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angel-of-the-moons · 10 months ago

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Nothing Is Lost

Khonahu x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: Mentions of drugging/roofies, allusions to rape but nothing happens, murder, kidnappings references, Khonshu being an asshole but one who won't just leave you hanging, Reader gets her baby wings!

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: Thanks to everyone who voted in the poll! Just a reminder; every single variation had hints as to what's happened in the past; and little Easter eggs >:3.

Taglist: @drinkingwithkhonshu @astrosphereblog @themostegotisticalgirl124 @patchesofwork @lialiwasneverseen

Chapter 14:

Starting Lessons

"Try again." Khonshu sighed boredly, resting his long beak on his knuckles as he sat on the boulder nearby.

You panted, your body sagging with exhaustion as you glared at him, "Alright, you goddamn vulture!" You wiped some sweat from your brow. The cheeky old fucker gave you his staff to practice with, and your arms were tired.

The inherent magical properties helped focus your magic as if under a magnifying glass, helping you figure out the right "flow" that best suited you, Khonshu had told you. It was going to be used as a tool to focus your skills until you didn't need the "crutch" anymore. Until you could weave spells and cast them with your own hands.

"This fucking thing is heavy." You wheezed, callously letting the golden moon at the head dip into the soil and snow, scratching a groove in the snow to reveal the dark earth beneath.

Khonshu rolled his head a bit--if he had eyes, you knew he'd have been rolling them--and stood up with a raspy grumble, "Whiny little runt." He calls you.

Every lumbering step he took only made your irritation grow, even as he stood before you in his full imposing height.

"What more do you want from me?" You groused, not backing down. You didn't even so much as flinch when he leaned down, invading your personal space.

He reached out with a large, long finger and tapped the staff; and instantly it felt lighter. Almost the same weight as the broom you usually pushed at work.

"There. Will you stop your whining?" He scoffed as he leaned back again.

You lifted the staff and drop it a few times, gawking, your mouth agape. "You're telling me you could have done that the whole time??" You look back up at him, "Why didn't you lead with that?!"

"You did not ask." He stated with a casual shrug, returning to sit on his boulder.

"And, aren't you concerned at all about anyone seeing us?" You asked, sweeping your arm out before you. You two were sitting in the middle of Central Park. Yeah, it was half past midnight... But there were plenty of homeless people and police that walked the park at night.

Hell, even the wayward superhero or two...

It was as if Khonshu could pick your thoughts out of thin air; "I placed a ward. Nobody will see us if I do not let them. Not even that sorcerer, Strange."

"Strange? As in Doctor Strange?" You gasped.

"Of course. Do you have rocks in your ears?" He asked, tipping his head to the side. The bastard.

"I'm not deaf." You hissed, your hands tightening around the ancient staff in your grip.

"Then why ask obvious questions? Now--again. Trace the rune I showed you."

You groaned loudly and sighed in defeat, holding the staff out like you were going to stab the air.

Now, the rune went like--

"Gah. Widen your stance. If you cast it improperly you will be thrown aside." Khonshu scolded, waving his hand. You widened your feet, twisting the staff in your grip.

But apparently, that wasn't what he wanted. It was obvious when he got up once again, muttering beneath hushed breaths as he marched back up to you. He reached out to you, spreading your hands down the shaft much wider than before. Then, with one of his feet, nudged one of yours until you are standing, wide-legged.

He put his hand in between your shoulders and pressed lightly so you hunched inwards just a bit--the staff now in a perfect position to guard your upper body if you were struck.

However, you were flustered--and not in the fun way--when he just... did that to you. He didn't seem to notice, or even care, at all as he stepped back away.

"There. Now," Khonshu sighed, sounding as though he were a disappointed father scolding his child.

"Again."

Your shoulders ached. Your back ached. Your legs ached. Your everything ached.

"Motherfucking--bitch ass bird-headed bitch." You grunted under your breath.

Your jerked forwards and stumble, earning a few weird looks from two women leaving the bar you'd passed. They couldn't see what you felt, however. Or hear what you heard.

What you felt was a hefty smack to the back of your head--like a parent brain-dusting their rowdy child for causing a ruckus in a church--and what you heard was a rather snide voice:

"You will learn respect, you little pest."

"Go get bent, you old bastard." You muttered, shoving your hands in your pockets with a huff.

You felt a chill slip down your spine as a lock of your hair was pinched and twisted back. Almost like a child pulling their sibling's hair. You wondered, honestly, why Khonshu didn't do more.

If he hated this so much, surely someone with his god-forsaken ego would lurch at the chance to abuse their power? Hell, someone with his powers in general... should have abused them by now, right? So, why...

That's when it hit you. It wasn't that he didn't want to...

He couldn't. Something was stopping him. That had to be it, right? What, you wondered, could stop a literal god from--

"Go back to that bar." He commanded suddenly.

"As much as I'd like to drink, Khonshu, I'm going home to go to sleep." You sighed, shaking your head.

Your jacket was yanked on, making you stumble back and almost fall on your ass into the slushy snow. "What the hell--"

"This is not a request. Do not order anything alcoholic." He hissed at you.

Though you couldn't see him, you knew he was hovering; judging by the chill that so easily penetrated your otherwise warm clothes. What was his damn deal? Why was he so insistent that you go into this hole-in-the-wall?

"Why?" You grumbled. "What's so interesting about--"

"Do not question me!" He hissed, shoving you back towards the bar. "I will instruct you in what to do. Now go!"

You grunted in frustration, but relented. If it got the old bastard to shut the hell up, you supposed you could at least grab something sweet to boost your mood...

The bar stunk. It smelled of body odor from the old bikers and few homeless who were pissing away their few bucks for some liquor; as well as the sickly-sweet scent of marijuana and cigarette smoke.

The latter normally wouldn't have bothered you overmuch--but combined with the smell of spilled liquor (and even a hint of someone having pissed themselves, or thrown up on their own clothes) it had you nearly nauseated.

You shouldered your way through the noisy, rambunctious crowd. You felt a gnawing pit form in your stomach because you knew eyes were on you.

You'd never been to this bar before; this was unfamiliar territory for you, and you feared it brought you the wrong kind of attention... What was the old man thinking?

You awkwardly sit in the bar stool; the seat cracked and the stuffing poking out as it squeaked and creaked under your weight. The older woman behind the bar has a cigarette hanging out of her mouth--and you having worked at previous bars knew that was a big no-no, that it was not only a safety hazard, but also a sanitary one--as she was cleaning out a pint glass with a ratty cloth.

You suppressed your urge to shudder at how gnarly it looked and smiled politely at her, "Do you have a drink menu?"

She laughed, her voice slightly scratchy, "The hell kinda place you think this is, toots? Do we look like a bougie-ass cocktail club?"

You smiled thinly, the corner of your mouth twitching in irritation--customer service was clearly not high on this woman's purview. Not that you enjoyed it yourself back in your days as a bartender; but you knew that ensuring your patrons were happy and had fun were great ways to get big tips. This woman on the other hand, didn't care.

"Um--can I have a virgin daiquiri, please?"

Her nose crinkled and she flicked her cigarette ash into a nearby tray, "You come to a bar and order something with no booze? You a church girl?"

"Ha... I suppose you could say that, now..." You reply stiffly, your fingers tapping the sticky countertop. You didn't want to even think about how long it had been since the damn thing had been properly cleaned and disinfected...

"Gah, fine, girly." She turned, looking for the proper mixers and glass. She eyed you over her shoulder, quirking a thin, penciled-on eyebrow at you, "You want strawberry or peach? 's all we got, sweet cheeks."

"Ah... Peach is fine."

"Riiiiiiiight." She replied with a short, going to mix your drink.

"Basic bitch." You heard her mutter under her breath.

You gritted your teeth; feeling eyes take over your body and making goosebumps creep up your spine and making your hairs stand on end. You have a casual look around the bar and spot a small table with three men and one woman.

One of the men had their arm around the girl, laughing obnoxiously in her ear at something one of his friends said. You weren't sure why, but something had you on edge.

Whomever was looking at you before, didn't seem to be doing it, now. But the uneasy feeling didn't subside.

"Do not panic," Khonshu's voice murmured in your ear. "I am here. I will talk you through this."

You sucked in a tight breath and let it out, relaxing your posture a bit. Despite being annoyed at how he had been invading your personal bubble the past few whatever-it-had-been at this point... you were thankful you weren't currently alone in no-man's land.

She slid the drink to you, the contents sloshing a bit, no ice cubes to keep the drink chilled. Most places, you found, tended to serve them with ice by default. You yourself had yet to meet a person who liked them at room temperature.

"Thanks." You muttered, looking into the glass. You weren't sure yourself if you were thanking her or Khonshu for his reassurance.

She noticed how you stared at the drink and sneered, "Sorry if it's not to your likin', princess--but you didn't say if you wanted it on the rocks or not."

"Oh, don't worry--" You lie quickly, grabbing the drink and sipping it. It was sickeningly sweet. Too much mixer and syrup; the crushed peaches mixed in were bitter and unripe. "--It's fine."

"Yeah, I'll take your word for it." She says, rolling her eyes as you slip a few bills onto the counter--overpaying more to get her away from you than to be generous--and stuffing them into her bra. Again, another unsanitary thing that made you shudder.

You watch with disappointment as she takes shots with a few patrons, smiling and joking with them as opposed as to how cold and rude she was to you. Poor conduct, how on earth was this place still even in business? You had half a mind to report them to--

"The table you spotted before." Khonshu's voice said to you. "The men with the lone woman."

You casually spin your stool around, leaning back on the bar as you take a hefty swig of your drink, letting him continue as you discreetly glanced towards the party he mentioned.

The man hanging on the woman seemed to be getting too handsy with her--the poor thing looking like her skin was crawling from the way her nose scrunched.

"They intend to drug her." He told you, almost making you choke on your beverage. "You will stop them."

You turn back around and hunch over your drink, muttering, "Easy for you to say, old man. You're like, nine feet tall. I appreciate the confidence in my baby magic skills, but seriously--"

"You can do this task," He says matter-of-factly. "All you need to do is act inebriated. They do not know your drink isn't mind-altering. Nor do they know if you had been drinking elsewhere before coming here. They are not paying close enough attention to you to see you are able-minded."

That... made sense. But what were you...

Once more, he seemed to pluck your thoughts like low-hanging fruit: "Act as though you are nearly incapacitated. Drink your fill in one go to put on an effect. Spill the young woman's drink on her before the man has the opportunity to slip the drugs in her drink."

He paused a moment, allowing his words to absorb before continuing to speak to you once again, "You will leave this bar with them, and bring them to the alley past the next street corner. Continue to act inebriated. I will be with you the whole way, do not worry."

You shivered, adrenaline beginning to thread its way into your bloodstream when you feel Khonshu recede; as if he was the music that was being drowned out by the crowd in the bar. You fist your drink tightly before tipping your head back and shotgunning it, trying to get into your best "shit-faced" mode. You've never been the whole "blackout drunk" type; so you had to draw on from what you've seen firsthand from others as well as online.

You pretend to be unsteady on your feet, wobbling as you step off of your stool, beginning to sing along to the radio in off-key, slurred speaking--even going so far as to pretend to hiccup and wretch--as you made their way over to their table.

Their demeanor shifts as you close in, the men becoming guarded as you approach them on shaky feet.

"Heyyyy!" You croon, slipping your arm around the woman's shoulders, knocking into her and discreetly tipping the glass of bright, cherry red cocktail onto her nice pastel pink top.

She gasped and immediately pulled away, her mouth agape as you cover your mouth and overdramatic shock, "Ohhh! I thought you were my fr--frriend!" You say, trying to wipe at the stain, only making it worse, "I'm sh-sorry!"

"Ah! I don't know you! You ruined my--" She whined, her pained expression making you feel very guilty. You could tell that was probably her favorite too; one she would now have to throw away because of this stunt you were pulling.

"I--I'm gonna go to the bathroom." She groans, turning to stomp away towards the back, her leather boots squeaking on the floor.

You turned to the mean, swaying slightly as you pouted, "I jus' thought she was my frien'.... was s'posed to meet me here after I left tha other place..."

You felt a disgusting viper strike at the inside of your belly when the men shared looks and toothy grins, "Ah, well," The oldest one said, adjusting his flaking faux-leather jacket. The prick was trying too hard to lean into the 80s greaser stereotypical biker look, and the smell of whatever disgusting cologne had you wanting to blow your nose all over that shitty Walmart-brand plastic jacket of his.

"Hey, you're here, now, baby." He continued, slipping his arm around you, instantly making your fear spike and your mind struggling to fight your "fight or flight" mode. "Come on, party with us. We'll keep you company, right boys?"

His two friends nod, raising their beers and drinking messily with laughter; the way their eyes gleamed at a conquest--willing or otherwise--made panic rise in your gut.

"Calm down. You are not alone. Play into your role." Khonshu's voice rumbled to you, "They will not harm you. They will be lucky to survive what you will do to them."

You kind of hated that what he was saying sat right with you--you weren't really the "beat someone within an inch of their life" kind of person. Even when it came to self-defense. You believed in incapacitating them long enough to get away. But if what Khonshu said was true, about their intentions with that poor women...

Rapists of any kind deserved to be castrated. Among other nasty and violent things you fantasized about when you'd heard horror stories from other women--hell, even the things you saw on Law & Order--and from what you yourself had narrowly dodged.

The viper in your belly calmed somewhat; a fiery rage it began to coil around for warmth took precedence.

"What d'you say we take our party somewhere else? I know a bar with waaaaay better drinks than the shit Tilly serves." The man holding you said in your ear, his breath slimy as it dropped down the sweaty skin on your neck.

"Okay..." You replied out loud, keeping up your drunken facade--you could just barely make out a shadow passing over the table, the silhouette undeniable.

"Aaron, pay the tab." He ordered, swinging you around to head towards the door, his other friend following quickly, leaving the third behind to rush up to the bar and pay before following suit.

The cold outside immediately hit you; making you shudder.

Even the typical stench of the city that you'd become accustomed to was more welcome than the oppressive scents in that dive. You let the men continue to lead you, subtly influencing their steps as you followed the route Khonshu instructed you in.

And, he was right. Past the stop sigh at the corner, there was an alley that was lit by a nearly burnt out light to your immediate left.

You took the opportunity to lurch forward, pretending to get nauseous and gag. This didn't seem to deter the men, even as you fled to the alley to curl over the nearest trash can.

Like stupid lemmings, they followed you.

And predictably, one of them grabbed you and pushed you up against a nearby wall, his hand gripping your jaw tightly as your heart sped up; beating against your ribs like a frantic animal.

"Press your index finger to his chest and trace the rune I showed you earlier. Flick your wrist like you are swatting a fly."

You do as he says quickly, your finger shaky and snagging on his jacket as you do, but you manage to trace the rune--the symbol faint and golden as it hung in the air between you. Your assailant looked down at it, his brows furrowed.

Before he could process what was happening, you flicked your wrist out and watched as he went flying out into the street, slamming into a nearby car hard enough to deny the metal; the alarm blaring viciously loud in the cold night air.

"Holy shit." You breathed, staring at your hands in sheer awe. The adrenaline was pumping like a powerful drug within you and you turned, getting into a ready stance like Khonshu had bullied you into practicing. Yes, you didn't have that obnoxious staff, but it made you feel more steady on your feet as the other two rushed at you.

Time slowed almost to a crawl as Khonshu instructed you once again, "Curl your thumb into your palm and thrust your hand out, after that, duck and roll away. Do it, now!"

You took in a sharp inhale, and right as the men reach your space, you reached out for the closest one; thrusting your palm out and shuddering at the sound of bones cracking beneath an unseen force. He didn't go flying like the first one, instead he fell to his knees, gasping desperately for air and clutching his body gingerly.

When the other man swung his fist out to punch you, you ducked down, spinning into a roll; the icy slush helping it be more fluid than it would have been any other day--albeit messy--and watch as he stumbles, crashing into the wall you were just in front of, your chest heaving with heavy breaths as you watched his friend collapse into unconsciousness.

"Rise to your feet and kick between his legs--" Khonshu quickly instructed you, "Then I want you to slam the heel of your palm into his face."

You rose to stand with a slight bounce on your heels, trying to stay light on your feet as the man turned to glare at you, "You little bitch! When I'm done with you, you'll be beggin' for--"

You cut him off by swinging your leg up as hard as you could, right into his groin--feeling a sick sense of satisfaction as his voice left him in a strained wheeze. You squeezed your fingers together and when he fell to his knees to look up at you accusingly, you slammed the your hand up into his nose, the crunch of bones once again assailing your ears and the coppery scent of blood filling your nostrils as he fell onto his ass and into the dirty snow and ice.

He spat out a glob of blood, shakily climbing to his feet as his eyes narrowed on you in pure blind fury; "You fuckin' little whore! I'm just gonna fucking kill ya!"

"Fuck you!" You spat back, your palms itching furiously, the faint glow coming from beneath your skin again.

"Now, trace the--"

You didn't give Khonshu the chance to finish speaking. You balled your fist and punched as hard as you could, sending his head knocking sideways with a gnarly twist; unbeknownst to you, severing his spinal cord.

As soon as he tumbled down into a limp heap, you surveyed the carnage you wrought with Khonshu's guidance. The adrenaline giving way to pure euphoria, and the knowledge that you'd very likely saved a woman from being brutalized, traumatized--or even worse--making your heart and mind soar with the feeling.

"Ah..." You sighed, your voice shaky as everything soaks in. Khonshu appears before you, nudging the last corpse with distaste.

"I did not tell you to--"

"Ah--HAH! Hahahah!" You began to laugh hysterically, bouncing on your feet as you ran your fingers through your hair, spinning in place.

You stomped your feet, pointing at the bodies both dead and unconscious-- "Fuuuuck! You!"

You looked up at Khonshu, your eyes wide as you pointed, "I did that! Me! I did!"

"Yes, you needn't prance about like a cat bringing home a dead bird." Khonshu sighed at you.

"I--! I just--I fucking saved somebody, and..." You felt your body lurch from within--like you were on an elevator that came to a sudden stop.

"I--I did--I did--I--!" You wobbled on your feet as Khonshu turned to stare at you. You felt something warm and wet drip down your face.

You swiped at it and stared at the bright red blood on your sleeve that continued to drip steadily from your nostrils.

"I... Oh, that doesn't look too--"

The last thing you were aware of was Khonshu leaping towards you in a blur, and then--nothing.

Khonshu sighed as your body went limp in his arms. He cradled you as though you were comparable to a sack of rubbish; hanging off of him in sheer dead weight.

You learned quickly, it seemed. It was both relieving to know and frustrating at the same time. Relieving because it meant he would not need to tutor you overlong in the ways of ancient magic--frustrating because you so quickly took to it that you became overconfident in your own abilities and knocked yourself out.

"Troublesome little pest." Khonshu muttered, looking around at the scene you'd created--painting some of the dirty white with bright red--some of it your own.

Yes... you may have overworked yourself. But you did do a good job of following his instructions up to that point, saving that woman the men had planned to essentially torture.

Khonshu adjusted his grip on you, brushing the blood rivulets from your face with his wrapped fingers.

The car alarm finally silenced, and Khonshu was aware of frantic shouting heard--the young woman and others. The siren of a police car could be heard getting closer and closer.

"Hurry!" He heard the woman shout. "I think I saw them drag her this way!"

He leapt up into the sky, perching with you still draped in his arm as he watches the woman scream, her mouth agape in horror at the scene as several other concerned patrons and citizens rushed into the alley where you had been moments before.

Khonshu huffed to himself, feeling pride in the fact that there were still some people willing to come to the aid of strangers who needed or--or at least, whom they thought needed it.

Justice, he felt, was served this night. The young woman could go home safe, only mourning the loss of her shirt. The men you had felt watching you were not sizing you up out of malicious intent--but because they saw a young woman alone in the dead of night in an unfamiliar location. They were concerned for your safety.

Bodies were collected, the living transported to the hospital.

Khonshu knew the mortals would find out that the men you'd fought had careers stretching well into their youths. They had become so confident in their abilities that they willingly left DNA in the women and young girls they would drug and abduct--and in some cases, killing and dumping.

The city would rest easier from now on, knowing three monsters had been dealt with. Justice had been served.

The first thing you were aware of was the feeling of sand beneath your feet; the grains shifting to flutter over your skin and slide between your toes.

Your breath leaves you in a ragged gasp as you look up, and see the walls of a narrow canyon stretch for untold lengths up into the sky--the faint ribbon of blue almost invisible from how high it was from you. You look ahead, and behind, nothing but the rocks and sand to greet you.

Your feet feel like lead weights as you walk on into the canyon; "H-Hello?" You called out desperately, wrapping your arms around yourself.

"Is anybody there?"

The further you walked, the colder it got and the more the canyon seemed to close in on you. When the canyon began to squeeze down on your shoulders, you turned to try and flee back the way you came; panicked and scared.

But, the way had changed. It was just as narrow as the way you had been headed. You felt a sob creep into your throat as you pressed on; headed forward once again, no choice but to endure as it squeezed you more, and more, and more...

Until you couldn't breathe. You flailed, and screamed, trying to get something--somebody--to come and save you.

But your squirming only made it worse; you felt the sand shift beneath you, flooding the canyon like water as gnarled, withered hands began poking out of the roiling dunes to claw at your skin, grabbing onto your dress and staining it with their dirty fingers.

You screamed again as the hands closed around your face, beginning to cover your nose and mouth, until only one of your tear-filled eyes stared at the sliver of sky above you.

And when you blinked, you were on your hands and knees in a temple.

You patted your body down, checking for any injury; and, upon finding none, you sighed with relief, staring up at the statue before you.

You say like that for however long had passed, watching as the paint and gold began to flake away into a decrepit, withered facsimile of what it had been moments before; blood dripping from the eyes and flowing like a stream towards you.

You panicked again, shuffling to your feet as you turned to run.

But as you did, something hit you so quickly it was a blur--the air punched from your lungs in a sharp gasp.

You retained your footing, and when you looked down you saw it. The blood from the statue running between your feet like a swollen creek breaching its banks, as red as the blood that seeped out and soaked through the white dress you were wearing; dripping down your body from where your belly had been so callously... stabbed? Sliced?

You didn't know, all you know is that you were frantic, trying to stop the bleeding even as you fell to your knees.

Your body was growing colder, your vision going dark around the edges as your essence seeped from you like a flood.

Everything around you sounded muffled, like you were under water.

You could just barely make out a voice, so soft and almost inaudible:

"I'm sorry. I do love you."

Chapter 15: Link

#moon knight #Nothing Is Lost #khonshu x reader #khonshu x you #Khonshu #khonshu moon knight #Moon Knight khonshu

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six-improbable-things · 11 months ago

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I just finished The Traitor Baru Cormorant, and holy fucking shit. I’m going to be haunted for a WHILE about this one. I was so invested…

If you support Women’s Wrongs and like protagonists who are definitely not the good guys, and want to be emotionally destroyed at least 8 times, highly recommend. (Also if you like political intrigue and stories about characters leading rebellions that actually look at what it takes (mentally, physically, financially, all of it) to lead a rebellion.)

(Very heavy tw for colonial bullshit and all that entails if you choose to read the book. (Eugenics, forced sterilization, homophobia and conversion therapy, torture, brainwashing/extreme conditioning, and allusions to corrective rape, among other things.))

Baru, Baru, Baru…. What can I possibly say other than “fuck you”. (/pos) Every time I got attached to one of your companions, they died. (BY YOUR HAND.)

#morrigan.text #morrigan reads #the traitor baru cormorant

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dixonsdarkelf · 9 months ago

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Finding Myself, Finding You: Chapter Fifteen

Main masterlist Series masterlist AO3 link Wattpad link

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist <3 (18+ only, MDNI)

Story is 18+ for mature content/themes, minors do not interact please

TW/CWs for this story--implied/referenced past rape, canonical violence, non-canonical violence, blood, gore, referenced past suicide, swearing, surgery, excessive drinking, nightmares, panic attacks, mention of scars, vomiting, amputation, medical procedures, non-con medical procedures, referenced past medical torture, referenced past drugging, attempted sexual assault, panic attacks, mental health struggles, referenced sibling death, referenced parent death

Each chapter will have its own TW/CWs listed

This story, Lydia Vector, her family & bestie (c) me, dixonsdarkelf

TWD & its characters (c) AMC & Robert Kirkman, the writer of the comic series

TW/CWs for this chapter--swearing, discussion of past suicide, discussion of parent death (suicide, house fire), mention of scars (Daryl's), medical procedure (stitches), blood, allusion to child abuse (Daryl's), men being creepy, reference to sibling death, we got some big emotions in this one

Word count: 3.3k

Daryl and I began to get much closer after that second run. Eating dinner together became sort of a ritual of ours, other than the nights Daryl had duty in the watchtower. At first, it was him in the chair and me on the far end of the couch as I didn’t want to spook him. He never explicitly said it, but I got the vibe that he wasn’t big on physical touch. He always maintained at least a few feet distance between us, never getting too close. Eventually, I tested the waters and sat on the end of the couch closer to him, and that’d been our dinner arrangement ever since. Over the next few weeks, Rick had us go out on more runs. It was strange to me that I always heard about them from Daryl and never from Rick. I didn’t want to do anything that could get me in trouble, like leaving the sanctity of the walls when I wasn’t supposed to, but I was simply following instructions that I was told came from our fearless cowboy leader.

I joined Daryl once when he was working on his bike, and he showed me some stuff about it. Though he was so beautiful that day, I’ll admit, it was hard for me to keep focus. He was wearing one of his classic button-ups with the sleeves cut off, that angel-wing vest he loved so much, and a pair of ripped jeans that hugged his body just right. It was warm, so he was sweating buckets. I was practically drooling as I watched his arm muscles flex and relax as he worked. The way he glistened with sweat, the little hints of joy I heard in his voice as he talked to me about his motorcycle, his gorgeous accent…he was mesmerizing.

He still came and checked on me every night after I fell out of bed, another ritual of ours I suppose. It had evolved to a point where I would stay lying on the floor and give a thumbs up over the side of the bed when I heard the door open, then he’d leave. We’d sometimes spend mornings together, but usually one of us was always up and out before the other was awake, or if Daryl had overnight watch, he’d be just going to sleep when I got up. Typically, the one who got up first made coffee and left the rest out for the other. Sometimes, if he was coming back from an overnight watch, I’d wake up and go downstairs to find the pot just finishing up brewing.

It was obvious one of Daryl’s love languages was acts of service. He didn’t so much have a way with words, but damn he was good at showing how much he cared. Not just towards me, but the way he cared about the whole of Alexandria. He was always volunteering to go on watch, runs, hunts, you name it. He cared so much about the people here and would do whatever he needed to do to make sure we were all safe and protected. And that only made me fall for him even harder.

Though he typically wasn’t one for expressing his emotions with words, there was one morning when he left me a note. I came downstairs, and he was already out as he had gate duty all day. He had poured me coffee in a white mug with daisies on it that I once casually mentioned was my favorite mug of the ones in the cabinet, and there was a short but sweet note with it.

Have the best day See you at dinner

I kept the note folded up in the back of my notebook where I kept some photos and a note from my brother.

Today, Daryl was teaching me how to hunt. Well, it was the start of that process. First, there was target practice. And I was getting to pick up and shoot that infamous crossbow.

Daryl had carved an X for a target on a tree, and my goal was to hit as dead center as I could. I knelt on one knee behind a fallen tree, which I was instructed to use to steady the crossbow and practice that way first. I could throw a knife over my shoulder and hit a walker square in the forehead. How hard could a crossbow be?

“Does this thing have recoil?” I asked as he handed it to me, “wow, it’s lighter than I thought it’d be.” I flipped the bow around and examined it, running my fingers over its smooth surface but was careful to make sure I didn’t touch anything that looked like a lever or a button. Didn’t wanna go causing any accidents right out the gate.

“Hardly any,” Daryl said, kneeling next to me. We were almost shoulder-to-shoulder. This was the closest we’d ever been, and I could feel the butterflies in my stomach breaking free and trying to crawl their way up my throat.

“You ever kill anyone with this thing?” I asked.

“Yeah. Sometimes, people are more dangerous than them walkers,” he explained, and I nodded. I was all too familiar with the dangers of other human beings during the end of the world.

“I know what you mean,” I replied. I rested the bow on the fallen tree and kept my gaze on the X carved into the tree in front of me. “I’ve never killed anyone. I don’t know if I could. It goes against the oath I took.”

"Hate to burst your bubble, but that don't matter no more."

“I guess not,” I shrugged, “but enough of that, let’s get to practicing.”

“‘lax your shoulders,” he said, gently placing his hands on both of my shoulders and lightly pressing to help me relax them. This was the first time he’d touched me on purpose. My stomach dropped like I was on a rollercoaster. “Geez, you’re tense woman.”

I wouldn’t be so tense if you didn’t make me so nervous, I thought. I propped the crossbow up onto my shoulder like I’d seen Daryl do a thousand times.

“It’s no good if ya don’t load it,” he said. He picked a bolt off of the front of it and reached around me to load it. His arm rested against my back as he strapped the bolt in. It was like he was testing the boundaries of physical closeness, though I didn’t know whether it was mine or his that he was testing. But I didn’t mind one bit. I steadied the bow on my shoulder and the fallen tree, aiming it at my target.

“Ya really gotta relax,” Daryl said, “can’t have this gettin’ in the way neither.” He took the end of my ponytail and draped my hair over my opposite shoulder, “damn, ya hair’s real soft.” I felt myself melting into a puddle, and my hands started to shake a bit as my heart rate picked up.

“Thank you. I grew it all by myself,” I laughed.

“How long'd it take ya to grow it out?”

“Oh God, I think the last time I got a drastic haircut was when I was like 13,” I explained, “sometimes I think about chopping it all off because it gets in my way so much. And it feels like it weighs 20 pounds when it’s wet.”

“Ya should keep it long. Looks good.” I smiled and looked down at the ground, trying to hide that I was obviously turning red.

“Thanks,” I said. I took a deep breath and tried to steady myself again.

“Hey, you’re shakin’,” Daryl said, placing a hand on my shoulder in an effort to help me relax, “just take a breath. You’re good.” His voice was soft, soothing, and calming. Still laced with his gravely accent, but there was genuine caring and compassion behind his words.

“Nervous jitters I guess,” I said, taking another deep breath in through my nose. I lied straight through my teeth.

“Alright, look through the scope and aim it at the target,” he said. He kept his hand on my shoulder.

“Looks easy enough,” I said, perhaps a little too confidently as I did as he instructed.

“Once ya got it lined up, ya just pull the lever on the bottom,” Daryl explained, “helps if ya breathe out when ya do it.” I took a deep breath and fired, exhaling like he told me to. The bolt went flying right past the tree, not even grazing it. It landed far off in the grass somewhere I couldn’t see.

“I stand corrected on it looking easy,” I said, feeling horrifically embarrassed, “I missed the tree completely. How did I even do that?”

“It happens. Gotta get used to holdin’ it still. C’mon, I’ll show ya how to load it.” He gestured for me to hand his bow to him.

“At this point, I’ll just be happy to hit the tree at all,” I said, giggling a little to try to make myself feel better.

That’s how we spent the next couple of hours. Me attempting to hit the tree, somehow missing it completely or just grazing it, which was starting to feel like a win, and trying to find the bolts in the grass. He never seemed to get impatient or frustrated with me, even when I was starting to get frustrated with myself. He reassured me, helped me set up and reload, and tried to help me feel more confident.

After what felt like an eternity, I finally did it. I hit the very outskirts of the giant X target, but I hit it nonetheless. I about jumped into the air with how excited I was.

“Oh my God, I did it!” I cheered, nearly dropping the crossbow to the ground in surprise. A gigantic grin spread across my face as I looked at Daryl. “I did it!”

“Knew ya could do it,” he congratulated. He had reached out and was stroking the back of my arm with his fingers. His touch was so light, it felt like being tickled with a feather. I could feel goosebumps forming, but thankfully, my sleeve hid them. “Think that’s the first time I seen ya do that too.”

I looked at him with a puzzled expression. “Seen me do what?”

“Smile like that.” It occurred to me that he was referring to the fact that I was smiling with my teeth out. And he was right—this was the first time I’d smiled like that in months.

That evening, I found myself working late in the infirmary. A couple of the kids had gotten into a fight, and while their injuries weren’t too bad, they still required attention. A couple of scraped knees and small cuts later, I was supposed to be going home for the evening, but as I was getting ready to leave, the infirmary door swung open one last time, and in came Daryl. He’d been covering gate duty for a couple of hours, and I figured he must’ve seen the infirmary light on and came to check on me.

“Hey, there’s my little Georgia peach,” I said, giving him a big smile. He looked at me with a solemn face, which concerned me a little. “Daryl…are you ok?” He didn’t say anything at first. He simply kept eye contact with me as he stepped closer.

“I, uh, need your help with somethin’,” he said. He took his bow off of his back and turned around. There was a sizable gash across his mid-back, his clothes stained with dried blood.

“Jesus, get your ass up here,” I ordered, gesturing to the exam table. I started grabbing things like gloves and antiseptic. “What the hell happened?”

“Couple of ‘em pricks was talkin’ ‘bout ya,” he said as he sat down on the table and scooted back to the edge. I froze and swallowed hard. I hadn’t really gotten to know any of the men who typically had gate duty, and the only times I saw them were when I was coming and going through the gate, and I was always with Daryl.

“You got this defending me? Jesus, I’m so sorry. I feel awful.” I continued grabbing everything I would need, like cotton pads, medical tape, tools for stitches, and antibiotics.

“Nah, jackasses had it comin’.”

“What did you do to them?”

“Roughed ‘em up a bit. Let ‘em know not to say nothin’ like that ‘gain,” Daryl explained.

“Do I wanna know what they were saying about me?”

“Probably not. Bein’ a buncha creeps.” The never-ending list of things they could’ve been saying swirled through my mind, and I felt sick. I suppressed the nausea that quickly made its home in my stomach.

“Great. Just when I was starting to feel safe here,” I sighed. I thought I’d finally found a place away from the prying eyes of creepy men, but unfortunately, I was wrong.

Daryl looked back over his shoulder at me with kind eyes. “Don’t worry. I won’t let ‘em give ya any trouble.” I gave him a smile and a nod.

“Alright, I need you to take your shirt off. Then I’m gonna clean it and stitch it up. I’ll talk you through each step so you know what to expect since you can’t see it,” I explained. I slipped my gloves on after washing my hands thoroughly and scooted a stool over with my foot so I would sit higher up. Daryl fidgeted a little on the table, and he seemed nervous. I could tell he was in pain from his injury, but something else seemed to be bothering him.

“If you’re not comfortable taking your shirt off, that’s ok. I just need you to lift it enough so I can work,” I said, “don’t wanna go stitching your shirt to your back.” To my surprise, he lifted his shirt up and off over his head, letting it slide down his arms into his lap.

When he did, I understood why I’d never seen Daryl shirtless before.

There were scars all across his back. Not the kind of scars you’d get from being in a motorcycle or car accident, or burn scars, or from taking a really bad tumble as a kid. No, these scars were intentionally inflicted by another person. My heart shattered, but I kept my composure.

How could someone do something so awful to someone so good?

I made sure to utilize my calming bedside manner voice. “There is nothing to be embarrassed about. I have seen anything you can possibly imagine. Plus, I have scars of my own. I know better than to ask about anyone else's."

I grabbed a cloth soaked with some warm water so I could clean up some of the dried blood, and I gently started rubbing it on his back. “I’m gonna try to get as much of this dried blood off as I can.” He tensed a little bit under my touch, so I tried my best to be even lighter, but I could only press so lightly while still getting the blood off. I decided to clean just enough around the wound to make the process quicker, and he could take care of the rest when he showered.

“Alright, I have to clean it now so it won’t get infected. I won’t lie, this is going to sting a little. But I’m just taking a cotton pad with some antiseptic and patting around it,” I explained. I started patting his wound with the cotton pad, and he flinched just a tiny bit. I placed my other hand on his arm and stroked it gently with my thumb. “Hey, you’re ok. You’re doing great.” As I stroked his arm, I felt him start to relax.

My heart was breaking for him. The sensation of the antiseptic in his open wound must’ve felt similar to whatever created the scars on his back. I tried to think of something to talk about to distract him.

“I like your tattoo, Daryl,” I said, “does it mean anything?”

“Jus’ thought it looked cool,” he replied.

“I actually have a few tattoos of my own,” I told him, “I know, there’s something you didn’t know about me. I have a sternum piece with flowers on it, bumblebees on the back of each of my thighs, and a bouquet of daisies on the front of my right hip. I liked the idea of having tattoos that only certain people get to see. People that I get to choose." I hoped that, maybe one day, I’d get to show Daryl my tattoos. I set the cotton pad on the table next to him. “I’m done cleaning it now. Could you straighten up for me? I’m gonna stitch it up now. It’ll probably hurt a little, but it won’t burn like the antiseptic did.”

"They mean anythin'?" he asked as he sat up straight.

"I really like sternum pieces, so that's why I got that one. Daisies are my favorite flower, and the bumblebees are for my mom.” I got to work stitching him up as I talked. “Gardening was her favorite hobby, and we had a huge one in our backyard growing up. She taught my brothers and I about the different kinds of pollinators and how important they were. Bumblebees were her favorite. I got them a couple of years after she passed.”

“Lost my mom too,” Daryl said. It was the first time he’d mentioned his mom in any capacity. “What happened to her? If you’re ok talkin’ ‘bout it.”

“She umm…she killed herself a couple of months after Preston died. Hung herself in his closet. My dad was the one that found her.” I blinked back some tears. Stitching up someone’s wound was not the time to be crying. “Her mental health really declined after his passing. I mean, all of ours did, but hers was the worst. She couldn't stand losing one of her children, so she left the other three behind. At least that's what it felt like. The anger stage of my grief lasted a very, very long time.”

There was a heaviness that hung in the air as I finished stitching his wound. It felt suffocating, like it was a heavy weight pressing on my chest. I lowered the volume of my voice a little to keep myself from crying. “Alright, I’ve just gotta wrap it up and you’re done.”

“Mine was a house fire,” he started to explain, and as he talked, I continued wrapping his wound, using as gentle of a touch as I could and offering small comforting pats and strokes in between. I felt his muscles continue to relax into my hands as I worked. “I was a kid. Ran home after we saw fire trucks comin’ down the street. Finally caught up to the other kids and saw it was my house. Mom was inside. Some combo of her wine ’n smokes. Didn’t feel real for a long time.” Before I finished patching him up, I ran my hands over the back of his arms and offered small squeezes, like tiny hugs from my fingers. This was by far the most vulnerable he’d been around me, and I wanted to make sure he felt safe, seen, and comforted.

“I’m so sorry Daryl. You didn’t deserve for that to happen.”

"Didn’t deserve yours neither.” I ran my fingers over and flattened out the last piece of medical tape.

“There we go, you’re all patched up now,” I said, grabbing a small bottle of antibiotics and handing it to him. “you’ll have to change the dressing every day. I can help you with that. And you’ll have to take those for like a week. Make sure you stay on top of that.”

“Do I gotta? Didn’t think it was that bad,” he said, flipping the little orange bottle around in his hand.

I sat myself up on the exam table next to him, “Daryl, what kind of doctor would I be if I let you get an infection?”

Taglist: @raddydaddydude

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danses-with-dogmeat · 2 years ago

Text

Day 12 -- Caesar

The (nsfw) details for Kinktober 2023, Day 12 are just below the cut!

Minors, please don’t interact.

Somnophilia with Caesar x F!Six

Caesar is... super creepy and bad overall. Just had to put that out there. He's a bad guy, a very shitty person, and this is him still being shitty and bad.

That being said... he is pretty interesting to write for? Just the way that a person's mind, when they are practically deified, can become so egotistical as to think that the universe literally revolves around them and their experiences was just... wild to explore.

Anywho, I hope y'all like it?

This is another one though, DEFINITELY read the included for a whole SLEW of TWs.

Here is the link to my Kinktober 2023 Event List so you can stay up-to-date, or re-visit these works as you please.

Included: (nonconsensual) Somnophilia, medical play, noncon/rape, aphrodisiacs, slavery, legion bullshit, entitlement & ego, restraints, (really) possessive sex, unhealthy relationships, obsession, allusions to erectile dysfunction, painful sex, breeding kink, purity kink, delusional and misogynistic Caesar, creampie, (author approves of absolutely none of this at all).

Words: 4k

“She looks so innocent this way, so… vulnerable. But I suppose that’s what sleep is, isn’t it? Vulnerability… You know,” Caesar ran his fingers over the sleeping courier’s arm, keeping his gaze locked to her peaceful expression, even as his head turned to better address Siri, where she stood across from him in the extended room of his tent. “Most social species understand this very idea. They post sentries for the pack while the others sleep, while they are exposed, unable to resist any fate which may befall them whilst they’re unconscious… A shame the courier didn’t have the option, nor the social resources, to take such measures. Hmm... When will she wake?”

He spoke still without looking at the slave. Siri need not be paid any mind, as she was merely the administrator, the examiner, and now her job was finished. Now, he and Six could be alone.

Finally.

“Soon.” She answered him quickly. “The herbal mixture should pass through her system in the next half hour, or so. Shouldn’t be longer than that, surely. Though, it’s not always easy to tell when–”

“Enough. That answer was adequate, I don’t need to hear your rambling. Is mine ready yet?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted before she could utter so much as a word.

“A simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ will suffice. I don’t need every ingredient involved, or your life’s story.”

“Yes.” Siri’s voice was monotone. Unemotive, but unbothered.

It wasn’t like this sort of interaction was uncommon.

And Caesar… while he appreciated her function in his society, he’d never taken a particular liking to her. One thing was certain now, though. She didn't envy Courier Six.

“Good. You’re permitted to leave.”

She nodded to him, almost more akin to a bow, and moved to take her leave, before his cold voice stopped her once more.

“Oh, and Siri? Tell the others I’m not to be disturbed.”

One more affirming nod, and the tent flaps opened to allow her through. As they fluttered to a close, Caesar tore himself from Six’s table and went to take the herbal mixture Siri had left him into his hand. He swirled it around curiously in the mortar she’d prepared, before downing the bitter potion with a grimace.

The taste may have been rather grotesque, but the effect of the mixture was near immediate. Or perhaps it was merely placebo, but it mattered not. If it worked, who was he to care?

Caesar sighed aloud as he felt his body physically warm, his spine tingling as an anticipatory feeling settled deep in his gut. It was almost as though he could feel the way his pupils dilated, the way his blood ran hotter and faster through his veins.

The absence of pain was a boon as well, particularly in his head. He’d often considered utilizing this mixture’s effects on his worst headache days for that reason, but there were… adverse symptoms to consider.

Symptoms which he now planned on taking full advantage of.

“You have managed to do the near impossible, my pet.” He spoke now to the unconscious Six, strapped down on the medical cot she’d been examined upon. His voice was low, strained with a growing intensity of feeling, of the sensations roiling within him. Caesar was relieved no one was here to witness the way he was, so quickly, becoming undone.

“You…” Caesar paused to pant out a few heavy breaths, trying to keep from becoming completely overwhelmed at the licentious feelings spiraling through him, the promiscuous thoughts that barricaded his usually composed and aplomb mind. “You have surprised me. Quite the feat, I know.”

He approached her now, prowling like a possessed animal until he could brace his stiff hands on the side of the cot, and then run his fingers over her bare side.

Naked women in the Legion were about as common as clothed ones in any other society, but even still, to look upon the courier so wholly… The delicacy of it had his mouth watering, had his tongue wanting for a taste of what was now his.

Scars small and large littered her otherwise delicate skin, her muscles were toned from surviving in this harsh land, like many of the slaves they kept on such a rigorous schedule of serving. But even still… there was something alluring about her… unremarkable visage. Perhaps it was that she was a dead woman walking, as surreal to gaze upon as a ghost, but no less beautiful than a dancing spirit, however haunting one might be. She was the one, the point zero one percentile, that could evidently survive anything the wasteland threw her way. It was admirable; her tenacity, her cunning, the way she’d tried to betray him… her innocence too, was something he found tasteful.

Of course he’d been tracking her every move, having Vulpes or another Frumentarius listen in on her conversations. If he was ever going to trust her, he needed to know where her loyalties lay.

Caesar would never trust her though. Trust is a fickle thing that would just as soon stab you in the back as promise to be in your life forevermore.

No, but if he could control her… Then he could explore this curiosity of his, he could understand her, inside and out. She could be his.

All he needed was this. Siri to put her under, to do an examination, ensure she had no wasteland diseases she could give him, no seed of a previous partner already festering inside her, where only he belonged.

But the girl had come up clean. So clean, in fact, the minx had him wondering if she was pure… Oh, to be this creature’s first… To take something from this extraordinary person that can never be returned to her, and make it– make her– his own.

You’d have to be a fool not to see that Six was created for him, brought to him like fate delivers years upon the living; inevitably, forcefully, demanding your attention. Their meeting was as certain as the sunrise, as notable as the stars, and he’d known, from that moment, when he saw the twin scars upon her forehead, when he felt his pain pulse cripplingly in that very same spot within himself that he saw marked upon her… Caesar knew that their futures were tied with one another with so many bounds of rope.

“Now…” He continued speaking to her in hushed tones, his voice rough from the climbing arousal spreading through his body. “Now I will make you mine.”

His hands had been exploring her all the while Caesar was in his thoughts, dragging his shaking fingers over her smooth torso, her lower stomach, up to her shapely throat, her full breasts. Those, he paid particular attention to, noting the way he felt his cock begin to swell, with more than just what the herbs provided him.

A rare talent indeed.

He’d thought maybe it would be worth seeing if she could keep him hard all on her own, if she could get him all the way through his climax… But the herbs became more attractive when he remembered how long they lasted.

If only her own medication lasted longer. I like her this way. Pliant, yielding. Unable to interrupt me or refuse me at every turn.

There was a certain appeal to her resistance of him, the fire in her, and she chose to showcase it with her words and wit more so than with physicality, which was refreshing, but he wanted to at least be able to get her ready for him without such a fuss.

Six was tied down, so he didn’t fear too much unwillingness from her in that sense, but she was strong-willed, and would fight the arousal Caesar was bound to bring her, and if she truly was innocent, well…

He’d rather not have her in pain. As much as that sort of discipline worked wonders on their slaves, Six was his, not the Legion’s. He would not have her completely broken before she’s able to properly serve.

In time, who knows? She may come to have affection for him. Caesar knows that the possibility is there from the feelings he often finds festering within himself on those sleepless nights he thinks of her; the conversations they’ve had buzzing about his aching head, her expressions, the annoyed ones and the inquisitive ones, her anger and her mirth.

Caesar looked forward to the myriad of looks he would be privy to tonight.

Without further preamble, the Legion leader set his sights between her slightly spread legs. The bonds were holding her knees wide enough apart for him to slot his hips between them, but there would be time enough for that soon…

First, he set a finger upon her, starting at her entrance and smoothing the pad of it between her lower lips until he felt the point of her clit. She was still slick from the jelly Siri had used to examine her, but he could do better.

Raising that same hand to his nose, Caesar took a deep inhale and felt his limbs shake with anticipation as her musky, sweet scent curled around him until he could all but taste it. He was almost tempted to drink from the source, as it were, but that was for a night when she’d earned it, for when he was feeling more patient, and his erection wasn’t practically ripping a hole in his tunic.

No, he decided. Just his hands, for now.

Before he carried on, Caesar adjusted the bed that way he’d seen Siri do it, dropping it to be perfectly level with his hips.

It was orgasmic already, the way his head didn’t ache, the way the most discomfort he could feel was emanating from his swollen cock, and that too, would soon be rectified.

Caesar’s hand returned to her then, two fingers stroking around her folds, spreading the moisture that was already there down to her entrance and back up to brush over her sensitive little nub. Sparingly, he rubbed there with his thumb as well, until he felt it begin to swell under his touch and saw the way her hips twitched unconsciously upwards in her sleep. Usually, Caesar would never opt to give a woman pleasure this way. She was meant to derive it from ‘the bliss of servitude,’ but he knew it was bullshit. It was meant to demean them, and give his men an excuse not to be too distracted by the slaves here. They were meant to be used, not fallen in love with, not doted over, not pleased.

Six was his, though, and while he would discipline her the way he might a slave at first, he also planned on rewarding her when she was deserving of it.

Six’s breathing picked up in her sleep, and Caesar looked on with intensity at the way her brows furrowed over her closed eyes, the way her breasts jostled with every breath, the way her muscles tensed beneath his attentions. He licked his lips at the sight of it, at the feeling of her own unique wetness beginning to gather over his prodding fingers.

No more waiting. Caesar told himself, and pulled his hand away, scowling at the way her movements ceased, her breath slowed again.

She’ll be awake any minute.

Caesar stepped back to pull apart his tunic, moving the folds so he could reveal his erection to his unconscious companion. He hissed as the moist tip met the cool air of the Mojave night, and felt goosebumps erupt over his arms and the back of his neck at the sensitizing feeling. Trembling slightly, the leader stepped forward, his hand shaking as it guided the broad head of his cock to her little entrance. Six’s lower lips were dark with arousal that he dreamed mirrored his own, as he noted the dark color encasing his member, the way his own pre-arousal leaked from the weeping slit.

“Tu eris bonum mihi, meus deliciae, won’t you? My Six…”

It wasn’t often he became sentimental, least of all with women, but this… Caesar wished he could document it somehow. It felt pivotal, significantes, Homeric… fateful.

There were no proper words to describe the overwhelming feeling of one’s fate being fulfilled, of two destinies intertwining for the first time, when it was bound to have been planned out from the very dawn of the ages of man, and of the earth itself.

Perhaps he could request a painting from one of his more talented artists to commemorate an event such as this…

She was warm against him as he rubbed the tip of his length along her folds, not wishing to stall, but not wanting to rush through this process either. It would only happen once, after all. Especially if this was the moment in which he was stripping her purity away, in favor of endowing her with the honor of his occupancy en perpetuum.

With that thought fresh and desirable in his mind, Caesar slotted the head of his cock against her opening, pushing forward an inconsequential smidge, to the feeling of only a little resistance on her part.

A good sign.

A sigh escaped him as he gripped his cock more firmly with his hand, the other resting on her hip, his fingers sinking and dimpling the skin there.

She will accept me.

His eyes stayed trained between her legs as he began to unreservedly press inside. The movement only grows in its unyielding nature, as he feels her entrance stretch around him, as her walls expand to take his very shape. Like the artists of old, Caesar took her body like a slab of marble, etching his name into her, shaping and molding her to the image he perceived, to the one he desired. Her face was a work of art in and of itself, as Six’s eyes finally fluttered open, the color of them startlingly vivid as her gaze met with his. It was hazy with her fatigue, but her brows were drawn together in what he could only determine as discomfort.

It was all he could hope for.

Six waking up just as he settled completely within her. She was utterly full of him, and her breath hitched as the image she was met with made sense in her fatigued mind, as it melded with the sensations of her body.

She was likely to be sore already, what with Siri’s thorough examination, but after his anticipated attentions, Six would be lucky if she could stand in the morning.

With that smug thought, Caesar wrapped both hands around the swell of her hips, and hauled himself out until only the tip of his cock remained. Six’s eyes widened and glistened at her waterline as she felt the drag of him leaving her, and then, he slammed back in. It was with distinct effort that Caesar kept himself from repeating that euphoric action immediately and with even greater vigor.

Just once is enough. For now.

No breaking her. His cross mind reminded him. We have time.

“W-wha.. The hell?”

Six’s voice was weak, slurred a bit from her groggy awakening, but Caesar paid her no mind, only kept his eyes trailing hungrily over her form as he pulled back and delivered another dizzying thrust into her. Though this time, he did force himself to hold back, to move more slowly, despite the herb-enhanced sensations urging him on, on, on.

“F-fuck, what the hell? What are you doing?”

The pain of his last invasion seemed to spike her into reality faster than was usual with the medication she’d been given. Caesar couldn’t complain though. Not now that he was firmly within her, not now that his plans were in full motion.

“Taking what is mine by right. Lex nostra est. You are a woman in the Legion, what did you expect?” He spoke to her almost passively as he continued focusing on the physical, the bliss sparking through his doped up body as his pace steadily increased.

Truly, Caesar was being quite polite in terms of the Legion. He’d warmed her up, he was taking his time, he didn’t punish her for the way she spoke to him, so out of turn.

Others in her position likely would have been on their way to a cross by now.

Due to the circumstances though, Caesar would allow his Six a few select liberties. For now.

“Yours by– goddamn it, I never should’ve– Ah, fuck, get off of me!”

A panic seemed to set in, and she shouted rather dramatically as she strained against the ties that held her firmly to the cot.

“I’m serious, you asshole, get off of me now!”

Caesar paused in his thrusting, feeling the distinct pulse of his cock within her spasming walls as he panted heavily from above her struggling form.

“You command me?” He scoffed, “I don’t think so. Not here. Are you so blind as to not see it?”

Six's confused expression and distracted squirming were enough of an answer for him.

“The way that you belong with me?” He punctuated it with a violent surge of his hips against her, and Six's gaze locked to him with a gasp, as she fully ceased her struggles. Pure horror shone through her expression, disbelief and fear and disgust rampant in those vivid eyes, and Caesar had to keep from slapping her.

Am I really alone in my belief? It cannot be so…

Instead, he hiked his hips out of her until only his tip remained, and drove forward painfully until his hips smacked audibly against the skin of her ass. A yelp of pain left her throat unwillingly as he repeated the action, testing the strength of the cot’s bonds with every fervent, furious movement.

“You. Are. Mine.” Each word left him with a forceful buck of his hips, his teeth gritting together painfully as he felt his anger boil up inside him.

So be it. If breaking the ungrateful whore will get her attention, if it will force sense into her unreasoned mind and inject understanding into her stubbornness, then that is the sacrifice I will make.

The herbs he’d been given were known to do this as well, to increase all sensations, in addition to libido, to make one have less reservations, to feel emotions more vividly than usual.

Perhaps he should have saved a sip of the mixture for her. Maybe then her potential affections for him could've been forced to the surface.

“I’m not yours.” Six spat, crudely interrupting his thoughts as his gaze honed in on her: the way her fists clenched in pain against the metal sides of the cot, her gritted teeth, the tears running down over her temples, the veins bulging in her neck.

What a sight… If only she could understand.

“Are you a fool, Six?” Another painful thrust had the woman wincing away from him with tears in her eyes. “You truly believed you would be treated differently here? After you saw the other slaves, after Siri warned you what you might become if you stayed?”

“I d-don’t know… You talked to me, I thought…” She was starting to look confused now, some sort of female hysteria setting in and causing her to go numb, he was certain. It happened with many slaves during their breaking.

So soon though… maybe she’s not the spitfire I thought she was.

“I trusted you.” Six said with a snarl and a realization, and Caesar half-grinned at the savagery that rose within her in just that short moment.

Ahh, I thought too soon. Good.

“Get fucking off me! Can you just– I want to talk, we can discuss–”

“No, Six. I’m not leaving until you understand. Meus es.” He pushed forward then with finality, sinking into her more slowly as he let his body lay upon hers, his hands sliding up from her hips, grazing over her belly, up to both breasts, then to cage in her face from either side.

“You are mine.”

His grip tightened until he could feel her jaw tensing, feel the bones beneath the swell of her cheeks.

“Nothing you say or do from here onwards can change that. You have been mine, since I first heard your story.” He was still panting from his exertion, but his voice was less feverish now. The certainty of his resolve was plain within it. “A life as indestructible as yours, a mind so impenetrable, to mix with my brilliance, my power… We’ll be insurmountable.”

Six’s mouth hung open, maybe in shock, maybe in awe, and maybe those were just too similar to bother distinguishing between. Nonetheless, Caesar took advantage, and plunged his lips against hers, capturing her opened mouth with his tongue, conquering and swiftly pulling away before she had a chance to bite.

She would yield to him, in time. Already, his muse was doing beautifully. A fine mix of resistance and submission that had his cock swelling and his thoughts running wild with the possibilities.

He was growing close, and so, Caesar pulled away again, until he was fully out of her. The action– his absence– he hoped would make Six realize how she craved the feeling of him filling her. She would associate this gaping nothingness, the want that came with it, with her desire for him to remedy it, to make her feel whole once more.

Six needed him.

She had to see it that way, had to see that they would be unstoppable as a force, that the Legion was meant to thrive, with them leading the way. The future of this great faction lies within the realm of both of their responsibilities. She needed him to lead her and the faction both, needed him in order to become a mother, as he knew all women craved, and… He needed her as well. For the future of his faction, Caesar needed her to bear his heir before the pain in his mind took him for good.

She needed his intellect, he needed her wit. He craved the way she amused him, and she surely needed an audience.

They completed each other in every way possible, and that fact was evident, as Caesar reinserted himself and surged forward until he felt the very last resistance within her. Six cried out and her body tensed deliciously around him.

Instead of pulling away for another thrust, Caesar merely ground his hips against her, keeping himself buried as far as he could go and laying waste to the last barricade within her. She bucked her hips in discomfort beneath him, lost for words as she whined out incomprehensible expletives and writhed against the feeling of him within her.

Sweat beaded on Caesar’s forehead, lightning shot in bursts down his spine, and his hands gripped her hips until they were sure to leave marks there, but finally, he felt his bliss reach a peak, he felt himself tense up, felt his length swell further within her, and then he was bursting against that final, defensive rampart deep inside. Vise-like walls gripped him until he felt wrung of all his blistering, white seed as her body reacted favorably to his final claiming of her.

It took Caesar a moment before he could see or hear anything but bright, splotchy colors surrounding him with his explosive release, but when the fog began to clear from his head, when the last rope of spend leaked out from his eager slit, he heard the way Six moaned out his name.

Perhaps it was to curse him, to ask him one last time to get off of her, or maybe he had her. Maybe she’d come to realize all he said was true. Maybe now she knew she was his.

It didn’t matter too much to Caesar, regardless. If Six was cursing him or declaring her dedication to him, he would know her true colors in the coming months. For now, though, for tonight, it didn’t matter what she said or felt. She would grow used to this, in time.

Perhaps even by the end of the night. Caesar thought, and felt his blood begin to boil up again.

#fallout #fallout new vegas #fallout new vegas companions #fallout npc #fallout new vegas npcs #fallout nv #fonv #new vegas #caesars legion #caesar fonv #caesar #fnv #fnv courier #courier six #f!six #dwd.nsfw #kinktober 2023 #kinktober

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torchwood-99 · 1 year ago

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The Implications of Lord Rutledge

TW for discussions of racism, rape and slavery.

Something a lot of people seem to be glossing over in regards to LR is the implication of that scene where he "inspects" Marina, including asking to look at her teeth. This scene is totally disturbing regardless, and shows his interest in Marina is physical, and therefore Marina will be expected to perform her "marital duties" for an old man who treats her like a piece of flesh.

However, this scene has further connotations of slavery, as the dehumanising act of inspecting a person's teeth was practised by slave buyers (treating them like a horse.) Considering their respective races, the allusions to how Marina was viewed, what marriage would be like for her, what she would endure at his hands, and just how vile a man he was, are evident.

LR was not, nor ever was, a viable option for Marina.

#Bridgerton #Marina Thompson #Lord Rutledge #anti Penelope Featherington fans #because we know who this shit is coming from

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asterdisaster06 · 1 year ago

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Always An Angel

joel miller x gn!reader

summary > "You can call me a faithless slut if you like. I’ve taken a new lover. He can give me what you cannot,” You hiss.

“Death is not a lover,” Joel disputes.

“Oh yes he is,” You chuckle mirthlessly. “I am done with my own whorish heart and I have been for a long time. You talk about taking a stand but there is no stand to take.”

word count: 1.7k

TW > Major Suicide Ideation and allusions to it

a/n > i finished "The Road" by Cormac McCarthy recently and i was inspired

“Everything would be a lot easier if you fucking sat still,” You seeth, attempting to stitch Joel up after a run in with some rogue vagabonds.

“It’s not lethal, I’m fine,” He says with a wince as you tie it off with a little more force than necessary. Just to get your point across.

“I don’t know where we are, you look like hell, and I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” You heave - your stomach churning at the sight of his wound.

Your eyes fall to the stopped clock, every single one in this godforsaken land stopped at a different time. A small voice of desperation wonders how much energy it would take to fix them all, to return to the once taken for granted past. Ellie was asleep in the upstairs room; although asleep is an assumed white lie to make you two feel better. It’s more likely that she’s rifling through the bathroom cabinets for any medicine or keeping watch.

“I wish I was with Sarah,” You lamented.

“You mean you wish you were dead,” Joel growled, bristling at the very mention of her. As quickly as he gets riled up, he gets equally disheartened at the thought of that being your truth. He tries to sit up, and you give him credit that it almost worked, but he quickly relinquishes to the mortal limits his torn and scarred body gifts him. An unwanted present.

“Yes.”

“Don’t say that, don’t you dare say that, darling,” He almost begs, the slick of his own blood staining both of your hands. “We’re survivors,” Joel asserted, his grip on your hand weaker than usual. Almost as weak as this was making your heart.

“What in God’s name are you talking about? We are the farthest thing from that. Death is setting the table for us because it is inevitable; and honestly? I might bring him an early housewarming gift - a thank you for taking us in when nobody else will,” You cry out.

“I am begging you, for the love of- Please just hear me out.”

“No, I’m done. I don’t care. I don’t care if you cry, it doesn’t mean anything to me. Not anymore,” You jeered.

“Please, sugar.” Joel looked pathetic lying there - his complexion pale from blood loss and the salt and pepper sprinkled in his hair reminding you of all you’d been through together. His rough hands softened by the ichor flowing from the wound.

“Stop it,” You plead.

“I am begging, I’d do anything for you.”

You almost feel bad for him. Living cannot be easy, you know this as well as anyone. Living for yourself is ten times harder. You know this because you never would have come this far without Joel and Ellie. Your Joel. Your Ellie. Your only worldly possessions in this hell on earth. You challenge anyone to judge your wording when it’s the gospel truth that the bond between you three is the only tangible thing worth a damn to you anymore.

“Such as what? We should have done it a long time ago when there were still three bullets in the gun instead of two. The army of knaves that almost killed you, killed Ellie, killed me, will catch up to us eventually. You can’t be that naive to think they’re just going to give up on tracking us down after we killed some of their men. Or maybe you just are overconfident in my skills of concealment, which it would do you good to quickly dispel that delusion. I can guarantee you that they will find us. They will find us and they will kill us. They will rape me. They will rape her. They are going to rape us and kill us and eat us and you won’t face it. You’d rather wait for it to happen. But I can’t. I can’t,” You snarled, grieving over the life that could’ve been but never will.

Not anymore. You spat and swore and it is all for naught and you know that because there is nothing you can do about it. The sincerity of it is the only pure thing left in this world. It’s ironic enough to make you laugh, no matter how insane it makes you feel.

“Don’t fucking say that,” Joel rasps. A cursory retort that means very little to you at this point.

“Do you really think that? That we’d be better off dead?” A voice from the stairwell and you don’t even have to turn around to imagine the expression on her face right now. You knew that you’d been too loud and eventually she would come down to check on Joel and yourself.

“Maybe not you two, but we’ve been over this. I didn’t bring myself to this. I was brought. And now I’m done. I’m fucking done,” You sob, curling up into your own limbs stained red and metallic with the facts of your situation.

“That is so goddamn unfair of you. You don’t get to make that decision. Everyone I have cared for has either died or left me,” Ellie swore, “Everyone except for you. I can’t do it without you.”

The tears drive you over the fence, back into the world of the living. The pure anguish and agony you feel at that fact isn’t normal. You know that in the morning you will feel ashamed over your distress, but these are likely the last hours of your life that you can spend with these two by your side. You don’t know why you even patched Joel up - a silly, stupid, childlike hope that he could get you out of this scenario again because he was always the strong one. Always the one that knew what to do and now he’s on the verge of passing out. Or maybe it’s been an old habit ingrained into you for so long that you wouldn’t know what to do with your hands otherwise.

“I shouldn’t have even told you. That would probably have been best. We have two bullets and then what? Joel, you can’t protect us. You say you’d die for us but what good is that?” You sigh, the fight leaving you as quickly as it came. It took too much energy and hope to even argue.

“And giving up is any better?”

The blood roaring in your ears made it difficult to discern who even whispered that, but it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. None of it. Not anymore. They would come and you wouldn’t be able to stop them, and you weren’t sure you’d even try.

“I wouldn’t leave you,” Joel muttered.

“I don’t care. It’s meaningless. We used to talk about death, but not anymore. Why do you think that is?” You acknowledge.

“It’s because it’s here,” Ellie recites from behind you.

“You can call me a faithless slut if you like. I’ve taken a new lover. He can give me what you cannot,” You hiss.

“Death is not a lover,” Joel disputes.

“Oh yes he is,” You chuckle mirthlessly. “I am done with my own whorish heart and I have been for a long time. You talk about taking a stand but there is no stand to take.”

“For the love of God, darling. Give me the knife,” Joel stressed, reaching out and stumbling as he does so. It’s pathetic.

A flake of obsidian. Sharper than steel. The edge an atom thick. Joel had taught you himself. You kick the gun towards him, an absent look upon your face. Your facial expression betraying a sardonic sort of scorn. His eyes meet yours and search for anything radiant but comes up short of anything but sanguine. There was no argument left to be had. The nights spent debating with the earnestness of philosophers chained to a madhouse wall came to fruition on this night.

You leave with the fitting coldness of it being your final gift. You could hear Ellie begging Joel to make you come back, but it was all nil. Your heart was set. If you were going out, it wouldn’t be without a fight though. The cold dew brushing against your exposed skin as green blades slice up your ankles bring you back to the present. A punishment for forgetting the small moments of life that make it worth it, even if just a little bit.

You take a stand at the edge of the forest, perched in a tree. You sit there, finding comfort in the incommodious malaise. You were starving, exhausted, and cramped, but you refused to let the risk of them finding you while you sleep exist. Eventually the stomps of their footfalls give away their position and you find yourself on the move. An angel of death is what you are, slicing them down where they stand. Joel taught you well, not well enough to avoid all of their bullets or hatchets, but enough to stay standing long enough to make sure they all lay dead. Visceral brain matter and viscera laying, bodies butchered.

You knew that they wouldn’t leave you alone if you stayed in their territory - not now, not ever. You had to move, but you bought enough time for Joel and Ellie. That was all you could’ve asked for. A stray bullet whizzes past you, striking fear into your heart.

“I thought you were done,” Joel calls out from behind you. It was now that you could see he had taken down one last enemy you hadn’t spotted.

“Maybe I am,” You chuckle caustically.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” He sighs, taking your scathing words with a grain of salt. He knew you didn’t mean it anymore. It was simply the principle talking for you.

“I don’t want to be here anymore,” You speak, a mixture of the geographical locus and simply being in the living world lacing your reference.

“And yet you don’t want to leave, sugar,” Joel says. It was a gaudy assumption, but a true one nonetheless.

“We only have one bullet left,” You admise.

“You only have one life left. I know which one I’d rather keep,” Joel remarks.

He and eventually Ellie figure out that your threats and claims aren’t to be taken seriously, and that if you were to die it would be in a way that mattered. They share the same sentiment and have their own moments rivaling yours, but you’d never leave each other. Not like this. Not in a way that mattered.

#ao3 #fanfic #joel miller #joel tlou #tlou #ellie tlou #emotional angst #angst #angst with a happy ending #dark #joel miller x reader

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hopefulatrocity · 2 years ago

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From The Ashes-Chapter 11

Note: Oh gosh, I keep getting deep into these chapters, please note that these chapters are twice as big as the first chapters in this story so it's taking me a bit longer to pop them out. I'm sorry for the delay but I just want to make sure everything is perfect! Thank you @loganlostitall for beta reading!

Banners: @liminal_creations

Dividers: @firefly-graphics & @omiyours

Chapter CW/TW: Past rape/noncon, past child abuse/neglect, anxiety attack, depression, allusions to child loss, transphobia(Shane), Panic

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By the time Daryl, Kismet, and Pheonyx made it back to the farm, the sky was just starting to turn orange. The blazing heat from earlier had dulled to a barely tolerable simmer. Crickets were starting to sing their evening song and fireflies were beginning to float around the fields surrounding the farmhouse. Sometimes Pheonyx was amazed at how nature could continue on, and could remain so normal, despite the carnage and decay that had taken over the world.

Kismet walked lazily beside them, having worn himself out with all the walking and tracking throughout the day. He didn’t even wiggle when Pheonyx picked him up to lift him over the barbed wire at the outlet of the woods.

The three walked together until they reached the split rail fence that bordered half of the main yard of the house. Kismet ducked under the lowest rail and Pheonyx hopped over the fence with ease. Daryl landed beside him a moment later.

The area where the tents were erected that morning was quiet. Only a few of Daryl’s group were moving around, the majority of them were sitting around a small campfire where a large pot was being stirred by Glenn. Low conversation could be heard from the distance between the men and the group, nothing distinct but it was the sounds of multiple people that had Pheonyx’s muscles tensing. These people seemed okay–Shane excluded–he knew that. But he couldn’t help the instinctual reaction to turn tail and run back to the solace of the woods.

A furry head butted into his hand, forcing him to put his attention on the dog at his side, instead of the people congregating on the property.

Daryl had seen the difference in Pheonyx the moment the sounds of T-Dog, Glenn, Shane, and Andrea chatting floated over to them. The calm, relaxed man was suddenly stiff as a board and gripping the straps of his backpack with a white knuckle grip. Kismet made a small whine of concern and pushed himself into Pheonyx’s space, moving the man’s attention away from the campfire in the distance. His inked shoulders slumped a small bit, but the tension was still there.

Daryl felt the urge to chew his thumb, unsure of what to do, but both of his hands were occupied. One was gripping the strap of his crossbow. The other held an old beer bottle– he’d found it on the way back to the farm–that he was using as a vase for the Cherokee rose he picked for Carol. The rose Pheonyx had picked, and handed to him as a promise, was currently tucked in between the folds of the map resting in his breast pocket. Daryl didn’t understand why he did it. All he knew was that when he went to put both roses in the bottle for Carol, he couldn’t part with the smaller stemmed one. The way the younger man had handed it to him, offering words of hope, made an impact on him. He’d grown up around people who offered empty promises. Mama who said she’d stop drinking but never did. Pa who said he’d wouldn’t lay a hand on him anymore when he was sober. Merle who made a pact with him to never leave but not even a year later joined the military and left him alone. Social workers who promised to help him if he told the truth but never followed through. He’d learned not to trust promises. They always lead to heartbreak. But the way Pheonyx had looked at him, had spoken softly and told him that they would find Sophia, made Daryl believe him. He knew, even if they didn’t find the girl, Pheonyx would do everything in his power to try. When he was holding Pheonyx’s rose, he knew he couldn’t give it away. So, when Pheonyx wasn’t looking, he’d pulled out the folded map, and stuck the rose between the thin creases. The map-slightly thicker than it had been before- resting against his chest offered a piece of comfort that hadn’t been there before.

“‘M gonna talk to Carol. Tell ‘er what we found. Do ya-”, Daryl paused, not sure of how to ask. “She might like ta hear ‘bout the bag. Give ‘er some hope. Might be better comin’ from ya.”

Pulling his eyes from the campfire in the distance, Pheonyx took a moment to register what Daryl said. He nodded, grateful for the distraction. The older man inclined his head away from the tent area towards the RV his group brought. Thankfully, it was in the opposite direction of the camp. They began to walk over that way, with Kismet trotting on their heels. As they got closer, a figure appeared on the RV. The man with the bucket hat, Dale, was sitting on top of the large vehicle in a beach chair. He had a hunting rifle in his lap and was looking out into the fields with a pair of binoculars. A little bit of the anxiety in his stomach, the kind that constantly gnaws at his gut no matter the circumstances, lifted. Having someone on lookout for shadows, when Pheonyx couldn’t be there, was a huge relief. He worried for his family, especially in their state of denial, but he couldn’t be there 24/7 to watch for dangers.

Dale lowered his binoculars, having heard the trio approaching, and offered them a smile.

“Any sign of her?”, he asked, taking his hat off and wiping some of the sweat off his forehead.

Pheonyx looked to Daryl, waiting for him to answer his group member, but the man simply grunted and nodded, not elaborating. Awkward silence ensued and Pheonyx coughed, dragging Daryl’s attention to him. He raised his eyebrows and inclined his head towards the man on top of the RV, silently telling Daryl to talk to Dale.

With a roll of his eyes, Daryl spoke shortly, “The mutt found ‘er trail and led us ta an ole’ house she musta stayed in. Gonna head out early tomorrow ta keep lookin’.”

Pheonyx didn’t think it was possible but Dale’s smile widened. The old man replaced the hat on his head and said, “It’s nice to have some good news after the last few days. Carol’s in the RV. Been trying to keep busy all day. Hopefully, this news will help brighten her day a bit.”

As expected, Daryl simply grunted and opened the RV door to go in. Kismet pushed himself in front of the archer, and slipped inside. Daryl cursed as he stumbled a bit, the dog not knowing his strength knocked him off balance. He caught himself on the door and shook his head before stepping inside.

Pheonyx offered Dale a smile of apology for Daryl’s stand-offish attitude and followed the other two inside.

Both Daryl and Pheonyx noted the smell of household cleaners when they entered the small living space. The counters around the vehicle were practically sparkling; dishes were drying in a rack by the small sink; the windows were streak free and glimmered in the evening sun. The younger man hadn’t seen the inside of the RV before but he guessed that Carol had kept busy by cleaning the space top to bottom. He silently whispered a plea to the Earth that Kismet didn’t completely destroy the place and undo the poor woman’s hard work. The dog was tired but he always managed to cause trouble no matter what level of energy he had.

Kismet trotted into the back of the vehicle and a small giggle let the men know where Carol was. They both took a few steps forward , still managing to keep distance between each other despite the small aisle.

Pheonyx smiled as he looked over Daryl’s shoulder and saw Kismet nuzzling his head into the woman’s lap, the mending she had been doing laying to the side. The dog’s tail was wagging but it was very delicate, as if he could sense that he needed to be gentle around the petite woman in front of him. Carol looked up and striking blue eyes met his own. Despite the short gray hair on her head, she looked young. Hardly any lines marked her face and the smile on her face was bright and girlish. There was an underlying sadness in her eyes. But her daughter was missing. It was understandable to be downhearted.

“I’m sorry about Kismet. I was gonna have him stay outside but he slipped in before I could say anything,” Pheonyx said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Oh, he’s fine.”, Carol said meekly. She rubbed Kismet’s head and scratched his ears, taking comfort from the softness of his fur. “Sophia always wanted to have a dog but Ed, my husband, hated animals.”

Pheonyx responded without thinking, “He sounds like a dick.” Daryl whipped his head to look at the younger man behind him, shocked–but also amused– by his bluntness. Pheonyx’s eyes widened as he realized how callous his words sounded, considering her husband had just recently died. “I’m sorry-”

“He was a dick.” Carol cut in, chuckling. “We haven’t officially met. I’m Carol. Thank you for volunteering to look for my Sophia.”, at the sound of her daughter’s name, tears filled the woman’s eyes and she used the hand not touching Kismet to catch the drops that fell.

Pheonyx felt Daryl tense at the sight of the emotional woman and he understood the feeling. He wanted to run from the RV and go hide in the stables. But he couldn’t do that. If anything he was one of only people on the farm who could empathize with her. So, he sucked in a breath and muttered an apology as he wormed his way around Daryl. The other man flinched, not expecting the movement. Pheonyx sat down on the bed a foot away from the willowy woman and held his hand out in an offer of comfort. Carol gladly took it and encompassed his calloused hands with her small soft one. Brain set aflame with the need to run from the strange touch, Pheonyx swallowed down his fear and gave her fingers a small squeeze. Kismet whined and moved his head to lay in the spot between them.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t find her today,” he spoke softly and looked into her sparkling blue eyes. “Kismet was able to find her trail and he led us to one of the abandoned farm houses on the far ends of the property. Daryl found a cabinet that we think she slept in, and the empty cans of food that were still wet, so we're probably not even 24 hours behind her. She has supplies now too-”

“Supplies?” Carol questioned.

“The first month after phone lines went down, I set up bug-out bags on areas around the whole property. Just in case something happened to the farm. One of those was at the house. It has a week's worth of food and water, a pop up tent, and a hunting knife. The bag was gone when we got there and the only tracks in the house were hers. We don’t have to worry about her getting dehydrated or being hungry anymore. We just have to catch up to her,” Pheonyx chose not to mention worrying about shadows. Sophia had a knife now, but that didn’t mean she knew how to use it. They just had to hope she managed to avoid them or learned how to fell the corpses quickly.

A light sniffle came from Carol’s nose and she pulled the entwined fingers up to press a kiss to the back of his hand, right over the skull tattoo. A light blush overtook Pheonyx’s face and he ducked his eyes. It wasn’t physical attraction. Carol was beautiful but the aura she radiated was purely motherly to the young man. The soft kiss had been imbued with such maternal love and tenderness that he felt his chest clench. It was the kind of affection that he had always yearned for from his own mother. After finding out that her first husband was abusing Pheonyx, his mother had distanced herself from her oldest son. She was there to clean his wounds but she wasn’t there to prevent them. She held him at a distance and no matter how much he tried to pull her closer, she always ended up farther away. Pheonyx always thought it was because she felt guilty that she hadn’t noticed or stopped the abuse when it started. He felt like in order to protect herself from the gnawing culpability, she had to create a wall between herself and her son. It wasn’t an excuse. It was simply an explanation. She had stepped up a bit when he was in the hospital six years prior but by then it was too little too late. And now that she was dead, he didn’t think he would ever get to feel what maternal care truly was. But Pheonyx felt it now. Maybe that was why he felt the anxiety bugs– that had been crawling across his skin where Carol touched– disappear. It filled a hole in his heart that time had never managed to fix.

“Thank you. I can’t thank you both enough for doing this. For even believing that she’s okay.” Carol reached over to the bedside table and grabbed a tissue, using it to wipe the tears trailing down her cheeks. “Everyone keeps telling me things will be fine. That we’ll find her. But I can tell they don’t believe it.”

“I bel-”, Pheonyx looked to Daryl, who was trying to make himself look smaller to avoid the emotional conversation happening in front of him, and corrected himself. “We believe it. We’ve already decided we’re heading out first thing in the morning to look again.”

There was still a look of doubt on her face, the kind that lingered after losing all hope and Pheonyx cleared his throat. He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, trying to think of a way to comfort her that didn’t involve telling one of his biggest losses. But he couldn’t. So, for the first time in 6 years, Pheonyx opened up without saying the words, “You’re feeling alone right now. There’s people surrounding you and you still feel like the only person for miles. They’re there but they don’t understand. A part of you is missing. A piece of your heart. A piece of your soul. They’re able to go on about their life like nothing’s happened. But you’re still trying to figure out how to simply breathe when there’s a hole in your chest where they used to be.” The hand holding his tightened and the look Carol gave him was empathetic. She knew without hearing the words that Pheonyx could understand the type of loss she was dealing with. All signs pointed to Sophia being alive, but that didn’t change the lingering doubt that filled the woman’s mind. Sophia was missing and there was a chance it was too late. So, Carol was filled with grief for a child that could be dead but also hope that they’d find her well and safe. “You’re strong, Carol. We just need you to be strong for a little longer.”

Daryl watched the interaction between Pheonyx and Carol with awe and fear. Fear because he didn’t know how to handle other people’s deep emotions. He hardly knew how to handle his own. Awe because he saw Pheonyx give Carol the hope he’d been trying to offer for the last couple of days. Daryl never considered himself to be a particularly smart man. His Pa always took the time to tell him how stupid he was, at least 2 or 3 times a day when he was around. But he wasn’t blind. He noticed the look of shared grief between Carol and Pheonyx. The way the older woman gripped the younger man’s hand a bit tighter. Had Pheonyx lost a child? He didn’t look much older than his sister, Maggie, or even Beth really. But Daryl also knew that age wasn’t a reliable determinate for having kids. Most of the people he grew up with started having kids around 14. Although that could be attributed to a horrible sex education curriculum and lack of resources for free birth control. The way Pheonyx had spoken though, seemed to leak empathy as opposed to sympathy. Daryl could only conclude that he must have lost a child, whether it be his own or someone close to that. The younger man had mentioned losing his brother and mother early after the world fell, but didn’t mention a kid. Not that he expected the man to bear all his losses to him when they’d only met earlier that morning.

Sniffling a small bit, Pheonyx stood up. He gave Carol’s hand one last squeeze before releasing it. Kismet’s tail began to wag in earnest and the appendage thudded against the wall in a fast rhythm.

“I’m gonna go find Rick and set up a plan for tomorrow.” Pheonyx said before facing Daryl. He had to stop himself from getting lost in the man’s deep blue eyes and averted his gaze to the bottle in his hand. “All yours, Apollo.”

He slid past the other man, being careful not to touch the archer, even though his body screamed at him to do so. Having passed Daryl, Pheonyx recalled Kismet, wanting to give the others their privacy. Also not trusting the dog to not get into trouble without him there. Over Daryl’s shoulder, Pheonyx saw Kismet give Carol’s leg one last nuzzle before shoving his tank of a body between Daryl’s legs. The dog was wholly unaware of his size and Pheonyx had to withhold a snort as Daryl barely managed to catch himself from falling over.

Blue eyes followed Pheonyx’s form out of the trailer, trying not to focus on the curves of his shoulders and the outline of his backside in the dirty jeans hugging sharp hips. A small cough had him jerking his head away from the direction of the RV door towards where Carol was sitting. He was met with a slightly amused gaze and a singular raised eyebrow. Blistering heat trickled up his shoulders and over his neck. Avoiding the questions that surely would follow, Daryl placed the bottle on the table near the bed. Thankfully, the distraction worked and he didn’t have to come up with excuses for why he couldn’t stop staring at the younger man.

It didn’t take Pheonyx long to find Rick. The man was sitting on the steps of the house's wrap-around porch. He was still wearing his Sheriff’s uniform and stuck out like a sore thumb compared to his grungier looking compatriots. His star badge glinted orange, reflecting the light from the setting sun. Seemingly lost in his own head, Rick didn’t even notice Pheonyx until he was right in front of him. Kismet whined happily at seeing the familiar man and pushed his head into Rick’s lap forcefully. Despite the intense look on his face a few moments before, a bright smile crossed over his face. Light blue eyes–that Pheonyx couldn’t help compare to a certain archer’s–glanced up at him.

“How did it go?” Rick asked while scratching Kismet’s ears.

Pheonyx relayed the information that they had gotten during their search, the same things he had told Carol just moments earlier.

“Daryl and I are taking Kismet out at first light to pick up her trail again,” he finished, taking a seat on the porch next to the Sheriff. Kismet wiggled his butt happily and shoved his head into Pheonyx’s lap.

“I can’t tell you how nice it is to have some good news for a change. Knowing she has some supplies is a huge weight off our shoulders. I’m sure Carol is grateful as well,” Rick took a deep breath of relief. “Shane, T-Dog, Glenn, and I are all ready to set up the search grid tomorrow.”

Pheonyx grimaced a little bit, thinking about the complications that came along with more people searching, “I talked with Daryl and he agreed that we should wait to do a full search party for Sophia.”

“Why? Isn’t it better to have more people searching? Cover more ground?” Rick asked in confusion.

“A few reasons. The main being that I worry about others getting lost or hurt. I don’t have enough maps with my traps labeled to hand out to everyone. All it takes is one shadow sneaking up to get someone stuck on a spear or to fall into one of the burn pits. There’s also dangerous terrain that could be difficult for you all to handle,” Rick nodded with his reasoning so Pheonyx continued. “Kismet is still in training, his attention span isn’t always great. I worry that if we have a bunch of people out searching the trail will get messed up or the overlapping scents will confuse him.”

Rick was silent for a moment, thinking about what Pheonyx had said, “All right. I trust you. Is there anything we can do in the mean time?”

“Rick. It’s a farm. We have 50 head of cattle and 4 horses. There is a never ending amount of work. Especially if I’m out searching all day. Taking up my chores would be a huge help,” Pheonyx scrubbed Kismet’s ears and the dog’s tongue rolled out in happiness. “Besides, might be good to show Hershel how useful extra hands on the farm can be.”

“Yeah, he’s already asked us to leave as soon as Carl is better,” There was a note of fear in the older man’s voice and he rubbed his face with hand in frustration. “It’s bad out there, Pheonyx. I don’t know how long we can make it on the road. I can’t take my son back out there. I just can’t.”

“Look, I’m not trying to make excuses for my stepfather. He’s bull-headed on the best of days. But, he’s a good person. I think, with enough time, he will change his mind. I’ll lean on him a bit. For now, help around the farm, follow his rules, let him get to know all of you, and maybe have Carl make puppy eyes at him.”

The joke worked and Rick chuckled lightly. “Speaking of Carl. He’s been asking to talk to you. He’s up now if you want to go see him.”

Before he could answer, Kismet grumbled and turned his head to woof at the Sheriff.

Rolling his eyes, Pheonyx patted the dog’s side. “Mind if I bring Kismet in? He likes kids.”

“Of course. He’d love that. We lost our family dog about a year before all this started. He had spots like Kismet’s so Carl named him Domino,” a wide smile broke across Rick’s face as he reminisced on the old mangy dog that Carl had pulled in the house when he was only 5. He’d held onto the dog’s dirty neck and cried until Lori finally relented on keeping him.

Standing up, Pheonyx left the man to his thoughts and walked around the house to the back door. It would have been easier to go in the front door, which was only a few feet from where he and Rick were sitting, but he wanted to steer clear of Hershel.

Avoidance was fruitless. He knew he would have to talk to him sooner or later. Especially if he was going to put in a good word for the group to stay on the farm. Talk? More like argue, Pheonyx thought with an internal sigh. Ever since his mother and brother’s death, he’d avoided confronting Hershel on his skewed views on the shadows. He walked away when the subject was brought up, and tried to ignore the groaning from the barn. The few times he tried to change Hershel’s mind had ended in shouting matches. Which ultimately led to Pheonyx having a PTSD-induced panic attack in the stables each time. So, he fixed the outside of the barn as much as could, reinforcing rotten boards and surrounding the perimeter with barbed wire. It wasn’t foolproof. Eventually the old wood would splinter and the shadows would be freed. He just hoped it wouldn’t be before his step-father changed his mind about the status of the infected.

Kismet reached the back door before Pheonyx, and started to claw the base of the screen frame, probably eager for dinner. He opened the door for the dog, letting him pass and run into the kitchen. There was a light thud and then the sound of his youngest sister’s giggling filled Pheonyx’s ears. While he wasn’t as close with Beth as he was Maggie, the sound of her voice and happy aura always managed to help alleviate his anxiety. A small smile was already gracing his face before he even crossed the threshold of the door.

Kismet had managed to knock Beth to her knees and was covering her face in slobbery kisses. Hands covered in soapy bubbles and purple shirt soaked with water, she had been in the middle of washing the dishes from dinner when Kismet practically tackled her. Pheonyx waited a moment before stepping around the kitchen island to save his sister from the dog’s assault of love. He grabbed the leather collar around Kismet’s neck and gave a gentle tug.

“Kizzie, leave Beth alone.” Pheonyx scolded lightly. Kismet whined but acquiesced to his owner’s command. He walked off and helped himself to the water dish in the corner.

Pheonyx held out his hand to help Beth up. She smiled widely at him, the sunshine of her soul warming his chest.

“Thank you, Nyx. He’s a big teddy bear,” she said before turning back around to the sink to continue washing the dishes. “We already ate dinner but if you’re hungry, there’s some of that chicken you’ve been marinating. We also got some green beans and potatoes from the garden in the fridge too. I would’ve saved you some of ours but there wasn’t much left after feedin’ Carl. I gave the leftovers to Rick and Lori."

“That’s fine, Bethie. You know I like to cook and they probably need the food more than I do,” Pheonyx leaned against the counter next to the sink.

Beth bent back a bit to look out the kitchen door, checking to see if anyone was listening. She lowered her voice slightly, “I don’t think they have enough food to feed everyone. I heard Rick and Shane talkin’ about it when I went in to give Carl lunch. I told Daddy but he told me not to get into their business.”

The worry and sadness in her voice was evident. Beth had always been the most benevolent one of the family and he knew the idea of people going hungry didn’t sit well with her.

“Hershel is trying to distance himself. Don’t worry. I have some food stored in the barn from my runs into town. I’ll let Rick know he’s welcome to it. Once we find Sophia, I can do some more hunting and we can share that with them too,” Pheonyx placed his hand on her shoulder in comfort and leaned forward to press a kiss to her temple.

She leaned into him and wrapped one arm around his waist to hug him. Pheonyx instinctively flinched but his muscles relaxed when he reminded himself of who it was. When Beth pulled away, he saw the glint of sympathy in her eyes and he avoided her gaze, wanting to avoid any pity. While he knew Beth would never pity him, old habits die hard.

“I wanted to go see Carl,” he coughed, trying to brush off the awkwardness he felt.

“He asked about you earlier so he’ll be happy to see you. I took him some of Shawn’s comics, so he’s been busy readin’ those all day.”

“Thanks, Bethie.”, Pheonyx squeezed her shoulder and patted Kismet’s side as he passed the dog, who had placed himself in the door that led into the dining room. A jingle of the buckle on Kismet’s collar and click of nails on the tiled floor let Pheonyx know that the dog was following behind him.

After dinner, Hershel usually spent an hour or two in his office reading. The past few weeks, his book of choice was mostly his bible. For many people, the rising of the dead dissolved any notions of faith in a higher power. In the beginning of the outbreak the news streamed videos, between images of the dead eating people, of mobs burning churches and piles of bibles in anger. It was something Pheonyx could honestly understand. That anger was something he had felt the majority of his life. How could god, someone who supposedly personifies love and forgiveness, attack his creations so blatantly? And if it was the devil who actually brought the carnage upon the world, how could god just stand by and let it happen? For Hershel though, he found the outbreak and the loss of his family members to be tests of his faith. The atrocities that nature flung at their feet had steadfastly strengthened the old man’s beliefs. Pheonyx took a moment to be appreciative of the older man’s dedication to schedules and his religious upbringing. Simply for the fact that he wouldn’t have to run into his stepfather and engage in another verbal spar.

Before Pheonyx reached the door, he stooped down to Kismet’s level and pointed a finger at the dog’s bulky head.

“Behave,” he said sternly. “I know you love kids but Carl’s hurt. You don’t know your strength most of the time.”

He swore that Kismet rolled his chocolate eyes at him before huffing and trotting into the makeshift hospital room where Carl was staying. Shaking his head, Pheonyx followed behind him and looked in the door.

The room was much cleaner than the day before. Sheets stained with blood were replaced by clean linens and the only medical supplies that could be seen was a tray of clean bandages and alcohol located on the bedside table. In the bed, a small lump was under the blankets but in the place where a head would be was a bright comic book being held up by elfin hands. The sound of Pheonyx’s foot stepping on a squeaky floorboard had a pair of blue eyes, mirror images of Rick’s, popping over the top of the pages. Carl closed the comic book and set it on his lap before smiling widely at him. It took only two seconds for the boy to notice Kismet, who was wiggling his whole body with glee at the sight of the child. Nails clicked as the gentle giant began to tap his toes and he grumbled with impatience.

“Dad told me there was a dog! What’s his name? Can I pet him?”, Carl asked excitedly, trying to sit up more. He groaned in pain though and placed his hand on his side.

Pheonyx moved to the boy’s side quickly, “Careful, bud.”

He clicked his tongue and Kismet trotted to his side. Seeming to sense that the kid was in pain, Kismet gently pushed his head into Carl’s hand offering a lick of comfort.

“This is Kismet. You can pet him all you want. He loves to be touched so you’d be doing him a favor.”

Although it seemed impossible, Carl’s smile got even wider as he scratched Kismet’s head and ears. His hands looked like doll’s hands compared to the dog’s prodigious skull.

“We had a dog that looked like him. I named him Domino because he was covered in spots. He liked to steal our neighbor’s newspapers and chew them up. It made mom so mad. Dad and I thought it was funny though,” Carl’s eyes sparkled as he looked up at him. “Are you Pheonyx? Dad said you had a lot of tattoos. I’ve never seen so many before! They’re so cool. Did they hurt? Which one hurt the worst? If I could get a tattoo, I would get the Batman symbol right across my chest. I think my mom would be mad though,” Carl’s button nose scrunched up at the thought of making his mom angry.

Pheonyx chuckled at the boy’s enthusiasm and endless stream of questions, “Tattoos do hurt. More or less depending on where you get them. The ones on my ribs hurt the worst though. And you are right. Your mom would probably be furious if you got a tattoo right now. Wait until you’re 18 and see how you feel then.”

Carl nodded and Pheonyx took a moment to take stock of his appearance. The boy looked much better than he did the day before. Almost 24 hours before, Carl had practically blended in with the white sheets on the bed, skin pale white from blood loss. Today, his skin had pinkened up a bit and the clammy look had been replaced by simple sweat from the humid Georgian air.

“Dad said you’re helping look for Sophia. Thank you. She’s my friend and I’m really worried about her. I wish I could help search. While I was sleeping, I dreamt that she was hiding in a cave and I’m the one who found her.” A sad look passed over his face and he averted his gaze to Kismet, who was drooling from contentment at being rubbed.

Pheonyx sat in the rocking chair next to the bed. “You know I donated blood to you right? Your dad gave more than me but I gave some when you first got here.”, he flipped his hand over and showed his palm to Carl, a small scabbed cut was in the center. He’d cut it when he was sharpening his knife the previous morning, “I also helped hold pressure on your stomach when you got here. That means I got your blood in my cut. Do you know what that means?”

Carl shook his head, not understanding what Pheonyx was trying to say. So the older man continued, “That means we’re blood brothers now.”

“What are blood brothers?,” the confusion was evident in the boy’s voice.

“Well, it’s a pact where two people promise to protect each other and treat each other like real brothers. Most people cut their palms and press their cuts together to share blood. So, ours is a little different. But I think that makes it a lot stronger.”

“So, you’d be like a big brother for me? And I’d be your little brother?”, Carl asked, his eyebrows still scrunched a bit in confusion. When Pheonyx nodded, the boy’s face relaxed and brightened. “I’ve always wanted a brother!”

“As your blood brother, I’m making you a promise that, while you’re healing, Kismet and I will do everything in our power to bring Sophia back since you can’t be out there searching for her yourself. You have to make me a promise in return though.”

Eagerness spread on Carl’s face and he nodded, “Anything!”

“You have to promise to take it easy and to do everything Hershel says so that you can get better. Is that a deal?,” Pheonyx held out his fist to the younger boy, waiting for an answer.

Carl thought for a moment before smiling and bumping his fist against Pheonyx’s. “Deal.”

When Pheonyx told Daryl that he didn’t make promises often, that wasn’t a lie. He tried to avoid them. Because promises often led to disappointment. And as someone who endured a lot of that disappointment growing up, he couldn’t handle the thought of inadvertently giving that feeling to someone else. Despite that, he had made more promises in the last two days than he had in his 28 years of life.

The two of them talked for a little while longer. Carl spoke of his school and how he used to play soccer. Pheonyx told him about his siblings and his work at a tattoo shop. The conversation was normal, all things considered. Kismet had left at some point to beg for dinner from Maggie or Beth. Eventually, the boy’s eyes began to droop, and the sun outside had almost completely disappeared. Pheonyx gave the boy another fist bump and promised to come see him again after searching for Sophia the next day.

He was lost in his thoughts as he turned from the doorway towards the front door. So lost that he ran directly into a wall of muscle and his body immediately tensed when a large hand gripped his bicep tightly, cutting off the supply of blood to his fingers. His heart began to race and he looked into the angry brown eyes of Shane. The man’s eyes were narrowed and his body language was threatening.

“The hell were you doing in there?”, he growled.

Despite the fear flooding his body, Pheonyx held his ground, staring dead in the other man’s eyes, and gritted his teeth. “Talking to Carl. Do you have a problem with that?”

“Yeah. As a matter of fact, I do. You stay the hell away from that boy. Filling his head with fucked up ideas. You hear me?”, the grip on Pheonyx’s arm tightened. He could practically feel the blood vessels bursting in his skin. The only blessing was that Shane was gripping the arm that had the realism styled tattoo. With the colors and full distribution of ink across his arm, the inevitable bruise wouldn’t be very noticeable. It didn’t take a genius to figure out the meaning behind Shane’s words. The “ideas” that he didn’t want Pheonyx sharing with the boy. Shane didn’t want Carl to know Pheonyx was trans. The reason being, the idea of being trans was seen as something deviant or impure. And that if a child learned about it, they would be tainted in some way. It was a stupid thought–being transgender wasn’t a disease–but it was something that Pheonyx was familiar with. When he came out, several family members from Hershel’s side lamented his braveness for coming out but asked him “politely” to not speak about it in front of their children. The excuses ranged from “they wouldn’t understand” to “they’ll get the wrong ideas”. They feared that if they learned what being trans was, then they might come out too. Or that they might have to have an honest conversation with their child.

“I hear you. But I’m not going to listen to some neanderthal throwing his weight around like he owns the place. Last time I checked, you’re not Carl’s father. The second Lori or Rick say they don’t want me around their son, I’ll oblige but until then I’ll hang out with Carl anytime he wants,” Pheonyx’s tone was lethal. Despite the shivering in his muscles and the screaming in his mind, he wouldn’t back down.

A welcome voice sounded by the door, “Is there a problem here?”

Shane turned his head to look at the person speaking and Pheonyx used the distraction to jerk his arm from the man’s tight grip. Blood rushed back to his fingers and he resisted the urge to massage the area.

Rick stood a short distance from them, eyes narrowed on his best friend.

“No problem here. Just having a chat.”, Shane smiled, acting as if he didn’t just have Pheonyx cornered.

Pheonyx opted to not rock the boat, knowing it would just cause more problems for the group’s standing on the farm. If Hershel knew that Shane had acted like that with his step son, he wouldn’t hesitate to throw them out.

“No problem at all, Rick. Just having a conversation. Man to Man.”, Pheonyx smirked and placed a condescending hand on the taller man’s shoulder. The sharp look Shane gave him was worth the probable consequences of poking the bear. “I was just heading out. I’ll be in the stables if you need anything.”

Without a backward glance, Pheonyx walked around the Sheriff and left through the squeaky screen door. The fresh air hit his face and the adrenaline that had been running rampant through his body disappeared. A lump built in his throat and he had to stop the tears from running down his face. Shane’s hate was bringing up a lot of memories that Pheonyx thought he’d moved past. But there he was, trying not to see the flickering light in the alley as it created shadows, making the men look taller than they were. Trying not to smell the ripe stench of garbage and body odor. Trying not to hear their vile words whispered in his ear. Trying not to feel their fingers digging into his shoulders and tearing at his clothes. Trying not to remember the taste of blood filling his mouth, mixing with the bile that lingered from their attack.

We’re gonna fix you, sweetheart. Just gotta show you how to be a woman.

The voice floated in his brain like ash after a wildfire. No matter the distance from the flame, it still lingered, staining his thoughts black.

Taglist: @dixonsboy19, @edgyboi10000, @yoongibaybee

#daryl dixon #twd daryl #daryl x oc #twd fanfiction #daryl dixon x oc #daryl dixon x omc #daryl x omc #the walking dead #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x ftm oc #daryl x ftm oc #daryl dixon x trans!oc #daryl x trans!oc #daryl x male oc #daryl dixon x male oc

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goldeneyedgirl · 2 years ago

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TwiFicmas23 Day 2: In the Dark of the Night 2 (Eye of the Storm)

Good evening everyone! I hope your December is going well and slightly more organized than mine! I am also exhausted, so please excuse any ridiculous errors.

Tonight, we have a section from the sequel to In the Dark of the Night; Cryptid Alice-verse is a favorite of mine - the world is bonkers, Alice is nuts, and Jasper is just here for a good time. This was requested by an anon early in the year, and I was happy to add it to the list. (Heads up, for 2024, I am changing how ficmas requests work for my own sanity.)

This is a very early first draft of this fic, so everything and anything is liable to be retconned but we're here for vibes above all else. I highly recommend reading the first story or this is going to be extra weird.

tw: allusions to rape & abuse; generalized descriptions of body horror.

eye of the storm.

The coloured lights flash over the room at random - hundreds of sweaty, reeking human bodies and the kind of music that rattles its way through your bones. It’s loud and dark and has become one of Alice’s favourite places in a very long time. The raves in Berlin - and most of Europe - are the easiest places to hunt.

The music is good, too. And she loves to dance.

She blends in well enough, with the skin-tight skirt and the top that only covers up the bare minimum, and the artfully smudged makeup. Enticing enough to catch attention, but not memorable enough that she’s at risk. Not that it would matter that much, but she prefers to be just another face in the crowd.

It allows her to hunt for longer in one place, when she’s utterly forgettable.

She orders a drink, and then another, because human alcohol makes her feel warm and her limbs feel looser. It makes dancing better, and the people easier with her - some of them can sense that she is not like them, that she is something old and complex and terrible. The alcohol makes her more likeable, more human, even when it’s her imbibing it.

But her head is still clear when she finds a mark, when he sidles up to her with undeserved confidence. He’s the kind of smug that comes from money and a lack of consequences. She doesn’t miss the pill in her next drink or the way his smile widens when she tosses the drink back like water. The effect of the pill is minimal on her; it manifests several moments later, when they’re sneaking upstairs to the store rooms, past the velvet rope blocking the narrow steps. She stumbles on her high heels and he chuckles low; unfriendly and the kind of laugh that would chill anyone else.

And then her dizziness passes, and she almost pities him.

It goes the same way as always - he thinks he’s got the upper hand; she acts enthusiastic to his ministrations and she knows he almost feels bad - mostly that he wasted whatever tranquilliser he slipped into her drink, not about the harm he planned for her.

Her venom tingles on his lips and tongue, and he blames the drink or five he’s had and settles in.

She thinks about asking him some questions once her venom addles him, questions she shouldn’t know to ask. About girls and pills, about hurting and pain, about the haunted little sister he’s not allowed to see anymore.

But that’s not why she’s here, and would just agitate him. It always gets messy when they get agitated; she hates it when they panic.

Luckily, he’s easily subdued because she’s absolutely starving. Probably the alcohol. Her venom does funny things when alcohol is in the mix.

She’s not in the mood to take her time and be neat about this; she tears into him like an animal - first is that ephemeral part of him that humans have no word for him. The sacred part, similar to a soul. The pain of that defies understanding; she remembers hers being flayed from her being, once. Punishment for poor judgement. Humans’ are delicious and she savours it.

It’s all over too quickly, and she leaves him behind without looking back - lying in the middle of that dark, dirty room with the music ponding through the floor. His throat ripped out and ragged, and his chest cavity open, gleaming wet and red but hollowed out for her hunger. His left femur is broken; a rather pitiful attempt at a protest.

The blood on her skin and in her hair sinks in, pulled through to other hungry parts of her in different points of time and space. She’s nothing and nobody, and no one pays attention as she slips back to the bar for one last drink; sugar sweet enough to make her teeth ache but with that hot dry burn she enjoys more than she should.

It’ll be at least a day, if not two, before they find him. A horrific death, the work of a psychopath. A little sister will hide in her bed to muffle her relief that he’s gone and never, ever coming home. Almost a dozen girls will smile at the knowledge that he might not face a judge and jury, but something took their pound of flesh.

But her messiness means that she’ll only have another night or two before she has to move on. She’ll eat again, and that should last her for a while.

A pity. She liked Berlin.

—

The next night - her grand finale before she leaves for Norway - is a grown-ass man who shouldn’t be offering her the things he whispers in her ear, shouldn’t be sliding his hands up her stocking-clad leg - shouldn’t have even approached her and brazenly taken a seat at her booth.

This time, it’s in an all-night coffee shop with dim lighting and a faint haze that comes from carelessly bold patrons lighting up at the late hour. She demurs and gives the old pervert every opportunity to leave, but he laughs at her and boxes her into the booth, and the look in his eyes is hard and absolute.

She’s never been fixed in time and space, so she can see exactly the path that this old bastard has planned for her - either she consents or he takes it by force. He will hurt her if he needs to, like he has to other young girls before, some of them his students.

The shadow he casts has his wife, his daughter, his mother cowering from rage and violence. He won’t be missed. So she pretends to be afraid, to be cowed by his aggression, allows him to drag her out of the booth by her elbow. She lets the flesh mottle and bruise, lets him feel like the predator.

She lets it last as long as it takes for him to find a place where no one will hear her scream. She even lets him push her out of her shoes, but that’s no loss - she wishes she’d gotten the purple.

And then when he’s staring down at her, his eyes greedy and violent, she smiles and she takes her prize.

He dies in that alley, his eyes wide in terror as he faces down the kind of demon that are only meant to be found in books. Disappointingly, the honour of the killing blow goes to the dumpster he fell again, slamming his neck against the edge hard enough to break bones. She always likes the sound and the flavour when their deaths are her own.

He’s gone before she even tastes him; she’d wish him a speedy trip to hell, but some say that’s where she was born. And the parts of his essence and soul she’s going to tear into… there won’t be anything but shreds of him left to dissolve into the air.

“Alice.”

The call is soft and so far away and blows away the dust of an open path in her mind, a singing thread, that she had not forgotten but had long since made peace with its silence. It had been a shrine to something sacred, and she almost gasps out loud at its echo in her mind. She wants to call back, to holler down that open path, but she pauses, blood running down her face, as she listens.

The words are faint, but heartfelt and it hurts her own head to widen that path. It’s been a while and, unlike her others, she’s only ever opened one path to one soul. One person. She’s out of practice, and it’s like untrained muscles screaming at a sudden lurch into a run.

“Alice, I always hoped we’d cross paths again.”

The regret is heavy in his thoughts, and she presses closer, trying to see through his eyes. It’s blurry and white and green.

“I’m sorry.”

Oh, he tastes like forest and sunshine and leather on the back of her tongue, and she missed him. He was supposed to call for her decades ago.

But why now?

“You could have helped us. Hell, you probably could have saved us.”

That’s when he touches the ribbon in his pocket. Her ribbon, the one she left him with. A talisman, a physical anchor, a key that reinforces the path; she’s relieved he kept it. Oddly touched that he’s carrying it, but it makes everything easier for her. Clever boy; his hand on the ribbon is enough for her to grasp onto, to pull a fragment of herself into the scene in his mind.

“I wish you were here.”

The scene sharpens as if she is standing there in the snow, barefoot, facing…

Facing down the thrice-cursed Volturi and their entire court.

What has happened?

Aro’s smile is wide and that of a crocodile about to close its maw around the thing it wants the most. And that thing includes Jasper.

The entire city of Berlin shudders for a moment, something that will later be uneasily explained away as an earthquake, but is her rage that shakes the city at its core because she can reel it back inside of herself.

A shiver, not a storm.

Not yet, at least.

Aro, who has made himself untouchable over the centuries, and still manages to strike wildly at them, her and her kin. His blows rarely kill but they do cut and wound; her own scars are still fresh enough in her mind. One of the downsides of being outside of time; the memories never age right.

The Old Ones have warned them all not to go after Aro; they are allowed only defence, never offence. They say that creatures like the Volturi, full of avarice and wrath, will pave their own downfall. They have seen it so many times before; Aro and his kin will burn themselves out, and another will take their place.

The Old Ones and the Eternal Sleeping will not rise for anything short of war, and it will not be a war of their own making. That is the first law, and one she has obeyed.

But this… Jasper is hers. Marked and strung together, crudely but holding fast. He is hers to defend above all else, and no one can do anything about that. She just wants to know why Aro has come after Jasper and the Cullens. What she knows about the Cullens is vague; mostly gleaned from other fragments of herself, other lives they lived. They are peaceful people with too much money and little concern for those outside themselves, no matter what they tell themselves. They are human, it is their nature. But she is certain that they are not a danger. Not to Aro, not to the human population, not to anyone. What flimsy excuse is Aro using now? A desire for more gifted bodyguards? More power and land and wealth?

Whatever he wants, it’s nothing good.

The words are muffled, and she takes a moment to look over at Jasper. He’s standing there beside her, stoic and staring, not flinching. The anger streaming off him is palpable and she wishes she’d seen him before now.

You could have called me at any time, Jasper. Just to talk, just to see how I am. I would have come in a second. I wondered if you’d forgot about me, truly. I supposed I am flattered by the fact I am your last regret, your longing thought, though.

She shudders and looks around, her senses stretching. He’s right where he’s supposed to be, and that’s a long, long way from Berlin. It’s been a long time since she had to take herself apart this way, and there’s a risk. A price that has to be paid, and she’s not unwilling to pay it, if he’s amendable.

“Jasper?”

Of all the ways that Jasper thought he would die, this is not it. Not standing shoulder-to-shoulder with his closest people, staring down the army - there is no other word for what Aro has brought, larger than the biggest Southern army Jasper both faced and wielded - of Volterra, trying to defend the life of a half-breed child with ribbons in her hair and pompoms on her coat.

This is not a trial. This is an execution, a public one as a reminder that they were here by the grace of Aro’s will and that no one is safe if the King of Volterra is displeased.

He’s sorry he brought Peter and Charlotte into this mess. He should have known better than to trust that the Volturi would play by the rules, especially when the Volturi wrote the rulebook.

No, this is not how he thought his death would go.

But to be fair, he thought that once back in Texas when he was faced with three red-eyed women with smiles full of promises. So perhaps he should be more surprised that he didn’t see this coming.

Edward gives him a pinched smile that is more of a grimace. Aro is still talking, still taking this opportunity to remind everyone who he is, that he should be considered a wise and compassionate leader.

He wonders if Marcus considers him that; the man looks like a shadow, like the death of all things. Jasper has heard rumours about Didyme’s demise; some of them are farfetched, ridiculous even. But others… the way Aro smiles at the Cullens and their friends, Jasper cannot doubt that he is capable of terrible things.

“Of course, there is the hidden crime, one that I’m not even certain that you yourself are aware of, dear Carlisle,” Aro smiles benevolently, but there is no kindness in his emotions. He’s angry and jealous and greedy; his gaze is flickering over all that have gathered here, for the Cullens, as if

“You have seen my thoughts, you know of all our doings,” Carlisle intoned stoically.

“Of course, my friend! And I am delighted to discover the joy and miracle that is young Renesmee,” Aro beamed at the child, clutching tightly to Bella. “I trust that you have no comprehension about what is going on, and that loyalty to our long friendship is cherished, Carlisle.

“However, the crimes that are occurring under your nose are ones that risk not only our world, but the human one also - they are toying with things that should never be disturbed. It is an act of violence, of terrorism, unspeakable evil…

“The oldest creatures that roamed this earth, they were dangerous. Monstrous in a way that we cannot comprehend. Ungovernable. Very, very powerful in ways that have been lost to us before the first vampire walked the earth,” Aro spread his arms out, as if he is performing for a crowd. And perhaps he is. “Many of those creatures are long gone, but there are a small few that still exist amongst us. We have tried to protect our kind from them, to exterminate them to protect our secret and to protect our kind from them. They cannot be reasoned with. They are dangerous to everything we hold dear.”

Aro has everyone’s attention with that little speak, but all he can think of is a kiss that stole his mind and his will. Of limbs snapping and cracking around too-many joints, and those big eyes, with that knowing smirk. Of blood that was too hot, and the puff of a heartbeat in the back of his mind.

Of something that lasted a night, however warped and strange it turned out, that marked his memories indelibly.

The ribbons twists through his fingers.

“…And yet, as I stand here, one of your friends, Carlisle, has summoned one, called one here. Is that not an act of war in itself, dear Carlisle?”

Carlisle splutters, the denial genuine and frustrated. “Aro, you’re being ridiculous!”

“I’ve been tracking this particular one for many years. She possesses a skillset that is very… dangerous if left unmonitored. Her anchor lies here, we’ve traced it. And, dear Carlisle, I believe you when you say you are ignorant of all of this. But someone here has betrayed you, and they alone should pay the price."

Aro stares at them, all good humour gone, and not a single one of them understands what he asks. Except him.

He knows exactly what - exactly who - Aro is searching for.

Alice.

It’s been a long time. Since he saw her. Not since he thought of her - she is one of those people who lingers in the memory; it seems impossible that it was just one night, all those years ago. Her presence always lingered; like she fundamentally changed him, changed everything, the second she hitched a ride in that truck.

“I was… in hiding. Then I was exposed. Then I made a choice.”

“There are so many names for us, Jasper. I’d prefer if you just used mine.”

And he doesn’t understand this at all. That Aro has dragged the entire court here, across the fucking world, under the guise of a trial because of Renesmee’s existence and now, suddenly, Renesmee doesn’t matter.

It was no secret that Aro was looking for an excuse. Of course she doesn’t matter. He knows that there are much more terrible, unseen things out there than a little half-breed girl.

(He had been prepared for that, had waited curiously to see if Renesmee came out a monstrosity, an abomination that had too long limbs and a void where her eyes should be. He had been oddly disappointed how utterly mundane she was, as if she was the key to something, to better understanding of things that were probably best left alone. Edward have been confused but annoyed at his reaction and Jasper hadn’t bothered to explain.)

Aro knows as well as Jasper himself that Carlisle would never allow Renesmee to become something dangerous. He would sooner build her a gilded cage somewhere far away than allow Renesmee to do harm to human beings.

Carlisle knows it as well as Jasper; that it wouldn’t be Jasper’s hands left to break Renesmee if she’s too strong, too dangerous, too unreasonable. It will be Carlisle’s, with a tender kiss and a prayer for her redemption. Aro sees Carlisle as weak and easily manipulated, and the rest of the family sees Carlisle as a pacifist, as a champion of life beyond all else.

And Jasper sees him as a father who will protect his family from anything, even their own poor choices. As a doctor who recognises that to save a life, sometimes you must amputate, and Jasper is surprised no one else sees that in him. That they call him ‘doctor’, but they only see the man of faith.

But he digresses. Aro has come here and it is not solely for Bella or Edward or Renesmee. It is for Alice, and she isn’t here. The Cullens have never met her, and he’s never told them about her. What would he say - “I met a demon-god-monster on a highway, and she was beautiful? We talked and argued and fucked, and then we parted ways. And I’ve never forgotten her”? They’d think he was crazier than ever.

He’s always tasted arsenic on everything, since that terrible kiss. Always heard that faint heartbeat in his mind. Kept a ragged ribbon to worry at, looped around his keys, in his pocket for fifty something years.

Alice…

They are going to fight and they are going to die because no one else here has the answers Aro wants, and Jasper is never going to breathe a word. The Volturi numbers into the forties, with the entire court and their witnesses. There just aren’t enough of them to win this.

He should have fetched Maria, should have rounded up every stray, every nomad, every disenfranchised asshole this side of Monterrey for this debacle.

Alice, I always hoped we’d cross paths again. I’m sorry.

“...Jasper?”

“Alice…”

The heartbeat in his head is beating louder, and the taste of her venom is strong on the back of his tongue.

Alice.

—

If only a reunion could have been one of a time-stopping kiss, of being able to look the other in the eyes and say, “I’m so glad you’re safe, that you’re well. I missed you.”

Instead, it is this.

#alice cullen #jasper hale #jalice #alice/jasper #twilight fic #ficmas23 #ficmas #my fic: in the dark of the night #cryptid alice #jasper will absolutely simp for alice as long as it doesn't involve mind-control #i have so many notes on this world and how alice works #wips #someone buy aro a puppy so he stops collecting people #and i use 'people' in the loosest possible way considering alice is most definitely not considered 'people' in this fic #alice is going to look at ness and go “oh a dhampir. they've mostly died out but you can use an ordinary bug spray to get rid of it.”

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daisyishedwig · 2 years ago

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Chapter 12 of A Place to Call Home is up!

A Place to Call Home (31933 words) by Daisyishedwig Chapters: 12/20 Fandom: Glee Rating: Explicit Warnings: Rape/Non-Con Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Sebastian Smythe, Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel/Sebastian Smythe, Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel, Blaine Anderson & Sam Evans, Jeff/Nick the Warbler (Glee), Unique Adams/Trent (Warbler) Characters: Blaine Anderson, Sebastian Smythe, Kurt Hummel, Sam Evans (Glee), Nick the Warbler (Glee), Jeff (Glee), Trent (Glee), Tina Cohen-Chang, Marley Rose, Unique Adams, Sebastian Smythe's Parents, Burt Hummel, Carole Hudson-Hummel, Eli.C (Glee) Additional Tags: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Angst, Depression, Panic Attacks, Dubious Consent, Statutory Rape, Lack of Communication, Homelessness, Seblaine Roommates, Fix-It of Sorts, Polyamory, Blaine is kicked out, Hurt/Comfort, Blaine Anderson-centric, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Blaine transfer to Dalton, Friends to Lovers, disowned Blaine Anderson, trigger warnings listed in the notes on specific chapters as well Series: Part 1 of A Place to Call Home Summary: In a matter of days Blaine's whole world falls apart and everything he does to try and stay afloat only seems to make matters worse. A call to Sebastian Smythe is his last resort, and maybe the one that actually starts to make things better.

TW for this chapter: underage drinking, allusions to sexual assault, depiction of a panic attack, and discussions of suicidal ideation, depression, anxiety, PTSD, and other mental health issues

Chapter snippet below

“I - what?” Blaine asked.

“Sebastian. I know he’s not as big of an ass as he used to be, but you let me know if you need help handling him.”

Blaine let out a startled laugh. Was Karofsky offering to protect him? From Sebastian? Blaine looked out to see Sebastian watching him from the dance floor, his brow knit even as he moved to the music. Blaine waved him off and turned back to Karofsky, sliding down a seat so he could hear him better.

“He’s fine, but thanks for the offer,” Blaine said, letting himself return the smile.

Karofsky nodded. “Hummel know you’re here with him?” He asked casually.

Blaine rubbed the back of his neck. “Um…no, actually. But we broke up, so…”

“It’s not his business anymore, I understand.”

Blaine nodded. “How’re you doing?”

“Well…I’m alive, so that's something.”

Blaine smiled and laughed. Blaine knew Sebastian probably would have blanched at the comment, but he understood the feeling. “Same here,” he said.

“Glad to see it,” Karofsky replied and then glanced out at the dance floor. “Smythe has not taken his eyes off you since he went out there.”

Blaine looked out to confirm, and sure enough Sebastian was watching him closely even as another boy was clearly trying to get his attention by grinding up behind him.

“He’s protective,” Blaine said. “I don’t think he realizes it’s you.”

#seblaine #blaine anderson #sebastian smythe #david karofsky #sam evans #marley rose #hunter clarington #sebklaine #glee #daisyishedwig writes

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dixonsdarkelf · 9 months ago

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Finding Myself, Finding You: Chapter Thirteen

Main masterlist Series masterlist AO3 link Wattpad link

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist <3 (18+ only, MDNI)

Story is 18+ for mature content/themes, minors do not interact please

Each chapter will have its own TW/CWs listed

This story, Lydia Vector, her family & bestie (c) me, dixonsdarkelf

TWD & its characters (c) AMC & Robert Kirkman, the writer of the comic series

Sleeping Beauty (c) Disney, Wednesday Addams (c) Charles Addams

TW/CWs for this chapter--swearing (there's swearing in every chapter ok), allusion to child abuse (Daryl's history), gagging, mentions of trying not to vomit, a gross story about food coming out someone's nose, mention of scars, mention of blood, mention of needles

Word count: 2.7k

"Ooh, I got one. Do you have an embarrassing story to share? If you share one, I’ll tell you one of mine. Make it fair,” I said.

We’d been driving for a little bit, just shooting the shit on our way to find Aaron a foot. It was nice to sit back and talk with Daryl while we cruised down the empty road. Made things seem a little bit normal, like this was just a cross-country road trip with a friend and not going to find a prosthetic for someone whose foot I had to cut off with an axe after a walker bite. He was easy to talk to, a bit awkward with some of the things he said, but it was an enjoyable experience regardless. The little bits of awkwardness were cute and made me think that maybe he was getting a little nervous, which I thought was adorable. It was going well so far, and I felt like I was actually starting to get to know Daryl, even if it was just a tiny bit.

“Nah, don’t got one,” he said. I crossed my arms over my chest and turned my body slightly in his direction, sighing a little.

“Come on, please? I’m sure you do,” I asked, making a pouty face to tease him, “we all do. If it helps, I have some that are pretty bad.” He looked over at my pathetic attempt of a pouty face, and his features relaxed a little, like he couldn’t say no and was accepting defeat.

“Fine,” Daryl said, “when I was a kid, got lost in the woods and accidentally used poison oak after...yeah. Ass itched somethin’ awful.” I stifled my laugh a bit, though it was mostly the phrase “ass itched somethin’ awful” that made me giggle.

“Oof, that’s brutal. How long were you lost for?” I asked, expecting him to say hours at most, or that he was out camping or something when it happened.

“Nine days. Dad didn’t even know I was gone.”

I could feel my heart breaking for little Daryl. To be lost for that long, especially as a child…how alone and scared he must’ve felt…how he wouldn’t have known what to do to survive and be trying to figure it out as he went, all while trying to get home...and to not even have anyone out looking for you…I knew he would never say it, but it had to be traumatizing. I felt terrible for insisting he share. I’d never felt like such a piece of shit before.

“Why ya look so sad?” Daryl said, looking over at me and seeing the somber expression on my face. There was a tear trying to escape my right eye, but I quickly blinked it back.

I softened the tone of my voice. “You were a child, Daryl. That’s awful. No kid should have to endure that. I’m so sorry.” I wanted to throw myself over the center console and wrap him in my arms and give him a giant hug, but I restrained myself. “I feel like such a piece of shit for pushing you to share, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“’S’alright. Ya didn’t know,” he replied. Something in him looked different, but I couldn’t explain what it was. He seemed more relaxed overall. Maybe no one had shown him that kind of empathy before. Maybe he’d wanted to get that off his chest & he felt relieved. Maybe he was nervous about how I’d react. There was no way for me to tell. That handsome, stoic face of his made it so hard to tell how he was feeling. However, that stoic expression was quickly replaced with a devious little smirk. “Ya can make it up to me by tellin’ a couple stories of your own.”

I raised my eyebrows at him in surprise. “Like more than one? You drive a hard bargain. I gotta think about this.”

“How many ya got?”

“There’s three that come to mind, but you’re only getting two.”

“Why not all of ‘em? Feels fair,” he teased.

"No, if I tell you the worst story, I'll have to throw myself out of this car,” I explained, “it’s bad.”

“If ya tell the worst one, ya only gotta tell one.” I huffed and twirled a chunk of my ponytail around my finger.

“Fine. But I’m warning you, it’s gross.” I took a deep breath and tried not to immediately start gagging at the thought of the story I was about to tell. “So when I was probably 21 or 22, I went on a first date with this guy I met in one of my classes. We met up at this random off-campus restaurant, and I made the terrible mistake of getting spaghetti. Well at one point, he’s telling a story, and I have food in my mouth.” I stopped and covered my mouth as I gagged. “So he’s telling his story, and I sneeze…and I wish I was making this up, but one of the pieces of spaghetti came up through and out my nose…I was trying not to throw up the whole time I was pulling it out. He immediately got up and left. Like didn’t say a single word, just left. I haven’t been able to look at spaghetti since. Even the sight of a box of spaghetti makes me wanna vomit.”

He didn’t say anything at first, but I could tell he was fighting back laughter. All that came out was a small, adorable chuckle. “That’s so much worse than I thought it’d be.”

“Worse? Alright, time to throw myself out of the car,” I said, pretending like I was going to unbuckle my seatbelt. “I never share that story. If we weren’t friends before, we definitely are now. And I think it goes without saying that you’re sworn to secrecy with that story. Are we even now?”

“Yeah. We’re even now,” he replied.

We continued chatting for the short remainder of the ride to this medical center, but I couldn’t stop thinking about how terrible I felt for what felt like forcing Daryl to share such a sad story. I was worried it would have an impact on our interactions when we got back to Alexandria, worried that maybe he hated me now or would never speak to me again once we got back inside the walls. But I felt worse about bringing up what was likely painful memories for him. He seemed alright, and he said we were even, but I wondered if there was another way I could make it up to him.

We turned down one more road, and there was a decently-sized brick building just down the street from the corner. As Daryl pulled into the lot, I read the promising large letters across the top of the building—orthopedic surgery. It wasn’t orthotics and prosthetics, but it was about as close as we were gonna get.

“Ortho surg,” I said as Daryl put the car in park, “nice.”

“That good?” he asked. I grabbed my backpack and put it in my lap, shoving my water bottle back inside.

“It’s potentially promising. If push comes to shove, maybe there’ll be a walker we can steal one off of.” He unbuckled and started to get out of the car, but I reached my hand out and lightly grazed his forearm with the tips of my fingers. “Daryl…are you ok?”

“Yeah,” he said as he turned back to me, clearly confused, “why?”

“Just…the story you shared earlier. I know better than to push people like that, and that was very not cool of me. I’m really sorry if it brought up painful memories for you.”

“Like I said, ya don’t gotta apologize. Ya didn’t know. But thanks,” he said, “apology accepted. Plus, I had ya cryin’ in the store earlier talkin’ ‘bout Eli. We’re good.”

“Oh my god, are we bonding?” I gushed playfully.

“Shut up,” he joked, turning and getting out of the car. I took some things out of my backpack and tossed them into the backseat to make room for anything we might find inside. I brought my spear out and unsheathed it as I got out of the car and followed Daryl inside.

Clearing the office out was easy enough. There were several more walkers than there had been at the other places we’d been to, but it was manageable between the two of us. I walked around to what looked like the front desk area to try to find a directory or anything that could indicate if they had prosthetics, and if so, where they might be stored.

“If you see anything that says orthotics or prosthetics, lemme know,” I said, setting my spear down on the front desk. I started flipping through a binder of random papers while Daryl started checking some of the rooms. There were a few that had keypads on them, which likely meant that there was supplies in there with a code for staff to use. Even if we had the codes, there was no power, so we’d have to manually find a way to break the doors down.

“Find a paperclip or somethin’,” Daryl called out to me from down the hall, “we can try to pick the locks.” The binder I was looking through didn’t seem to be useful, so I started searching drawers for office supplies. I pushed my sleeves up to my elbows. It was starting to get warm, and I was regretting wearing a jacket without a shirt underneath. One of the drawers had a small box of paper clips in it. Score.

“Got it!” I yelled. I grabbed my spear and jumped back over the desk, scuttling down the hall to meet Daryl. I took a larger clip out of the box and handed it to him. Our fingers briefly touched again, and there was that same electric feeling from this morning when our fingers touched as he handed me my coffee. The same electric feeling from when my fingers grazed his forearm in the car before we came inside.

He slung his crossbow across his back and straightened out the paperclip. Getting down on one knee, he started trying to pick the lock, and I went back to try to find something that would tell us what was in these closets. I could hear him fiddling around with the lock, and eventually, a click echoed through the silence of the office.

“Got it,” he said, and I could hear him cautiously pushing the door open.

“Lockpicking just increased to 30,” I whispered to myself as I went down the hall to meet him.

This particular storage closet had mostly been cleared out. It looked like it was used to store gowns, paper for the beds, gloves, masks, braces, and probably some first aid stuff. There was a box of gloves and some braces, so I went over and put those into my backpack.

“Damn it,” I huffed, “alright, let’s try another one. I’ll keep trying to find a map of this place or something.”

I rummaged around the front desk more before finding a paper map that had been thrown in a trash can. I pulled it out and held it up so it matched the direction I was facing. It looked like a poorly scanned paper copy of another poorly scanned paper copy, so the text that was legible enough was tiny and barely legible. I could make out “pros” on one of the square spaces.

“Daryl, I think I found it.” I was already walking back towards him when I yelled out, looking down at the map at the tiny print as I walked, and I bumped right into him. He was standing in front of another closet door, which he had already picked open.

“So did I,” he said, stepping into the room.

Looking around, there were shelves of different types of prosthetics, including feet, hands, partial arms, full arms, etc. I figured they were likely used for fittings so a prescription could be submitted for the right size and type, but there were options, which is what we needed.

"Geez. Someone with a foot fetish would have a hay day in here,” I joked, “try to find different sizes. One of them is bound to fit. Oh, Aaron’s gonna be so excited when I show him.” My face was lit up. I felt like I was getting to do something similar to my type of specialty again. I got down on the ground and grabbed a couple of prosthetic feet, placing them into my bag. There was just enough room for both of them. I grabbed a third and held it in my hands, flipping it around and daydreaming about my days in the ER.

“Ya okay?” Daryl asked me, squatting down next to me. He had grabbed a few prosthetics and put them in his bag as well, carrying a couple more under his arm.

“I just miss my job is all,” I said, continuing to flip the fake foot around in my hand as I talked, “I sat with people on what was usually the scariest day of their entire life. Sat with them while they died. Yeah, it was intense. But I think it’s what I was meant to do. It was fulfilling. It gave me purpose.” A single tear escaped my eye, and I quickly wiped it away with the back of my hand. “Sorry, I don’t mean to get all cheesy and shit.”

“Your patients were lucky to have ya,” he said. I could see in my peripheral vision that he was staring at my scars as I fiddled around with the prosthetic. I pulled my sleeves back down to cover the thick bands of scar tissue.

“That means a lot. Thank you.” I wiped another tear away with the back of my hand, laughing a little. “God, you’re gonna make me cry again.”

“C’mon. Might as well clear the place out. Still got upstairs to do,” Daryl said, lifting himself back to his feet.

We made several trips in and out, carrying out all of the prosthetics we could. It would be good to have these in the infirmary in case I had to perform another amputation. After that, we went upstairs. The second floor contained a blood draw station and an X-ray lab.

“Blood draw might have some stuff,” I said, going behind their front desk, “don’t reach into any sharps containers though.”

There were some more boxes of gloves and masks, rubber bands for putting on people’s arms to take samples, needles, and alcohol pads. I found an empty sharps container to put the needles in and carried out what I could in my arms.

“Good luck charm strikes again,” Daryl joked. He grabbed some of the boxes of gloves and followed me back downstairs.

After we loaded the car and got back in, I laid back in my seat and stared up at the ceiling, feeling exhausted from all the hard work we’d put in. I was sweating buckets, and I felt disgusting.

“We crushed it,” I said, holding my hand up for a high-five, which Daryl returned, “teamwork makes the dream work.” I turned my head towards him. “Thanks for bringing me here so I could get a prosthetic for Aaron. He won’t need it for a while, but I’m gonna have to stop myself from telling him in the meantime. I wanna make it a surprise.”

“Welcome,” he said as he backed us out of the lot and onto the road back to Alexandria, “what else ya gotta do today?”

“Uh, well I’m starving, so I guess start with that. Rosita said she wanted to see me, and I need to reorganize the infirmary now that we have all of this to sort through. What about you?”

“Don’t got watch ’til later. Do what you gotta do, I can make us food.” I smiled and turned my head back up towards the ceiling.

“Thanks Daryl.”

He was such a sweetie. And I was falling very hard, very fast, with no idea where I was going to land.

Taglist: @raddydaddydude

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chronicallybloodless · 2 years ago

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Heavy to Hold - Chapter 2

Cravings

Pairing: Astarion x enby!tav Status: in progress Rating: Explicit (18+ only) Genre: angst/comfort | slow burn Alternating second-person POV Contains spoilers for the whole game basically TW: it's an astarion fic: descriptions of trauma, abuse, sexual violence, etc. | smut | full tag list on AO3 Read from the beginning: AO3 | Tumblr Listen to the Playlist

Tav, a nonbinary Drow bard, encounters Astarion late one night in Baldur's Gate. Their subsequent abduction by mind flayers brings them back together as they try to reckon with their pasts, their present, and their future as the world around them spirals toward oblivion.

“Oh I’m not much for parties. I prefer my social engagements to be a bit more…..intimate.” You found yourself moving quickly with that implication, but something within you was telling you that you needed to experience everything you could with them before you had to give them up to Cazador. The look you got in response told you the feeling was mutual.

!! This chapter contains mentions of sexual violence / rape and allusions to suicide !!

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Astarion's POV

It was another night like any other, at least as far as you could recall. Every night for 200 years had been the same: wait for dusk to settle over Baldur’s Gate, go out into the city, and find some hapless person to charm. Your nightly routine started with a tour of all the local taverns, casting knowing glances and ordering drinks to soften up a few future targets. You had dates and dances, midnight rendezvous with people of all sorts. All with the goal of getting them to trust you enough to return with you to Szarr Manor, where you would bed them in the most luxurious room most of them would ever see in their lives.

Every night you found yourself surrounded by a walking buffet of potential food—vibrant, fresh, teeming with life. But your master, Cazador, forbade you from partaking in blood from living people. Instead, your catch would be sent off to your master’s chambers, and in exchange you would receive a rat. If you were lucky, it wouldn’t even have plague. It usually did though.

Yours was a lonely existence. You had siblings in the form of your fellow spawn, but Cazador made sure that the relationship between the seven of you was purely competitive. The staff of the manor were wholly consumed by their service to the Szarr family and had little time for spawn. And of course, you had more lovers than you could even recall, but you never got to enjoy them for more than a few days. They were prey, not pets, and certainly not partners.

The last time you kept stringing one along for more than a month, you turned up at their bedroom window one night to find that your dearest brother had decapitated them and left their headless body for you to find. When you returned to the manor, Cazador had Godey lock you in a closet with the head for a month, and you had to watch as the head of your former lover rotted away, eaten by bugs and the very same dungeon rats that would later become your dinner.

Never again, you told yourself. When you were finally let out from your confinement, you scoffed that you had only been reveling in that poor person’s pathetic attentions. A plaything, nothing more, you insisted. But a small voice inside you knew that wasn’t the whole truth. You let yourself get attached, you had started to care. And just as quickly, that attachment was used to remind you how little control you had over your life.

You learned to turn off your mind, separate it from your body, so you could get your work done without dealing with doubts hanging over you. Night after night, you locked a part of your mind away and let your body and voice betray the trust of anyone fool enough to hold your gaze. You made yourself everything they ever wanted, the perfect lover. And they became the perfect victims.

You had become quite good at your job, as your talent for smooth talking could easily get you into the minds—and beds—of your victims within a few well-played interactions. It became a point of pride for you that you seldom had to resort to brute force to retrieve your prey. After all, Cazador preferred his food unblemished. You were a tool for your vampire lord, and your sole purpose was to do whatever he bid, even if he never seemed to appreciate it.

You couldn’t recall if it had always been this way, or what you were like before you became a spawn. Maybe you were always this uncaring, but the twinges of doubt that crossed your mind—and the ache in your chest where your unbeating heart laid dormant—suggested that perhaps you weren’t.

It didn’t matter now. It couldn’t matter now. You belonged to Cazador, and you had to follow his rules.

*****

With your rounds completed early and no one quite primed enough to come back with you to the manor tonight, you had several hours before the rising sun would force you back indoors. On nights like these, you liked to sit along the beach and listen to the waves. It was comforting, somehow.

You couldn’t remember when you started, but it was one of your favorite things to do when you had a free moment. The small beaches along the edge of Wyrm’s crossing were your preferred spots, mostly because no one else seemed to go there.

As you made your way down the lamplit streets, you heard a muffled scream rise above the usual cacophony of the city’s nightlife.

Someone is either having a really good time or a really bad time, you mused to yourself.

*****

You cozied up on your favorite rocks on the shoreline and watched the waves. You stared wistfully at the night sky—the only sky you were able to see safely. It was a full moon, which was enough reflected sunlight to make your eyes sting ever so slightly. You laid your head back and closed your eyes, eager to sink into the comforting rhythm of the lapping tides.

You had only closed your eyes for a few minutes when you heard the sound of someone else on the beach. Your eyes shot open, only to see someone in an elaborate but tattered ensemble stumble past you barefoot, seemingly unaware of your presence.

As you tried to make sense of what you were seeing, you were suddenly struck with the most delicious smell. This mystery person was bleeding, and their blood smelled more delectable than anything you had experienced in your life. It saddened you that you wouldn’t get to taste them for yourself.

They still hadn’t noticed your presence, and had found themselves a seat on a rock further into the sea. They didn’t seem to notice that the tide was rising, or that they were already up to their ankles in water.

Someone’s had a bad night. You thought to yourself. You felt a twinge of sadness for this person, as you had a sense that if no one intervened, they would be content to sit on that rock until the tides pulled them into the bay. You sighed as you realized what you should do.

Might as well divert them into a different death and save myself some effort. I can always leave the clothes here just in case someone comes looking for them later. Hells, maybe they already wrote a note.

You steeled yourself, readying yourself to wall off your mind and get your work done. The hoarse sobbing coming from your victim wasn’t making that easy, and neither was the delectable smell.

“Um…..pardon the interruption.” You said quietly. They were cleared startled by your presence and turned to look up at you with wide, tear-stained eyes. Red tear-stained eyes, you couldn’t help but notice. Now that you were closer, you could see that your mystery person was a Drow. The pale skin had thrown you off, but you recalled an old history lesson about the rare pale Drow and their infamous clandestine activities above the surface in service of Lolth.

You paused for a moment, contemplating what such a person would be doing out here like this, and then you noticed their clothes. They were torn, but they were clearly an approximation of a priestess’s robes, only more…..sensual. Obviously someone on a spying mission wouldn’t be walking around like that, which suggested their intended use was for a different kind of worship.

The scream you heard earlier was starting to make sense. Your thoughts were tangled between feeling pity that they had been mistreated and the knowledge that they could disappear without too much of a fuss. And then there was the matter of the blood that was matted in their soft, white hair, begging you to have a taste.

“Are you alright?” You asked, a stupid question given the clear evidence, but it felt like the polite thing to do. “You uh……Well you’re bleeding, darling, and somehow I doubt that your attire is a purposeful fashion statement.”

They looked back at you with wide eyes, seemingly having trouble understanding your words. They suddenly looked down at their exposed body and their cheeks flushed with embarrassment. You decided to be a gentleman and keep your gaze towards the waves instead, but there was little left of that outfit to leave anything to the imagination.

“Oh gods….” They groaned and began to cough, seemingly in pain. Comfort and chivalry seemed to be the correct tactic here, so you removed your coat and placed it gently around their shoulders. It still didn’t really cover anything, but it’s the thought that counts in these situations. Now it was time to turn on the charm.

“It wouldn’t do for one of the most beautiful Elves in Baldur’s Gate to catch a cold, now would it?” You smiled at them while you spoke, holding their gaze. Their pale complexion and red eyes reminded you of your siblings. You wondered if you looked like that too, but then you noticed the softness—there wasn’t a hint of malice in those eyes, only hurt and vulnerability. They furrowed their brow as they gazed back at you, and the more your eyes met, the harder it was becoming for you to keep your mind on your task.

“I’m….a Drow, actually……” They dropped their head as they spoke, as if they were ashamed of the words.

“Well, what is a Drow but an Elf that needs a bit more time in the sunlight? Gods know I’m not one to talk when it comes to that.” You chuckled as you spoke, hoping to set their mind at ease. Drow or not, blood was blood. “But, I do stand corrected: It wouldn’t do for the most beautiful Drow in Baldur’s Gate to catch cold, would it?”

They barely blinked as they smiled at you, their eyes still locked on yours. You had them.

“The most beautiful Drow?” They retorted with a smirk, seemingly having become a bit more grounded due to your efforts. “Have you conducted a thorough survey to back up a claim like that?”

Maybe you didn’t have them just yet. Time to up the ante.

“Well…..” You pulled out one of your favorite moves, carefully pacing your words while you ran your fingers through your hair. That alone had gotten you into more beds than you could count. “Let’s just say that I have encountered quite a few beautiful people in this fine city, and among them all you are one of the most memorable.” It was intended as an empty compliment, but that pit in your chest ached from knowing it was true.

“Memorable is certainly a word for it.” They sighed with a mixture of exhaustion and embarrassment. “I assume most of the beautiful people you encounter are properly clothed and aren’t actively bleeding?”

“Depends on the night.” You chuckled to block out the images that came flooding into your mind.

“Remind me not to go to any of your parties.” They mused with a smile. You should have expected that a creature of the night would have a dark sense of humor. It was a welcome respite from the normal tavern banter that filled your evenings.

You gently brushed their hair behind their ear, a first touch to test the waters.

That’s when you noticed the bruises. Deep purple, in the clear shape of a hand grip.

“Gods, what brutish creature did this to you?” You whispered. Such a display wasn’t likely to please Cazador, and you found yourself wishing you had stumbled upon whoever had done this instead—someone who would have deserved the violence that you were leading to.

“Just a…uh…..work accident.” They replied quietly. That earlier glimmer of confidence had vanished.

“Well, I just hope that whatever monster is responsible finds themselves in a positively dreadful accident themselves.” You huffed. The fact that they aren’t telling you more suggests you should move on to other topics. In this state, they might not have a home to return to tonight, which gives you an opening. “Do you have somewhere to go tonight?” you asked, hoping the answer was no.

“What?” They questioned. Perhaps you were moving a bit fast. “Oh I, yeah I have a place. I just…..I guess I just needed some space and air.”

They must work at the Caress, you thought to yourself. Despite having some of the finest wine in the city, you avoided going in there. The times you had, there was an air of emptiness that reminded you of home. The ache in your core grew stronger.

“Am I intruding? I hate to interrupt a good brood.” Against your better judgement, you opened a door for them to escape this fate. All they had to do was walk through it.

“No, no, I appreciate the company.”

Fuck.

“Well I aim to please,” You said with a coy smile covering your disappointment. “Please feel free to let me know if I’ve overstayed my welcome at any point.”

“Somehow I don’t see that happening.” They said as they leaned towards you.

You had them.

You wrapped your arm around their waist and pulled them closer, a gentle moan escaping from their parted lips. This was the time you needed to stop thinking and just do, but your mind was stubbornly refusing to fade into the background. You were going to feel every part of this, and it was going to hurt.

“You know, I’ve just realized that I never asked your name. How dreadfully ungentlemanly of me.” You spoke your words slowly as you gently caressed their head, the pit in your stomach weighing heavily on your conscious. You knew their name would be etched into your mind for an eternity.

“It’s Tav.” They replied, their eyes firmly fixed on yours. You were about to lean in for a kiss when your hand brushed against the wound on their head, causing them to yelp in response. They touched the spot, and their hand came away covered in droplets of blood.

“Gods, that is fresh. My apologies, Tav.” You tried to conceal your excitement. The rule was that you weren’t allowed to feed on a person, there wasn’t anything that said that if a person happened to get blood on you you wouldn’t be allowed to have a taste. Your first taste of fresh, real blood was within your grasp.

You held their gaze and grabbed their hand gently in yours. You waited to see if they would pull away, but they remained steady, eyes eager. You brought their fingers to your mouth and sucked the blood from their fingertips. You closed your eyes, trying to hide the sheer ecstasy of experiencing their taste. You wondered for a moment whether everyone tasted this good or if Tav was somehow extra delicious.

“No it’s alright, I was just startled,” They said through heavy breaths. They were clearly enjoying themselves and hoping for more. The feeling was mutual, but you were also trying to figure out how you could get another taste.

You guided them onto their back in the soft sand and knelt beside them. You leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on their wounded head, taking in whatever taste and smell you could. It was mostly dry at this point, but it was still intoxicating. You sighed in pleasure and straddled them, gazing down at their contented expression.

“You know, I never got your name either.” They said as they ran their hand under your shirt. You hoped they didn’t notice the coolness of your skin or the soft moan their touch had elicited.

“Astarion.” You said, hoping to every god there was that they would forget. Your insides felt twisted—every fiber of your body wanted them, as the growing tightness of your pants was clearly demonstrating, but your mind wanted to find a way to spare them from the horrid fate that Cazador had in store for them. You wanted to run, to leave them and let them be safe, but if you did that you would never be able to see them again, much less feel them in the ways you so desperately wanted to.

Cazador’s words echoed in your head—people are beneath us, they exist to be used.

You ran your hand along the side of their face, steeling your resolve. Better to enjoy them, even if it was brief. You had so few moments of genuine pleasure in your life, after all. Why deny yourself this?

They shivered underneath you, their breathing rapid as their chest responded to the night air. You felt your cock stiffen at the sight.

You pressed your lips to the base of their ear and they moaned, urging you on. They bucked their hips against you, pulling a moan from your throat.

“So impatient,” You chided, your lips brushing their ear. You gave their earlobe a gentle bite, being careful to avoid using your fangs.

Their hips rose again, desperate for touch, but you weren’t finished enjoying the foreplay yet. You adjusted your stance so that one of your legs fell between theirs, and they responded by grinding against your thigh and moaning hungrily. Their bare skin was rubbing the thin cloth of your pants, and you could feel the wetness against your skin.

“Gods, you sound beautiful.” You started to kiss their neck and the smell of the pooled blood in their bruises filled your nostrils. “You are making it painfully hard to control myself.”

“I don’t recall asking you to control yourself,” They pouted, blissfully unaware of how desperately you wanted to sink your teeth into their neck.

In that moment, you didn’t care what Cazador or anyone else did to you. You had to know what their blood would taste like filling your mouth.

Just as you were about to plunge your fangs into their neck, you sensed movement near you on the beach. Shit, one of the others must be watching. You pulled away, trying to determine where you were being watched from.

They whined in displeasure as you pulled away. You held a finger over their lips.

“Something’s out there.” you muttered as you surveyed the darkness for any signs of movement.

“Are you sure?” Tav whispered, their voice trembling.

“My ears do not lie.” You couldn’t see anything, but you knew to trust your senses. “Perhaps we should go elsewhere.”

“My room isn’t far from here” They offered as you pulled them to their feet, draping your coat back around their shoulders as you guided them away from the shoreline. You had only taken a few steps forward when you felt a presence behind you.

“Fuck.”

You turned to find a Mindflayer a handful of feet behind you. Knife striking distance if you could move fast enough. Maybe you could startle it, buy some time. Save yourself—save them.

You weren’t fast enough.

*****

When you awoke, you were locked in a strange pod, alone. Between fitful bits of sleep, you could have sworn you saw their ghost walk past you in whatever hell you were suspended in.

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