#what if this is a consequence of that incident ?

[lovesick-desires]

VALETUDINARIANISM

YANDERE!VIKTOR X IMMUNOCOMPROMISED!READER — CHAPTER TWO

‎‎‎‎PREVIOUS CHAPTER ⇠ ✩ ⇢ NEXT CHAPTER (coming soon)

ABSTRACT: After escaping Viktor's clutches, you hide away in your humble abode in Zaun. Unbeknownst to you, that is not where the story ends. Oh, it is only the beginning. AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry for not finishing this chapter yesterday, I was in the emergency room for appendix pain (turns out I have norovirus D:). CONTENT WARNINGS: gender neutral reader, season two spoilers, yandere behavior, manipulation, cult behavior, no mentions of "y/n", no descriptors for reader/"y/n", coercion. stalking, abuse of power, weapons (knife), foul language, reader has panic attack, breaking and entering, use of Google Translate for Czech, attempted forced brainwashing, sensual touching, hints of savior complex, semi-rushed ending (sorry) (N)SFW?: mildly NSFW WORD COUNT: 2.0k VIKTOR'S YANDERE ARCHETYPE: delusional, protective

All you could think about was getting home and forgetting this all happened. Your legs carried you as fast as they could, the fire of fear burning at them as if to keep you moving. To keep you from stopping. You could feel your lungs burn and ache from the overexertion, but you had to keep moving as you eventually got back to the heart of the Undercity.

Once you reached a secluded alleyway, you stopped to catch your breath, making sure no one else was around. Once you realized you are in your own solitude, you couldn't help but lean into the wall behind you and slide down it to sit on the cold, hard ground. The adrenaline wore off as a coughing fit erupted from your throat. Fuck, you overworked your body and now you were faced with the consequences of your condition.

Reaching into your pocket, you felt your fingers around until they were wrapped around a plastic bottle. With haste, you retrieved the pill bottle and inspected its contents.

Seven pills left.

You needed to get more, but that would have to wait.

Scooping a pill from the bottle to leave the remaining six, you placed it under your tongue and let it dissolve as you sat there on the ragged floor. As your body and mind calmed down, you began to realize your position in a Zaun alleyway at sunset. It was best to get moving.

With the realization, you shakily rose from the ground, knees buckling. You had to keep moving, no matter how much your body hurt. Walking out of the alleyway, you draw your hood up to blend in among the crowd of Zaunites as you wondered home.

A week had passed since you escaped the commune. You still hear whispers of the Machine Herald in passing when you strolled the Undercity streets. You knew better than to expect miracles now, everything comes with a price: inadvertently or not. However, whenever you went out, you felt eyes on you constantly. You figured it was your paranoia from after the whole freaky cult incident, yet you couldn't quite erase the feeling.

It was a dreary eve in the Undercity as you sat in your bed, all cozy as you were reading a book. As your eyes scanned the lines of dialogue, you felt your eyelids get droopy. Realizing this was your cue to halt your reading for the night, you slid your weathered bookmark onto the page you were on. As you closed the book as the pages fluttered together into their former stack, a soft sigh elicited from your tired lips. Reading was a nice distraction to you from all the other fuckery in your life such as your illnesses and anxieties. You placed the book on your nightstand as you laid back. Reaching up to your lamp's knob, you turned it until it clicked, letting the light flicker off. In the wake of the lamp's golden light, the blue moonlight seeped in through a crack in your curtains, basking a small sliver of the room in its ethereal light. As you stared up at the ceiling of your dingy apartment, you felt sleep slowly smother you...

creeeeak...

What was that?

You opened your weary eyes to gaze at where the sound came from: your window. Behind the beige curtains stood the silhouette of a slender individual, making your blood run cold.

creeeak...

You rouse yourself from your sleepy state to reach down to the floor, putting your hand into your boot to retrieve your knife. As your vision focuses, you freeze when you see the man reach down to the base of your window and pull it up. You forgot to lock the window. Fuck.

When you see the hand come to view through the curtains, it was that painfully familiar gray tone. You immediately knew who it was. Realizing you didn't know what to do, you froze, shutting your eyes to feign a peaceful slumber.

creeeak...

You could hear the Machine Herald step foot into your bedroom, causing you to grip your knife tighter under the sheets. You tried to stay calm but you could feel your heart rate accelerate exponentially. Your mind was getting fuzzy and your limbs were trying their best to stay still. Why you were faking it? You didn't know, but something told you to... in the back of your mind...

creeeak...

The healer was now looking down at you at the side of your bed. You could feel his overwhelming presence in the vicinity. Your knuckles paled from how tightly you gripped the knife, praying to whatever god out there that he would just leave or something.

"Promiňte..." was the only word that escaped from the Machine Herald's pasty lips. You felt something get closer... and closer... Your eyes reluctantly fluttered open to see his hand was right in your face, electric purple filtering out of its cracks and cavities. Your gaze quickly moved up to see his eyes were a glowing pale lavender, no irises or pupils in sight. You had to move...

Move...

Move...

MOVE, DAMMIT, MOVE!

Your head flinched away right before he could caress it, causing a chain reaction of adrenaline course through your veins and joints. In a flash, you pulled yourself away from the healer, pointing your knife at his sternum. This induced a subtle gasp from Viktor, the light from his hand and eyes slowly diminishing out of shock.

"Don't... touch me..." You rasped, your voice crackling from lack of use in the past few hours. Your hand trembled as the raw, unfiltered anxiety coursed through your vessel. To this, Viktor looked slightly hurt from your outlash and a little... entertained? You couldn't quite read the glimmer in his eye, but you knew damn well it was bad news.

As if on cue, you felt your lungs start to give out, making a cough erupt from your sore throat. Viktor immediately took notice to this.

"Please, miláček, let me help—"

"Why are you in my apartment? How did you find me?" You interjected, your gaze narrowed with confusion and contempt as you kept your knife pointed at him. You pursed your lips to try and hold back another cough but it burst through your lips, making your grasp on your weapon weaker.

"Please, just relax. I am not here to hurt you—"

"Answer my questions." You barked out in a cough, holding back the pressure building in your throat to avoid showing any more weakness to the man before you. To this, Viktor's gaze hardened as his brows furrowed. His slowly retracted his hand from you and now stood before you.

"The way I found you is... irrelevant. But why I am here, is not. Now, please, put down the knife and i will explain everything." The healer elaborated, putting his spindly hands up in mock surrender. You sniffled as a painful coughing fit burst from your throat, inadvertently causing your grip on the knife to falter. The blade clattered to the hardwood floor as your aching body fell back to the mattress it sat upon, provoking a cough to escape your lips again.

Of course, this was the week you had to get a respiratory flare up.

"Pills..." was the only word you could get out between coughs. To this, Viktor was alerted and began to glanced around the room only to spot the bottle of pills on your dresser. The healer rose with urgency and grabbed the bottle, encompassing it with his spindly fingers.

"Is... this what you need?" Viktor questioned as he shook the bottle gently, rattling its contents. In your weakened state, trying to suppress your coughing and wheezing, you nodded. You went to reach for the bottle from his hand, only for him to retract his hand.

"No, it's okay, let me help you... Please..." The Machine Herald uttered in a tone that sounded like an desperate prayer to an omnipotent deity. Coughs erupted from your shaking lips as the healer sat besides you on the bed, undoing the lid from the pill bottle. With a quick glance at the directions on the bottle, he committed them to memory as he scooped a pill out from the bottle, leaving the remaining five. With a firm yet gentle hand, he grabbed your jaw to hold you in place.

"Trust in me. Open your mouth for me, miláček" He rasped, holding the pill in between his thumb and pointer finger. With no other options, you reluctantly opened your mouth, raising the tip of your tongue to the roof of your mouth. You barely suppressed the urge to cough as you took wheezing breaths, the itch in the back of your throat driving you mad. A soft smirk spread across the healer's fair lips as he lowered the white tablet into your mouth with a gentle touch, depositing the pill under your tongue. He held his fingers in your mouth, hooked slightly on your lower jaw, before slowly retracting them. As his fingers vacated your mouth, his thumb briefly dragged across your bottom lip, making you instinctively shut your mouth.

"Good, very good," The Machine Herald murmured, his eyes intensely locked with yours. You slowly felt the ache in your lungs and the itch in your throat dissipate from the dissolving pill under your tongue. With a shaky sigh, you look up at the man sitting beside you. Slowly, the cult leader retracted his hand, his touch lingering for a moment.

"Why... did you try to... heal me when I was asleep?" You questioned, sitting up straight. You felt weary of the man who just broke into your abode, of course, yet you felt a sense of calm when near him. Like an allure of a raging flame to a mere moth.

"I just want to help you, miláček. You are suffering a great illness and you can not free yourself of that burden. Getting sick over and over again takes a toll on the body. I, myself, would know that from personal experiences," The healer explained, looking out your now open window as the beige curtains fluttering in a soft zephyr. "My body... was once weak and crippled, bound to utilize a cane just to something as small as taking a mere step. Now, I am free... and you can be free too if you trust me." He added, glancing over at you. Then, that familiar feeling of overwhelming dread pooled in your stomach. You knew you couldn't, but where could you run? You couldn't let him 'heal' you...

"I... I can't trust you... I-I don't know all what this... healing... entails—"

"You are scared of the unknown. You are scared of what could happen. The possibility of being without something you have had your whole life, despite it being malicious to your body, it scares you with what could be. You are so used to things going poorly for you to the point that you are just mentally preparing for the next blow. You do not know how to cope with the possibility that you struggled for all these years for naught." Viktor interjected, gazing at you as he rose from the bed, now illuminated in the blue moonlight. He now stood before you his eyes gazing over your form.

As the healer starred down at you, his soft lips spread into a barely visible smile, the blue moonlight basking him from behind.

"Come with me to the commune. Just for three days. See how the people live, how you could live. If you stay the three days and haven't changed your mind, you can leave and never look back. Just.. give it a chance, please, for your own sake." The Machine Herald proclaimed, a tinge of hope in his pleading voice.

For that moment, the pool in your stomach dissipated. You felt willing to give it a chance as you rose from your bed.

"Okay, but only three days."

What's the worst that could happen?

SONG OF THE FIC: DISEASE - LADY GAGA

VALETUDINARIANISM Taglist: @clownery-atits-finest, @unmotivatedbug Want to join the tag list? Click here to learn more!

[silcobrainrot]

I was typing out a reply to this post and then I realized I lost the plot so bad that I didn't want to derail OP's point so here it is. OP's points that I'm reflecting on:

Zaun is a very fucked place with a very fucked system. He’s doing what he thinks needs to be done in order to at some point be able to rein it in and make it better. He wanted to give Zaun a fighting chance against Piltover. He wanted to make them equal. And in a place where there are no rules. And people talk with violence. You’re going to have to make some very awful choices in order to not only take control, but have enough power to fix it. He may not have been the one to change Zaun, but he’s raised the girl that could.

"but he’s raised the girl that could." SO fucking true and I wish s2 had let her. firing that rocket at the council was a promise to make their lives hell. i didn't need to see her as the leader of a movement but it would have been nice to see her enable and enact change just by being a powerful loose cannon. Act 1 almost gave us this but then she decided that Jinx was dead in ep 4 and then we don't see her do much of anything until she shows up to the battle in the finale. She could have spent the season being unhinged, having agency and making actual choices that have consequences for herself, Zaun, and Piltover (she was responsible for most of the inciting incidents in s1). The good consequences and the bad.

Let her run wild. Show her lose herself to her grief and anger and how much she misses him and how fucked all of this is. Then bring her back. Not in a redemption arc way, I don't think she needs that, but in a way where she finally understands what she wants her life to be. She mourns the loss, she comes out of her grief, she forgives herself for killing him because it's what he would have wanted, and for the first time ever, she gets to choose what her path in life will be. It's time to be her own person. She's not a hero, she'll never lose her enjoyment of violence and chaos, but she is no longer fueled by anger and hatred and vengeance.

Let Sevika use the stuff Jinx does on her own--avenging Silco and taking vengeance against Piltover--to lead a movement. Let Sevika struggle with keeping the people who worked under Silco loyal to the mission. Show us how Sevika got on good terms with Scar [the firelights' leader while Ekko was away] and what an alliance between the movement for change inspired by Jinx, and the firelights, could accomplish for Zaun. Bringing them hope that change is really possible. Getting them out of their homes and their "every man for himself" mentality and get them believing in something. Wanting more for themselves. Organizing. Community services. Shared resources. Fucking unionizing idk. We see so many of Zaun's worst people but there are normal people living in normal poverty just trying to get by down there, too. Show us the Zaun Silco had become so disconnected from due to isolation and obsession.

It started with Silco, despite how flawed his methods were and how they did so much damage to the Undercity. An evil he thought was necessary because he didn't know any other truth in life besides pain and misery. But it started with him, and it gets realized by his daughter and lieutenant. Sevika is probably the closest thing he had to a friend, who stuck by his side despite how much their methods were hurting the people they were trying to liberate. The people who worked closest to him, lived closest to him, and could see the flaws in both his methods and him as a man, finishing what he started.

But instead we get Jinx committing suicide and Sevika joining the council which. Jesus fucking christ I don't even want to get myself started on that bullshit. @wetnoodle thank you for the brain worm

[xoxorealitygalore]

Trust and Believe II

You pushed me far

You brought me to it

You had my heart

But then you blew it, oh

summary: Keyshia and Joe had a seemingly perfect life together after marrying in 2010. However, as their careers grew, so did the strain on their relationship. When Joe cheats on Keyshia. The emotional fallout from the incident leaves their relationship hanging in the balance, with Keyshia questioning if they could ever recover from the betrayal.

Keyshia Anoa’i Ordered to Pay $100,000 to Woman She Assaulted in Roman Reigns��� Penthouse

Following an assault in September, Keyshia Anoa’i's three-month-long legal drama has finally come to an end and the singer will have to fork over a large amount of money.

According to a report from TMZ, Anoa’i's lawsuit ended in a default judgment after the singer never showed up to court. Anoa’i has been ordered to pay $100,000 to the woman suing her.

Anoa’i was originally arrested in September, for assaulting the woman, after she noticed the woman in the penthouse of her husband Roman Reigns. The singer reportedly went into a fit of rage and immediately attacked the woman, leaving bruises on her face.

Following the attack, the woman pressed charges against Anoa’i. The victim then filed a lawsuit and sought punitive damages for battery, intentional infliction of emotional distress, negligence, and premises liability.

Keyshia stood near the window in Joe's office, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she watched him carefully write out the check for $100,000. The words Court-Ordered Payment were typed at the top, followed by the name of the woman who had sued her—the woman Keyshia had attacked after discovering her with Joe.

Keyshia couldn't help but feel a sharp pang of bitterness. She wasn’t proud of what she’d done, but part of her resented the fact that this whole situation had spiraled so far out of control. Joe had betrayed her, yet she was the one facing the consequences. The weight of the money, the legal issues, the humiliation—it all felt like a cruel reminder of how little control she had over her own life at that moment.

Joe placed the check in an envelope and sealed it, his face a mixture of frustration and resignation. “I hope you learned your lesson, Keyshia,” he said, his voice firm. “You can’t go around putting your hands on people.”

Keyshia rolled her eyes, not bothering to reply immediately. She wasn’t interested in hearing him lecture her on right and wrong, not now, not after everything that had happened between them. The whole situation felt exhausting, suffocating. She exhaled sharply, her gaze drifting to the backyard outside the window where the party for their daughter, Jovie, was taking place. It was a beautiful scene—a Ballerina and Bows-themed birthday party in full swing, with their youngest daughter smiling and playing with her friends.

“Whatever,” Keyshia muttered, her voice flat. “I have better things to worry about, like our daughter’s birthday party that’s happening downstairs in our backyard.” Her voice trailed off, as if the party—Jovie’s special day—was just another thing to get through. The weight of her words hung in the air as she stared out at the scene.

Joe, trying to keep his calm, responded, his tone clipped but measured. “That doesn’t change the fact that you attacked someone, Keyshia. You have to take responsibility for your actions.”

Keyshia's eyes narrowed, and her lips curled into a bitter smile. “And what about you? You think writing a check is going to fix everything, Joe? You cheated on me, remember? That’s why I’m here, standing in this room, having this conversation.”

Her words were sharp, cutting through the room like a blade. Joe’s expression tightened, and for a moment, the weight of his own guilt seemed to cloud his face. “I told you already, it was a heat-of-the-moment thing. I messed up. I was stupid. It wasn’t supposed to happen.”

Keyshia’s laugh was hollow and full of disbelief. “Heat of the moment,” she repeated, the words coming out like venom. “You think that’s an excuse?”

It was clear that Keyshia’s anger was not just about the attack. The check, the lawsuit, and the court orders were all secondary to the deep, gnawing wound in her chest—the betrayal Joe had inflicted on her and their family. She was so hurt, so angry that the words poured out before she could stop them. Every sentence she spoke felt like a raw, jagged edge.

Joe’s face softened, the guilt and regret now evident in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Keyshia. I know I hurt you. I’ll never be able to undo what I did, but I am sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” Keyshia snapped. “You don’t get to be sorry now, Joe. You don’t get to apologize and pretend everything is fine. You cheated on me, and you’ve destroyed everything. I’ve been by your side through thick and thin, and this is how you repay me?”

Her voice cracked slightly on the last words. The emotional weight of the situation was too much to bear. Keyshia had spent years supporting Joe through his chronic myeloid leukemia diagnosis—standing by him during the toughest times of his life. But in return, he had betrayed her in the most intimate way possible, with another woman. It was something she would never be able to reconcile, and the pain was still too fresh.

Joe shifted uncomfortably, his gaze now directed at the floor. He could feel her anger, and he could feel the blame resting squarely on his shoulders. His voice was quieter now, almost pleading. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I love you, Keyshia. I love our family. I know I messed up, but I’m trying to make it right.”

Keyshia let out a humorless laugh. “Love? That’s rich coming from the guy who took another woman to bed behind my back. You’ve broken everything, Joe. Everything. I don’t even know who you are anymore.” Her voice trembled with the weight of her emotions.

There was a brief silence between them, the tension palpable. Joe’s shoulders slumped, and for a moment, Keyshia saw the man she had once loved—a man who had been broken by his own actions. But the hurt was too deep. She couldn’t see past the betrayal anymore. She had been through so much, not just for Joe but for their children as well. She had sacrificed so much, and now, everything felt like it had been for nothing.

The silence was interrupted by a knock at the door, and before either of them could respond, Joe’s mother, Lisa, poked her head inside. “You two are missing your daughter’s birthday,” Lisa said, her voice a mixture of concern and gentle reprimand.

Keyshia sighed heavily, her anger still simmering beneath the surface. She turned away from Joe and walked toward the door, not wanting to engage any longer. She couldn’t deal with him, not now, not with the weight of everything else on her shoulders. Joe followed her, his eyes still full of remorse as he tried to find some way to reach her.

Downstairs, the party was in full swing. The children were laughing, running around the backyard, playing games and enjoying the festivities. Jovie, their three-year-old, spotted her parents and squealed with joy. “Mommy! Daddy!” she exclaimed, her face lighting up with excitement as she ran toward them.

Keyshia forced a smile, her heart aching as she knelt down to hug her daughter. “Hey, baby,” she said softly, her voice full of warmth. “Are you enjoying your party?”

Jovie nodded enthusiastically, her pigtails bouncing as she smiled up at her mother. “Yes! I love my cake!”

Joe stepped forward, scooping Jovie up in his arms. “Let’s cut your birthday cake, little lady,” he said, his voice affectionate as he carried her toward the table where the three-tiered birthday cake sat.

Keyshia followed them, her heart heavy as she watched the interaction between father and daughter. Jovie, oblivious to the tension between her parents, kissed Joe on the cheek and then turned to Keyshia. “Mommy, kiss Daddy!” she said, her little voice insistent.

Keyshia hesitated, her hands fluttering nervously at her sides. Everyone was watching, and the weight of their eyes felt suffocating. She bit her lip, trying to hold back the wave of emotions threatening to crash over her. Her smile was forced, and there was an edge to it that didn’t quite reach her eyes. But Jovie didn’t care—she just wanted her parents to be happy, to be together.

Keyshia hesitated for a moment longer before finally giving in to her daughter’s request. She leaned in and kissed Joe on the cheek, the brief touch feeling like a stark reminder of everything that had gone wrong.

Jovie, delighted, blew out her candles with a dramatic puff, and the room erupted in applause. Everyone gathered around the cake as Lisa began cutting slices. The birthday party continued, and Keyshia did her best to maintain the facade of happiness for the sake of their children. But inside, everything felt broken.

Hours later, the party was over. The house had been cleaned, the decorations taken down, and the children tucked into bed. Keyshia made her way to the guest room—the same room she had been staying in for the past three months since the incident.

As she passed the hallway, she saw Joe standing near the door, blocking her way. His eyes were tired, and his face was drawn with the weight of their unresolved issues.

“I keep trying to hate you,” Keyshia said, her voice strained with emotion. “It’d be so much easier if I did.”

Joe sighed deeply, his expression heavy with regret. “Don’t worry. I hate myself enough for both of us.”

Keyshia felt the words land like a weight on her chest. She didn’t know what was worse—the fact that Joe had cheated, or the fact that now, both of them were lost in their own pain, unable to fix the broken pieces of their once happy family.

For now, all she could do was turn and walk away, seeking solace in the solitude of the guest room, where she could bury her grief and confusion. It was the only place she felt she could truly breathe. But deep down, she knew that their story—her story—was far from over.

Keyshia closed the door behind her with a soft click, the sound echoing in the quiet hallway. The guest room, small and sparsely decorated, felt like a prison. It had been her sanctuary since the night of the incident, a place to retreat when the walls of their home, once full of warmth and laughter, now felt cold and suffocating. The bed, unmade and untouched, seemed to mock her attempts at peace. She dropped her purse onto the chair, removed her shoes, and sat on the edge of the bed, her mind swirling with emotions she couldn’t sort through.

Her hands trembled as she pulled her phone from her bag, but she quickly dropped it back into her lap. What was the point of checking it again? She had already seen the messages—Joe’s constant apologies, his mother’s concerned texts asking if she was okay, and a few messages from family and friends offering sympathy. None of it mattered. None of it could fix what had happened.

For a brief moment, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to feel the weight of everything—the attack, the lawsuit, the broken trust, the children who still didn’t fully understand the gravity of the situation. Her mind replayed the night she had walked into Joe’s penthouse and found him with another woman. The shock had hit her first, followed by a surge of adrenaline that clouded her judgment. She had lashed out, not thinking of the consequences, not considering how much more it would cost her—emotionally, financially, or legally.

How had it come to this?

The thought echoed in her mind as if trying to make sense of the chaos her life had become. They had been through so much together, and yet, here they were—on opposite sides of a divide neither of them seemed to know how to cross. She had loved Joe. Truly loved him. And despite everything, part of her still did. But love wasn’t enough when the trust was shattered. It wasn’t enough when the man you had given everything to betrayed you so completely.

Keyshia pulled her knees up to her chest, resting her chin on them as she stared at the empty space in front of her. The dim light from the hallway crept in through the cracks of the door, casting long shadows across the floor. It felt like the darkness inside her was reflected in the room. She had been angry—furious, in fact. But now, the anger was slowly being replaced by exhaustion. She couldn’t keep fighting like this. She didn’t have the energy anymore.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps outside the door. Joe’s voice, muffled but clear, called through the wood. “Keyshia, please,” he said. “I need to talk to you.”

She didn’t answer right away, not because she didn’t hear him, but because she wasn’t sure what there was left to say. Joe had apologized over and over again, but the weight of his betrayal felt too heavy to lift with mere words. She didn’t want to talk to him, not now, not when everything felt so raw and unresolved.

But then, she heard the faint creak of the door. Joe had opened it, even though she hadn’t invited him in.

He stood there, a few feet away, looking at her with a mixture of guilt and pain in his eyes. He had been through so much over the years with his chronic myeloid leukemia diagnosis, and Keyshia had been there, every step of the way, supporting him through the treatments, the hospital visits, the endless rounds of chemotherapy. But in the end, it wasn’t the cancer that had nearly destroyed their family—it was Joe’s choices, his infidelity, his inability to keep his promises.

“I know you don’t want to talk to me,” Joe said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I get it. But I’m asking for a chance to fix this. Please, Keyshia.”

She raised her head, her eyes locking with his for the first time in hours. His face was etched with sorrow, but Keyshia couldn’t ignore the sense of self-pity that also lingered there. He was sorry. She could see that, but that didn’t change the fact that his actions had left her broken.

“You want to fix this?” Keyshia asked, her voice steady but cold. “You think writing a check, making promises, and saying you’re sorry is enough to fix this?”

Joe stepped further into the room, his hands slightly raised in a gesture of peace. “I’m not asking for forgiveness right now, Keyshia. I know I don’t deserve it. But I need you to know that I’m going to do whatever it takes to make things right. I don’t care how long it takes.”

Keyshia couldn’t suppress the bitter laugh that escaped her. “How can you possibly make things right, Joe? The damage has been done. You can’t un-cheat. You can’t erase the way I feel right now. Do you really think we can go back to how things were?”

Joe flinched at her words, the truth cutting through him like a knife. “No, I don’t think we can just go back,” he admitted. “But I want to try. For us. For our family. And for our kids.”

The mention of their children made Keyshia pause. It always did. They had seven kids—Josie, Kayleigh, the twins Jonas and Kingston, Jarvis and Kingsley, and little Jovie. Their lives were intertwined, their futures linked in ways that Keyshia couldn’t ignore, no matter how angry or hurt she felt.

“You don’t get it, do you?” she said, standing up from the bed. Her voice had softened now, but there was an underlying desperation. “I can’t just forget this, Joe. I can’t go back to being that woman who believed in us, in you. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to look at you the same way again.”

Joe’s eyes filled with tears. The ache in his chest was palpable as he looked at the woman he had loved for so long, the woman he had betrayed in the worst way possible. “I know. And I hate myself for it. I wish I could change everything. But I can’t. I just need you to know that I’m not giving up on us. I’ll do whatever it takes. I promise.”

Keyshia took a step back, shaking her head. “I don’t know if I can believe you anymore,” she whispered, the weight of her words hitting both of them.

There was a long pause, as if the very air between them had become heavy and thick with everything unspoken. Finally, Joe spoke again, his voice broken. “I understand if you need time. But please know, Keyshia… I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Keyshia’s heart wavered. There was something in his voice that made her believe him—just for a second. But that was all. One second. And then the walls she had built around her heart rushed back into place, pushing out any tenderness, any chance of reconciliation.

She stared at him for a long moment, weighing his words, his promises, his tears. But in the end, she could only nod slowly. “You should go, Joe. We both need time.”

Without another word, Joe turned and left the room, the door clicking softly behind him. Keyshia let out a shaky breath, her legs giving way as she collapsed back onto the bed. The tears she had been holding back for so long finally broke free, flowing freely as her body trembled with the weight of everything she was feeling—anger, pain, betrayal, confusion.

For the first time in months, Keyshia allowed herself to cry. Not for the woman she had attacked, not for the lawsuit, or the court order—but for the woman she had once been, and for the life she had lost. She didn’t know where they would go from here. But one thing was clear: the road ahead was uncertain, and the road back was blocked by too much hurt to navigate.

As the night wore on and her tears slowly subsided, Keyshia realized that she didn’t have all the answers. But perhaps, in time, she would find a way to heal. The future was a blurry horizon, but she wasn’t about to give up on herself.

[mysimsloveaffair]

While Dub is walking Hiro, Maia retreats to her yoga room for some mind-centering yoga. She wants more than anything for Tami to have an incredible first day of school, but is having difficulty keeping her mind away from everything that can go wrong. What if Tami doesn’t make any friends, or she doesn’t learn as quickly as the other kids? What if Tami comes face to face with a bully? Maia almost smiles at that last thought, realizing that Tami would probably handle that scenario just fine as long as no kicking or biting is involved. But worry creeps back on her as she imagines Tami bullying the other kids.

After several minutes of yoga, the bothersome thoughts slowly melt away as Maia directs her attention to her poses. But when she goes outside to empty some trash, she gets a call that proves that her worrying wasn’t for nothing. Tami’s teacher calls to inform her of an incident during Tami’s science lab.

Tami’s teacher: *on the phone* How would you like us to handle this, Mrs. Banks? We can let it slide, or Tami can miss a few minutes of recess as a minor punishment.

Maia takes a deep breath and gives the situation some thought. Letting Tami’s actions slide could be a big mistake, possibly leading to other incidents. Tami’s responds best to consequences.

Maia: I think missing some of her recess is fair.

[angeldrawsstuffs]

Oh people hate on Wu as well and, personally, it’s just as obnoxious. If you think critically about most of the things Wu’s “caused”, it really boils down to one of three scenarios:

1. It would’ve happened in some form regardless and Wu’s involvement had little to no actual affect on the outcome.

2. Wu was in the general vicinity of whatever occurred and had no involvement in the actual incident.

Or

3. He was a literal child when it happened of course he was being stupid and irrational, that’s what kids do.

To make this point, I’ll go through all the main show villains with ties to Wu (or that I’ve just seen generally pinned on him for one reason or another) and how they fall into one of these categories:

Garmadon - Wu was a child and had no reasonable way to know the Great Devourer was outside the Monastery, nor did he even ask Garmadon to go get the sword, Garmadon chose to do that on his own. Even if Wu somehow “caused” it or knew there was a risk, it wasn’t intentional and he spent the next millennium or so blaming himself and trying to help his brother by whatever means necessary (this really shows in the canon Spinjitzu Brothers books where we actually get to have Wu’s POV shown to us).

The Serpentine - The whole alliance was being manipulated, and so were the serpentine themselves. I won’t absolve Wu of blame entirely but like if he’s at fault so is Garmadon, Ray, Maya, Mystake, etc.. But overall it was Master Chen’s fault any of it happened at all because the Serpentine War wouldn’t have happened if he didn’t trick both sides into fighting.

The Overlord - This guy is older than Wu by a LONGSHOT, I do not think I need to say more on this.

Morro - I love Morro as much as the next guy, but I think this fandom is long overdue for a conversation about how Morro had a big hand in his own fall. Yes, Wu had and has blame for building up the Green Ninja idea in Morro’s head, but Morro himself I firmly believe would’ve become a villain regardless if he met Wu or not. The flashbacks show us Morro had little to no empathy for other people or how his actions affected them. He deliberately went too hard on his fellow students to show how he was “strong”, and, this one I cannot stress enough, actively refused all of Wu’s attempts to help him grow as a person and diverge from his path. Morro’s famous final line in Possession, “you can only save those who want to be saved” is the perfect summarization of his character. Morro did not want to be saved, he refused to be saved when he was alive, and continued to do so in death. Wu did not tell him to go look for the tomb, nor did he know Morro was looking for it. Morro is a cautionary tale of how, if you don’t introspect and try to grow as a person, if you don’t accept they you are flawed and other people aren’t the sole source of your issues, you’ll only doom yourself in the end. Nothing was black and white with Morro and Wu, they were both flawed people. They were both at fault in their own ways, but Morro’s path and eventual fate was ultimately determined by him and his choices to not change alone.

Time Twins - WOO, after that character analysis, time (ha!) for a simple one. They were evil on their own, Wu had no hand in that.

Aspheera - Wu. Was. A. Child. Being. Manipulated. By. A. Grown. Person. Like, this one actually pisses me off because trying to say Aspheera was Wu’s fault is victim blaming at its finest. Wu did something stupid by sneaking into Mambo’s kingdom, yes, but he was a child! Kids do stupid stuff like that because you don’t understand consequences! Aspheera tricked him into thinking she was his friend and, when you think about it, Wu doesn’t seem to have had any other friends outside of his brother. We don’t even know if he had any long term connections or relationships outside of his father and brother. He was a lonely kid who just wanted a friend, can you really blame him for that?

Alrighty, before I end this this post, I’ll lightning round address the “why didn’t Wu tell the ninja?” thing.

Garmadon - He did, that’s the plot of the pilots and the first two seasons.

The Serpentine - He had every reason to assume they were a non-issue and were already dead or sealed away for good. How was he supposed to know Lloyd would go from petty harassment to trying to assemble a snake army??

The Overlord - Some combination of Wu again thinking he was a non-issue (at least for the time being) (also like- Wu didn’t realize The Overlord could have a role in the prophecy until Misako said so), and, based on the way Wu talks about him and what we know of him, it was probably a “names have power” situation. By speaking of him and spreading knowledge of his existence, people can become afraid of him, and we know The Overlord feeds of darkness and fear, so it’s not out of left field to extrapolate that not talking about him and letting the memory die out of the public consciousness is a legit strategy to keep him at bay.

Morro - Hadn’t talked to him or heard anything about his whereabouts in 20-40 years. Wu’s of a similar age to the Serpentine War during the Morro flashbacks, so we can guess the general timeframe of how long ago they were (also we know it’s before Garmadon’s banishment because he has the Golden Weapons). Wu had absolutely no idea Morro went looking for the FSM’s tomb, much less that he died doing so and became a cursed ghost out for revenge- again, I pose the question: how was he supposed to know?? Nobody in their right mind would come to that conclusion on absolutely zero information.

Time Twins - This is the ONE instance I will say Wu should’ve told them because he DID know they were coming back. But also Wu gets crap for “dragging his students into his personal battles” so it’s a little hypocritical when those same people go back and say he should’ve let the ninja help. The one time he did know an old enemy would return, he wanted to settle that score without burdening his students, which I personally find commendable (not like he could’ve predicted the fight going south- or that Krux had returned much earlier and been scheming for DECADES to foil Wu and reunite with Acronix for their plans).

Aspheera - Same deal as the other serpentine, as far was Wu was aware, she was a done deal. Aspheera was sealed away for over a millennium before S11, either she was long since dead or not going to be an issue ever again.

OK NOW I’M DONE FOR REALISES- Wu obviously isn’t a perfect person, but I’ll be damned if I let his name be tainted by misconceptions that keep being perpetrated in this fandom! /lh /nm

(I could go on for so long about Wu and his trauma and the cycle of abuse in his family and-)

/gen /nm

I'm kind of new to the Ninjago fandom, and I've noticed ppl complain that like... Misako is overhated, and people can't understand a morally gray character (Which I can believe, but I have only seen it once), and I'm wondering if the same thing has happened to wu.

He caused, like... Half of the shit in the show, and has done probably worse things than Misako has. So I'm wondering if people treat him the same, or is it just Misako?

[macaiv]

Source: The Washington Post

[viric-dreams]

Jones was born in the year of the Fall, and grew up in a world in which the British Empire's hold on the world was suddenly not a foregone conclusion. How this would impact him would not become apparent until his teens, when he was radilcalised during his time spent in England. He became heavily involved in the pan-Celtic movement into and throughout his university years. Despite his age, he quickly became a known face amongst friends and foes alike. Jones had a knack for words and for people, and could just as easily rally a crowd with a passionate speech as negotiate across a table from adversaries. He was becoming a political problem.

It was during a speech in 1883 that things had gone wrong. He's not sure himself what had lit that fuse, that had set the rally alight, whether the first blow had come from the police or the crowd. But suddenly there was chaos, and the constables were upon them. One of his comrades was pulled to the ground beside him, the constable swinging at her with a nightstick. Jones grabbed at the man, several stone heavier, tried in vain to pull him off of her. A swing of that nightstick connecting with the side of his face is what he got for his trouble. Half blinded by blood, adrenaline rushing through his veins, he pulled back his fist and threw a punch.

He doesn't remember much after that.

His memories of the next few weeks are hazy, a procession of lawyers, sympathetic faces, furious family. He was being charged for murder. The officer he'd hit had died two days later. One punch thrown at the wrong angle. The prosecution was out for blood. They were determined to make an example of him, get him out of the way, it's all politics, the union leader had told him. He should be ashamed, he's ruined the family's good name, their mother cannot talk about him without bursting into tears, his brother told him. He can get through this, it shouldn't be too long, and she'll be waiting for him on the other side, his girlfriend had told him.

The ship bound for Italy, and eventually, the Cumaean Canal was the list time he'd seen the sun. He was twenty-two.

[enzomancer]

Happy late bi visibility day, here is a potato quality wip of my Curse of Strahd pc Lorenzo, (dhampir necromancer) he is bi and now he is visible, some day I’ll finish his ref sheet

(not pictured: mouth full of pointed teeth, patches of ash-grey scales, sinister compulsions)

[whispers-into-the-void]

idt it's normal for my calf to abruptly start feeling a vibrating sensation and have sharp pain at the sole of my feet but also i know it'll go in 5 minutes and it's never actually resulted in anything beyond that short term pain so i don't think I need to do anything about it

right?

[boy-pussyyy]

at 12/13 years old, i was introduced to the term "masterbation" for the first time in my life (I'm aroace so maybe that's why i didnt care/know about it before then) and it was from the mega church i went to.

all they taught us about it was that it was a sinful urge and that people spoke to our pastor from all over the world to "cure" them of it and one dude even wrote in a testimony to say he'd been praying to be "free" from that sin and was now "cured" from masterbation for x number of years.

i remember 12/13 year old me turning to my youth leader and asking what masterbation was cause the pastor wouldn't actually tell is what it was, just that it was bad. i dont remember what her expression was but she didn't exactly answer my question and i kept been confused for a few years before finding out on my own and thinking i was going to hell for sinning by accident.

kids who werent raised christian being like "lol baptising children is whack if they tried to do that to me i would start doing things to make it look like i was possessed" no you would not. you would bask in the pride and approval coming from the adults around you and you would quietly wait your turn because you were told from birth that sinning sends you to hell and baptism is The Promise that youre dedicating your life to jesus that youve had hyped up for years and watched other people be fawned over as they cry happy tears about it and you do NOT want to fuck up your One Big True Promise To Love Jesus Forever So You Don't Get Tortured For Eternity when you are literally 8 years old. im begging yall to remember its a thousand times easier to see the church's bullshit for what it is when you're not actively in the church. eight year old you is not thinking about trying to fight back against an oppressive religious group indoctrinating children because You Are The Children Being Indoctrinated. stop acting like you would've magically known better if it were you.

[chazkuangshi]

I think there's something to be said that saying the words "Deny, Defend, Depose, you're next" to an insurance sales rep can get you arrested for 'threats of mass homicide' or whatever with a threat of 15 years in prison

But when I was a manager in a fast food restaurant I've had customers throw food at me, demand for my personal phone number with an added threat of "Well I'll just have to FIND it", customers charging past the front counter to physically intimidate me and my coworkers, screaming and swearing, demands to know what time I get out of work, demands to know when my manager would be at work as a threat, people sitting in their car waiting for me to finish closing because they were angry at me, causing me to stay in the office watching the camera waiting for them to drive away...

But none of those incidents are arrest-able offenses, not one, any time I called the cops on any customer I would just hear excuses like " "there isn't anything illegal about calling a restaurant", that nothing physical happened and therefore there's nothing they could do, to call back and let them know if anything else happens

Idk, just think it's A TEENY TINY BIT ODD

Cop in the news goes "words have consequences" as if people don't berate and threaten fast food and retail workers every day

[kavehater]

Huh I just realised, what kinda riles up my psychosis is usually the type of things that rlly have an impact on me, like say guilt … GOD. Guilt genuinely takes a hold of me completely. That and shame. Like ;; listen. I just forgot the intensity of the guilt and shame I held today probably bc I shared it with dahlia idk, and then although I intellectually feel super guilty and ashamed, it’s not as terrifying as before, it’s more manageable. Like I can actually do other things now apart from thinking abt it ? But like nah I kinda remember it a lot now so maybe I should stop talking abt it.

[feminist-space]

Cat in the Hat:

"The German Health Minister gave an important update on the Covid situation yesterday.

I’ve written up the section of his speech from the video below for easy reading.

It’s immensely refreshing to see a government minister warning of the harms of Covid in such a transparent way."

https://x.com/_catinthehat/status/1732092683508678954

Prof. Karl Lauterbach

Health Minister, Germany

4 December 2023

"This second (long Covid) round table was very interesting, lasting three and a half hours. It serves as a unique forum for dialogue among scientists, researchers and those affected by long Covid, facilitating the exchange of ideas.

There are many new findings about long Covid. Not all of them are good news. One piece of not-so-good news concerns the fact that long Covid is actually still a problem for those who are newly infected. One estimate that has been put forward is that the risk of contracting long Covid now, even after vaccination, is around 3%. Now you may say, "that's not such a big risk" , but there are tens of thousands of people who are repeatedly affected in a short period of time. And so, the long Covid problem has not yet been solved.

We have also established that there really are many subgroups of long Covid and that we do not yet have a cure. And it was clearly pointed out that we are also dealing with problems here that will challenge society as a whole, because vascular diseases often occur after long Covid. Throughout Europe, we are currently seeing an increased incidence of cardiovascular disease in the middle-age group - from 25 to 50. This is associated with the consequences of Covid infections.

We also very often find cognitive impairment in older people. And one participant pointed out that it may well be like the Spanish flu, where 20 years after the Spanish flu there was a significant increase in Parkinson's disease and probably also dementia.

This is something we must pay attention to, as the past infection afiects how the immune system in the brain functions, as well as the brain's blood vessels, potentially increasing the long-term risk of these major neurodegenerative diseases. This is why we need to conduct very intensive research. This research has played a major role.

What is the overall assessment of the situation now?

We have to be careful. Long Covid is not curable at the moment. We also know that over 40% of those who have several manifestations of long Covid, for example, five or more, still have symptoms after 2 years, so it doesn't seem to heal spontaneously. We also know that those whose symptoms are more pronounced at the beginning are less likely to heal.

So some of what we know from the demographics of long Covid has been confirmed, and we now know more precisely which mechanisms in the brain, but also in the blood vessels and the immune system, are responsible for this. Professor Scheibenbogan will explain this briefly later.

At this point, I can only say the following - this is particularly important to me:

First of all, long Covid is a disease that stays with us and that we cannot yet cure. And we are seeing an increasing number of cases as the waves of infection continue to affect us.

Secondly, Covid is not a cold - with a cold, you don't usually see any long-term effects. You don't see any changes in the blood vessels. You don't usually see an autoimmune disease developing. You also don't usually see neurological inflammation - these are all things that we see with long Covid. Therefore, one should not assume that Covid infection is just a common cold. It can affect brain tissue and the vascular system, and we still lack an effective treatment, making these studies crucial.

Significantly, we know that the risk of long Covid decreases when you're infected but have been vaccinated. That's why it's concerning that only 3 million people have been vaccinated with the new, adapted vaccine. That is a very bad result.

Please protect yourself from severe infections.

Please protect yourself from long Covid.

Currently, the danger posed by Covid is indeed being underestimated. Nothing is worse than infecting someone at Christmas who then becomes seriously ill and may not fully recover."

Alt text is included in all images of this post.

[feral4daryl]

masterlist || MDNI

sweet scent.

perv!daryl x fem!reader

summary: while looking for his crossbow around the house, daryl ends up finding a pile of your dirty clothes and... used panties of yours. and when no one's looking, he decides to have some fun with them.

warnings: EXTREME AGE GAP (daryl is in his late 30s/early 40s and reader is 18), not entirely proofread, smut, mean!daryl sort of, corruption kink, daryl being an absolute pervert, panties sniffing, daddy kink, masturbation, cussing, daryl imagining himself doing the dirtiest things to you (unprotected p-in-v, squirting, face fucking, praising, loss of virginity, cunnilingus and i think that's pretty much it)

word count: 2.8k

a/n: please proceed with caution, this piece of work portrays a few extreme or unusual fetishes, so if you're not comfortable with any of those i've listed above please do not ready this. the idea that inspired this work originally belongs to @dilfsandmartinis.

if there was something daryl absolutely hated, it was the feeling of uselessness.

since andrea had mistaken him for a walker and shot him from afar, grazing his head, useless was exactly how he felt, having to lay down on a bed the whole day and night, doing absolutely nothing but be left alone with his own thoughts. and oh, what a disgraceful fate.

everytime he wasn't focused on hunting, fighting or surviving in general, the farmer's sweet younger daughter flooded his mind. your hair, your face, your stupidly adorable sundresses, everything about you was so... distracting.

daryl wasn't ever the kind of guy to simp for a woman, but that one specific girl made him feel emotions and sensations that were hidden deep within his being for years, maybe even decades. feelings he thought had vanished from his heart a long time ago were now blooming all over again, like he was some stupid teenager looking at a playboy magazine for the first time.

there was something about your innocence, your adorable mannerisms, your sweet voice and your kindness that had awakened something in him, something he wasn't quite sure what it was.

no, he wasn't exactly a young man. and while being aware that you were very young, he couldn't help but feel so guilty for having those feelings. whenever you bended over to pick something up, he had to fight demons not to have a glimpse of your panties. he often wondered how could you be so careless by exposing yourself like that, even if you didn't do it on purpose.

and there was him again, thinking about you. it's like no matter how hard he tried to push those thoughts away, they were like water, always finding a way in.

he huffed, feeling defeated. he knew he was still recovering from the incident, and that he should rest, but why was he following orders around anyways? he wasn't a damn puppy. plus, everybody else had left him there to go looking for sophia. he wanted to be able to help too. he was alive after all, and if he was alive, he believed he should be on his feet.

so that's what he did. he slowly lifted his right foot, resting it on the floor, then he did the same with his left one. his body reluctantly lifted itself up, and he immediately could feel the consequences for laying down for so long, his back killing him and his vision a bit foggy. anyways, he ignored any discomfort and started walking slowly, his head still a little dizzy.

then, he remembered he needed his trustworthy crossbow, he couldn't just leave unprotected like that. he looked around the room he was settled in but it was nowhere to be seen. he knew it was still in the house, so he left the room. he started walking down the corridor, his eyes attentively looking for any signs of his crossbow. he was even starting to think that his mates might've hidden it to force him to stay in the house when he spotted a halfway open door.

his calloused hands pulled it open, revealing a small bedroom, all pink themed and stupidly decorated. no, his crossbow wasn't likely to be there, it just looked like it belonged to one of hershel's daughters, but it was like something was calling him in.

he stepped in the room and it almost looked messy. the dressing table on the corner had lipsticks, combs, all sorts of make-up and girly stuff all piled up and... a perfume.

it was happening again, images of you flooded his mind and it was like he could almost smell you. oh, your sweet scent had the power to make him hard like nothing else. just by looking at that small bottle, just by imagining your scent, he could feel little shock waves travelling all the way down to his cock, threatening to awaken it.

he knew it was wrong, so fucking wrong thinking about a much younger girl like that. and it was even worse considering that you were the daughter of the man that provided him shelter in such difficult times. it felt ungrateful.

when he saw you for the first time, he didn't think much of you. he was actually careful, treating you like the stranger you were. and even when time passed, he never really got close to you. now and then you tried to share a word, even if just a little bit, but it seemed useless since he would reject all your attempted approaches. he didn't hate you like he tried to after acknowledging his disgusting desires for you, but he just couldn't allow himself to interact with a girl that made him sick to his stomach for all the wrong reasons.

your sweetness was almost annoying. the entire world had gone to shit, for goodness sake! dead bodies walking around and eating all the people they could find. how could you act so clueless all the time? daryl even wondered if you had ever seen a walker before, if you knew what was really happening out there. after all, it was very obvious that you were a daddy's girl, always protected under your father's wing.

but strangely enough, acknowledging that only made him protective towards you. he was always somewhat watching, always around you making sure you were safe and he barely knew why, he just felt like he should.

so he didn't stop himself from reaching over to your small perfume bottle. the design was very simple, no labels to be seen, time had probably faded it away. the cap was baby pink and heart shaped, and when he removed it, he immediately brought the bottle to his nose, giving it a gentle sniff.

fuck.

now, he was 100% sure that was your room. the fragrance was the same one that filled his nose and made him drunk in you everytime you walked by. he wondered if that was the scent he would feel if he ever hugged you, burying his face into your chest.

in that moment, he couldn't think about anything else, not rick, not carol, not his chores, not surviving, not even sophia. you were everything that he had in his fucked up mind.

he wouldn't feel so fucking guilty if his thoughts were only about your innocence and sweetness, but they were also dirty as fuck. countless were the times when daryl imagined groping you, running his hands all over your delicate body, feeling every texture, squeezing every junk and listening close to your every little whimper. he would pull your hair, gently at first, just to get it off your face and neck so he could pamper them with little wet kisses, gently scratching his teeth along them. he imagined he'd have to keep you on your feet himself, since you'd struggle to because of how weak your knees would get at all the sensations he would provide you and...

wait, no.

what was he thinking? was he out his fucking mind? he needed to stop those absolutely disgusting thoughts right away. he couldn't keep having those thoughts about you, not when you're out taking care of such important business with the others. he put the perfume bottle back on the dressing table, determined to let all that go. he knew he couldn't just let himself get so distracted like that over something so mundane and unimportant as his own sexual desires but then...

...he spotted a basket filled with clothes when he turned around to leave. his mind immediately started to rush all over again, and for the 100th time that day, he turned careless. he slowly approached it. shorts, tops, pants and so on could be seen at the top of the pile.

in that moment, he had totally forgot why he had entered that bedroom or even left his bed in the first place. he couldn't even remember the existence of his crossbow or his duties.

and then... he gets an idea. he starts going through the pile of dirty clothes and in no time, he finds your panties. they were white with a pink ribbon on the front, a clear reminder of your innocence. for a moment, he just looks at it, contemplating the possibilities. then, he remembers seeing you in it when you bended over to pick some off the floor the day before. he remembers catching a glimpse of it under your yellow sundress when you went to change his bandage.

that meant that those panties had been freshly worn.

if just your perfume ignited such vile desires in him, he couldn't even imagine what your natural scent could do to him. and he was oh so curious to find out. he still felt guilty, but that man had been sex deprived for so fucking long, he didn't even masturbate very often. he knew damn well he was about to commit a big mistake, maybe even starting something he was sure he couldn't finish, but he finally made up his mind.

he flips the small piece of cloth over, eyeing the soft-looking lining of the panties. he gulps, feeling his mouth water right away. god, what was he doing? what was right, what was wrong wasn't even important to him anymore. he just wanted to embrace his sickness.

there was a small stain on the lining, probably from you wearing it. just that sight alone was enough to get him off, and once again, he found himself having to face that tingling sensation inside his pants. he knew damn well what that meant and what was about to happen. but honestly, he couldn't give a single fuck anymore.

in one quick motion, he brought the fabric to his face, giving a long sniff while he rolled his eyes to the back of his head. that fucking scent of yours got him drunk the moment it filled his nostrils. so intense, so feminine and raw, daryl couldn't remember the last time he felt that type of pleasure, or if he had even felt anything like it before.

it made him needy like a horny teenager. he felt himself going back to puberty when all he could think about was jacking off day and night. and it was all your fucking fault.

daryl palmed himself through his denim pants, never taking your panties off his face not even for one second. the natural scent of your cunt was more than successful to make him hard as a rock, the sensation of being in his pants started to get uncomfortable as his dick grew bigger and bigger.

just palming himself wasn't enough.

he slowly unbuttoned his pants and unzipped them, inserting one of his hand in his briefs to catch his hard cock in it, freeing it for the first time in a while. his angry-red tip was literally pulsating while a clear and sticky liquid dropped down his length.

he wasn't able to hold a small grunt as he wrapped his calloused hand around his cock, the rough sensation of his fingers causing him to feel a jolt of pleasure so fucking delicious and guilty at the same time. the archer brought his hand to his mouth, catching some of his saliva to use as lube.

oh, how he wished you were there. he'd make sure you'd get his cock nice and wet with your spit so you could rub it up and down. and then, without warnings, he'd just shove it down your throat, forcing you to prove how much of a good girl you could be just for him.

and just for him. he wanted you all for his own. daryl never really liked to share, specially when it came to a girl like you, so princess like, so adorable looking. your plump lips looked so fucking perfect, and they would look even more wrapped around his big cock.

knowing how fragile you were, he knew you would definitely choke and gag on him, struggling to fit all of him in your mouth. he would whisper sweet encouragement words to you like “tha's it, tha's ma good girl”. he imagined how he would hold your head in place and keep a hand on your throat so he could feel his cock while he aggressively pumped it in and out, making you drool all over him. “just like tha', yeah, show daddy how fuckin' good ya are fer him”.

in his imagination, you would look up at him with those big doe eyes of yours, with a mix of uncertainty and desire to make him proud. “am i doing this right, daddy?” he could almost hear your voice saying it whenever you would take him off his mouth to catch your breath for a moment, never disconnecting your small hand from his thick length.

he started pumping faster, squelching sounds were all that could be heard in that silent room, a proof of his degeneracy. the grunts and stifled moans were only getting harder and harder to hold back. he was sticking those panties to his face and sniffing on them like his life depended on it, like he was a desperate virgin.

a virgin. he wondered if you were one. you sure looked like it, your dad never let you out of sight for long enough for you to try something like that, he supposed from what he knew about your relationship. he imagined how would it feel like to be the one to pop your cherry for the first time.

oh, he would teach you so many things, everything he knows. he would guide you through it all along, teaching you where to touch, where to kiss, where to lick. he would make your virgin little cunny cum so many times it would get all puffy and red. he even wondered if he could make you squirt, stuffing you with his fingers, brushing against your sweet spot over and over again until you were a quivering mess, squirting all over his skull tattoo. and yes, he would make you lick his fingers clean, your sweet little tongue dragging across them, and then, he would kneel down in front of you, not wanting to waste a single drop of your sweet release, attacking your sensitive clit and slit with his lips and tongue.

fuck, fuck, fuck.

he was so fucking eager to taste your slick, to revel in your salty taste. he imagined how fucking good the smell he was getting from your panties was from the actual source. he would lick it all, your lips, your slit, even your ass, but he would give special attention to your little clit, flicking his tongue on it, making it cum again just for him. he would never grow tired of it.

and when he felt you were finally ready for him, he would bend you over just like you used to do so absentmindedly. he would be gentle at first, but knowing himself, he knew he wouldn't be able to hold himself back for too long before absolutely railing the shit out of you, making you cry out and scream his name in pleasure and pain.

and when he flipped you over on your back, he would be able to see the bulge on your lower belly caused by his big cock inside you. just by imagining that he felt himself getting close to the edge. he would press his hand on it, making the little room inside your pussy even tighter. fuck, he imagined the sweet sounds you would make just for him.

all those dirty thoughts and your sweet scent from your panties were more than enough to make shivers run down his spine and his whole body tremble. he kept his eyes shut tight as he licked a stripe on the lining of your panties, trying to get some of your delicious taste. meanwhile, he hadn't stopped his hands not even for a second, harshly rubbing his cock up and down until it was too much.

in a strangled moan, his cock started shooting spurt after spurt of thick cum onto the floor, the dressing table and pretty much anything that was around. he couldn't remember the last time he had such an intense orgasm, the sensation making his mind completely empty except for your image.

his movements got slower until they stopped and he let go of his now sensitive cock. he sighed after catching his breath. he was left with that afterglow and the feeling that he made a huge mistake. suddenly, he felt dirty like before. he opened his eyes slowly, removing your panties from his face and putting them in his pockets. yeah, he knew it was wrong, but he was still planning to keep them for later.

then, when he averted his gaze to the mirror on his side, he saw...

you. standing on the doorframe with a shocked look on your face.

“u-uncle daryl?”

[PART TWO]

a/n: i know, i'm disgusting. i'm sorry. (just a quick reminder, english isn't my first language, so please excuse any grammar mistakes or awkward phrasing lmao, and tysm if you read it this far)

[lizardho]

I was like 11-12 years old when I figured out at a boring-ass church activity that you could put rocks into little plastic spoons and then pelt people who annoyed me with them. I did this for the rest of the activity, and at Sunday dinner the next night was bragging about my victory (cornering the mean kid who picked on my youngest brother and pelting him with rocks). One of my cousins was like “no way, that sounds SO fun! Let’s do that RIGHT NOW!” So we grabbed spoons and went and got pebbles from the back yard and launched them at each other.

The problem was my grandma sold her soul for the world’s most resilient plastic spoons so we could launch those fuckers HARD. I gave out welts like candy on Halloween, and I got them back in kind.

So we resorted to taking cover and giggling until we got whacked, then yelping, then returning fire.

My cousin hid in my grandpa’s little fishing boat. It was a good boat, but simple and honestly underused. We didn’t know the little windows on it, meant to keep the wind out of my grandpa’s face while he drove, were cracking. However, they were definitely cracking. Eventually it became obvious and we realized we had been being dumb.

This was NOT the first time in my life I’d been dumb roughhousing and broken something, and I had developed a reputation in my family as being “suicidally honest” so I was the one to deliver the bad news. My grandpa let out a pretty good chuckle and said it was OK, tousled my hair, and asked my grandma to bring me cake. I am not kidding. I learned later he hated his boat and only bought it for his kids’ sakes, since he thought everyone needed to know how to fish. At the time though I was just bewildered and pleased at my good fortune. FINALLY, at long last, being honest and telling the truth about breaking something expensive was getting me cake. I knew if I kept trying it would eventually serve me, and now so had CAKE. I was pleased as could be.

My dad, on the other hand, was livid. He LOVED that boat. He spent several weeks each summer recovering from breaking ribs in that boat every year for about 7 years prior to this incident. He had great memories and memories that boat. So he told my Grandma NO cake for me AND that I’d be coming by this weekend to fix stuff around the house and pay for the broken window with my babysitting/lawn mowing money.

Obviously I was devastated, but that felt more in-line with the way things normally went when I broke something expensive so I just figured it was OK. My grandpa gave my grandma a look and sadly said “Ok, have her here on Saturday to help me with some yard work.”

That Saturday my dad woke me up at 6:00 sharp and drove me, sleepy and bewildered, to my grandpa’s house. He was mumbling under his breath the whole time but he thought he was teaching me consequences for my actions so he was ultimately OK with it.

We get to my grandpa’s house at 6:15. My grandpa is outside with a ladder hanging Christmas lights. The lawn is freshly mowed, the trees and garden are weeded and well-tended to, the carnations in the front yard look immaculate, and my grandpa has this giddy mischievous look on his face. He tells me he was so excited that I was coming over that he couldn’t sleep, so he did all the yard work himself. He asked me to help him put up Christmas lights and decorate the Christmas tree, which I did, then said that because I was such a good helper I could have some pancakes for breakfast. I was sent home with the slice of cake I had been denied the week before, wrapped to keep it as fresh as possible.

The whole way home my dad looked a little miffed, but told me that he was glad I had been honest and was proud of me for helping grandpa. I know he wanted me to Learn a Lesson™️the cowboy way, like he had as a kid, but didn’t have much room to complain since I’d still been Put To Work.

I think that was a lesson for both of us, although I’m not totally sure what it was supposed to show me. I think it was my grandpa’s way of showing my dad that discipline without tenderness doesn’t count as much. He died last year and I miss him terribly, as does my dad. I hope that my story of victory, drama, punishment, and ultimately a secret second victory is meaningful to someone else out there, but if not it still means a lot to me ❤️

[heyimcelery]

I'm actually sick. Jinx panicking when sevika told her that Isha had been taken. Her hallucinations coming back full force. He fear that she really is a jinx, that she had doomed Isha, that everyone she gets close to dies.

And then there's episode 6's end. Jinx outright says Isha reminds her of powder and then Isha goes ahead and loads that gun with multiple hex crystals, who's trying to help protect her family, who knows the consequences of doing this when powder didn't. Who takes out herself and Warwick (vander) in one large explosion that mirrors powder's incident

Oh and of course, how could I forget to mention the way vi protects jinx from the explosion with her body, making up for what happened when vander died in s1 ep3, mirroring the way jinx protected Isha in S2 ep3

I am so very very sick