body was mangled beyond recognition, the only way you knew it was him was by the clothes he wore— it must have been someone’s hunting dogs, that means it’s possible somebody already discovered the body, and is headed to the police station. the only possible reason alastor could have been here and on his knees, as emilia said, must have been to dispose of a body. so, the ground beneath you must have a corpse. only the lord knows how many bodies alastor could’ve hidden here. but then, you had an idea.

but, first, you had to check. you dug the dirt below alastor’s body. and lo and behold, was the corpse of noah’s friend-turned-enemy, kenneth. “d…did dad kill ken..?” noah asked, afraid of the answer. “i suppose he did.” you said, frowning over your own answer. did the years truly turn you as heartless as him..? “now, noah… if you don’t want your sister to be locked away in a correctional facility, you’ll help me. understand?” you asked, speaking for the first time with a strict tone. “y-yes, momma…” he said as he pushed back in about 3 feet of dirt. he helped you lower his father’s mangled corpse into the grave, pushing back the remaining 3 feet of dirt.

“now, dear… i need you to head back to your station and see if any hunters reported a corpse in the forest, okay? and, make sure those police dogs you have sniff this area, so that they can find dad…” you said to him, explaining your plan. “yeah, okay, momma… i don’t want little emi going to jail…” he said. this was wrong, but it was to protect your family. for the children, right? you won’t let alastor ruin the family even in his death. if those cops found out that emilia killed alastor, they’d try to punish her for all of his crimes as well.

and with that, you returned home. and when noah came back, he returned triumphant. “they bought it, momma. don’t you worry, emi. no cops are gonna take you away. if they try, i’ll kill ‘em” he assured her, hugging his little sister as the weight on her shoulders fell.

this is good, right? even though it resulted in alastor’s death, all three of you are free from his manipulations. and, yes, you framed an innocent hunter— but, it was to protect the family. after all, you raised such wonderful kids, they don’t deserve to go to jail. they’re so kind, they’d dirty their hands for each other. and… that’s a good thing, isn’t it? they’re loyal to their family.

but then, the guilt finally started to settle in.

and it weighed on your shoulders when they finally lowered alastor’s casket into the ground.

1891 — 1933

loving husband and father

he will be missed by all who knew him

the monster was finally gone.

[darylbae]

Hey there, love your work!! That‘s why I just HAVE to request something. I was thinking about maybe daryl comforting reader after a nightmare? Have a great day! :)

night terrors — daryl dixon

in which you had been plagued with nightmares, and Daryl is there to comfort you

note: my requests are CLOSED for now, as i have fallen behind on writing them.

Growing up, you never slept easy. Your parents had told you what a nightmare you were getting you to bed every night, and even as a teen, you'd find yourself exhausted yet still struggling to fall asleep. You'd never really known trauma and discomfort quite like the end of the world, so you'd sweetly kissed goodbye your sleep when the world had ended. It was a long while of surviving, learning to kill the dead, learning to keep yourself and those around you alive. And you'd lost people before — your parents, your sibling, your friends. It was a never ending Hell you were trapped in. But you'd gained a new family, and a deep connection to the moody archer. You and Daryl bonded slowly, he'd never truly told you his feelings, but he showed you he cared. You'd be engaged in late night conversations when the two of you couldn't sleep. He'd always look out for you, and when the farm fell and he'd reunited with you, he couldn't take for granted the time he spent with you. He had to tell you everything he'd been harboring in his brain.

You'd been with Rick's group since before the farm, and you were now deep within the walls of Alexandria, making this community a home. For the first time in a long time, you felt safe. Safe enough to walk around with no weapons, to curl up in bed beside Daryl and get a few hours of sleep. But where insomnia had turned in for the night, the nightmares didn't. Like tonight, after a busy day with Michonne and Maggie, you wanted nothing more than your nightly debrief in bed with Daryl. You'd showered together, slowly crawled into bed and held each other tightly. Mumbling to each other about your days, what had happened, what tomorrow's plans were. It sent you both to sleep almost immediately, still tangled into each other's arms. Your body had only allowed you a few hours of rest until the night terrors had started. You were shivering, whimpering, sweating profusely, Daryl had woken up concerned at the sounds you were making. "Sweetheart," he whispered, his hand on your head to wipe away the sweat. He was still half-asleep himself, his voice not fully there as he called for you. You were still crying, still asleep, and Daryl had sat up now to wake you up. "Come on, sit up for me." He spoke, his voice soft and you'd finally bolted up in a panic. When you'd seen that Daryl was awake for you and nothing inside your head was really happening, you breathed deeply. Letting out all anxieties and fears you had in that moment, all while Daryl kept his hand on your back. "Come 'ere." He sat against the headboard as you climbed into his lap, your limbs rattling against his. The warmth of his hands soothed you, the hushing sounds he was making was enough to make you feel better. You truly felt safe with him, no amount of walls, gates, and weaponry could make you feel as safe as Daryl did. "How 'bout we get some water?" He asked, smoothing your damp hair down and looking into your eyes. There was no way he was going to sleep until you were safely dozing off onto him, even if it meant staying awake all night. He'd do it for you.

[punk-in-docs]

🕸️ Pretty Girls Make Graves 🕸️

Eddie x Pencils - 🎃 Halloween 🎃one shot

2.7k words

Summary: pretty much what it says on the tin. Halloween one shot with our dearest Eddie x Pencils. Enjoy. Pure fluff. A tiny suggestion of smut at the end. Inspired by this lovely photo set & this prompt post that got me off my ass to write again.

Also another shoutout to the gorgeous @tvserie-s-world who made this amazing Eddie x Pencils edit that I’m still gooey over. 🖤

“So, what brings you to my dark and creepy neck of the woods?”Came a cocky taunt as soon as the trailer door swung open after your knock.

It’s usual rusty-screeching melody preceding its occupants flirty remark. The sound of the Smiths comes slithering out the creaking door behind him. The tape you bought that got lost in the avalanche of both your cassettes that slide and slip, congregate on his passenger seat.

He will not smile for anyone. And pretty girls make graves.

The lanky shadow of your boyfriend cuts across the warm yellow glow of the lights that slant out the doorway behind him. His costume makes you grin. Sheer moronic love.

You stood halfway up the steps. Candles flickering and throwing dozy pools orange in Jack-o-lanterns across the toes of your boots. They’re all wonky and have imperfect slanted mouths and jagged eyes. Loping together on the uneven porch steps. Fat orange gourds all drunk with gravity.

The very same pumpkins you’d helped him carve a week ago, after a misty morning weekend trip to Merill’s pumpkin farm. Eddie had the rather dastardly and determined habit of choosing pumpkins bigger and heavier than his actual van tires. You ended up with so many.

Your kitchen has smelt like squelchy pumpkin innards all week. You’re still finding seeds cropping up under the toaster or in the corner of the cabinets. As per Eddie’s way with most things, It wasn’t exactly a neat process.

You can’t help but laugh at his greeting too.

“I distinctly remember making plans to invade the spooky neck of your woods tonight, my little death trap.” You smile as you edge your way up the sloping steps. Holding a huge pumpkin shaped bucket of candy in your arms. The contents rustle as you move.

Everyone’s touting pumpkin buckets tonight. Driving in and even on the street back home, you saw a load of elementary kids walking around the park in their costumes. Ghosts in bedsheets. Aliens. Bats. One very ambitious papier maché pumpkin. Superhero’s. Clowns. Home made astronauts clad in crinkly tin foil and bulbous helmets. All wandering with an adult in tow and buckets clutched in their hands, ready to be filled.

You opted for a simple witch costume. Stripy tights and your dark thrifted docs. A black dress with a little cape tied around your shoulders and a witches hat. You applied dark purple-plum lipstick and dark smudgey grey eyeshadow, and liner. Your eyelids glitter like purple constellations. He finds stars to gaze at so often in those pretty eyes.

Eddie had gone for an Alice Cooper inspired look. Top hat. The dripping dark eye makeup that you’re amazed he managed all on his own. Hair it’s usual long rocker mess. Gothic black and lots of it. A huge goth belt with studs and buckles. You spy a cane grasped by his side too. A fake toy snake looped around his neck. Just like the man himself. He really does go all out.

The fringe benefit being he looks hot as hell to your eyes.

“You’ve got me under your spell, O’ bewitching one. How could I possibly resist.” He opened his arms out to you as you came to the last step.

“Bet you say that to every witch who shows up at your door on hallows eve.” You smile. Unashamedly grab the snake that’s looped around his neck and reel him in by it.

“Only ones who bought me jolly ranchers.” He preens. He can see the multi coloured hue of the wrapped candy in the huge bowl you’re carrying.

At the same time, he plucks the flimsy pointed witches hat off your head so the brim doesn’t get in his way. You unconsciously move towards the same goal together. It’s spooky. Sometimes it’s like you have the same brain. You’re one entity mashed together in a frenzy of melding hearts, music mania and relentless adolescent infatuation.

He lopes forwards and gladly slots his slanting smirk onto yours. Tasting of orange sweet candy corn and beer. His thumb and forefinger meet on your chin. Your hand slid for his neck. Fingertips along his jaw as you share a giddying kiss. You mouth at the plushness of his lips. He does the same to you.

You pull back before he makes you swoon dangerously down these steps. His kiss should come with a warning sign; dangerously addictive metal head. May possess body and soul.

You can tell already that you’ll have to wave goodbye to this lipstick. It’s now smeared all around your mouth and most of his. Now he looks like Alice Cooper doing nine to ten in Arkham Asylum.

“Hello.” You beam. Rubbing smudged purple off his lips. Vamptastic Plum the colour name.

“Hi.” He smirks like a lunatic. End of his nose rubbing into yours where he gazes at you.

He does it a lot. It’s honestly so lovesick you should be kinda nauseated.

When you’re studying. Watching a movie. Eating popcorn or pizza. Every now and again he’ll just rest his chin in his hand and smile all warm and stupid at you. Cheeks bunched and crows feet at his eyes. Even when you have paint flecked across your forehead. Or pizza cheese slung in a string across your chin. Or when you’re frowning at your fingers when you smear your nail drying polish. He loves watching you just be near him.

It always ends the same way. You’ll feel his eyes burning their fond cinnamon gaze into you. You’ll turn and meet his eyes. And that smile lopes even wider. He’ll loop a pinky though yours and kiss the back of your hand. Or your forehead.

“Permission to enter your lair?” You seek.

“Thought only vamps had to ask permission to come in?” He flirts with you. Eyes on your mouth again. Your lips all kiss bruised makes him ache. In fact, makes another sort of serpent twitch in his jeans.

“Misdirection. I am actually a vampire. The witch outfit is a clever disguise to work my cunning way into unsuspecting trailers.” You raise your brows naughtily.

He grins. “Clever subterfuge.”

He slips aside from the door to let you come in. Another kiss pressed to your lips before he lets you sidle on past him. He hangs your witches hat on the coat rack with his spare jacket and Wayne’s denim.

“Need me to park your broom?” He jests.

“Left it in the car with my black cat. You’re safe.”

“How many more witchy jokes could we stretch this out too?”

“I reckon I’ve a few left knocking around…” you guess. Placing the bucket of candy on the kitchen counter. Hopefully Eddie doesn’t pilfer the whole lot before Wayne’s home. You hope he leaves his uncle a treat or two. And doesn’t scarf the lot like a damn seagull.

This trailer hugs you any time you enter. You thought that when you and Eddie started dating. And you still think it now. Capital H home. This place. Filled with his and Wayne’s memorabilia. And a few more other things tonight;

You haven’t seen your boyfriend as much of late. He’s been out hitting the teenage party circuits with his metal lunchbox. Making a healthy chunk of change by the looks of it. He’s strung up plenty of decorations to help pep this place up with Halloween spirit.

There’s pumpkin paper garlands arced in loops up high. Orange and black twisting streamers over the mug shelves. Fake rubbery bats hanging down from the kitchen island cupboards. Dancing skeletons hanging on the little spare space the walls have to offer. The coffee table is cleared of its usual junk and absolutely heaped in candy and snacks.

Butterfingers. Butter popcorn. Pretzels. Red vines. Cheez balls. Mallomars. All of which happen to be your favourites. He has two cold beers side by side. And a fat tight joint sits waiting in the ashtray too.

He’s even bought those fake filmy cobwebs to spread in a few places with fake plastic spiders - to join in with the real ones dusted around in forgotten corners.

All your tensions melt down right to your toes. All is right with the world. Halloween night. No school tomorrow. And Eddie. And a whole uninterrupted night of movies and bliss. You’ve lost count of the amount of times a movie night has ended up getting dirty on his couch. Tape flicking to the end whilst you’re attached lip to lip with wandering hands.

You sigh gladly as you stand to toe off your shoes. Putting them aside. Heat slides into your stomach all squirly and scorching as he stands from behind you and his hand reach around and skilfully undo the cape around your shoulders.

“Let’s get you comfy my temptress of the night. Beer?” He seeks. Throwing your cape over his shoulder. It lands nowhere even near the coat rack.

“Yes please my lovable nightmare.” You sass. You walk over to the couch. Spying an absolute mound of VHS’s ready to go by the TV. The colour seemed to dip in and out sometimes. The set was old. Eddie had to whack the side sometimes to get it to behave. You find it more endearing than a set that worked seamlessly.

You pluck pieces of popcorn out the bowl and throw them onto your tongue. Crunch them down as you sit with your knees tucked under you.

Eddie kills the music and slings himself down next to you on the lumpy couch. Frame squeaking and rattling as he settles.

“Damn. You got a great selection, Munson. What did you do, bribe Harrington with your soul to score all this?” You remark as you peer at the videos on the coffee table.

1941 Wolfman. Christopher Lee’s Dracula. The Fog. Halloween. House on Haunted Hill. And Friday the 13th. You loved old school movies as much as he did. The old swelling suspense of a good black and white.

“Nothin major. Just a little selling of my body and charms. Deviant sexual acts. Just so you know I’ll have raw knees for a month.”

“Mm you filthy slut.” You hush. Impressed.

“Finest slut in the Midwest.”

“So I’ve heard.” You grin. Leaning in to kiss him. Seemed too infeasible not too. He cups the back of your head as you do. Keeping you close as he dares. Sweet kiss like icing sugar dusted across your lips.

He makes a small ‘mmm’ noise before you pull back.

“Besides. I consider The Fog a film that makes me think fondly of our very early courtship.” He remarks.

Snoopy bed shorts. A tin of Campbells. His lunatic escapades of climbing in your window late at night.

“And, well, only the best for you, Pencils.” He grins.

You tilt your head. A sigh caught in your throat.

“You must’ve busted your ass to get all this. You didn’t need too. You know I don’t need all this. I’m happy just to watch crappy reruns with you and order a pizza.” You tell him.

Concerned about the cash he would’ve laid out for tonight. The decor. The snacks. The primo shit from Rick. All must’ve cost a pretty penny.

“You’re worth every damn cent. When you’re dating a spooky awesome girl you gotta put in the ultimate spooky effort.” He tells you. Gripping his beer bottle and leaning back.

You clink your beer bottle to his.

“Please tell me you overcharged those meathead jocks for your product.”

“…. And then some.” He winks.

That’s my boy. You couldn’t be more proud.

“I’ll drink to that.” You murmur. Taking a pull on your cold beer. Cool heaven sliding down your throat.

“Thanks to Tina’s party last week, I mean, man, I scored big time. So many stoners invited. Walk in the park.” He smiled.

That deserved a kiss. Which you gladly give.

“Kinda love you for that.” You suppose. But there were no two ways about it - you were completly head over heels for him.

“Good to know.” He supplies. Hand rubbing your back.

“We better put a video on before I maul you.” You threaten with a great deal of flirt. Dragging your purple painted fingernails down the front of his top.

“Mmm kinky.” He grins. Leaning over to press a spitty kiss to your cheek. Before diving for the pile of VHS.

“Ok, roughly how long do you wanna argue about which one we watch first?” He seeks.

You narrow your eyes. Taking a sip back of your beer. “Depends if I win or not.” You look at him all cunning.

“House on haunted hill?” He bargains. Crouching and pointing the VHS at you.

“Don’t point that thing at me.” You smile. Stealing another handful of popcorn. Eating it with a grin.

Let the bickering commence…

~

The credits rolled to your third film of the night. Halloween the 1978 original. Orange twinkle lights flicker in the warm yellow lights near the kitchen. The rest of the trailer in dozy darkness. The sounds of kids trick or treating and laughing, batter against the trailer side in the night air.

You magnanimously let him pick the film. Maybe you’re growing soft in your old age.

This found you and Eddie slumped down together on the ratty couch. Limbs tangled. Joint smouldering in the ashtray. Verdant smoke in the air. Beer bottles empty. Only popcorn kernels left in the bottom of the bowl. The snacks had been pilfered and pinched at your leisure.

Eddie was pressed down onto you like a lanky weighted blanket. Snoozing happily with a belly full of beer and cheez balls. Socked feet hanging off the end of the couch. Hands slung all over you like a gangly octopus. He’s currently letting out content little breathy snores with his head cushioned against your boobs. A little spit of drool by the side of his mouth.

He’d nodded off sometime around Michael Myers fifth victim with the boyfriend and the blonde pigtails. You’d been carding your fingers through his hair. Scratching his scalp. Made his eyes flick back in his head.

You swear he was one step away from twitching his foot in contentment like a canine at the work of your hands. Made his brain short circuit.

More so when he was on Indica. Just the kinda hit he needed for a slow sleepy and spooky night in. You can’t deny you’re fighting the effects of it yourself.

A couple of puffs. Eyelids drowsy. Your limbs feeling like cotton stuffed pillows. Indolent and slow. And now you’ve got your perfect metal head keeping you pressed down.

“Guess the party circuit wiped you for six, huh babe?” You smile. Thumbing his cheek. He mumbled something incomprehensible.

You shift your leg up. Which tumbles his knee more into your lap. He snuffled. Nuzzling his head further onto you. His breath was all sugary red vines, and fruity weed.

You kept on stroking his hair. Leaning forward to nuzzle a kiss to the crown of his messy hair. Apple shampoo and that lost tang of American spirits.

“Edward?” You ask.

You get a sleepy, sticky gurgle from him.

“I’ve got a really nice bra and panties set on under this dress, y’know.” You whisper at him.

Another mumble. You smile and rest your cheek on his warm head.

“You’ll have to let me move to put the next movie in, babe.” You tell.

“No. S’comfy.”

Then you hear him grumble. “Boobs.”

“Great boobs.”

You chuckle. Honestly.

“Knock yourself out. Munson. You smile.

Shifting down to let sleep come and gently take you too.

“Oh, and Happy Halloween.” You add. Letting your eyes close. Letting the static at the end of the video ebb you softly into dreams. Along with the sound of wind kindly rattling the roof. Brushing along the walls outside. All the trick or treaters have been coerced indoors. Safe inside with their candy spoils.

Much later on. You hear the rustle of clothes and feel the heat of his breath. The warmth of his limbs leeches off you when he moves. Coldness sneaks in.

You wake with bleary-sticky eyes to those brown ones staring back at you. Cheeks all flushed. The tell-tale sign of a tented zipper bursting at his crotch.

That dripping eye make up looks smeared and downright dangerous. He looks absolutely ravishing and you suddenly shake off your tiredness to see him looking so good like this.

“You said something about a bra, Pencils…” he smiles. “Be a shame not to show it off now-“ He beams. Waggles his brows.

“Heard that did you?” Your brow crooks.

Happy Halloween, indeed.

This is for everyone; but especially for @tvserie-s-world @lunatictardis @heyndrix @callmeloverr @joequinnswhore @atabigail @thewrathoffemalerage @lurkingprincess @songforeddiemunson @palomahasenteredthechat @babybluebex

[sparkbeast20]

Trapped!?!?!

This moment here is the one I notice the most.

Assume that trapping the five kings in another space was part of Metatron's plan to invaded Hell. This has to be major that it destroyed Once uses to be Niflheim.

Here's my theories on this event:

Metatron was the Seraph that Beelzebub has eaten once he and the other kings escaped the trap.

This invasion could've taking place when Amon and Andrealphus' last their family to the angels. (Not sure that these two event happened at the same time.)

Metatron could've been the angel that gave permission to experiment on devils aka the farm.

Metatron could've been the angel that Gabriel killed.

Metatron could've been the angel that Lucifer mention in one of his chat in his victory story.

So far these are the theories I have thought of from this one line of lore. They are not connected, these are all separate theories.

[mossyivy]

Hi tipsy!!! Hope you’re doing okay bestie! <3

I had a dream about this last night—DI Cowboy Leon and Spoiled/Bratty City Girl User…😜

Let’s just say, he took my attitude away in the best way possible…(Wink Wink 👀) ((In the stables 👀👀))

- Anon! 🎀

Ugh DI Cowboy Leon! You lucky mf I never have dreams like that 🥺

NSFW Under the Cut

CW: Fingering, Praise(kinda?)/Degradation, Man handling (if you squint), Begging, and inappropriate use of a saddle rack.

[Not Proof Read]

You're a new hire from the city after inheriting farm land from your grandfather after he dies and you don't know the first thing about running a farm. But thankfully there's another farm at the other side of town that focuses on animal by products and the owners was good friends with your grandpa. More than happy to teach you the ropes to get the farm back into shape.

So you go to work for Leon on his farm for the next few months per your agreement. What Leon didn't realize was how much of an ungrateful little brat you are. So spoiled by that daddy of yours he saw leave for the city and not turn back when he was a kid.

Constantly arguing with his reasoning (throwing tantrums), rolling your eyes, wasting his time but acting like he's wasting yours and most importantly having no god damn manners. He was doing something nice for a, seemingly, complete stranger and not once had you uttered a single "please" or "thank you". Not that he expected anything out of his kind gesture but he at least expected a thank you.

One evening after sending everyone home, he's irritated, having one of this worst days. He just needed to fix up one of the saddle upholstery and be done with everything for the night. He was on edge entering the stables. Reaching the storage area, he sees you. You're setting the riding gear back up. He specifically told you not to do this. But here you were. Not listening to him as usual.

"I told you not to put everythin' back." You look at him, huffing and rolling your eyes. He swears if you roll your eyes one more time...

"I thought you'd be thankful for me putting everything back. Since apparently no one else could do it." He feels his body tense as you drop the saddle on the floor. Bits of hay and bedding bursting up from the ground as you look at him. Moving past him you grab the few saddles you've put up on their racks, pulling them off to drop to the floor. Leon clenches his jaw, arms crossed as he stares you down.

"Happy?" You mutter, looking at him again. His lips pursed, smacking gently as he opens them.

"Are you a toddler?" You eyes go wide as he steps forward, moving into your personal space. Grabbing the damaged saddle off the floor and steps away throwing it on the standing rack.

"The hell do you mean by that?" Your anger rises as he scoffs, almost like he's about the blow the question off while he looks for his cobbler tool kit.

"You act like a god damn child. How you survived this long I honest to God have no idea!" That got under your skin, watching him turn towards the saddle, starting to assess the damage.

A child? You're not a child! How could you say such a thing? He doesn't know you.

"I'm not a child. You don't know me." He scoffs, glaring at you as you got closer. Getting into his personal space. He knows your type enough to not feel threatened or even anxious by how you're acting.

"Oh, I don't know you? I think I do."

"Enlighten me." He bites the inside of his cheek, trying to hold onto that small shred of rationality he had left before you used that mocking tone. He moves, putting you in between him and the saddle rack. His hands touch the leather of the saddle behind you, arms stiff and trapping you.

There's no escape.

"I know exactly how much of a selfish, entitled lil' brat you are. Walkin' 'round here acting' like you know everythin'." You move your legs, his foot plants between your legs, knee bending into thighs.

"I'm doin' this out of the kindness of my heart for you and you haven't even shown so much as a scrap of appreciation for it." The anger dies in his throat, his leg slipping forward, that's when he feels it.

Wetness seeping through the knee of his jeans, your pussy planted directly on top of it. A small whimper rips from your lips as you look away. Immediately embarrassed by your bodies reaction.

He doesn't even look remotely surprised as he looks down, bending his leg further up into you. Your hands going to grip the saddle behind you as your body moves on it's own. Forcing you on your tip toes. A scoff escapes him, smirk meeting your eyes as he pulls your gaze back to him by the chin.

"Shoulda known. It's always you uptight types that eat up bein' put in your place. You must think I'm delectable, don't you sweetheart?"

"F-fuck you..." His smirk quickly turns to a full blown grin.

"Is that an invitation?" You stutter out bits and pieces of words, making him chuckle as he leans down to your level.

"Lemme guess, those city boys ain't treatin' you right? Left you high and dry. Don't know how to handle your attitude? I could put you back in line if you let me." He moves in closer, lips brush against your neck as he plants wet kisses up to your ear.

"Come on, sugar. Tell me no and I'll stop." His hands fall on your hips, gliding around to your ass with a tight grip as he kisses your neck. Leaving a trail of hickeys to the front of your neck. A soft moan falls from your lips, making him laugh against your skin. Hands slide to your waist, starting to fiddle with your belt.

Unbuckling it enough to get your jean shorts undone and down your legs to the hard floors of the storage area. Leon whistles, looking down at your panties, juices soaked through the thin fabric. Clinging to you lips.

"You always this wet darlin'?"

"No..." He huffs with a cocy grin, thumbs making circles in your hip bones while he stares.

"Figures a stuffy ol' bitch like you would be like this. Just a couple'a words get you actin' up. Soakin' through your own undies like some kinda slut." He watches the fire in your eyes ignite, grabbing the frilly fabric and peeling it off your weeping cunt with a deep groan.

His hands move, fingers guided between your folds, brushing against your clit with a few teasing circles. You bite your lip, muffling a pathetic moan from coming out. He pushes the saddle off the rack with one hand, forcing you against the hard wood. Lips meet lips as he swallows your cries with his kisses, tongues dancing in a flurry of passion.

His fingers slip off your clit and circle your entrance before plunging forward. Tightness envelopes his digits, curling into that spongy spot that makes you pull away from his lips and gasp.

"Feels good don't it darlin'?" You just nod, thighs tightening around his arm when his thumb meets your clit. His name curling from you like the prettiest sound he's ever heard. Thighs shaking as he feels you tightening around his fingers. His hand pulls back, thumb, hand pressing flat against your mound with a gentle squeeze.

"Wha... Why'd you-"

"Beg for it." His hand rubs over your mound with the most gentle of touches, thumb poking past your lips to graze your clit.

"I..."

"You've been nothin' but a God damn thorn in my side since you got here. Beg for it. Prove you want it, be thankful I'm even thinkin' about letting you cum."

"Please, please Leon. I'm- I'm sorry I've been a pain." His lips curl, fingers moving past your lips again and slipping back into place. Thumb on clit and fingers working your g-spot. Your head falls back, a louder cry coming from you as he grabs the front of your neck.

"I didn't tell you to stop." You nod, huffing out a small curse.

"I'm so use to knowing and doing everything I'm just..." You tighten around him again, feeling that warm sensation in your stomach.

"A mouthy cunt." He finishes for you, you nod again, shutting your eyes tight, hips bucking into his hand.

"Yes, yes! I'm a mouthy cunt and I should have been more grateful! But- Please, I just wanna cum. So close." He picks up the pace, holding onto you. You mumble out incoherent "thank you"s as you cry out his name in a sharp breath. Cumming on his fingers. He rolls his hand against you, helping you ride out your orgasm, panting as your body falls limp against him. Huffing and puffing as he kisses the shell of your ear.

"Good girl, knowin' exactly what to say to make it up to me." He gives you a kiss on the lips, and a slap to the ass as he pulls back.

"You gonna be good from now on? Might come with a reward if you follow through with it."

"Yes, Sir." He chuckles, giving you another kiss.

"Sir... I like the sound of that."

[danwhobrowses]

You know, as much as I would've loved a massive catharsis-led triumph over Athion Zathuda in battle, possibly left at the mercy of the vibrant flames of Fearne's Titan form reiterating herself with aplomb as Fearne Calloway, I actually kinda love how the narrative chose to defeat him. In many ways it is just hilarious, but also ironically in-character. Man talked all about wanting to prove himself, had a grandiose title of 'Sorrowlord' and was looking to be both a physical and mental adversary after threatening to torment Fearne into becoming Exaltant by targeting her loved ones. But then when he is pit against Bells Hells he barely does a thing; he tries to talk his way into turning Fearne again, gets jumpscared by Ira, the 'farm girl' he mocked to Fearne commandeers his dragon, he loses a leg and is thrown off his dragon, and the Hells even opt to keep him alive for some reason in 107 before kinda accidentally offing him in 108.

He thought he was the shit, but enemies of true threat like Ludinus, Otohan and Liliana (a threat before she was turned) looked down on him, and thus his attempts to prove them wrong - while also falling into the same trap as Ashton's father in seeking out a personal destiny and being willing to see their child as a tool to do it - bore no fruit at all, he was practically an afterthought through and through, his dragon really being his entire threat level. In the end, he got killed running (well, hobbling) away, and while Gloamglut's keening was a little sad in a way that a pet cannot fathom the moral complexity of having to kill their owner he still had it coming, plus following his eternal torture in the Tiki Bar of Ligament Manor, the last sorrow he wrought was his own; he achieved nothing, everything he hints he did to get to his position was for naught, and for all the fear and danger he tried to make himself possess he truly had no power over anyone, especially not Fearne - who can only pity him and, as further proof of being better than he ever was, hope that he takes the time to reflect on his sorrows.