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thevegandarkelf · 2 months ago

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Finding Myself, Finding You: Chapter Fifteen

Masterlist

AO3 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, TheVeganDarkElf

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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serenaew · 1 year ago

Note

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💙

Thank you and @givereadersahug for the tag, and sorry it took me 2 months to answer XD

Five fics that I've written... you torture me by making me choose!

tagging @sanctuary-angel, @renee561, @bintemuhammad, @trueliarose, @ttime42 (please don't be offended if I did / didn't tag you and you don't like it XD)

So, I decided to go for some of my less popular ones. But they're all my babies!

(list under the cut)

Snarry:

Wish not for a soul that is full of sin (4798 words incl. meta) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Harry Potter/Severus Snape Characters: Severus Snape, Harry Potter Additional Tags: Merman Severus Snape, Severus Snape Lives, Pining, Inspired by Music, Classical Music, Rusalka (Dvorak), Undine (de la Motte Fouque + Reinecke), tw: near-drowning, Art, Digital Art, Poetry, Playlist, Fairy Tale Elements, Fairy Tale Retellings, merfolk lore, Worldbuilding, Romanticism, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE Series: Part 1 of Ondine's Curse (will happen, one day.) Prologue to the merman!Snape, amnesia AU no one asked for, with gorgeous Merman!Snape art by @hereiamwithmyninjaclan.

Severitus:

Christmas in Limbo (4623 words, WIP: 3/7) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Harry Potter & Severus Snape, implied past Lily Evans Potter/Severus Snape Characters: Harry Potter, Severus Snape, Lily Evans Potter Additional Tags: Canonical Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Temporary Character Death, quite dark at times, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Severitus | Severus Snape is Harry Potter's Parent, Afterlife - sort of, Time Travel, Angst, Eventual Happy Ending, Lily meddles from beyond, Alternate Universe - A Christmas Carol Fusion, Implied Dissociation, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, We Need To Mess It Up To Fix It, Are We Sure This Ish Is For Children, Physics is Hard Series: Part 1 of Christmas in Limbo 'Verse

My (quite dark) attempt at a Severitus Christmas Carol Fusion. I hope to finish it this Christmas - I even have the ending drafted but I'm stuck for Ch. 4.

[Fic and Podfic] Ouroboros in Tribute (790 words) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Harry Potter & Severus Snape Characters: Severus Snape, Harry Potter, Lily Evans Potter (mentioned) Additional Tags: Poetry, Sonnets, Crown (Poetry form), Podfic, Podfic Length: 0-10 Minutes, Severitus | Severus Snape is Harry Potter's Parent, Sad Severitus, Past Lily Evans Potter/Severus Snape, Hidden parentage, Severus Snape is Harry Potter's biological father, Grief/Mourning, Sad, Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Emotional Hurt No Comfort, POV Severus Snape, Second Wizarding War with Voldemort (Harry Potter), Harry Potter MIA, Implied/Referenced Character Death, (telling you more would give away too much of the sequels), Series: Part 1 of Forget Me Not

This is not, strictly speaking, a fic (poem & podfic, actually), but I am really proud of what I cooked up with my words.

Be warned: it hurts.

And, from the same universe: it is time (for it to be time) (3327 words, WIP: 1/5) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Harry Potter & Severus Snape, Past Lily Evans Potter/Severus Snape - Relationship Characters: Harry Potter, Severus Snape, Lily Evans Potter Additional Tags: alternative universe, Post-War, Severitus, Sad Severitus, Angst, Emotional Hurt No Comfort, Hidden parentage, POV Severus Snape, Severus Snape Lives, Harry Potter missing in action, Presumed Dead, implied MCD, Second Wizarding War with Voldemort (Harry Potter), Grief/Mourning, Five Stages of Grief, Memories, Ritual Magic, Diary/Journal, Non-Linear Narrative Series: Part 2 of Forget Me Not

Really looking forward to finishing this - I'm a bit of a sadist and like turturing my readers and my characters with all the emotional pain.

Other HP Gen: (considering I wrote exactly one work for Doctor Who, and that's it in terms of writing fandoms for me - I am quite a bit more diverse in my audio work.)

Whoso list to hunt (2021 words) Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aberforth Dumbledore & Severus Snape Characters: Aberforth Dumbledore, Severus Snape Additional Tags: Hog's Head Inn (Harry Potter), Unspeakables (Harry Potter), Unspeakable Aberforth Dumbledore, Job Interview, Pre-Canon, Unspeakable Recruit Severus Snape, Good Severus Snape Series: Part 4 of Unspeakable Mysteries Universe (will happen, as well, wone day)

Well, technically, this is also Snarry-adjacent, considering I wrote this as pre-prequel to the Unspeakable Mysteries Universe. This idea is my trying to say that Aberforth has massive Underesteimated Character Potential (tm).

#severus snape #harry potter #pro snape #fanfiction #self-rec #snarry #severitus #angst #tagging this angst because angst is the common denominator for all of them XD

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tbb-appreciation-week · 2 years ago

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TAGS ARE YOUR BEST FRIENDS

(Updated: June 2024)

Hello there!

In the pursuit of giving the participants tools for tagging their works correctly, thus allowing everyone else to curate their experience, I’ve put a non-comprehensive list of tags together that should be used if they apply to your work, during the event (and afterward, if you want).

There are gazillion other things that could be tagged too, but let’s be honest, it’s impossible to tag warnings for every single squick or trigger of every person in the world. So, I collected a list of the most common ones below. Like I said, this barely scratches the surface. It’s just a small guide for themes and things that you should warn about. If there’s anything else you think it needs tagging in your work, do it, please!

As the title says, tags are the best friends of both writers and readers. Use them to warn and/or block the content you write/read. Not only that! They also serve to finding the content you want to consume! You got the power. Use it!

I classify the tags into broad themes or issues, and then give some examples of specific tags within each theme. Those are just a few examples, not a complete list. Use your judgment to add others if your work requires them.

#️⃣ Explicit Language - For stories with excessive use of curse words

Curse words, foul language, profanity, etc.

#️⃣ Sexual Content - For fics where sexual content is explored and described in detail.

NSFW, Smut, kinks (specify which ones), mild/explicit depiction of sex, etc.

#️⃣ Underage: This is NOT for hand holding and sweet pecks on the cheek. It's for detailed depictions of sexual activity by characters under the age of eighteen.

#️⃣ Mental Health Issues: If your work depicts or implies/mentions the characters' mental/emotional struggles.

Paranoia-Inducing, Intrusive Thoughts, Medication, PTSD, Eating Disorder, suicide ideation, self harm, trauma, etc.

#️⃣ Violence: For stories that contain all kinds of violence.

Graphic Depiction of Violence, (implied/referenced, psychological) torture, gore, (mention of) weapons, (gun, domestic, canon-typical) violence, murder, etc.

#️⃣ Whump: For works that rely heavily on the hurt, and might or might not have comfort, especially when it's physical. Almost always, it goes hand in hand with violence and/or abuse.

Whump, injuries, blood, CPR, darkfic, sick fic, brainwashing, kidnapping, broken bones, etc.

#️⃣ Abuse: For works that mention, imply, and/or depict acts of abuse.

Domestic, physical, psychological, gaslighting, emotional, verbal.

#️⃣ Substances use: For when there's use or abuse of legal or illegal substances.

Mention of drugs/alcohol, recreational drug use, drug/alcohol addition, overdose, etc.

#️⃣ Death: For when the dead of a character is part of your work.

Mention of death, Main character death, side/background character death, Child Death, (implied, notes of) Suicide, Graphic Death, Animal Death, etc.

#️⃣ Type of relationship: Let your readers know what kind of relationship is explored in your work.

Platonic, romantic, x reader, clone shipping, father-daughter relationship, sibling rivalry, friendship, etc.

And the list goes on and on and on…

Now that you have some idea of what to warn about, let me remind you how you should tag your work. Be sure to @ this blog and add the following hashtags:

#tbbaw2024

#the theme of the day and/or #prompt(s) used

#medium (gifset, fic, podcast, fanart, etc.)

#trigger warnings, if applies. (see list above)

#prompt(s) used

#nsfw (only for NSFW content)

#any other relevant tags go here

More recommendations:

Please, don’t, I repeat, DO NOT put “tw” if front or at the end of your warning tag. Why, you ask? Because using just the word or phrase is much simpler for readers to block the thing. It’s because of the way the blocking feature works on Tumblr that blocks only the exact wording and not all the tags containing X or Y or Z word (it sucks, I know. I agree!). Let’s use PTSD as an example. I’ve seen #ptsd, #tw ptsd, #ptsd tw, #tw; ptsd, #tw:ptsd and more. So, you see the problem, right? Instead of just PTSD as a tag, people need to block every iteration of the tag that other people come up with, and that happens with every other single tag. Let keep it simple. That will be easier for everyone.

Tumblr veterans know this, but you should neither censor your tags, replacing letters with numbers or symbols. That takes out the very function of the tag, which is mainly to allow people to avoid topics they don’t like for whatever reason. Nothing of su¡cid3 or unalive, please! This is not TikTok or Insta; here on Tumblr, we tag using the actual words like human beings that we are.

Use Keep Reading break to hide NSFW, violence, substance use and/or dark themes, and tag it properly.

For any piece where the creator pairs the reader with a canon character, please use the tag #x reader alone, without canon characters or modifier for the reader. If you want to include also the specific tag of the character x reader, you can add it. That’s fine. An alternative is specifying what kind of reader is in the post text. Because since the combinations of canon characters and several types of reader is virtually endless, it’s easier for anyone who don’t enjoy reading fics in second-person POV to filter out these fics if writers use a wide-spectrum, nonspecific tag for it. It’s the same problem as with the warning tags.

Likewise, writers who do a piece pairing clones romantically, please tag your work as #clone shipping, so people can block the tag if those works aren't their cup of tea for whatever reason.

Gifmakers, if applies, please tag your gifsets #flashing gif or #flashing lights to warn photosensitive folks about it.

Use #dead dove do not eat for when you go hardcore, very dark, and/or graphic in the themes of your work AND also have tagged everything you're presenting in it, to indicate simply that this fic is clearly labelled and fully warned for, so if you open it, you know what you are getting into. If you heed the tags, then there will be no surprises.

I understand why some writers are wary of tagging some things, fearing spoiling the story among other reasons, but it's better sinning of over tagging than missing a delicate issue that could disturb a large portion of your audience.

But if you're still insisting of not tagging some things, please use Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings if you add your work to the collection on Ao3. As it says on the site's warning help (x): "Use this if you don't want to warn for anything. You may also choose this option if you don't know what you should warn for; if you don't like warning for certain topics or warnings in general; if you want to avoid some spoilers, but not others; etc.". It's a wordy way to say to your readers: "Read at your own risk because there could be unpleasant surprises".

Also, you can add the tag TBBAW2024 while posting on the Ao3 Collection, if you want. This is optional, not mandatory.

And last, but not least, readers, please curate your own experience. Be sure to block the tags AND post content for the things you find disturbing or could trigger you. Take control of what you interact with.

Two more suggestions, even if they're not exactly tagging related: The first one, let’s make art more accessible to disabled folks, so it’d be nice that fan artists (including artists, gifmakers and graphic manipulators) included image descriptions to their works. You can add those both on the web and the app. Just click on the 3 dots that appear in the bottom right corner once you have uploaded your image/gif, then click on Update image description (on the web) or Add Alt text (on the app), and write your description. Also, there's the option to put it directly in the body of your post.

The second one is also using Keep Reading break to shorten the length of your post if it's too long. It's annoying having to scroll down what feels like forever when you're not interested in said post. Also, you can add the tag #long post, if you want.

This turned out to be longer than I expected, so I'll leave it here. If you got suggestions or questions, please contact me through the ask box or chat, either in this blog or on @nimata-beroya.

And remember: tags, tags, TAGS!!!

#tbbaw2023 #tbb appreciation week 2023 #warning tags list #tags post #tbb #the bad batch

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hismercytomyjustice · 5 months ago

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This is kind of sneak peek related for my BG3 fic? Idk. I just started thinking about how I’m trying to write it and Gale and Astarion in particular and it spiraled a lot a little out of control.

Warning for minor (I think?) spoilers in future Ancient Books and Horror Stories chapters. Mainly for chapters 9 and 12-14. I don’t think it’ll actually spoil anything since I’m referencing a lot of in game events, but wanted to tag just in case. There are also a lot of in game spoilers mentioned too, all the way through Act 3.

I’m just having so much fun writing it and started having a lot of feelings and I’m trying to rein in my unhinged TL;DR replies to comments on my fic, so…

If you’re interested, buckle up because it’s gonna be a bit of a long ride!

_(┐「ε:)_

I am super hype for the upcoming chapter of my BG3 fic. It’s…ah…a little more reminiscent of chapter five in tone/content but I’m really proud of it. (*꒦ິ꒳꒦ີ)

Why am I the most proud of my fucked up chapters??? Maybe because they’ve been the most challenging to write? Idk. I’ve always really wanted to write something dark/horror adjacent and damn if this BG3 fic hasn’t let me explore that so much.

Ever since I wrote that BG3 dead dove oneshot I’ve been really interested in exploring writing darker topics where most of the violence/fucked up shit happens off screen but in a tangible way? Idk. Not all of it will happen off screen and there will be plenty of TWs but like…really getting to dive deep into exploring horror/trauma via the impact it has on someone rather than just describing fucked up scenes in detail..? Idk. Is that better or worse?

I don’t want to write fucked up shit for the sake of writing fucked up shit. I want it to mean something and I think that’s what I’m doing.

It’s kind of funny, I got stuck for like a month or two while trying to write chapter thirteen because I just didn’t feel like I was doing a good enough job delving into why Astarion is so afraid of Cazador. Like yeah I know a lot of folks when you finally meet him have said he’s almost underwhelming, like they expected a big bad but then he’s almost underwhelming when you finally meet him. He’s this boogeyman haunting Astarion for the entire game up to that point. But I really like how they approach his character.

Like, yeah he was just another high elf that was turned into a vamp a couple centuries ago. Just like Astarion. And then you find out the shit his former master did to him and it’s just like… sweet wounded jesus that was fucked up.

The number of times I’ve read and reread this Reddit post about him is…not small.

But like, Cazador reached out to a former friend while he was a spawn and Vellioth drained them dry, making him watch as he killed them. And when he eventually rebelled against Vellioth, he was IMPALED FOR ELEVEN YEARS for it.

The parallels are so intense. The isolation, the insane punishment. It left me wondering if Cazador thinks he’s “nicer” than his former master or if he just has more of a “refined” technique. It left me wondering, what’s worse, being buried alive for a year or being impaled for eleven years? And I decided BOTH ARE FUCKING TERRIBLE. I mean obviously, but still.

We only know Cazador was physically tortured for that long. There are no indications he was starved or socially isolated or any of that. We don’t know if it ultimately broke him. Whereas when Astarion was entombed, it seems he was subjected to isolation, sensory deprivation, starvation, etc and we KNOW it broke him because he literally says as much.

You find out through his storyline that he’s constantly afraid, never feels like he’s in control or has an actual choice, doesn’t know who he even is, and is most terrified of being alone and remaining a slave. He wants revenge even more than he wants freedom and, to me at least, that’s because the thought of freedom is so alien to him it doesn’t even really feel attainable. He wants it desperately, but it feels like he thinks he’s more likely to find revenge than to ever be truly free. And yet he spends SO MUCH TIME trying to help others break their chains. Like if he can’t do it, he’s damn well going to make sure others can. And it makes my heart break for him every time.

And the parallels between his and Cazador’s stories… I think Cazador has always had an evil streak. There’s always been something wrong with him. Hinted at by the description for Rhapsody, his dagger. We don’t find out if this is before or after he became a spawn, but it sounds like before to me:

“Cazador's love of poetry arose after he read one on the naked stomach of a dead child in his homeland. The child was hung from the lowest branch of a tree. Cazador read the poem, and looked at the child, and he knew that here was the artform for him.”

And yet if the story of BG3 had taken place a few centuries earlier, would Tav and co be helping him defeat Vellioth? Would he be slowly opening up about all the horrible things that happened to him? Could he have been saved from becoming the next abuser in the cycle?

Personally I don’t think the vampirism and torture are all that made him who he is. I think there was already a hint of that beforehand, or maybe nurtured into being by the fact he seems to come from a series of vampires. I think it definitely led him down a darker path than he might have taken otherwise, but it also doesn’t diminish the horrible shit that happened to him and that he didn’t deserve because no one deserved that.

There’s an implication in the game that all vampires are evil, but we know that isn’t true because look at Astarion and his siblings. They may have questionable morals, but they don’t immediately turn into crazed serial killers after Cazador dies. And we see how devastated Astarion was when he realized all the victims he brought to Cazador were left caged for centuries. He remembers Sebastian’s name for fuck’s sake. I don’t think that’s just because he was one of his first because he says he recognizes many of the people in the dungeon.

When I first found out I could make Astarion a Vampire Ascendant I was on board with the idea. But the more I got to know Astarion, the more I realized that wasn’t what he ultimately wanted. No shade to anyone going the Ascended route, but I think him staying a spawn is more in line with who he actually wants to be rather than who he thinks he wants to be. He values the safety being Ascended could bring him and longs for the power and sense of normalcy it could provide after 200 years without the sun and surviving on blood. But I don’t think he actually wants it. He thanks you for saving him from himself when you stop the ritual.

That’s one of the best things about the BG3 game. Each character has a path leading them to what they THINK they want and those endings still satisfy them in various ways, but then there’s the alternative of giving them what they ACTUALLY want.

Gale THINKS he wants to be a god, but if he ascends everyone in his life mourns him. Lae’zel THINKS she wants to ascend, but only until she realizes she’s been lied to her entire life. Shadowheart THINKS she wants to be a Dark Justicier, but she’ll renounce Shar if presented with the reality of who she actually is. Wyll THINKS he wants to kill Karlach, but only until he realizes he’s been lied to about who she is.

Tbh with Wyll I feel like he builds Karlach up in his head to be a stand-in for Mizora and so all his righteous hurt fury is channeled into taking her out. And then he finds out she isn’t and the wind immediately goes out of his sails.

I mean obvs play the game however you like, it’s just a game after all. But I feel like the writers and all are pretty clear about what the “good” vs “bad” endings are. It just depends on who you’re playing and how you want to play in a way that’s true to your character!

BUT YEAH. All this is to say, I wound up in a major state of analysis paralysis with writing Cazador because I wanted to write him the way Astarion sees him. Terrifying, evil, soul-crushing, an unstoppable force, etc. I also wanted to be true to his character, but without going headlong into Saw territory because I didn’t want to destroy all of Astarion’s growth so far in my fic because it is already more than long enough lol. So it’s been a really difficult balance but I think I’ve finally nailed it as best I can. No one’s really gonna see that until chapter 12-14 (SORRY), but I’m pretty happy with the results and I hope other folks feel the same way. lol chapter 14 maaaay be the one that broke me a little while writing it… But like I said before, maybe I was just feeling particularly sensitive while writing it!

It wasn’t until I was rereading/doing a very light edit pass on chapter nine that I was like “wait one goddamn second, I’m pretty happy with how I wrote Cazador here so maybe I CAN defeat chapter thirteen…”

Getting to explore Gale’s relationship with Mystra has also been really interesting. I’ve really wanted to delve into why she’s so fucking terrible for him and why he shouldn’t be within ten million miles of her. I still haven’t saved Minsc yet in game, but I’ve seen the dialogue option for him where he talks about hiding young male magic users from Mystra and damn if that didn’t bring some clarity to my portrayal of her.

I’m writing her and Gale’s relationship as him having been all in, this is the love of my life, future goddess wife guy Gale. But then Mystra is just…kind of there. She might have a fondness of some kind for Gale, but it’s not the Great Love™ he wants and deserves. I think he convinces himself into thinking it is, but it’s not and it’s obvious by how quick she is to sever all ties with him until she realizes she might can use him to destroy the Absolute. I think it’s super telling too that she only helps him with the orb BECAUSE she wants an ace in the hole and SHE KNOWS Gale would do anything for her. Or he used to at any rate. It’s not until you get him away from his groomer/abuser that he realizes “hey, maybe my relationship with Mystra was a little toxic and maybe I shouldn’t blow myself up just because she asked.”

I think it’s super telling in the game too that, if he does detonate the orb, the game is fucking over and YOU DID NOT WIN. So even though she says “hey former babe, could you kill yourself to maybe save me the trouble of dealing with the Absolute,” and you might even think “why would she suggest this if it wouldn’t work,” SHE COULD NOT BE MORE WRONG. And now you have an exploded wizard on your hands and everyone is dead.

And like…it’s also really telling that she could’ve helped him stave off the orb earlier but didn’t and was willing to risk him randomly exploding somewhere else and causing all kinds of unspeakable damage in the process. Like, ma’am you are a stone cold bitch huh?

And like, if you get the cut scene with Gale actually talking to her, to me it comes across as just super fucking condescending? Like watching that scene it was just like…damn how did he think she ever like liked him back??? But Gale is a hopeless foolish romantic so of course he couldn’t see all the red flags through his rose tinted glasses. And she has had her eye on him since he was EIGHT YEARS OLD. Bruh is OBSESSED with the Weave and the literal embodiment of it comes along offering him free candy from the back of a white van??? And like what are his parents supposed to do or say? Or his teachers? “No, don’t go with the literal goddess trying to lure you away”? Sounds like a one way trip to fucked around and found out-ville, upsetting someone as powerful as Mystra.

So yeah, I’m trying to write Gale as slowly coming to realize their relationship wasn’t perfect and she took advantage of him in so many fucked up ways. And I’ve also heavily drawn inspiration from that letter Elminster sends if he ascends talking about how fucking awful it is that Gale left his humanity behind. It’s like he died, but he’s still there, the new god of ambition. I mean you’d think folks would be like “hell yeah, my homie ascended to godhood” but they aren’t. Everyone in his life before (his mom, Tara, Elminster, hell maybe even Mystra) are just so fucking sad/devastated about it.

Something I think a lot about when writing Gale and Astarion is that Gale’s humanity is what everyone seems to love so much about him. At the surface level and deep down he is inherently a GOOD PERSON who is trying to do GOOD THINGS. Yeah, boy has an ambitious streak the size of Texas, but I think he truly believes ascending to godhood will make him able to be a GOOD god who will genuinely help people. Strongly reminds me of this post:

But time and time again in BG3 we see the gods DON’T tend to help anyone. They’re fickle and have their own agendas and you better fucking hope what you want aligns with what they want because otherwise you are FUCKED. (Seriously if that whole dynamic of gods appeals to you, do yourself a favor and check out The Thief by Megan Whalen Turner because FUCK it is one of the best series out there, especially if you like Greek mythology and all which the series draws from and parallels in a lot of ways).

Shar done kidnapped Shadowheart and turned her into her own Winter Soldier. Mystra abandoned Gale and then asked him to pretty please kill himself. Vlaakith has brainwashed all the Githyanki into doing her bidding and kills anyone who defies her. Etc, etc, etc.

Idk I feel like Gale is one of the most ALIVE people in the party, barring except Halsin. He takes such joy in all the mundanities of life and constantly seeks to spread that cheer around. Man is a Grade A Yapper who could probably easily nail the job interview for Waterdeep tour guide and exponentially increase tourism spending with the infectiousness of his love of the city. He loves poetry and good food and books and magic and wants nothing more than to share those things with anyone he comes across.

Meanwhile Astarion feels like he’s coming back to life after a two hundred year coma and is desperate to experience everything that’s been denied him for two centuries. He drinks himself silly on blood, he marvels at the sun, he too loves to yap at anything that sits still long enough. He wants to embrace his “humanity” with open arms and struggles to learn how to do it, often accidentally overindulging in the process. He is FREE (sort of) and damn if he’s not gonna experience everything he possibly can.

It’s not originally the dynamic I wanted to explore between the two of them. Tbh I don’t know if it was even in my radar. I just really, really wanted to write a oneshot of them nerding out over books together because they’re always tent neighbors and one of their main idle animations is them reading. READING WHAT?! I HAVE TO KNOW. I think other characters have that idle animation too, but it’s like…why are you two always tent besties??? You seem like you’d drive each other nuts AND YET YOU KEEP CAMPING NEXT TO EACH OTHER. I also saw a joke post about what Astarion was always reading on Reddit and most of the suggestions were like trashy magazines and that kind of thing, which I thought was funny. But it gave me brain worms because I was like “that’s clearly a big ass book, what the fuck is he reading” and…yeah that oneshot spiraled out of fucking control so hard *gestures helplessly to 80k words and growing fanfic*.

I like to think Astarion is helping Gale reconnect with his “humanity” because he’s witnessing all these “first time” experiences through Astarion’s eyes and it’s giving him a newfound appreciation for them. I like to think he’s spent so much time trying to be the perfect companion for Mystra that he’s forgotten the simpler joys in life and what it means to be mortal and alive and living in the moment.

Then I just really wanted to explore the dynamic of how do these two polar opposites meet in the middle. What do they have in common. What draws them to one another. How can they bring out the best in each other. How can I do that as in character as possible. How can they help each other through their biggest in game story arcs (Astarion defeating Cazador and Gale accepting his relationship with Mystra is over and he doesn’t need to become a god). They’re both so fucking ambitious too. Astarion craves power for the purpose of safety. Gale craves power because he feels he has a great destiny and wants to help others and “im different. and better. maybe even better than the gods.”

I consider them foils for one another too. Astarion shows Gale what can happen if ambition is unchecked and how it can ruin a person who has even the best of intentions. Meanwhile Gale shows Astarion he can trust others and he doesn’t need to become all powerful to be safe and loved. He tempers that all-consuming fear Astarion struggles under the weight of and helps him more safely explore what it means to be free and to love and be loved.

I’m also trying to make Astarion a foil for Mystra. He’s no esoteric god with unfathomable motives. He’s sarcastic and blunt and so very real and present in a way she never was (in my headcanon anyway). He sees Gale for who he is and doesn’t just pick and choose the pieces of him that are convenient or match his own wants and needs. He wants THE WHOLE PACKAGE and Gale better give it to him or he’s gonna snark and brutal honesty him to death.

Wow this got a bit sappy, huh?

lol. I just was having a lot of feelings and wanted to get them out somewhere. Kudos to you if you made it this far through my rambling!

#hismercy’s musings #sneak peek #ancient books and horror stories #bloodweave #my fics #my writing #bg3 game thoughts #I too am a Grade A Yapper #gale of waterdeep #astarion #cazador szarr #bg3

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cinnamonest · 4 years ago

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Yandere Profile - Scaramouche

Yes I’m finally posting it lol, I had this sitting around a while actually and was hoping we'd get more info or anything on my boy, but since it looks like that's not happening anytime soon and I’ve had it done, I'll just go ahead and post

That and I kept asking myself "Man is this it? Is this the limit of too gross and dark for it to be searchable?" but meh. I'm sure eventually we'll get more info and I'll have to edit or redo this but oh well, I felt like writing a super sadistic bastard so. For one thing I don't think it's confirmed? But I'm still going with the idea he's electro vision.

EDIT: this is circulating a lot again. Please note this was made prior to version 2.0.

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Tws: fem reader, sadism, ns/f/w themes/mentions, manipulation, derogatory offensive language, mutilation, psychological torture, a LOT of physical and emotional abuse, bone breaking, detailed branding, scarification/cutting, mentions of murder, referenced trying to hurt yourself, descriptions of torture to a third party, brief descriptions of violence and gore and very brief mentions of eye/decapitation related stuff on a third party. Scara's just.... very awful lol

Tws (ns//fw section): noncon, severe sadism, d/s content, nonconsensual masochistic conditioning, degradation, anal, public humiliation, cockwarming, petplay, it's just... bad

This is definitely the darkest/most brutal one I've done by a pretty good margin, so, I just feel like I should warn that in case dark yandere isn't your thing.

The whole thing is really long (longest one yet yay) so I'm putting the whole thing under a cut, with a ====== line to divide the sfw and ns//fw sections.

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Severity Scale

Intelligence/Perceptiveness: 7

Brutality: 10

Physical capability: 6

Mental/emotional instability: 3

Restrictiveness: 6

Sexual sadism: 11

Stubbornness: 9.5

What are they generally like? Lucid, aware? Obsessive? How do they behave?

Bastard.

Honestly? A lot of his bullshit is defensive, he's basically an extra-mean tsundere that will also happen to rip limbs off of people who look at you the wrong way. Quite literally a case of, "it's not like I like you or anything," which he tells both you and himself.

I mean, what were you expecting. The man is not regarded as a particularly nice person.

Nonetheless, liking you will inevitably come through in certain moments, the mask of apathy for you comes off when necessary, and what comes through instead is an insane degree of possessiveness and defensiveness. It most likely starts with someone else insulting you or getting mad at you, perhaps a Fatui darling that fucks up and some other superior starts yelling at you -- can't have that. Only he's allowed to yell at you, he's the only person that can make you cry and apologize and cower like that, and he has... low self-control. He'll absolutely get pissed and publicly blow up at the other person, making a scene that actually has some benefits, as it will deter everyone who witnesses it from ever being mean to you. Honestly, his meanness is somewhat made up by the fact that literally everyone else will be incredibly nice to you (when you are both given permission to interact), if for nothing else but fear of his wrath.

As far as who, it's likely one of two roles, first, an underling or direct subordinate as mentioned above, perhaps some kind of assistant. Second, more likely, someone who did meet him for a few moments, but in a rather... negative encounter. An enemy he was sent to deal with perhaps, someone he maybe almost got to fight but they ran away, like a coward. Someone who got in the way of him and a target. It's an instinct, really, like escaped prey, to chase after it.

Does he know your name? Because it's... questionable, given that he never calls you by it, instead opting for some rather derogatory, even offensive pet names with even more derogatory adjectives. Namely sexualized, y'know, things like that, the occasional "fucktoy" or "cumslut" later on. And it's wise not to get upset over it, because if you show any anger over it, he'll just intentionally get even worse and meaner. Again, it's all part of a defense mechanism, because God forbid you get the impression that he enjoys being around you. He'll also come up with a mean name based on a physical trait of yours. And... it's somewhat creative, at least. Something derogatory, but it's.... personalized, so, at least that's, well... affectionate? Examples include things such as four-eyes for a glasses-wearer, cow tits for the larger-chested, dumbass for a spacey, inattentive darling.

In a perpetual effort to degrade you as much as possible, he also expects you to respond to whistles and tongue-clicking, you know, the sound you make to call dogs and horses? Well, that sound is for you too, add in a "come here" finger motion sometimes -- all while not bothering to even look up from what he's doing. He could use words, but, that's more effort than he should have to put in, and you should be well-trained enough to know you're supposed to come when you hear that sound.

Another thing is that from the get-go, you get collared. It's degrading, it's possessive, it's humiliating, it's everything he likes inflicting on you. It's made for humans, so it has a lock and key, it's too tight to pull it over your head, and it's solid leather and can't be easily cut. So you're not getting out of it easily. It's not a sex thing, he insists, even though it clearly is and you will openly accuse him of it. He'll admit to it eventually. But it does have it's practical purposes as well. It can't be taken off, and it has his name and the Fatui's symbols on it, so even if you should get out and seek help from some kind of law enforcement or locals, the moment they see your collar they'll just drag you back.

And for someone who always insists you're bothering him, you will find he is actually rather... clingy. Before you know it, you're spending every second of your day with the man. Let's be real, given some of the shit going on within the Fatui, they're not gonna care that one of their highest ranking individuals has, well, more or less a slave. People will turn a blind eye. They don't care if he brings you with him. And like a good pet, you'll just sit quietly tethered to a desk. All day. He'd rather that than leave you at home. If you complain enough, he'll get you something to do, some kind of paper and pencil or a puzzle or the like, tells you to do that and not bother him. But he insists on you being with him. And likewise, the clinginess continues even in living quarters. If he's working on something, he expects you to stay in the same room. If you're in one room and try to run off to the kitchen or bedroom or whatever, you get a glare and a where the fuck do you think you're going?

You actually end up spending, unfortunately, almost more time with him than any other yan, because he insists on taking you to work every single day, whether that's in a headquarters or elsewhere, even on trips/missions, you can just hang around nearby within sight if there's any fighting. He has no need to hide you, since everyone knows about you, and he has enough power to not be challenged by bringing you wherever he wants, so he quite literally keeps you by his side, perpetually, 24/7. How... sweet.

How likely are they to kidnap their darling? How quickly will they do so?

For a subordinate darling, though, you're right there, so it's not hard. He just tells you you can't leave, and you're going to be changing your living quarters to his. In fact, he already had some other underlings go to your residence and move some of your things. If you should resist, well, you know your family information is on your employment records, right? Would be such a shame if anything happened to them. He doesn't try to hide it very much, makes the threat pretty obvious with no hint of subtleness.

for any other darling, well, kidnapping is for pathetic people, and he's not one, he thinks. He's too obsessive over self image -- if he kidnaps you, that would make it seem like he likes you, or, archons forbid, even needs you. Can't have that.

Thankfully, there is a useful alternative. It's called, "passive aggressively threatening financial ruin, great harm and even death upon your loved ones unless you do as you are told." See, he doesn't have to resort to pathetic measures like kidnapping. You come willingly. Nor does he get you himself, he's above that. Sure, he might... feel the urge to, but again, he has an image to maintain, you know. Going to fetch his new pet is a task delegated to underlings.

Which is something you honestly might want to thank your lucky stars for, because they're far too afraid of consequences to be rough about it. If you showed up with bruises or cuts, who knows what could happen to them if they marred and defiled his toy with their disgusting hands. So, they're very... gentle. Honestly, the poor things might get you with pity, that if you don't come back with them, it's their job, wellbeing, even life on the line, so hey, maybe you could do the right, empathetic thing and come with them? Maybe you can talk him out of it, and save both of you! (They know that's impossible, but they say so anyway).

For the one-time-encounter darling, at first you're not even sure who they're talking about or what's going on, you're confused and think maybe they have the wrong person? Unfortunately once you're there, once they shove you into a room and slam the doors behind you, you have the oh no, I remember this guy moment. Because, well, how could you forget him? Now you're actually nervous, because they're not very clear at first as to why you're there, only that you're being detained by their forces, so you might think the Fatui would like to kill you, but that doesn't make sense since they brought you all the way here. Maybe interrogation? No, that doesn't make sense either.

He feigns apathy. Again, can't make it seem like you're, you know, important. It's more of an oh, yeah, almost forgot that you were coming sort of attitude. Like you're wasting his time, as if you weren't the one practically dragged here. He's doing some kind of paperwork (not really, he's just holding a pen and pretending to read the paper), and doesn't bother looking up for more than a moment. You're already asking questions, perhaps angrily, perhaps meekly, depending on the personality. If it's the former, he might snap and glare at you and snarl about it, if it's the latter, he'll just shoot you a glare to get you to be quiet.

Says, simply, he's decided that you posed... an obstacle before. An annoyance. You're not worth the trouble you caused before, and he'll make sure you don't get in his way again. He's gracious enough to not kill you, since he thinks you have some potential for a different purpose. You'll be like... a slave. Pet. Toy. Whichever word you like best. You start today and it's indefinite, so get used to it.

He says it so matter-of-factly and calmly, apathetically, that you're almost not certain you heard right, so you blink and stare and ask sorry, what? And he groans and rolls his eyes and tells you to listen because in the future he's not going to be repeating things for you, and tells you again.

You protest? Ok, maybe he'll just actually kill you, then? Sound good? No? Then why bother saying anything? You should have known that was the alternative. Of course, he wouldn't actually kill you, but, you don't exactly know that, and this guy certainly looks and sounds like he wouldn't hesitate. So... have fun.

How difficult is it to escape from them? How do they keep you restrained? How do they deal with attempted escape?

He's going to have you under constant, live surveillance every waking second of your life, so, it's not exactly easy. Given his position, he can easily persuade anyone to let him bring you with him to whatever work he has to do. He keeps you collared and tethered to the desk, most of the time. And he prefers you to be under his surveillance, but if he absolutely needs to leave he will leave you under the care of guards, and it's never a long window of time. Most of said guards value their lives and know the man well enough to know they had better keep a very good eye on you.

Your only real chance is when you get the newbie guard, the one who doesn't know better and might get distracted. If you're willing to throw said guard under the bus, you stand a slight chance of getting out into the main buildings, and even then, you have to make your way out of one of the most heavily guarded, likely walled-in buildings in Teyvat, out into the very difficult to survive wilderness. It's actually not a great idea. You'll most likely end up caught by guards even if you make it out of the initial room, and as you can imagine, your course of actions has not gone over well with your captor, who they drag you back to, likely kicking and screaming because you know you do not want to face his wrath.

It's not pretty. Escape attempts are a very high-ranking offense in his mind, and even worse, you've made a fool of yourself and reflected poorly on him. You'll most likely have a broken bone by the end of it. He doesn't really think out punishments for this very much, he just acts on angry impulse, which at the time might be snapping one or two of your fingers, or a kick to the stomach that cracks a rib. It won't be too severe of broken bones, thankfully, he won't break your legs or arms... not just yet, at least.

How easy are they to trick, deceive, or manipulate?

Ok actually... you'd be surprised that it's easier than you think. You see, you'll find that a lot of particularly cruel, mean-spirited people often don't have the best socialization skills, as people tend to fear them so much and dislike engaging with them that they don't get a lot of conversational exchanges beyond barking orders and dominating any exchanges, and consequently, as well as due to people's fear of them, have difficulty telling when someone is lying, being sarcastic, or reading subtle things like body language and facial expressions.

As a result, you can lie to him, and he's more easily fooled by acting than you'd expect, although it's still difficult, it's just no next-to-impossible. But I mean, really, the question is more... is it really worth the risk? Because you'll suffer if you get caught. Managing to trick him is kinda humiliating on his end, and he doesn't exactly take kindly to people making a fool out of him. It's an insult to his pride, so, consequences are more severe than just regular misbehavior. Basically the more an offense humiliates him or makes him insecure, the more he'll lash out at you as a result. Lying or any kind of deception is a very severe offense on his internal ranking. Basically, lying is only really worth it if you're planning an escape and are fairly confident you can pull it off.

Manipulation isn't really possible. What, you promise you'll behave better if you get this or that? And you think that'll persuade him? Hah. Don't try it. He actually gets mad if you try that sort of thing. Any exchange like that, you see, gives you a semblance of some sort of power, which is unacceptable. Why give you an inch of your way when he can just brutalize his way into getting you to do whatever he wants? That being said, he might come up with things on his own to pacify or appease you if you annoy him in general, but won't listen to your "deals" -- so really, if you want something, it's smarter to express interest in that thing at some point, then go and annoy him in general -- he's much more likely to think of that thing and get you what you want, whereas if you ask for it directly in exchange for not being such a brat, he'll say no.

How lenient are they? What privileges can you have, and what will you be denied?

Initially not a lot, he doesn't want to waste money on anything for you, but soon realizes you can be very, very annoying while he's trying to work, and you're so bored that you're willing to take the consequences of being annoying. He hates to give in to the "if you give me stuff to do I won't bother you" thing because it feels like giving in to you, but, eventually if you pester him enough he'll cave and get your something to do from his own idea, but as aforementioned, not a direct deal made with you.

So, eventually, you'll get things to do. Books, paper and pencils, anything that works if you give him some peace and quiet.

As far as roaming, though, absolutely not. You start off not leashed to anything, but if you try some shit once, you'll have your collar leashed up and tethered. During meetings, you obviously can't leave. And any roaming, really, would be breaking the "don't leave my line of sight" rule. Really, he gets upset even if you move around the room too much, prefers you stay still.

It's a stretch to call it lenience, but you go where he goes, so you do get some outings. Even if you don't want them, because again, you go where he goes.

What kind of rules do they have? What kind of punishment would they use?

Rules are simple actually, because a simple rule encompasses a lot. He tells you very plainly from the start: "Don't piss me off."

Of course, poor darling has to get some elaboration on that, so he sighs and groans but clarifies and it turns out there are, in fact, many rules. Do everything you are told, do it when he says it, and don't complain. Don't avoid him. Don't speak without permission. Don't backtalk him or give him an attitude. Stay within his sight at all times. Don't speak to anyone that's not him, and don't look them in the eye. Call him "Master." "Sir" will suffice occasionally. If he calls you over, don't take you time, you should move as fast as you can. ...He keeps going on for a while. This is, obviously, a much further extent than it initially seemed, but he doesn't seem to have much leniency, so you try to listen carefully.

Most importantly. You will take everything he has to give without fighting back, and at the end, you'll thank him. While saying this rule, he actually bothers to look up from his work and look you in the eye, and you know he's very serious about it.

For simple punishments, it's not so much that he intends to do horrible things, it's more that he gets into more or less a tantrum and gets so mad he lashes out on instinct without thinking it over. Expect a lot of simple beatings -- slapped in the face, some hair pulled out, a combination of both is common, where he just grabs you by the hair and smacks you around. Shoves you to the ground, kicks you while you're down there. Spits in your face. Chokes you on the collar, chokes you with his hand until you black out. He'll wait for you to recover on that last one, after all, you have to say your "thank you" at the end.

As aforementioned, escape attempts are a high-ranking offense, but not quite worth severely broken bones to him. However, this changes if they become repetitive. This is the fourth time now, so maybe you don't need that ankle too much.

However, the actual worst offense is trying to harm him or yourself. Hurt yourself, and you'll find yourself unable to. He'll make sure you come to appreciate life with him a little more, let's see how you like constant restraint, 24/7 bound and tied to a chair or the bed. This might also get a wrist or fingers broken, to prevent you from hurting yourself.

But raise a hand against the man and you'll genuinely, truly suffer. It's a combination, you get a little bit of everything, an all in one deal -- one offense, receive every type of punishment free! But if this happens again, he decides to do something a little more... permanent.

In order to reach this point, you'd have to be particularly bad for a pretty long streak of time. Repeated escapes, repeated attacks, repeated misbehavior, and you just don't seem to learn, so, he'll just have to remind you of your place, and he feels the best way to do that is leaving a mark. Oh, and probably the most physically traumatic experience of your life, that aspect will help it sink in.

He might not be able to do all of them with a respective vision, but that doesn't mean he can't just mark you in a few of the old-fashioned ways! In fact, you get the choice. That's part of the psychological torture of it all, having to pick and choose the details of your suffering, the way your heart pounds and the way you whimper and sob and the fact that you've never seen him look quite so giddy, as if high on the very notions of your pain. There's one he can do on his own, though. Have you ever seen the scars of someone who's been struck by lightning? They're pretty. He thinks something like that would look so nice etched out on your skin. Unfortunately you'd have to be shocked a couple of times for several seconds at a time to be permanent, but he'll give you something to bite down on if you'd like.

If you don't like that, he can brand you the old-fashioned way with a fire and iron. It would take a bit longer, and he'll very intentionally drag out the process. What kind of design do you want? There's a few. Do you want it on your front or your back? Left side or right? Chest, shoulders, hips? You should be grateful, he's here giving you options and you're just sitting there blubbering? If you don't hurry up and answer, he'll just have to give you more than one.

Or if both of those options aren't good enough, there's another alternative. Carving into you like a piece of meat. It could be his name, or a design, maybe. He could write it down your thigh. Across your stomach. On your chest. Don't worry, he's cut into enough people to know how to not to go too deep, just on the surface is enough to scar.

Speaking of not going to deep, notably, he will never actually do anything that puts your life at risk, or impacts your... health? Obviously the pain and scars aren't healthy, but to elaborate, he won't starve you, and he won't choke you beyond the point of blacking out. If he does cut you, it's with you so heavily restrained you cannot move in any capacity -- no chance of you thrashing and making it go too deep, gags you so you don't accidentally bite into your tongue and bleed out. He's actually... oddly vigilant about making sure he doesn't accidentally kill you.

He also won't isolate you, well, not physically. This is more for him than you, although he won't say so, he doesn't like you being physically out of his sight or away from him. Instead, he gives you... emotional isolation, tells you not to speak to him, pretends you're not there, won't respond to you calling out to him. It's actually a bit more hurtful in a way, but you'll never get the whole "locked alone in a room for a week without contact" punishment that some yanderes pull. He's too needy for that.

How do they deal with rivals, or perceived rivals? Will they get rid of them? Will they kill them themselves, or find another way?

You see, it's your fault. Even if it isn't.

No, it really doesn't matter what you did or didn't do, it's still your fault that someone else shows you attention. You probably seduced them somehow, looked at them with those lustful eyes when he wasn't looking, or you held your body in a way that people would look at. So, it's ultimately your fault, and you will get punished for it, but although you are the root cause, you're not the worst offender -- the other party is still far, far worse.

Because by now anyone should know better. You'd have to be stupid or just have a death wish, because realistically everyone will look the other way if he quite literally kills a low-rank.

And to be fair, he might actually be wrong. He's actually really paranoid about this, and he takes the slightest of things and blows them out of proportion. Maybe that guy that he says looked at you the wrong way wasn't even looking at you at all. He imagines things and will definitely at some point accuse someone completely innocent of something they didn't do. Or he might be right, they did look at you, speak to you, but it was just a glance, just a simple question, but that doesn't matter. They still did it (and you, you probably encouraged it, didn't you?).

If you are the one saying it, though, complaining about sexual harassment from one of the guards or something, well, then he's more brutal, and doesn't hold anything back. He will, simply, kill them. No life-ruining, no framing for crimes, he's actually very direct and simple when it comes to rivalry because who needs indirect methods when you have enough status to just off the bastard?

Now, if it's someone from back home, a boyfriend or such that you keep whining about, because he doesn't know what happened to me! He's probably worried! Fine. He agrees to send people to inform him of what happened, he says, he promises he'll get them to tell him what happened to you, after all it's not like the guy could do anything about it. He feigns irritation at best, rolls his eyes, but inside it actually sets him off like nothing else. Eats him alive inside. He's right here and here you are droning on about some guy who doesn't matter? To his face?

Well, it's not as if he doesn't... understand why you're not exactly happy here. It's a dilemma that he has, which we'll touch on later, that he kinda does sometimes wish you were happy and did like him, but he also realizes that pretty much everything he does is counterproductive to that. Still, this is one of those times he wishes for it. Gets childishly pouty to anyone else interacting with him, in a bad mood all day because how dare you have someone else you care about. He wants you to show that kind of concern for him.

And, although it's even more counterproductive to the possibility of you ever liking him, he decides to do something very, very spiteful. He changes his mind and says actually, he'll arrange it so that you get to see the guy. Bites his tongue and twitches at how your face lights up, but then you you have the nerve to ask if he's joking. No, he says, he's serious, it'll take a while to fetch him though. It warms your heart. Maybe he has, you know, the capacity for empathy after all. When you get called over in a few days, because he says he has something for you, you think it's that, but no, it seems to be something else. You've been good, he says, so he got you something.

A gift, in a box and everything. Go on, open it. He got it just for you. It was hard to obtain, there's only one in the world. Oh, but sit down first. You might pass out from excitement.

You don't like the happy look on his face, the light-hearted tone in his voice, it's all too uncharacteristic, and you run through possibilities, none of them good. You pick it up and you're fairly certain you know, you shake a little bit and tears start to fill your eyes, and you really don't want to open the box, but at the same time, you have to know.

He's smart about it, and takes your well-being into account, because he cares, you know? That's why he got you to sit down, if you'd been standing, see, you would have passed out and fallen and maybe hurt yourself. This way you just slump over and drop the box when you black out. That was somewhat expected, most people pass out when they see the disembodied head of a loved one, and you're no exception. You got blood on the floor when you drop it, but it was worth seeing the look on your face. Alright, well, you got what you wanted, you got to see him. See? He wasn't lying, he followed through on the promise.

How easy is it to make them mad? What does their anger look like?

Very, very easy to piss off. You often do it so unintentionally, without even knowing that the action is something that will set him off, that the reactions catch you off-guard. The actual anger varies depending on his mood that day -- some days, it's just snarling and berating, looking at you with disgust and barking at you about how stupid you are, threatening you with this or that, ultimately forcing you to apologize just to get him to leave you alone and stop being mean. He likes to feel above you, so a lot of the time he'll say something isn't worth his time getting truly angry over, and wave his hand after a few minutes and tell you to not speak to him again until he says you can. Other times, if he's in an especially bad mood, he can get kinda physically violent, throwing things, grabbing you by the hair or clothes to get in your face, pulling your hair, kneeing you in the stomach.

He can be incredibly childish and immature about offenses -- even long after the loud and explosive angry tantrum is over, he'll be passive-aggressive for a while, and is incapable of just letting it go. He brings it up over, and over, and over, like an actual child that wants to wallow in bitterness and make you feel sorry for him. This is less of an active anger, it's more pouty, but still spoken with narrowed eyes and a disgusted glare.

Also, when he's exceptionally angry, it's one of the few times he might act... not so. When he gets furious, for a few moments he'll snap into the "fake" personality we've seen in him -- smiles and laughs a bit, begins his sentence with a light hearted, saccharine tone that, by now, you know means you have severely fucked up, and you tremble and step backwards. You cower, but he grabs you by the hair, shirt, chin, anything, and his voice gets lower and lower, the smile slowly drops, until he just explodes, furiously snarling at you and pulls your hair, backhands you a few times, shoves you to the ground, before dragging you away by the hair or the shirt to go over your real punishment.

Now, there's anger, and then there's rage. He gets mad easily. He blows up, he yells, he does his little transition from smiley to mad, but if he's at the absolute upper limit of anger, he gets surprisingly... quiet. Quiet and calm. It's actually unlikely that this anger will ever be directed towards darling, as there's not really anything you can do to make him this upset. If you witness it, it's likely in the form of someone else trying to hurt you, or the aforementioned rivals. And that's an insult to him, you know? You're his property. It makes him completely blind with rage. And, the unspoken aspect of it, is that if someone is genuinely after you, the idea of you being killed or taken away terrifies him because he needs you, deep down.

This rare rage, again, (seemingly) calm and quiet, is very straightforward. The offender is staked to the ground straight through, don't worry, he can do it without hitting internal organs. And then, well, tortured to death. He's an expert in the art of pushing the limits of keeping a human being alive as long as possible. Oh, don't go anywhere. He'd like you to watch. If it's someone trying to hurt you, well, they deserve to see the reason they're dying, and if it's someone you gave your attention or affection to, he wants you to see the consequences of your choices on others, remember, it's your fault this happened, you likely enticed them. If it's that, he'll make sure you're involved. Give you choices. What would you like to see go first, a finger or the tongue?

Another little quirk is that he always has to express anger physically, even when he knows not to -- which isn't too often, but sometimes he has to accept that subordinates will be stupid and that he can't always kick them in the face for it. So when he's just in a bad mood, he gets twitchy from the need to exert physical violence. Grabs at the edge of the table with trembly hands, breaks writing utensils in half, pulls at his hair and digs his fingernails into his arms. Once you're there, though, he can take out the anger on you, unfortunately, like a living stress ball. When it's anger at other people, though, he tends to take that anger out not by hurting you, but rather, finds... other rough ways to expend some energy and exert some physical force.

So they see you as above them, beneath them, or equal to them?

What do you think?

Yeah, there's not a whole lot to say here. He's a massive narcissist, everyone is beneath him. However... notably, although he wouldn't say it out loud, he still sees you as being above other people, even though that in and of itself is a narcissistic thought process -- you have value, because you have value to him. You are important because he has deemed you important. And other people, he has deemed unimportant, worthless. You have worth... because he's decided you do. Because he has the utmost worth, so, he's just bestowing some of his own worth on you -- it's an act of benevolence, really.

And, well, as you can imagine, this attitude is very much reflected in his behavior. And, one way or another, itwill be reflected in your behavior, too.

How determined are they for you to love them? How hard will they try to make it happen? Or are they content just having you?

You might be surprised, but he actually... does try.

For someone who essentially makes your life hell, there are times where his mind starts thinking and drifting off because of some boring meeting or the like, or he's watching you go about whatever you're doing and thinks... you know, maybe it would be nice if you actually liked him. The first few times, he quickly shoves away the thought, but it starts popping into his head every now and then. Maybe the worship would be a lot better if you had adoration in your eyes instead of fear and tears. Honestly, it's still selfishly motivated, because he just thinks of how it would benefit him if you loved him, but he starts to like the idea nonetheless. And he can think of a way to make it happen. If he becomes determined to carry this out, it would be a little while into the "relationship," maybe a year or so.

He knows it won't come naturally. You need help. So, mindbreak it is.

It's not as if you're not already well on your way to mindbreak with the general way he already is, but there are certainly some things to be done that can speed up the process. Ultimately, the key to breaking you into loving him is making you need him, to make you think he's better than others, and to balance out the cruelties. The way to do this is to make you terrified of everything else, and present himself as a protection from that.

He'll arrange for accidents to occur that he can save you from -- gets an underling to pretend to break in and abduct you or the like so he can chase them off, sets a trap that nearly hurts you only to snatch you away from it.

The second tactic is to make himself seem better than your alternatives. He'll find a way -- it goes without saying he's not the only harbinger with a toy. He exaggerates how awful the others' are -- you know, that one's little toy has no arms or legs, they ripped them off. Bet you're glad he hasn't done that to you, huh? And that one only feeds their pet once a week, you get to eat normal meals every day. He finds ways to make it believable, maybe even get the others to support his claims (they gotta help each other out, you know?). You start to feel like maybe you should be a little more grateful.

And finally, it doesn't come easy but... he decides he can maybe (maybe! Don't you go getting used to this, you know) ...be nice. A word of praise here or there. The first time you hear a word of praise, you think you've gone insane, look up at him with wide eyes, and he just what, you want me to *not* say that? and you insist no no it's fine, it's fine! And as much as you wish it didn't, it makes you feel... warm inside. Good. You feel like you want more.

At the same time, you know what that means -- it's not hard to figure out that it's intentional, really, you know that, and he knows you know. You know why he's doing this. You know what the intended outcome is, and that you're falling for it perfectly. You know that your internal response means you're beginning to slip, to lose it, but... maybe that wouldn't be so bad. To put up a fight, to resist it? What good does that do, really? Your pride is already shattered and you're just going to make yourself more miserable.

Yes, if you let it happen, maybe you will finally be at ease. Resistance just makes things worse. So maybe acceptance will make things better. Maybe if you start working for the niceness and avoiding the meanness, trying to be good, trying to earn the niceness... maybe it would make you... happy. Maybe you really can love him. So eventually... you'll let go.

Bonus: Is there anything that makes them unique, in comparison to other yanderes?

He does love you, in his own way, but it's impossible for you to understand. This is where we get into the idea of sadism as love. True sadistic love is a rare thing even in yandere, and it's difficult to describe - for him, the degree of cruelty bestowed unto you IS, in a way, his way of "love." He has no idea how to express affection any other way, but it is, genuinely, caused by affection, even though he himself doesn't quite realize it, doesn't quite understand the feeling that's making him want to hurt you. Sure, his cruelty is partially a defense mechanism, a little bit of that tsundere side, but it's also something innate, instinctive. The natural reaction to the feeling of fondness is to hurt the object of that fondness. When he becomes fond of a person, he wants to harm them. He can't say why, and he doesn't exactly care why. He thinks you look pretty when you cry. When your face twists up in pain and your lip trembles, that's your most beautiful. It makes him feel powerful. In the same way a lot of people feel powerful over making their beloved cum or feel pleasure, that's how he is with pain. Well, he likes to inflict both actually, preferably at the same time.

To truly, completely own you means to be your whole world -- responsible for every bit of pleasure, pain, happiness, misery, he wants to be the cause of all of those things. Other people hurting you and making you cry makes him just as mad as other people making you smile or feel happy. They're both the same offense -- they're both trying to take away some of that ownership, some of that power. While he might utilize others harming you to his benefit, it still makes his blood boil -- not just in a "you're hurting someone I love" way, but in a "I'm the only one supposed to hurt them" way.

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General perverseness: how sexual of a person are they? What’s their drive like? How touchy do they get? Do they have any reservations about sexuality?

It changes gradually with time. At first, surprisingly somewhat reserved, and even more easily embarrassed, gets red in the face and shifts uncomfortably over certain topics. Doesn't mean he won't fuck you, but will be kind of cold and distant about it at first, not saying much, too embarrassed to call you nasty names and say degrading things.

(Un)fortunately for you, that changes pretty quickly, as the more confident and used to you he becomes, the more he's willing to indulge in the things that sound so nice in his head. Ok, so maybe the collar is a fetish thing, which you accused him of at the very beginning but he adamantly denied. So what? You clearly get off to it, so don't go around calling him a pervert for it.

He's in this odd middle ground where once he's actually horny and initiating it, he can get gross, and is very touchy almost all the time, but if sex comes up as a conversational topic when it's not actually occurring, he gets flustered about it, especially if you're the one to bring it up. Outside of specifically you, it's an absolute no. He's the kind of person to get outwardly disgusted at the slightest mention of the most vanilla and hand-hold-y of sexual things, or even just retch when seeing people get non-sexually romantic and loving, when hearing it from other people and tell them to shut up or get out of his sight, but at the same time is having you on a collar and leash in a workplace setting and forcing everyone around him to just tolerate that. Don't question it.

That being said, the "actually horny and initiating it" part is a frequent occurrence -- for someone who seems somewhat reserved, it's still incredibly often, almost always several times a day, and that's just actual intercourse, not counting all of the little degrading acts and words throughout the day. You'll be sore for sure.

And the touchiness is honestly partially neediness. He's touch-starved. Half the time, sure it's sexual, but it's also... nice. You're warm. Feeling your skin is comforting. He won't say that it's partially non-sexual, but sometimes will, without even consciously realize it, rest his head on your shoulder when you're sitting in his lap or the like.

How forceful are they? Do they care about your willingness?

It's better without, actually.

Of course, over time you'll learn better -- you'll learn you were just being stubborn at the time, that you should have been grateful, that it was what you wanted deep down -- but at the time, your fear is cute too.

That being said, once you reach the mindbroken state -- once you're enthusiastic, love in your eyes, bouncing up and down on his cock and thanking him for every second of it -- he has to admit that's pretty nice, too. He can enjoy it either way in the end -- whether you have that adoration and willingness, or if you don't.

The only thing he won't tolerate is if you pull the silent treatment -- trying to stay silent and now show anything on your face in an attempt to not give him the satisfaction of your reactions. Which is easily fixable. It's really not a good idea for you, because it will just make him worse in order to finally draw out some sounds.

What sort of kinks or fetishes do they have, or would they fill?

Orgasm denial/control/ruining

It's humiliating and funny at the same time, nice. But seriously, he likes to make you beg. It's nice to see you accept your place and do what you're supposed to, to openly acknowledge how little control you have.

And denial is great too, especially combined with edging. After a few days of the torture of not getting to cum, you'll finally be willing to throw your pride away and truly, truly beg, offering to do anything, and words spilling out of your mouth unprompted that you think he'd like to hear, and that's the best part, seeing the filthy things your mind can come up with to appease him enough to let you cum -- and they will be brought up later. Hey, remember when you said you would do this or that when you were begging to cum? About time to follow through right?

But if you haven't been so great, there's one thing better. Getting your hopes up and just barely letting you reach the high before pulling away completely. Your little eyes widen and you spasm and you rock your body in a desperate attempt for friction and sensation, but you're held down as the orgasm dies before ever reaching a peak. Sometimes you get so miserable about it you cry, which isn't great as it just fuels the desire to ruin it again.

And if you're so desperate to get off at any time, once you've been edged a few days, you can earn permission to either ride his thigh or get on the floor and rut into his leg until you cum. No using your hands. If you can't get off to humping like that, you don't get off. And be sure to thank him for the graciousness of allowing you to do so.

Public Humiliation

Once he gets more confident, he tells you you're going to start coming to meetings with him. He hates leaving you alone with guards he doesn't fully trust, so you'll just go too. At first you're ecstatic. This means you can finally get out of the lingerie and into real clothes, right?

And then you see the look on his face and realize what's actually happening, and it makes your blood run cold. You can fight it, but in the end you're going to be dragged by a leash in front of a room full of people on your hands and knees. If you've been relatively bad, you'll just sit at his feet, but if you're good, you get to sit up on his lap, nice and pretty so that everyone can see. He's just too possessive enough that you won't go naked, but the clothing of choice will certainly not be something you would ever, ever want to be seen in.

Oh, they give out water at these meetings. He grabs your chin and tells you he'll let you have some if you open your mouth, and you're thirsty so you do -- so he takes a swig of it and spits it into your mouth. And if you want any more, you'll have to take it the same way.

People are watching -- and you know people are watching. He's still slightly too awkward to want to be the center of attention (let's be real, there's probably fucked up things going on all over these meetings, others probably bring theirs too), but people cast glances, people smirk and chuckle at your humiliation and misery. And people envy him. You're so cute. He knows that, and he loves the power rush that comes with that knowledge. And you? Well, you don't want to throw a fit or cry in front of people -- not only would it be humiliating, but you fear the consequences, so you sit and squirm and whimper.

He's not one to start talking to others so much, though. Some yans into publicly humiliating you will make a spectacle of it, talking to the others and verbally, loudly showing you off, jeering at you and talking about you like you can't understand them (example being a certain hydro likely in the same room), but, well, honestly he just doesn't like the others well enough to speak with them unless necessary to begin with, so he actually just kind of glares and snarls at anyone that tries to interact. Again, not the center of attention, he prefers to remain a little more in the background, talking to you, soaking up your misery and beaming with pride over the glances people cast.

D/S dynamic - master/slave + petplay + humiliation + worship

If we're being honest it's more of a "this is your life now" than a dynamic. It's not that you pretend to be or act as a slave, you are one. And it's better if you accept that, really. No matter what, you say thank you after everything you get, be it rewards, punishment, anything really. And he likes to go out of his way to test the limits of that. See how far he can break down your pride before you refuse to give your proper thanks, so that he knows the limit of where he needs to start breaking you down more.

And it's whenever, wherever -- you're free use, basically, but also just tests your obedience and submission by random acts of sadism. Calls you over and tells you to get on your hands and knees so he can use you as a footrest, and you'll stay that way for a while. Grabs your jaw and tells you to open your mouth at complete random to spit in your mouth and tells you to swallow. After you grind on his leg until you cum as aforementioned, you got gross slick all over his shoes and the floor, so lick it up. Smiles at you and tells you hey, come here a sec and gives you a good backhand across the face. And what do you say? You know the answer - thank you Master. Is any of it necessary? No. But he enjoys it. It reminds you of your place, and your thanks is a measure to prove your loyalty. And he's not heartless, he'll tell you you're good for it. You start to look forward to that.

But the leash is another thing -- it ties onto your collar and he uses it to make sure you can't go too far. More importantly, uses it to pull you around and tells you good pets don't walk on two legs, they walk on four -- so you'll do the same and crawl on your hands and knees whenever he feels like it.

But worship is the best thing, really. As much as he likes doing things to you, you should be eager to show your love and gratefulness, too, which in his mind comes mostly in the form of riding him until your legs give out and deepthroating cock until you nearly black out. It would be much appreciated.

Anal sex + throatfucking

If we're being honest, it's just cute to watch you squeal and squirm. You whimper because it hurts, it feels weird in a way you're not used to, and when he cums inside your poor ass you can physically feel it and it feels so, so gross, leaking out and running down your legs. But it's better if it's by surprise, switching holes when you're not expecting it and listening to you squeak and jolt and try to pull yourself off, to listen to you beg and plead. It's adorable, really. And it makes for a good punishment that will definitely get you to behave if getting your poor ass stretched out is the threat you're dealing with. It's all cute, how you can't stand up to walk after, how you twitch and cry, and it's better if you can cum while he's fucking you because then that means you clearly enjoy it.

And your throat, too, watching your eyes tear up and feeling your throat instinctively spasm as your gag reflex kicks in. It goes pretty far down your throat, you definitely can't breathe, so you grab at his thighs and desperately try to pull off, but to no avail. And he likes making threats out of that too - when he cums down your throat, if you spill so much as a single drop of it, you won't be able to sit right for a week.

It's also nice to combine the two -- telling you so make sure you suck good and get it coated in your spit, because it's the only lube you're going to get. You have the most adorable reaction, eyes widening with fear and immediately getting to work on making sure you follow through.

Cockwarming

Eventually, as he gets more used to your presence in his workspace, and you've proven you know how to sit still without being an obnoxious nuisance, he'll decide you can help him alleviate boredom on days where there's not much to be done other than papers and the occasional subordinate coming in to be spoken to. Good thing the desk you sit at has a front to it. You're either down on your knees with cock in your mouth, or more often just sitting on his lap. The thing is that if it's that, you're dealing with cock inside you the entire time. Don't think about squirming around, it earns you a slap to the thigh and being told to stop moving so much. Are you really such an insatiable slut that you can't hold still just because you're that desperate to get off? Maybe if there's no one around you can get railed into the desk, but that doesn't mean you get to take it out -- you'll go right back so sitting the way you were before.

How do they feel about pregnancy or babies? Do they want them?

Eh, he kinda goes both ways, back and forth. The issue is that the side that thinks he might want a kid is entirely delusional, he has absolutely no idea how difficult or involved having a kid actually is, he just thinks of some... creature he thinks he can copy+paste his ideals and values and worldview onto, like a protege, an heir. Another thing is he somehow does not realize why combining himself and a child with a copy+paste personality is a recipe for disaster. Honestly, he would NOT be a good father, you would be doing 99.99% of the work while he just occasionally trains them and other stuff that he actually likes doing... the rest would be your job. So, realistically, you should hope and pray he doesn't decide he wants one.

Which is unlikely, because he also realizes that kids are a distraction, time consumption, they take up your time and attention and energy. Your time and attention and energy are essentially his property, because you are, so why would he willingly give that up? No, he's not about to watch you tire yourself out over some stupid kid and have none for him, you'd probably use tiredness as an excuse to not fuck or something, can't have that. It's... not like he likes your attention or anything... it's just that he deserves all of it and no one else does.

That being said, he is a key member of the "what the fuck is protection" club, so, it might happen anyway.

What kind of (nsfw) punishments would they use?

A better question would be what kind does he NOT use. The full spectrum of ideas is there, he mockingly kinda takes pride in the creativity. He prefers some to others, though. Less frequent ones include overstimulation and sexualization of electro torture -- light shocks to the most sensitive parts of your body, it's more fun the second time and onwards, because you tremble in fearful anticipation, desperately try to squirm away.

More frequently is just, well, the classic way, beating your ass. It's easy, quick, humiliating, and it proves a point. Spankings are incredibly common for the slightest of offenses, beating you red and raw for a defiant look or a word out of place. If you whine that it's unfair because what you did wasn't that bad, well, that just adds on more. He's the type to keep something laying around, invest in a rubber paddle or a leather strap and keep it somewhere visible, somewhere you can see it, as just a constant reminder, a threat looming over your head.

And as aforementioned, another frequent one is the threat of fucking your throat or ass or both. It leaves you sore for a long time, the taste of cum down your throat, the feeling of cum leaking out of your holes, not to mention the discomfort of the sensations themselves, potentially pain, if done roughly -- and you do not want him to be rough about it, so, be on your best behavior.

What body parts of their darling do they like the most?

Tits, but more specifically nipples. They're so sensitive. If he touches or sucks on them you squirm and moan, but if he pinches and pulls them or bites down on them hard enough, it makes you jolt and squeal, and that's a very nice reaction, really.

Also, nipple clamps. He makes heavy use of them and will also tug on it pretty harshly to get your attention.

===========================

#atml #yandere genshin impact

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this-world-of-beautiful-monsters · 3 years ago

Text

Donnie Angst Fics

[TMNT 2014, 2007, 1990s, 1987]

[TMNT 2003]

[All media types]

[TMNT IDW]

[TMNT 2012]

[TMNT 2018]

TMNT 2014

Assuming Command by slipstream - Canon blend with 2012 and 2003. Donnie struggles to cope after suddenly having to take Leo’s place as leader, and Raph helps in his own way (tw violence, injuries, mental health isssues, panic attacks, anxiety, nonsexy overstimulation)

The Why of Things (Turtles All the Way Down Remix) by slipstream - Donnie pushes himself to the limit to save an innocent life (tw violence, destruction, imprisonment, near-death experiences, physical strain, fear, referenced violence, being buried alive) Minor Modifications by slipstream - Donnie, his brothers, and the ways they alter themselves (tw violence, child punishment, self-harm)

I do it for them by Multifandom_damnation - Donnie is terrible at taking care of himself, and Casey confronts him on it (tw self-worth issues, self-hate, self-neglect, self-esteem issues, medical inaccuracies, medical issues, injuries, mentions of violence, self-doubt, mental health issues, overwork)

“Eggs” from TMNT Drabbles by FeeFido - Donnie comes to terms with a painful biological fact (tw body issues, gender issues, turtlecest, child death or miscarriage)

“Wash” from TMNT Drabbles by FeeFido - Donnie is carefully and professionally taken apart (tw torture, mutism, manipulation, brainwashing, memory loss, imprisonment, isolation

)“Grenade” from Drabbles and Slash by her_silhouette Donnie gets hurt and Raph has to keep him here (tw violence, blood, injuries, turtlecest)

“Precious” from Drabbles and Slash by her_silhouette - Raph helps Donnie come to terms with the true nature of ninja (tw discussions of violence and very mild seeds of turtlecest TMNT 2007

Unconditionally by Saiya_hime - Donnie loves his family, but the ways they love him back are sometimes painful, and sometimes terrifying (warnings for turtlecest, domestic violence, out of character behavior, rape, abuse, emotional manipulation, heartbreak, betrayal, unhealthy relationships, abusive relationships, forced pregnancy)

“Central Rain (Mikey & Don)” from The Shinobi's Garden by taizi @taizi - Donnie tries to make up for the past and worries in the present (tw dysfunctional family, abandonment issues, worry, fighting, guilt)

“Things That Stay (Mikey & Don)” from The Shinobi's Garden by taizi @taizi - Donnie’s not feeling too well, so it’s a good thing he’s got someone to look after him (tw sickness, mild themes of abandonment, dysfunctional family

“Abandoned” from Firebird Scratches, TMNT 100 Themes Challenge! by Firebird Scratches - Donnie has a hard time keeping his family together while Leo’s gone (tw blood, injuries, abandonment, implied violence, family dysfunction)

“S2 Chapter 32” from Of Flowers and Things by Mystic Medjai - Almost everybody is scared of the Nightwatcher, but not Donnie (tw violence and family dysfunction)

“Chapter 7: - Lineage: Leonardo -” from Drabbles Forever by Mikell - Donnie prepares for new responsibilities in the face of his brother’s departure (warnings for possible miscommunication and impending separation)

TMNT 1987

"A Lucky Dude" by Plastron - Donnie experiences a truly devastating betrayal (tw rape, underage, emotional manipulation, gaslighting, intoxication, explicit sexual content, internalized homophobia, sexual abuse, psychological abuse, molestation, betrayal, guilt)

The Technodrome Complex by Plastron - Donnie is captured by someone who wants him broken in every way possible (tw rape, humiliation, emotional manipulation, self-doubt, betrayal, self-esteem issues, explicit sexual content)

Turtle Soup by Goblin Cat KC - Shredder follows through on one of his darker threats, and Donnie is his first impact (tw attempted murder, violence, imprisonment, torture, cannibalistic themes)

TMNT 1990s

“Chapter 2: Origin: Leonardo” from Drabbles Forever by Mikell - Leo helps Donnie deal with the fallout from a painful revelation (tw identity issues)

#tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt 2014 #bayverse #tmnt 2k14 #tmnt 2k16 #tmnt 2016 #tmnt 1987 #tmnt 1990s #tmnt 2k7 #donatello #donnie #angst #trigger warnings

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serickswrites · 7 months ago

Text

Make Me Your Villain master list

Hiraethian is a city guarded by the greatest superhero of the day, Jude, and his young apprentice, Liam. But when Liam learns of the reality of Jude and how he manages the city, he makes a decision that changes the trajectory of his life and the lives of other civilians, including Henry and Nova.

This series is, as of right now (eleventh of May, 2024) plotted out for 28 chapters. We will see if more get added. But please feel free to drop asks/requests/dms about the story. I will put tags next to each chapter, but know that there will be some whumpy and not whumpy chapters.

Here are links to character bios and I will link each chapter here after the post (starting twelfth of May, 2024).

Chapter 1--TW: emotional manipulation, threat of destruction

Chapter 2--TW: referenced emotional manipulation, referenced death, referenced murder, grief, isolation

Chapter 3--TW: destruction, loss, devastation, fire, burns, threat of death, physical violence

Chapter 4--TW: cuts, blood, wounds, injury, head injury, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery

Chapter 5--TW: stabbing, blood, explosions, presumed dead, guilt

Chapter 6--TW: threat of death, power exhaustion, blood, stabbing, character brought to brink of death, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery

Chapter 7--TW: threat of death

Chapter 8--TW: broken bones, threat of injury, threat of death, asphyxiation, choking, strangulation, hurt/recovery, hurt/aftermath, hurt/comfort

Chapter 9--TW: violence, threat of violence, abduction, threat of drowning, hypothermia, water inhalation, lacerations, exhaustion, power exhaustion, fire, threat of death

Chapter 10--fluff chapter

Chapter 11--TW: violence, threat of death, self sacrifice, falling from a great height, broken bones, crush injuries, blood, injury, gore, character death, unconsciousness, power exhaustion, heart break, shock

Chapter 12--TW: referenced heart break, referenced near death experience, pain

Chapter 13--TW: physical violence, unconsciousness, drowning, near drowning, cpr, temporary character death, hurt/comfort, hurt/recovery; nsfw, consensual sexual activities, idk how to tag this lol

Chapter 14--fluff chapter

Chapter 15--fluff chapter

Chapter 16--TW: threat of violence

Chapter 17--TW: fire, left for dead, burns, attempted murder, power suppression, implied murder

Chapter 18--TW: destruction, violence, kidnapping, drugging, burns

Chapter 19--TW: captivity, restraints, torture, electrocution, drugging, self sacrifice, rescue attempt, blood

Chapter 20--TW: captivity, restraints, torture, blood, wounds, electrocution, cuts, unconsciousness, forced to watch, physical violence

Chapter 21--TW: captivity, restraints, torture, blood, wounds, injury, unconsciousness

Chapter 22--TW: captivity, torture, restraints, blood, wounds, injury, self sacrifice, gore, blood from the mouth, character death, potential mcd, temporary character death

Chapter 23--TW: captivity, rescue attempt, failed rescue, blood, wounds, mcd, potential temporary character death, grief, heartbreak, cruel whumper, public display

Chapter 24--TW: captivity, restraints, torture, referenced character death, rescue

Chapter 25--TW: referenced character death, threat of death, physical violence, broken bones

Chapter 26--TW: unconsciousness, restraints, blood, wounds, gore, cpr, mcd, grief

Chapter 27--TW: death, blood, gore (brief mention), broken bones, grief, mcd, funeral, grief rituals, heart break

Epilogue--TW: referenced death, referenced grief

Asks: 1, 2

#serickswrites #writeblr #series #my ocs #hero x villain community #whump #whumpblr #whump writing #whump community #queue

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its-tea-time-darling · 3 years ago

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Minewt Secret Santa Fics 🎄💚

a compilation of the minewt fic this years secret santa yielded <3 @mazerunnersecretsanta

sublimation

gift for @songbvrd

Summary:

Minho coughed self-consciously and looked around. “Did you say something?” “Yes,” Newt answered matter-of-factly. “You were wondering how to tell the difference between an altered memory or a hallucination and something that really happened, and I was pointing out that reality is subjective and perception is all in the mind anyway.” “What?” “Well, if you experience a hallucination, but it’s so vivid that you can feel and hear and taste everything as if it were real, and it leaves a lasting impact on your psyche, who’s to say that it’s less ‘real’ than something that happened to you physically?” “Huh?” “For that matter, maybe what we perceive as ‘reality’ is all a simulation - but if it’s programmed so thoroughly that we can’t tell, and our experiences within this false reality are meaningful to us, then does it really make a difference if it’s ‘real’ or not?” Every time he used air-quotes, he brought both hands out from under his chin to mark the air on either side of his head in a decidedly un-Newt-like gesture. “Dude, what the fuck are you talking about?”

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Word count: 15'706

Verse: Canonverse - Glade

Tags: Blood and Injury, Hallucinations, Dissociation, Death, Minor Character Death, some of the deaths are imaginary but some are real, which is which? idk whos to say, the real death is the death of the author amirite, Dreams vs. Reality, light discussion of the subjectivity of reality, maybe this is all a simulation, that kind of thing, i know that really fucks with some people so heads up

this place will wait for you

gift for @graeae

Summary:

Alive and well enough in the Safe Haven, Minho realizes he can't keep the nightmare torture WCKD put him through to himself forever. If only most of WCKD's nightmare scenarios didn't involve him losing Newt, it might be easier for Minho to talk to him about it all.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Word count: 2'511

Verse: Canonverse - Safe Haven

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, (just Newt's in canon but nothing graphic), WICKED | WCKD is Not Good, POV Minho (Maze Runner)

little light

gift for @dumb-bi-thomas

by saph, @onceuponabluemoon

Summary:

Newt and Minho go searching for a guiding light and find it much closer than expected.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Word count: 13'725

Verse: Canonverse - Glade

Tags: Pre-Canon, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, but with a very happy (and sappy) ending, tw panicking, some artist!minho

Tag list for people who like minewt: @everyminewtcounts , @shuck-it-slinthead

#maze runner #the maze runner #tmr #tmr fanfiction #tmr meme #minho maze runner #minho tmr #tmr newt #newt maze runner #newt tmr #minewt #minewt fanfiction #newtmas fic rec #songbvrd #dee #dumb-bi-thomas

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aftgficrec · 1 year ago

Note

I would loveee fics where Andrew defends Neil to aaron and the other foxes (but definitely Aaron), i’ve seen so many of Neil defending Andrew but not a lot of the other way around and Neil deserves to have his man defend his honorrr

In canon, post-medication Andrew does not talk much to anyone besides Neil. Still there are definitely fics with this. Just know Andrew’s defense of Neil can be one sentence in a story, and physical violence is often his preferred method of communication. -A

previous recs

‘The Ash is in Our Clothes’ here

‘Absinthe makes the heart grow fonder’ here

‘in the common tongue’ here

‘I hate him,’ ‘One day we'll reveal the truth,’ ‘i'm getting static from my better sense’ and ‘My brother under the sun’ here

‘some1 saying something…’ here

‘Ember’ here

‘Can he play?’ here

‘Surreal But Nice’ here

‘Least Favorite Only Child’ here

‘Fighting Words’ here

‘Trust Fall (And Welcoming Arms)’ here

‘(Don't) Stand So Close’ here

‘In the Eye of the Beholder’ here

‘Beach Bois’ here

‘I'm Not Okay (I Promise).’ and ‘It’s not living (If it’s not with you)’ here

‘soft spots make easy targets’ here

‘Even the Darkest Night Will End’ and ‘The Andreil escapades’ here

in Masterlist for Nicky Kissing Neil: ‘The Kiss,’ ‘History Repeating,’ ‘Andrew Finds Out,’ ‘Something, Nothing & Everything’ (also big twinyards confrontation), ‘A Crack in the Mask,’ ‘Truth Time, ‘Truths Come Out,’ ‘The Unkindness of Ravens’ ch 16, ‘Delayed Reaction,’ ‘Delayed reaction (the fear of falling remix),’ ‘All For The Game Musings,’ ‘andrew finds out about what happened…,’ ‘Hold Each Other’ ch 6 and ch 15, and ‘Slip’. Finally, ‘Lessons in Cartography’ has Andrew defending Neil to both Aaron and Jack throughout

Andrew defends Neil to non-foxes

‘Something About The Sunshine’ here

‘Warmth’ here

Foxhole Tidbits ‘Ch. 22: Silent, but Snarky’ here

‘Through A Glass Darkly’ and ‘Some Things You Just Can't Bury’ here

‘Martyr’ here

‘The Bones of You’ here

‘monsters at night’ here

‘Killer Bunny’ here

‘you're not next before forever’ here (completed)

‘looking for you’ here

‘Give Me Another Minute (to Lay Here in Your Echo)’ here

‘Ficlet Collection…’ ch 35-37 here

you may also like

feral protective Andrew here

protective/possessive Andrew here

overprotective Andrew here

protective Andrew here

protective Andrew gets hurt here

protective Neil/Andrew here

jealous Andrew here

previous recs where Andrew kills Nathan here

our latest Neil & Aaron ask here

Unconventional Therapy by JostenlovesMinyard [Rated M, Twinyards Appreciation Week 2021]

Twinyard Appreciation Week - Day 2 | “bottle episode” Andrew and Aaron attend their weekly therapy session but things don’t quite go to plan when the door handle falls off and they’re stuck in there together.

tw: implied/referenced rape/nocon, tw: implied/referenced child abuse

Written On His Skin by hismiley16 [Not Rated, 11344 Words, Complete, 2023]

Part 4 of Nothing is Safe Series

The Foxes face the Ravens for the first time since Riko's death and things go as well as expected. Andrew is mildly injured on the court and isn't there to protect Neil when the new Evermore captain comes for him after the game. The team sees more than Neil ever wanted them to, including the ghost of Nathaniel he thought he'd buried in Baltimore.

tw: vomit, tw: bullying, tw: nonconsensual touch/assault tw: dissociation, tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: blood, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced murder, tw: implied/referenced animal death, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon

this is me trying by crownowl [Not Rated, 2142 Words, Complete, 2023]

After Neil has a panic attack Andrew finds out exactly what happened when Nicky drugged Neil and he is not happy.

tw: violence, tw: implied/referenced nonconsensual kissing, tw: implied/referenced nonconsensual drug use, tw: ptsd

Don't let me be by Cutie_Wan [Not Rated, 1983 Words, Complete, 2023]

Neil suffers a major dissociation episode in front of the Foxes.

tw: dissociation, tw: violence

One Step Forward by thecompletebookworm [Rated T, 1665 Words, Complete, AFTG Exchange Winter 2020]

Based on the prompt: “Andrew and Aaron talking and solving their problems” "If you really don't care about Andrew, why does Neil bother you so much?" Dobson asked during their Wednesday session. Aaron dug his fingers into the couch. He hated this. Hated that the only time he could get answers out of Andrew was when he was sitting in front of a shrink. A shrink who was undoubtedly on his brother's side. And that in order to get answers he had to rip himself raw first.

tw: implied/referenced rape/nocon, tw: implied/referenced child abuse

Angry Alone by obsessivereader156 [Not Rated, 1799 Words, Complete, 2023]

“Of course I’m not homophobic, you asshole. What are you even talking about?” “Aaron, please don’t use that type of language here,” Betsy softly interjects. “You’ve been very hostile towards Neil,” Andrew says plainly, as if that’s enough of an answer. ______________________________ Aaron has been feeling angry and alone lately. Maybe he doesn't have to be alone about it.

Everything's Alright by DarkD [Rated E, 182901 Words, Incomplete, Updated June 2023]

Souls weren't meant to be left alone, so they split, always looking for their other half. No matter how long it took, the moment a soul existed, it sought the one that would complete it. The main indication is, when one of the halves of the soul turns seven years old, an identical mark appears on both parts. Along with that comes a set of unique abilities that soulmates can only use with each other—for protection, for finding each other. Soulmates would never be alone.

tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: child abuse, tw: torture, tw: blood, tw: gun violence, tw: homophobia, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: murder, tw: canonical character death

A flash of anger. prompt fill by @nickyhenmick [Tumblr, 2016]

All reporters got on Andrew’s nerves. They were invasive and never asked interesting questions, and there was probably a reason he was rarely allowed to be on press duty.

a stupid ass decision prompt fill by @find-yourself-in-passion [Tumblr, 2017]

“I recognize that you have reached a decision,” Andrew replied over the top of Neil’s protests, unwrapping his right hand in such a rush that Neil knew he was going to have red marks where the tap ripped at his flesh. “Andrew-” “But given that it is a stupid ass decision,” He continued on, refusing to acknowledge the other man’s piercing gaze on him as he threw his bag and shoes in the closet, knowing what faced him when he turned around. “I have elected to ignore it.”

Art

3 & 10 art by @thematicallycoherent

im thinkin bout these two art by @wiltkingart

Safe. art by @eislekaj on instagram

exy banquet smoke break art by @twohiddenhalves

Vkook as reference art by @reyko__ on instagram

roof. andrew. tattoos. and two cigarettes. and neil. art by @puhnatsson

Someone strong to lean on art by @fornavn

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founded-on-procrastination · 3 years ago

Text

Hermitcraft Fanfic Catalog Post

A list of fics that I did not write but I really enjoy and want to keep track of.

NOTE: Some of these have Trigger Warnings listed on them but make sure to read the tag before going into any fic.

Multi-Fic:

Dimentional Reinventions, by Sekrap || Finished ||

Trickster || Finished || “After the Trickster of the world goes missing, the Hermits must hurry to find their friend with only a new wizard, a very tired admin, and a thinly veiled threat to guide them.”

~Family Issues~ || Finished || “The Deep Void was behind the Hermits. The world was rocketing towards it's normal industrial self with giant buildings and extensive farms and endless beauty. And then the Nether changed. One should know better than to mix family issues with the Hermits, especially if that family is a bunch of demons.”

(Prequel) The Parting Glass || Finished || “Doc has been trying to forget. He has done everything everyone told him he should do to make the memories go away. And still the jungle calls for him.”

Uncle Vega AU, by AmberedSheepGlazed || Unknown ||

Slayers Sons, by Ambered || Finished || “Xisuma is enjoying a normal day on the Hermitcraftserver, when Evil Xisuma barges in. He claims their father is sick - the Doomslayer. Xisuma follows him back to his home where they grew up, back to the Fortress of Doom. But when not even VEGA knows what's going on, will they manage to help the Slayer? Tango and Impulse, on the other hand, may just have gotten a little too curious to learn more about their admins dad, and are stumbling into things way over their head.”

Unexpected Company, by Ambered & SyconSenti || Finished || “... Xisuma being the son of the DoomSlayer... ‘How would Doomguy react to Herobrine?’... And things happened.”

Doomguy Assigned Dad, by Allonsia || Unfinished || “The Doom Slayer finds himself in a position where he must care for two young boys who, much like him, have a history with Doctor Samuel Hayden.”

Nightmare, by Allonsia || Oneshot || “Xisuma has a nightmare, about a time when Dr Samuel Hayden was present in his childhood. Good thing that time in his life is over, and he has friends who will be at his side when he needs them.”

It Runs in the Family, by Allonsia || Oneshot || “Evil Xisuma finds out what he is, and is afraid. His father, the Doom Slayer, uses his voice to comfort him.”

i can be the one you call, by Mayflowers07 || Ongoing || “The Hermits have a code phrase. If spoken, this phrase acts as an emergency safe word, telling everyone to stop whatever they’re doing, because something is seriously wrong. Whether it’s from physical or emotional distress, all Hermits know that when someone uses the code, they need help from their chaotic, dysfunctional family.”

Welcome to the Panic Room || XB || TW: Panic Attacks, Claustrophobia, Self-Harm

Up in Arms for You || Doc || TW: Violence, Injury (no blood though, since it’s his metal arm that’s injured) Major Character Injury, Self Confidence Issues

Don’t Burn Out on Me || Tango || TW: Self-Harm

A Little Party Never Killed || Iskall || TW: Sexual Harassment, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Attempted Sexual Assault

Face to Face || Etho || TW: Social Anxiety, Panic Attacks, Burns, Blindness, Anxiety Attacks

A Wicked Sword (A Gentle Kiss) || Keralis || TW: Kidnapping, Torture, Electricity, Electrocution, Beating, Blood, Violence, Threats of Violence, Death Threats

Rest Your Weary Head || Cub || TW: Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Panic Attacks, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Vomiting, Paranoia, Hallucinations, Implied/Referenced Drug Use

Tell Me About Despair || False || TW: Bullying, Death Threats, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Suicide Baiting, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Worth Issues

L’appel du Vide || Zedaph || TW: Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Intrusive Thoughts, Suicidal Thoughts, Self-Esteem Issues

Fall Apart Without Me, Body || Jevin || TW: Body Dysmorphic Disorder, Self-Hatred, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Worth Issues

To Noise Making || Ren || Sensory Overload, Pain, Panic Attacks, Self-Doubt, Internalized Ableism

One Million Stupid Things || Mumbo || TW: Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria, Self-Hatred, Self-Esteem Issues, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con

After the Storm || Beef || TW: Injury, Hypothermia, Near Death Experiences

Secluded in Hatred || Wels || TW: Mental Instability, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Self Harm (kinda), Abandonment, Abandonment Issues, Anger, Blood and Injury, Beating

Maul the World || Joe || TW: Permdeath AU, Blood and Injury, Violence, Near Death Experiences

The Meteor Effect || Ongoing

Multi-Chapter:

and the universe shifts (ATUS), by aayaptre || Finished || "‘They were playing a game, they called it a game, it was one he couldn’t win. He played anyway.’ Grian's been running for a long time, and knowing him, he's going to be caught eventually.”

those maddening circles, that we must fly and dance our way around, by Interjection || Finished || “It was a well known fact that vexes were the most dangerous mobs of all. Not the small, spectral creatures that evokers conjured up - true vexes, the masters of their mysterious woodland mansions. Unlike other mobs, they were capable of intelligent thought. They possessed strange, powerful magic that could permanently kill even the strongest of players. And most terrifying of all, they had an instinctual taste for destruction and misery - an unshakable, undeniable thirst that was encoded into their very being. They agreed to stop the vex magic this season. But one can not hide from their true nature so easily...”

The Aspect Series, by Stowaway_Macaw || Ongoing || “A collection of character studies for each of the active hermitcraft members as of season 7.”

Shells in the Foam (a Hermit!Tommy fanfic), by Cedarwhisp21 || Ongoing || “When Dream attacks Tommy in Logestshire, Tommy runs. Badly injured, he somehow manages to slip between worlds and wakes up in a badlands biome, on a server far from home, with no other players in sight. The Hermits are surprised when a new player logs in, and confused when no-one's at spawn. Five days later, after waiting for the new player to introduce themselves, Xisuma uses his admin abilities to access their coordinates. He takes Impulse with him to welcome the new player to Hermitcraft, but instead of the beginnings of a base, they find something a lot more concerning.”

For the Lies We Leave Behind, by Ingoma || Ongoing || “Only the Vex matter. Not him. That is what Cub knows. He is Nothing. Then Scar comes. And Cub's world shatters. A Cub and Scar backstory.” || TW: Mind Manipulation, Emotional/Physical Abuse, Kidnapping, Character Death, Unhealthy Thinking Patterns, Unhealthy Devotion, Hypocrisy, Suicidal Thoughts, Cults

Lost in the Void's Embrace, by ambered || Finished || "Xisuma finds himself waking up without his memory in the End, with no recollection of who he is or how he got there. It's clear he should get out, but this isn't as easy as he thought, since he has no idea what he is doing. However, this is not the only thing that went weird on the server... Will the Hermits manage to get to the bottom of this with their admin in a state like that?"

Cause We Are Whole, by ooFFFF || Finished || “Nothing happened, Tango is sure of it. He just inexplicably fell asleep for 5 weeks straight, that’s all. He woke up fine, everything is fine. Besides, Xisuma would have told him if something was wrong. The hermits would have told him. ...Right?” || Permadeath AU, Robots

Come Little Children, by Ender_Crystal_23 & LesbeanMom98 || Ongoing || “after an accidental mix-up in the mcc teams, and the hermits catch wind of some of what is going on in the dream smp they decide to take matters into their own hands.”

Vexing Quest, by Inarock || Finished || “The world stuttered. It felt like it was tearing itself apart. A glitch so bad It tore the Hermits off their world. Scar and Bdubs find themselves in an unfamiliar world, where creeper holes aren't filled and trees are left half mined with just the leaves floating. The plan is simple: Find the admin and ask for help to send them back home. They didn't count on how hostile this new world was. Or Scar and Bdubs are stuck in an anarchy world and have to find their way back to the Hermitcraft Server.”

Fly for Your Life, by theteaandbiscuits || Ongoing || “After a while, the boy looked up at Grian, ‘Why are you guys- Why are you so fuckin’ nice? I’ve been here for like half an hour, and no one has gotten angry at me for being a dick, that Xisuma bitch saved my life, and helped me calm down after a freakout- What the fuck? I don’t understand!’ He cried, and Grian just let him talk. It hurt to hear, and made him wonder who hurt this kid. His avian instincts weren’t helping either, it was not the time to be trying to take in an abandoned fledgling. It also did not help that between the ugly sobs the kid was making, he could hear the repressed chirps that struggled to pass through whatever barrier this kid had put up to stop any bird-like sounds.”

Oneshots:

Airlocked, by Sharo || “Grian goes snooping around Xisuma's base and finds more than he was bargaining for.”

Extended Family, by orphan_account || “Stress takes the hermits to her hometown to meet her family.”

You Are What You... Wear?, ooFFFF || “Grian learns why you don’t wear mob heads for an extended period of time.” || Mermaid AU || TW: Minor Panic-Attack

The Three Stages of Impulse Making Friends, by Luckyducks || “Being summoned for a demonic deal to save someone's life, being summoned again to save that person's life, threatened, and having to spend a month with them isn't the most conventional way to make friends. Somehow, it ends up working out for the three of them.” || Magical Misfits AU

Old Scars, by LunaStarSeeker || “At first, Grian had acted a little weird around Scar. Scar had brushed it off, since Grian was the new guys. After all, after about a month, Grian had seemed to warm up to him, and Scar had just passed off Grian's strange behavior as nervousness from being the new guy. But then the Hippie invasion takes a strange turn, and Grian hastily explains his odd behavior, before roping him into a past he had no idea he was a part of. Oh, and Scar can't speak Japanese.”

It Comes In Waves, by ooFFFF || “Scar gets stuck in Aqua Scar mode more often than he’d like to admit. How the other hermits haven’t noticed yet is beyond him.” || Mermaid AU

midnight fights, by fluffy_papaya || “The voice, the voice, the voice. It was decrepit and musical at the same time, it was a corpse that had replaced it’s rotten vocal chords with rich violin strings. ‘Who are you, and did you hurt my Shishwammy?’ Keralis said softly.” || Superpowers AU || TW: Light Body Horror, Graphic Threats

you carry it with you, by Anonymous || “evil x has been banned since season six. what happened during that time? what happens after his return?” || TW: Rape, Attempted Abortion, Panic Attacks, Premature Birth

Chunk Error, by LackyDucks || “Xisuma doesn't smooth over a server glitch fast enough. With their admin trapped, the other hermits have to save him from the consequences.”

(Not from the dollar store) Crack Fics

It is time for prancing, by thatgirlfromasgard || “Xisuma realises he can do some cool things with the lights in the cyborg parts of his friends. And what better than to try and use it to just meme on everyone?”

The Hermits And The Mystery of How Evil X Eats, by thatgirlfromasgard || “The Hermits have a very important discussion while sitting around the campfire. How does Evil X eat, when he always wears a helmet?”

#hermitcraft #hermitcraft fanfic #hermitcraft fanfiction #fanfiction library #fanfic #fanfiction

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thevegandarkelf · 2 months ago

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Finding Myself, Finding You: Chapter Twenty-Three

Masterlist

AO3 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, her bestie, and Jake (c) me, TheVeganDarkElf

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

TW/CWs for this chapter--swearing, aftermath of attempted sexual assault, an absolute POS making asinine and untrue claims about Daryl, discussion of nightmares

Word count: 2.6k

I pulled my shirt off over my head and balled it up, holding it to my nose and tilting my head forward. Sure, I could've looked for a towel so I wouldn't be essentially topless, but I didn't care. I was already out in front of nearly the whole community with my shirt open. What else did I have to lose?

It was just me alone in that infirmary for what felt like ages. I could hear a myriad of different voices outside, yelling changing from Rick's voice to Daryl's to Maggie's. It sounded like there was a physical altercation, which if my guess was correct, was Rick having to restrain Daryl from going down to the cell and opening a can of whoop-ass on Jake. Rick said he would tell Daryl what happened, but Rick only knew so much. I was going to have to be the one to tell Daryl what Jake was saying about him.

The sound of the infirmary door opening startled me and nearly had me jumping out of my chair.

"Hey." The soft sound of Daryl's voice graced my ears once again, and my body almost immediately started to relax. It had only been three days, but in my mind, it had been years since I'd heard that sweet Southern accent. "Ya ok?" I didn't look up right away, but I could hear him pulling another chair up across from me and taking a seat. He pulled himself forward so his legs were on either side of mine. He took my hand, which wasn't holding my shirt to my face, and interlocked it with his, stroking the back of my hand with his thumb. I didn't even care that I was shirtless. I needed this human with me, and there he was.

"It's good to hear your voice," I said through shaky sobs.

"The hell happened?"

"Rick said he'd tell you," I explained, my voice muffled through the crop top against my mouth, "did he not do that?"

"Wanna hear it from ya," he said, "figure there's gotta be more."

I took a deep breath and adjusted the shirt on my nose before I continued. It felt like the bleeding was finally starting to let up. I lifted my head a little and peered up over the shirt to meet his gaze.

"Y'know that blonde who always does gate duty? Jake?" He nodded, and I could see the vein in his neck starting to protrude, like just the mention of Jake's name was sending him into a fit of rage. "Well, he came in when I was alone, claimed he had some medical question to ask me about, but only after he..." I hesitated, debating whether or not I wanted to tell Daryl what Jake said about him because I knew it would make him feel awful. “He said some terrible things about you, Daryl. Terrible lies. I kept telling him to leave, but he just wouldn't." I lowered my gaze, unable to meet Daryl's eye contact as shame flooded my body. "Then he said he was having a "dysfunction" that he needed my help with and started grabbing his junk. I held my knife at him, told him he had one chance to walk out, and I thought he was going to, until—"

My voice caught in my throat, a sob escaping instead. Daryl's hand squeezed mine. "He fucking lunged at me and tore my shirt. I pinned him against the wall with a scalpel, threatened to cut his spinal cord so he'd never be able to walk again. He finally left after I threatened him, but then he pulled me outside and punched me in the nose. Shit was bleeding all over the place. Hurts like a bitch, but it's not broken." I raised my eyes again to meet Daryl's. "Don't worry though. I broke his."

"Atta girl," Daryl praised, raising his other hand to the one on my face, "lemme see." I sat up straight and gently lifted my shirt from my nose, wincing a bit in pain as the shirt separated from some of the dried blood. "Vec, how come ya don't got a shirt on?" he asked, sounding worried as he immediately took off his jacket and handed it to me to put on. I un-balled the crop top in my hands and held it out to him, revealing how bad the tear was.

"He nearly tore it in half," I choked out as tears threatened to make their way down my face again. Daryl averted his eyes as I slipped his jacket on and zipped it nearly all the way up, not all the way so that I could clean the blood on my chest and collarbone. I tossed my shirt to the ground, not caring where it landed. It was a biohazard now as far as I was concerned. "He fucking tried to..." My voice was trailing off. I couldn't form the words.

The heat from the fury radiating off of Daryl's body was palpable. He was doing his best to keep his voice and demeanor soft, like he wasn't nearly foaming at the mouth in anger. He knew that's what I needed. He placed a hand under my chin, tilting my head up and back, then side-to-side, examining my injury.

"Looks like it stopped bleedin'," he said. He got up and grabbed a small towel from somewhere in the room before pulling me back in my chair to the sink. He grabbed his own chair and did the same, pulling it around to my side. "Let's get ya cleaned up."

"I can do it," I protested as he ran the towel under warm water and started working at my chin with it.

"I know ya can," he agreed, "but I want to."

"Probably gonna need more than one towel," I said, feeling the dried blood cracking when I stretched my mouth, "feels like there's a lot."

Daryl worked at my chin, mouth, and cheeks with the towel, pressing as gently as he could while still using enough pressure to get the blood off. I winced a couple of times when he got a little too close to my nose, and he looked like he felt awful for even a small accident like that. I know I said that I could get myself cleaned up, but I loved Daryl doting on me like this. His thumb running across my bottom lip, though separated by a towel, felt nice, I won't lie. I just wished it was in a different context.

Once he got my face, Daryl looked at me, as if he was asking permission to move to my neck. I nodded and tilted my head to make my skin taut. The tears were escaping once again, burning my skin as they cascaded down.

"I'm such an idiot," I said under my breath, hoping Daryl wouldn't notice. But he did. He always did.

"Why ya say that?" he questioned, continuing to work at my skin with the utmost care.

"Because—" my voice caught in my throat again, "because I knew something would happen. I had that awful feeling in the pit of my stomach from the moment he walked in the room. I should've just left, but I didn't." Stills from my nightmares flashed through my mind like a flip book. "I know better than to ignore a gut feeling."

"Ain't your fault what happened," Daryl reassured, taking one of my hands in his free one and giving it a light squeeze, "I know that's how it feels, and I know it was real scary. But don't go blamin' yaself for it. Ain't your fault some jackass can't keep his hands to 'imself."

I stifled another sob. "I feel gross. Like I wanna peel my skin off."

"Anything that'd help that don't involve mutilatin' yaself?"

"Taking a shower in bleach."

"We'll get ya a shower when we're home. But no bleach," Daryl insisted. There were a few beats of silence before Daryl asked his next question. The question I'd been dreading. "What'd that asshole say 'bout me?"

I bit the inside of my bottom lip and scratched at my thumb with my index finger. I debated whether or not I would actually tell him what Jake said. "Lies. Accused you of something awful."

"How come ya won't just say what he said?" he asked.

"He said horrible things about you, Daryl," I reiterated, "tried to get me to question my trust in you."

"Goddamnit Vec, what'd he say?" The immediate regret set in on his face as I flinched slightly, his tone catching me by surprise. This was the first time Daryl had ever raised his voice at me, ever spoken to me with anything less than the most sweet and tender tone. While it did sting, I understood.

"I can't...l can't say it," I said. The words tasted bitter, sour, and I couldn't bring myself to say them out loud.

"Can ya write it?" Daryl asked. He took my notebook and pen off the infirmary table beside him and handed them to me.

"Just know I never believed him for a second," I emphasized.

I hesitantly nodded and flipped to a random blank page somewhere in the back. I spelled out the words, slowly and with a shaky hand as I feared what would happen next. Mostly, I feared how it would make him feel, how it would hurt him. I handed the book back to him slowly, twirling my pen in my fingers in anticipation. I watched his eyes scan over the words, the vile accusation.

He said you've been bragging to people about sleeping with me when I was passed out drunk.

I could see the hurt spreading across his face. The corners of his mouth dropped, and there was a sadness in his eyes I'd never seen before. That sadness quickly turned to anger. His fingers curled around the edges of my notebook like he was balling his hands into fists. It shook ever so slightly in his hands before his fingers uncurled, and he set my notebook back on the table. I could see him swallowing his rage, suppressing it because he knew, in that moment, that I needed him, and he needed to contain his anger for the time being.

Once I was ok though, I knew Jake would be in for a whirlwind of pain. Poor bastard had no idea what was coming.

"Vec..." His voice was somber, and I could hear the hurt dripping off it, "I'd never do anythin' that would hurt ya. Nothin' with even a chance of that." He went quiet for a moment. "I care 'bout ya too much."

"I know that. He was just trying to get to me," I assured, "I told you, I never believed him for a second. Just got really angry that he would try to tarnish your name like that. Jesus, I'm so sorry."

"Why ya apologizin' to me?" He had taken another towel and soaked it with warm water, and he was continuing to clean the dried blood off my neck.

"For telling you. I mean, it's about you, so you have the right to know, but I knew it would be painful, and I'm sorry for that," I said.

"You're all I'm worried 'bout," he reassured, "'ll deal with that prick later."

"If Rick lets you anywhere near the building, that is," I said. He got the last of the blood off my neck and rang the towel out in the sink.

"Would ya be uncomfortable if I got ya collarbone?" he asked, and I shook my head. I popped the collar of his jacket back a bit for easier access.

"Real sorry for raisin' my voice at ya," Daryl said as he continued to clean me off, "feel bad 'bout that."

"It's alright. I understand," I replied before a small smirk crossed my lips, "just don't make a habit of it. I'll bite back if I have to."

"Feel bad for leavin' too."

"You don't have to be sorry for that. You were just doing your job."

He shifted his chair back in front of me, working on the other side of my collarbone. "Feel bad cause ya clearly didn't sleep much while I's gone."

It had been almost impossible to sleep while Daryl was away. Knowing I would fall asleep only to wake up on the floor, scared and alone and having to deal with the aftermath of my crystal-clear nightmares by myself...I couldn't handle it. I saw his fucking face every time I closed my eyes. It was only when I hit the point of unimaginable exhaustion that I was able to sleep, and even then, it never went undisturbed. I knew the dark circles under my eyes were intense, and they were only being emphasized more by the bruising from my injury.

"I guess the dark circles are more obvious than I thought," I sighed, "I slept like twice maybe, one of which was a nap in the middle of the day. I can't even think about that right now."

"We can talk 'bout that later," he replied, "we got an ice pack at home?"

"I don't think so," I said, "I thought I saw some around here. They're these instant packs that you break and they get cold."

Daryl finished cleaning off my collarbone and handed the towel to me. "Probably wanna get the rest yaself." I got up and stood in front of the sink, standing a bit on my tiptoes to get my chest in view of the mirror. I unzipped the jacket a bit more, just enough to get the blood off. Daryl started rummaging around for some ice packs.

"So how was your trip?" I asked as I started to clean myself off.

"Fine, I guess. Dunno why they keep sendin' that one guy. Always damn near gettin' 'imself killed," he explained. He rifled through another drawer before slamming it closed.

"Which guy?"

"Don't care to know his name. Nearly stepped into traps twice this time. Gonna get killed if he don't watch out."

I giggled a little and examined my chest, making sure I got all the dried blood off before zipping the jacket back up. I turned to face Daryl. "Well, I'm glad you're back. I missed you."

He turned to me, and a small smile tugged at the corners of his stoic mouth. "Missed ya too."

After another minute of searching, Daryl pulled something out of a cabinet. "These what we lookin' for?" he asked, giving a gentle underhand throw to send one of them my way. I caught the pack in my hand and examined it.

"Yeah, these are it. A couple should be fine. Just be careful not to break them yet," I instructed. I grabbed my notebook and pen off the table and followed Daryl outside, the sound of his crossbow clattering against the door echoing in the small room.

It was dark now, and it appeared people had started going to sleep given that many houses were dark. I looked up at the sky, which didn't have a single cloud in it, giving the stars a chance to really shine. Looking up at the stars always reminded me of my dad. I hoped that wherever he was, whether that be up in space or somewhere on Earth, he was ok.

Daryl's arm bumped me lightly, and his hand interlocked with mine. "This good?" he asked, stroking my thumb with his. My heartbeat was picking up, and my knees felt weak in the best way.

"Yeah. Real good," I responded. We walked back home like that, hand-in-hand. Yet another moment that would've been more romantic had the evening's earlier events not happened and I not felt like such garbage.

Taglist: @raddydaddydude @lovenormandixon

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boldlyvoid · 4 years ago

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Hypothetically, | chapter updates

Chapter 23: Orders from God

Summary: reader and Spencer were friends in kindergarten, she watched him grow up and explore the world while she was still trying to catch up to him. now that they work together, they fall in love incredibly fast.

friends to lovers, case of the week style story

warnings: homophobia, conversion therapy tw, kidnapping, torture, implied/referenced rape, blood, physical violence

word count so far: 76K (chapter 1-23)

from the beginning

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid request #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine #hypothetically

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winters-cursed-king · 4 years ago

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Some People Pay- Chapter 1

Fandom: Harry Potter

Summary: The first term holidays were never going to be good for Sirius. Provoking Lucius Malfoy at a pureblood gathering made them even worse and McGonagall might be slightly concerned

Tws: Child abuse, physical abuse, violence, implied/referenced self harm, blood, torture, bullying (?)

Fake Your Death Series || Read On AO3 || Chapter 2

Sirius pushed the box of blades shut, taking in deep breaths. Blood trickled slowly down his forearms, but he couldn’t work out what was from the cuts lining his wrists and what was from his shoulders.

The letter shook in his hands, words blurring together as he tried to read it.

Good evening Sirius,

I hope your holidays have gone well and you are well refreshed for your second term at Hogwarts.

The uniform you gave me has been placed back in your dorm, alongside all your books. As per request, I have asked the house elves to avoid your bed however I expect it to still be kept tidy.

I would remind you there is a transfiguration essay due in on the first Friday back and if you are having any issues please come see me for help.

On the train back, I will be in compartment three. There is something that came out of the bag you gave me that I would like to talk about.

Regards,

Professor McGonagall

His hands shook harder as he folded the letter up, the paper scraping against his fingers as blood blotted the edges.

Pushing himself up off the wall was more difficult than he’d expected. His legs were weak under him, shaking and betraying him, and he almost tripped several times while trying to remove the false brick from the wall.

Carefully, he tucked the letter into the matchbox alongside the one from James. It was worn out, carefully wrapped in tissue paper. Hidden alongside his wand and the notes Remus, James, and Peter had written to him in class.

Slotting the fake brick back over the hole, he pulled the dress shirt off the rack, trying not to cough as dust was scattered across the room.

He buttoned it up slowly, hair pins in his mouth. He was careful not to pull too hard on the fresh cuts as he fixed the cuffs.

As he pushed his feet into the dress shoes, he pulled down the mirror. He had a blackeye, and his lip was slightly swollen, but it’d be fine.

He fixed the last pin in his hair. The bun was not messy enough to call it attention to it, but just messy enough to be a statement of rebellion.

He could feel the footsteps from the crowds downstairs and the voices discussing every piece of latest gossip. It rattled the black iron railing that ran down the halls and made the doors creak and shudder.

The staircase was long, and windy, and in full view of anyone in the ballroom. He could see the guests floating around in the candlelight, whispering to each other. He knew most of them by name, and all of them by deed. He could see Lucius showing off something on his arm, and Bellatrix carefully adjusting the hem of her skirt.

It took everything he had to stop his hands from shaking. He gripped the railing as he stood at the bottom of the stairs, eyes scanning for the safest corner to hide in.

How Lucius managed to cross the room in the span of milliseconds, Sirius would never know.

“If it isn’t our little blood traitor,” Lucius sneered.

Lucius was taller than him and broader than him and older than him. His white hair was pulled back off his face, held in place with a slytherin clip, and his fingers were dripping with rings.

“Fuck off.”

Lucius caught Sirius’ wrist, nails digging in deep, stepping closer and closer. “What did you say to me, runt?”

“I told you to fuck off. Go suck a dick or something.”

There was an art in keeping a cocky grin on his face. A sort of rhythm in the way he ignored the irregular beating of his heart and focused his eyes squarely on Lucius’ cold ones.

Lucius twisted his arm back, pushing him up against the railing of the stairs. It pressed against the cuts on his wrists and sent fresh flames of agony through his shoulders and back. On such an awkward angle, he couldn’t even stand up straight.

He leant in and whispered against Sirius’ ear, fist tightening around his wrist. “Do you want me to show you what we do to blood traitors?”

Sirius kicked at Lucius’ shins. “Get off me, you jerk. I’m not in the mood.”

“Oh, Lucius,” Andromeda draped her arms over his shoulders. “Don’t you have better things to be doing?”

She had a fading bruise under her cheek bone, and her eyes were tired. Brown hair had been gathered meticulously into a silver bun net and her fingers were worn.

Lucius shrugged her off, digging his nails in deeper until he drew blood.

But he didn’t even look at her.

She gave Sirius an apologetic look, but walked off, her fingers twirling the loose strand of hair.

The punch hit Sirius in the chest before he even saw it.

“Fucking mudblood lover,” Lucius snarled. “Do you really want to make a mockery of us?”

“You do that just fine by yourself.”

Another blow caved Sirius’ stomach in.

He didn’t get a chance to breath before Lucius’ wand was pointing under Sirius’ chin, digging in sharply.

Pain burst through his body. It twisted patterns, igniting every bruise and cut. It laughed and snarled, biting at his skin and gnashing at his bones. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to focus on anything but Lucius’ grin and the pain that ran through his bones.

“Oh Lucius!” Sirius’ mother fawned. “I couldn’t find you anywhere. How long has it been?”

The wand left Sirius’ throat instantly, and his wrist was released. But the pain wasn’t gone. His mother’s voice kept everything on edge- fists clenched, heart racing.

“Far too long, I’m afraid,” Lucius sidled. “I haven’t seen you since the end of school last year.”

Sirius’ breath caught in his chest. He couldn’t open his eyes, they wouldn’t work for him and he couldn’t make them. They were fixed firmly shut, unwilling to cooperate. He could feel his hands shaking and he hated it. He couldn’t show weakness. Especially not here.

His mother slapped him across the face, nails digging into his skin.

His vision was blurry. His mother’s pearls seemed to reflect the too bright light, her black netting obscuring his view of the room. Her snake headed cane tapped against the marble floor.

“What took you so long? Do you exist to ridicule me?”

“I couldn’t bring myself to watch whatever scene you were making,” he shrugged.

He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. He was tired, and sore, and school started again in a couple of days.

Lucius’ smug smile said it all.

“I should’ve locked you up in the attic,” she growled lowly. “Be grateful I’m too kind to do what I should’ve. If you had any parent but me you wouldn’t be here, you can bet on that.”

“I don’t want to be here.”

“Do you want a taste of what responsible parents do to their blood traitors?”

The head of her cane hit just under his chin, tilting his head up slightly.

He raised his chin to look her in the eyes, words turning bitter and painful before he spoke them. “How bad could it be?”

The cane sent a sharp burst of pain across his chin, hitting his split lip. He could taste blood, feel it trickle down his chin.

He didn’t even have time to focus on it. Time and time again his mother’s rings scraped across the skin of his cheek, drawing blood, and the cane sent bruises blossoming across his body.

She stayed detached, upright, observing with cold eyes. Sometimes he thought it’d be better if she yelled or screamed or snarled.

He fell into the routine he’d perfected over the years. Taking shallow breaths, keeping his eyes fixed on the floor, biting his lip to keep the tears from forming.

The room was spinning around him in a blur of light when the blows stopped. It took all of his willpower to stand up straight and look his mother in the eye.

He could feel everyone’s eyes on him. He could see Cygnus nodding in approval, and Lucius’ smug, aloof grin.

The only one looking away was Andromeda. She was staring at the ground, hands shaking in her lap, whispering something to Regulus.

But he wasn’t listening.

He was watching Sirius with wide eyes and fists clenched around his robes. His chest was rising and falling jaggedly, with the trained restraint of someone who couldn’t show fear.

Sirius caught his eyes, trying to fix his face into an easy going, reassuring smile. Everything was going to be ok.

But Regulus looked away, his face quickly going blank.

Sirius leaned back against the railing, ignoring the shots of pain from the not quite healed gashes on his back, and laughed as best he could through the raspiness.

“Is that all you’ve got, you old bat?”

Shots of pain pressed against the skin of his wrist, carving patterns and letters he couldn’t bring himself to look at. Bursts of purple and red cut through his mind, blocking out his vision entirely, and he could feel his throat constrict. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t see. He was numb except for the blinding white pain that became his only tether to reality.

This was it. This was how he was going to die.

He couldn’t remember anything after that. He’d be able to feel the agony in his veins for the rest of his life, or the feeling of his skin splitting open and his bones splintering. He’d be able to say how hoarse his throat had been for days after or how the fury in his mother’s eyes was permanently ingrained in his mind.

But the details were gone as soon as it had happened. A massive dark gap in his memory that stretched for an indeterminable amount of time and hid images that haunted him in nightmares.

He could remember the aftermath, though. He could remember falling to his knees, face a mess of tears and blood, body shaking and breath trapped in his chest. He could remember the cold marble against his split skin and how he hit his head on the railing.

He could remember that one last glimpse of Regulus’ pale face before everything crumbled into an empty, unforgiving darkness.

#HP #Harry Potter #Angst #The marauders #Sirius Black #Regulus Black #Lucius Malfoy #Fic #Fanfiction

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ashintheairlikesnow · 5 years ago

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Daniel Michaelson: Beaten/Numb

(for @whumptober2019 - combining yesterday and today’s themes of Beaten and Numb - plus @pinkcupboardwitch’s excellent suggestion of psychological whump/mind games. TW: Serious injury/violence and physical abuse, noncon touching, noncon kissing, implied/referenced torture, implied/referenced noncon, I really cannot emphasize enough that Abraham Denner is a bad bad man)

“Red!”

Abraham’s voice echoes across the small clearing and Daniel’s head jerks up instantly where he kneels in the dirt, a bit of red hair flopping over one eye, wincing as the sudden motion aggravates the new bruises around his neck from last night.

“Come here, boy!”

I’m not your fucking dog, you piece of shit. I am twenty… something years old - how old am I? I don’t remember anymore, why don’t I remember how old I am…

No. Stop it. Those aren’t the right thoughts. Be good, Red. It doesn’t matter that you can’t remember things. All that matters is that he wants you now.

You have to be good.

You want to be good.

He’s been carefully looking over the last few carrots from the spring planting, trying to decide just by looking at the thin green tops if they’re ready to pull for tonight. Abraham has a venison roast out of the freezer thawing in the sink - he likes roasts if you put onions, carrots, and potatoes in and cook it forever, until all the vegetables have gone soft and taste like the meat and the venison is as soft as beef.

Daniel knows how to cook everything just the way he likes. He can’t remember if he likes roasts or not - there’s never enough food, and he takes what Abraham will give him and he’s grateful for it.

Thank you for letting me eat, Abraham.

He lets his fingers trail across some carrot leaves, frowning at the lack of sensation he feels. After living here and being forced to use harsh cleaning chemicals and bury his hands in boiling water - after Abraham’s knives and the barbed wire and worse - Daniel can’t really feel much with his hands at all.

It doesn’t matter. His hands work well enough for gardening and cleaning and cooking and worse - and sometimes the lack of feeling is a relief. None of it matters, nothing matters, just that Abraham is calling, and he needs to stand up, but he doesn’t want to.

He doesn’t want to go.

Because he’s not a fucking dog.

Part of him still wants to refuse, even knowing what happens when he does, even knowing there are worse things than a little bit of cutting that can be done to him.

His heart is speeding up with his anger, pounding into his chest, and that’s not good; Abraham wants him to want to be his good boy, to be happy to be called, not pissed off.

He practices breathing in: inhale - I’m not a person, just the puppy - hold for five, exhale - no one wants me but Abraham now - inhale - My family thinks I’m dead and no one is looking for me - hold for five, exhale - I love Abraham and I want to be good - and feels his heart start to slow, a little, the dangerous anger starts to fade out, replaced by the way Abraham wants him to think.

Part of his brain wails that none of it is true, the thoughts Abraham feeds into his mind with the breathing exercises, at the end of a knife, licking the blood from his throat. Part of his brain wants to scream that there has to be some way out of this hell, but he tries not to listen, because there isn’t, and telling himself there is might make him less numb.

His body isn’t his own. His life doesn’t belong to him. If he starts trying to fight that knowledge again, he’ll scream and scream and never stop.

Be good. Be Red.

Red is numb.

Red is a good boy.

“Oh, little Reeeeeed… come here, boy…” Abraham’s voice is a singsong, but he doesn’t like to call twice. If he has to call three times, that’s breaking a rule.

Always answer when Abraham calls.

“Coming, Abraham! I’ll, um, I’ll be right there!” He glances over at Nate, who is wearing waterproof boots, real pants meant for the outdoors, a heavy shirt to protect against the hint of chill in the spring air, and gardening gloves, digging up some potatoes and tossing them into a basket next to him.

Nate moves slower than he does, thanks to the one busted hand. He has to dig with the little shovel, lay it to the side, pick out the potato, and then pick the shovel up and do it again, since the other can’t quite close enough to grip.

The two of them meet eyes, warm blue on mossy, faded green, uncertainty and more than a little worry written across both of their faces. “Wh-what do you think he wants?” Daniel asks, in a low voice he knows won’t carry far.

With Nate, he’s still a person, just for a few seconds at a time - in stolen kisses and touches while checking traps together, in furtive moments when Abraham sleeps and Nate comes to lay with him on the living room floor, in the old movies they watch sometimes and laugh along with.

On the best days - when Abraham leaves them alone while he goes on supply runs (Danny still securely chained to the living room wall, he’s not going anywhere, and Nate won’t ever leave again, they all know that now) and Nate teaches Danny how to waltz, to tango, to do all kinds of dancing with his chain scraping the floor.

Sometimes they talk about Nate’s career as a professor and how Danny wanted to be an anthropologist. They break the rules and think about a life other than this.

Then, and only then, does Daniel let himself stop being good and really just let himself be Daniel, the person that used to live in his body, when he didn’t have to be good, when he didn’t want to be.

When he lets the careful numbness crack and tries to find happiness, because he’s going to be here until he dies and if he can’t sometimes be happy he’ll lose his fucking mind.

But then Abraham always comes back, and his voice is back in Danny’s head and his hands are on his body, the body that doesn’t belong to him, it belongs to Abrahm Denner because Daniel Michaelson doesn’t exist any longer, just Red - and Red only exists for Abraham, to be hurt whatever way he wants, forever.

Nate only looks away from him, back to the potatoes. There’s a moment where his jaw becomes a hard line and the green eyes go flinty and angry. Then he slumps forward and goes back to work, slowly shaking his head. “D-d-doesn’t matter. You h-have to a-a-answer.”

“I don’t want to,” Daniel whispers, because he can say disobedient things to Nate and know that he’ll never tell Abraham he said them, thought the wrong way, didn’t want to be good. “I don’t ever want to, Nate. I don’t… I don’t want to try harder.” He drops his voice to a whisper, says the words he’s never, ever allowed to say. “I fucking hate him.”

“I kn-know, Danny-” Nate catches himself with a wince, even though there’s no way they were overheard. “R-R-Red. Sorry. I’m w-w-w-working on it, oh-okay? I’m t-trying to f-f-figure it out I, I h-h-have an idea, but… Go on b-before he g-g-gets mad.”

Working on what? What are you figuring out? He doesn’t dare ask. Nate might be having disobedient thoughts, too, fighting the same anger deep within himself that Daniel fights each and every day, the person he used to be screaming to get back out.

Daniel shoves that person even further away, buries him under the puppy. The puppy doesn’t think the wrong things, the puppy wants to be good. Abraham will know if he’s not being the puppy, he’ll know, and then the memory of last night’s fingers squeezing the air from his throat will be the least of his problems.

He hops up to his feet, turning and half-jogging across the yard, trying to be visible to Abraham as soon as possible, to prove that he really is answering the order immediately, just the way he wants. His throat aches as he takes in deeper breaths but he ignores it. He’s good at ignoring it by now, at letting all the different places he feels pain run together into a comforting nothing-feeling.

He’s good at it, but the person-thoughts trickle back in.

I used to be a person. I used to be more than this. There used to be more to living than trying to figure out the next way he’s going to hurt me. I have a little brother, he’s still out there somewhere looking for me.

Stop it. Never think of any life before or after this one. This is all there is. No one is looking. Noe one cares. Everyone thinks you’re dead. You know the rules, Red, remember the rules.

Never think of any home but this.

There used to be a home other than this.

God damn it, no, there isn’t any home other than this, not for me, not ever again.

“I’m, I’m right here, I’m coming right away, Abraham, I’m coming!”

Abraham laughs, the braying sound bouncing off the trees, and Daniel winces but doesn’t slow down as it settles into his bones, crawls under his skin, until he can feel the echo in his fingernails and down to his half-frozen numb toes in the wet grass.

Abraham can turn even obedience into something to laugh at - make out of his willingness to do as he was told a joke about the phrasing of his words, and he feels the grime that lives eternally on his skin all over again.

Dirty and empty and hollow but that’s okay, it doesn’t matter, what matters is that Abraham wants him right now and he needs to be good.

The metal cuff on his ankle shifts as he moves, a flash of old pain as the metal rubs against the skin that’s been some version of raw or open or scarred since he came here, and he can feel the slightest chill in the air right through the threadbare T-shirt and pants he always wears. He’s barefoot - it’s warm enough not to waste boots on the puppy, Abraham said this morning, and even though his feet and his toes are so cold they’ve gone numb, he doesn’t dare disagree.

If he’s good, he can get his feet close to the fireplace and warm them up later, maybe. Or at least take a bath, but Daniel doesn’t like baths, because Abraham always watches him. Makes comments. Sometimes pushes his head under the water in the giant old clawfoot tub. Sometimes does worse than that.

He’s not really supposed to not like it, because he’s supposed to want whatever Abraham wants, even though he hates it - hates his eyes and his hands and his fucking mouth - and…

Daniel stops himself from thinking, slowing to a trot, trying to breathe.

He has to force himself to focus, to think of the ache in his left side, the bruising around his throat. Focus on it, use it to settle his heart, to push away the anger that might otherwise boil out of him and end with being in trouble again. If he can’t calm down, there would be more ways he could be hurt, there would be worse than what’s already been done.

He can be made worse than broken.

There are so many things worse than dead, and Abraham knows them all.

Inhale.

I will never leave here.

Hold for five counts.

Exhale.

I want to be good.

Abraham is standing over along the side of the cabin, near the cellar, and Daniel skids to a stop twenty feet away, his face carefully set into his usual eager-to-please nervousness, trying to hide the disobedient, roiling thoughts underneath the surface.

The cellar doors are open.

No.

I don’t like the cellar. The cellar is dark. I don’t like the dark.

“Wh-why, um, why is the cellar, the-…” He trails off, voice cracking. “Abraham, I-… why are you, I don’t like to see those doors open, I don’t want-”

all alone in the dark, all alone all alone all alone

“No one gives a fuck what you like or want, puppy. Why did you stop so far away?” Abraham has his head tilted slightly to bask in the weakly warm sunlight of spring. The yellow sunshine make his skin seem even whiter, less human than it normally does - brings out the suggestion of deep shadows underneath the high cheekbones, turns his light eyes into glittering opaque glass Daniel cannot read, like the sheen of ice on a lake.

There are things underneath the ice in Abraham Denner’s eyes. Dark things that drag Danny under into the cold water, to keep him there forever.

“I, um, I stopped because I saw the cellar-”

“Why would that bother you, puppy?” Abraham smiles, a bright smile that shows his teeth, only a shade whiter than his skin. It’s never a good sign when he smiles like that. It’s never a good sign when he doesn’t, either.

“It, um, I don’t… I don’t like the cellar-… when you put me in the, the cellar, you, um, you leave me there.”

“Only when you’re bad, little Red. Are you going to be bad today?”

“No! No, I won’t!” Danny swallows back revulsion at the nervous fearful whine in his own voice, twisting his fingers into the fabric of his T-shirt in a helpless, childlike way he can’t seem to stop. “I won’t. I’ll be good. I want to be good for you, Abraham, you know, you know I want to be good now. J-just like Lyken says, in the show, I want to be good.”

Please please please not the cellar, please

“Hmmm… you’re so good at saying what I want to hear, aren’t you? But you’re still too far away. I said come here, Red.” Abraham holds out one hand, white fingers curled slightly, a clear command, invitation, and thread all in one.

Don’t hesitate, never hesitate, never reject a touch.

Daniel’s body jerks into automatic motion before his brain can catch up and remind him that he hates this - this place, this man, the breathing exercises, every single fucking thing about his life but Nate - and instead he keeps his eyes on the open cellar, on the yawning gaping black hole in the ground, the first few rickety steps visible, maybe a patch of the dirt floor beneath if he stood close enough.

He doesn’t want to stand close enough.

alone in the dark

Never hesitate when Abraham wants you, his brain shrieks the reminder, alarm bells ringing. He made him call twice already, he stopped too far away, he’s courting disaster if he hesitates now. He steps forward and ducks his head, leaning his face into Abraham’s touch.

A cold palm rests against his cheek, Abraham’s thumb pressing just a little into the scar that curves over his cheekbone, long fingers just brushing his earlobe. He swallows against the surge of nausea, forces it back before it can make him go any paler than he already is.

Puppies don’t get sick at their owner’s touch.

“Good boy,” Abraham says in a low, pleased rumble, and Daniel tries to feel reassured by it and not dirty and ashamed. For a second, there’s only silence and the vaguest hint of breeze moving his hair, the chill that seems to slip right through the thin cotton of his clothing, raising goosebumps on his arms and making him shiver. “That’s my very good boy. I want to ask you something, little Red - and it’s very, very important that you be honest with me.” Daniel tries to breathe.

I love Abraham and I want to be good.

No one will ever find me here.

“Wh-what do you want to ask?” Abraham’s hand slips down from his face and drops slowly to his throat, curling around, fingers placing themselves perfectly over the bruises, following the map laid out of exactly where Abraham had cut off his air last night.

The barest bit of pressure against the mottled bruising makes a fresh new wave of fear run through him as he gasps, and he’s not choking - he’s drowning. It’s not the lack of air - it’s the overwhelming frozen touch, the look in those odd nearly-colorless eyes, that pulls him under the water for the dark things to devour and holds him there.

“Pl-please don’t-… don’t do that again,” Daniel whispers. “D-Don’t take my air, please, Abraham, I, I need the air…” He’s taking in what breath he can, hands clenching into fists to keep himself from trying to grab at Abraham and pull himself free.

It won’t work, and he’ll just get in trouble for breaking the rules.

“I don’t have to, if you answer my question. Little Red, would you like to go in the cellar today? Just for four hours or so?”

every time he puts me down there, they go, they’re gone for weeks and it’s harder and I get so weak, I get so hungry, I ran out of water last time, I don’t want to be alone, I don’t, I can’t, please no, please not the dark

“No!” It’s more an exhalation than a sound, whistling air around the grip on his throat, the aching of the bruises. He’s taller than Abraham, but staring into his eyes always makes Danny feel so fucking small. “I don’t, I don’t want to go down there, please, Abraham, please don’t make me.”

“No? Only for four hours and you say no?” The hand leaves his throat, sliding along the edge of his shirt’s neckline, trailing along his shoulder. Daniel shivers and holds himself still, dropping his eyes down to the ground, hands still at his sides.

“I, but-…” But what if you’re lying and you leave again. He can’t say the words, because suggesting Abraham is lying is disobedient, but sometimes he does lie. Lies and puts Nate in the car and leaves Danny in the cellar with his hands tied for a month until he runs out of food and begs and begs and begs and somehow Abraham always seems to know when Danny is about to lose his mind from the isolation and hunger and thirst and reappears to take him back up the stairs, dirty and frightened and full of the need, the deep deep need, to be so good it never happens again. “But I, I can’t go down there, I hate it-”

“Poor thing, you’re so scared of the cellar, aren’t you?” Abraham’s voice is sweet, and loving, and Daniel hates this voice most of all - it’s a lie, Abraham hates him, only loves hurting him, because there are things like Danny in the world that only exist to be hurt. “What kind of grown-ass man is scared of the dark, little Red?”

He knows what Abraham wants him to say. He knows, and he hates it, and the person part of his brain tells him to spit in his face, punch him, give him another black eye and take his punishment afterward. But the person-voice is getting very, very small and weak compared to the, to the…

“I’m not a grown-ass man,” Daniel mumbles down at his feet. “I’m just the puppy.”

There’s a silence, and he glances up from behind a curtain of wavy red hair to see Abraham smiling at him, a wide and beaming, proud smile. Danny had, after all, just done a perfect trick. Like putting up his paws to beg for a treat. Roll over, sit, stay, that’s what’s left of Daniel Michaelson.

Daniel’s face burns with humiliation.

“That’s my good boy,” Abraham breathes, and Daniel shudders at the joy in his voice, the way the touch of his fingers changes, becomes more intense somehow, more purposeful.

Daniel turns his head to the side when Abraham’s hand slides up into the back of his hair. He never pushes him away. He never fights back. He closes his eyes, slowly, trying to focus on the way his eyes feel when closed, how his eyelashes are long enough that he can almost feel them brush his skin - he tries to deaden his skin to Abraham’s touch, to not even notice any longer.

Be numb. Be good. Go away in his head and come back when it’s over, when whatever it is Abraham intends to do is over.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Abraham murmurs. “I know what you’re up to, and you know I don’t like that. No escape for you.” The fingers tighten suddenly in his hair, he’s gripped on until Daniel can feel a flash of pain in his scalp and the velcro-like rip of a bunch of hair being pulled out of his skin, yanking his head backwards hard until his back is arched and his eyes fly open to stare up into the blue sky above.

Breathe. See the sky? The sky is still there, no matter what happens to him. No matter how small or inhuman or broken he gets, the sky is still there.

Let him do whatever he wants. Be good.

No one is coming to save you.

“I was thinking I would give you a choice,” Abraham spoke mildly, as though he wasn’t tearing Daniel’s hair out with the strength of his grip, slowly forcing his head further and further back until Danny finally realized what he wanted and buckled his knees, dropping like a stone to kneel in the dirt.

Cold damp from the wet grass began immediately to soak into the knees of his pajama pants, along the front of the shins. He kept his hands carefully at his sides, and now, staring up from the ground, he wasn’t looking at the sky. He was looking right into Abraham’s face as the man leaned over him.

“I’m bored and I want to play a game. You don’t get choices very often, do you?”

Danny tried to shake his head but it only pulled on the grip on his hair and he hissed in pain and went still again, swallowing, his throat aching as if to remind him that his hair wasn’t the only injured place right now.

There was never just one injured place, really.

“N-No Abraham, puppies don’t get choices. They, they like when their owners choose. I b-b-belong to you, so you, um-… You choose because you, you own me, my body, um… I’m just the puppy.“ He recites the words automatically, rewarded with a loosening of Abraham’s fingers, breathing a sigh of relief as sharp pain went back to a dull ache. “What, um, what kind of choice are you going to give me? What’s the game?”

He didn’t want to make a choice. If he didn’t have to make a choice, he felt safer, none of it was his fault or his responsibility. It was all being done to him, and Daniel had learned how to handle that, to go away in his head and let it happen to someone else.

Making a choice made him part of it.

“You’ll like this, puppy. You can choose to go in the cellar for four hours…”

Daniel whines in the back of his throat, a helpless unconscious sound of fear, shifting where he kneels in the dirt. The yawning darkness along the side of the cabin has a physical weight in the back of his mind, a constant drumbeat of panic and the dark things and the pressure he knows will settle over him down there, the buzzing static nothing, the dwindling apples and water day by day by day until it’s gone and still he’s all alone…

“Not your favorite option? Well, maybe you’ll need to think that over. You can go in the cellar for four hours, unharmed, just put your handcuffs on… or… We can learn about something else.”

“Wh-what?” Daniel will do anything, anything to stay out of the cellar, anything at all, and he looks up with a desperate plea in his eyes. “I, whatever it is, Abraham, if you, if you’ll let me choose, I-”

“Ever had your shoulder dislocated?”

Daniel blinks, and the fingers finally leave his hair entirely and brush down the back of his neck, along the line of his shoulder, then back down to his shoulder blades, rubbing at it through the fabric of his shirt. “Uh, um, I… n-no, no I haven’t.”

“Oh, let’s find out, shall we? Last night when I put my hands around your neck you pulled away from me. You’ll know better than to pull away from me next time, won’t you?”

Daniel takes in a deep breath - or tries, but he can’t manage more than a gasp. “I, um. You’re going to- to pull out my shoulder?”

“Dislocate it. Then I’m going to hang you by your arms in the smokehouse until the sun goes down. It’s only nine-thirty, Red. That’s a lot of hours to hang by a dislocated shoulder. Or… four hours in the cellar. That’s not so long, is it, to live in the dark?” Abraham’s hand wraps around the ball of his shoulder and Danny starts to shake, unable to stop himself, to hold still like he’s supposed to.

“That’s your choice,” Abraham says, in a voice that’s nearly a purr. “Do you want to go in the cellar, or do you want to dislocate your shoulder and hang out in the smokehouse for a few hours? You choose, Red. All on you.”

If I choose the cellar he’ll leave for days again, he and Nate, and I’ll be alone in the dark.

“N-No, I don’t, I don’t want to, I don’t want to choose-”

“Sssshhhhhh. No one gives a fuck what you want.” Abraham leans down as close as he can get, licks along the shell of Daniel’s ear with his cold, cold tongue. Daniel groans unwillingly - it’s an awful feeling, the wet and the cold - but Abraham mistakes it for something else and laughs at him, breaths of cool air against his dampened skin. “Oh, you like that, huh? We can learn more about that little response later. First, make your choice. I’ll count to ten. If you don’t choose by then, I’ll come up with something even worse.”

There is always something worse that Abraham can do to him.

Daniel tries to breathe, to practice his breathing exercises, but nothing comes. Instead he only gasps, half-chokes on his own fear, staring at the blackness of the cellar, then up into Abraham’s delighted, dancing eyes.

“I, I don’t want to, I can’t choose, Abraham, please, please you choose, please don’t make me-”

“One… two… three… four…”

I love Abraham and I want to be good. Making a choice is good. Making a choice is what he wants.

I don’t want to go into the cellar, I don’t want to be alone in the dark.

Please no, please no, I don’t want to hang by my shoulder, I don’t want to do that either.

“Five… six… seven… running out of time, little Red…”

Not the dark, not alone in the dark, please God don’t leave me alone in the dark again

My shoulder’s going to hurt so much, so much

If I don’t choose he’ll do something even worse, so much worse, he can always do something worse

“Eight… nine…”

“M-my shoulder!” Danny bursts out, nearly a shout, reaching up without thinking to grab onto Abraham’s arms in supplication, staring up at him with wide, panicked blue eyes glittering with tears. “Pl-please, Abraham, I can be good, I’ll be so good for you, please just don’t make me go down in the cellar again. Please, my shoulder, we’ll do my shoulder!”

“Good choice.” Abraham presses a kiss to the top of his head, then to the side of his temples, against his cheek where the line of the scar is, licks at the notch in his jaw, down to the pulse beating wildly in his neck. “That’s my very good boy. You try very hard for me, don’t you, Red?”

“I-I do, I can try harder, I’ll try harder-”

“Good. Good, good boy. Now.” Abraham disentangles himself from Danny’s grip, steps back and puts one hand on his shoulder, the other gripping his upper arm in an implacable frozen steel clamping. “Count to five out loud. On the count of five, I’m going to make you so fucking sorry you pulled away from me last night. And you keep your eyes open and on me the whole fucking time.”

Danny nods, slowly, raising his eyes to meet Abraham’s again, trying to practice his breathing, desperately trying to cling on to some calm, some sanity, as his mind screams at him to disobey, to be a person, to fucking run.

But he can’t run. He can’t fight. He can’t do anything, except what Abraham wants.

Inhale. No tears, no tears, no tears. Stay calm.

“One… t-two…”

Hold.

“Three…”

He can feel the tears in his throat, knows they’ll come out in his voice. Abraham’s grip tightens.

Exhale - shaky air, but Abraham doesn’t seem to mind. He doesn’t say anything, anyway, only stares right into Daniel’s terrified eyes.

Danny can feel the cellar pulling at him, wishing it had been his choice, all alone in the dark might have been better, only four hours…

But it’s never only four hours, it would be days, and he can’t be alone in the dark again.

Be good be good be good.

I don’t want to be in the dark.

“F-Four… oh god, Abraham, I can’t, I can’t, please-”

“One more, Red.” Abraham’s voice is gentle, loving, soft with affection, soothing his jangled frightened nerves. “Be my good boy and just one more number… if you take this well I won’t even leave you all day, that’s how good I am to you.“

“F-f-f-five, please, I’m so sorry I pulled away, I won’t do it again, I can try harder to be good please don’t-”

There’s a sudden horrifying pressure on his arm and shoulder, cracking and grinding somewhere deep within him, then a pop as Abraham pulls his arm apart with inhuman strength and a smile as wide as the sky. There’s a moment where Danny’s arm feels strange and loose, a half-second of horrified anticipation, and then - and then the pain hits and his brain bursts into an agonized explosion.

Danny tries to twist away from it, but that only pulls his shoulder more in Abraham’s steady iron grip, and he hears the sound of a horrible wailing scream tearing apart the air before he realizes the sound is coming from him.

The things that live behind Abraham’s eyes are pulling him down, pulling him under, and they’ll feed and feed and feed on his pain.

He is screaming so loud he cannot hear the lust in Abraham’s voice as he pets into his hair, murmuring, “That’s my good fucking boy, little Red, I wonder what else makes you scream like that…” His fingers card through the wavy red hair as Danny curls around himself, gasping - he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, the ends of his fingers on that side are tingling and half-numbed and the pain throbs and throbs into his lungs, he can’t breathe.

“Pl-please, God, please, I’m so sorry, Abraham, I’m so fucking sorry, I don’t, I won’t ever pull away again, please make it go back in, please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’ll be good, I’ll be good-… oh god, oh god it fucking hurts, I’m so sorry-”

“I love you so fucking much, puppy,” Abraham speaks in a thick, throaty voice, pulling Danny to his feet as he screams again, pulling him close, nuzzling through the tears tracks and against the scars, pressing kisses as Danny cries in heaving sobs, but he doesn’t pull away.

He’s too lost in the pain and the strange way his whole arm feels loose, like it could just fall off of him at any moment, the way he can’t take a deep breath, the way every nerve-ending in his body is somehow connected to his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” Danny whispers with Abraham’s lips on his scars, cold tongue licking up his tears. “I’m so sorry I’ll never, I’ll never, I’ll be good I want to be good, please, I want to be good…”

When Abraham kisses him, Danny’s mouth is open as he tries to gasp in breath to beg some more, and Abraham’s mouth on his is so fucking cold and steals all of what little air he can find.

But he doesn’t - he can’t - pull away.

Abraham finally pulls back, smiling at him, touching the side of his face with an expression like a proud father. “You’re so gorgeous,” He says softly, the words buzzing and dancing and bursting around and through the white noise in Danny’s head. “You’re so fucking beautiful when you’re hurting for me, my sweet little Red. Just two hours in the smokehouse, I think, that’s my good boy. Then I’ll help you…” Abraham presses a kiss to his forehead, laughing at the wide blue eyes that barely see him, the audible whistling gasps for breath around the ache. “And you, my darling, my sweet boy, my good puppy, can help me. You don’t need a working arm for that.”

Then he drags him by his dislocated arm towards the smokehouse across the yard, laughing every time Danny stumbles and cries out at the new flash of agony.

Nate, still working in the garden, hears the scream and jerks his head up, jaw hardening into that straight line again, teeth ground together so hard they hurt. He can only stare, hearing Danny’s pleading and begging and continued pained shrieking, Abraham’s wild, joyful laughter, braying and echoing around and bouncing off the trees.

Then he looks back down at his work, digging the next potato out of the earth with furious zeal, digging and digging and digging until his fingernails are caked with dirt and the basket is nearly full and still, still Danny is screaming.

The screams eventually coalesce into slurred words, occasional shrieks.

Nate knows what"s happening in there. Daniel, after all, isn’t the first man Abraham’s played a game like that with. Bram rigs the game, he always wins. Anyone stuck playing is always, always beaten.

Last time it was Nate - and his choice was a broken knee (I love you so much… you’ll never fucking run again, will you, baby?) or Ashley choosing what part of him to bury her knife in… and Ashley’s eyes had been staring far too long at Nate’s pelvis.

Nate swallows hard as he listens to Danny’s throaty wail, begging Abraham’s forgiveness for what he’s done wrong, promising to do better, try harder, be good, if only he’ll let him out and make it stop.

His knee begins to throb, a very old pain, in time with Danny’s pleading.

The sound of the smokehouse door slamming shut - and Bram’s joyful laughter as he heads back into the house - muffles Danny’s wailing until it sounds like nothing more than wind, until it quiets down to hopeless, hoarse sobbing.

The sun goes on shining and the sky is a beautiful, bright, clear blue.

It’s going to be a gorgeous spring, and Nate is running out of time.

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