#so idk how my body and brain will react when it comes to like. actually being there for the procedure

[lunar-wandering]

remembering that im gonna have to get my wisdom teeth taken out sometime next year and experiencing all 5 stages of panic

[retroellie]

Daddy Dixon

Summary: Daryl dixon as a dad :)

A/N: Heyyyy pookies!! It's been a while <3 but it's my yearly upload, i have some others I'm working on but idk if I'll finish them. I've been very hyperfixated on writing lately, probably my period lol. But enjoy my stinky butts!! Miss y'all

Warnings: NSFW, Dirty talk and breeding kink

Word count: 3.5K

-Daryl Dixon has never seen himself as a father. He would much rather the process of making a kid than the actual kid itself. Considering his childhood, maybe it's for the best.

-However, this man definitely has a breeding kink idc

-He loves the intimacy of cumming inside you. The way your body reacts to him filling you up, the way your eyes roll back, and your legs start to shake

-He can't help but picture how pretty you'd look pregnant as well... but he never actually wants you pregnant, he can't be a father

-When you found out, you didn't know how he'd react... you weren't sure if his obsession with cumming inside you was just that or if he really wanted you knocked up

-You tried to drop hints to him, just trying to decide if he was cool with it.

-"Jesus... fucking love your tits." He would moan out while his face was stuffed against your chest.

-"You know... pregnancy makes a woman's boobs so much bigger... cause they fill with milk and shit."...

-You weren't too good at dropping hints clearly; you made a lot of foreplay awkward with it. But how does one go about this?

-You eventually told him, you could only hide the small bump and morning sickness for so long

-To your surprise... he was furious.

-You knew he would have a lot of different emotions coming out. Hell, you did too, but the way he snapped... the way he yelled at you.

-"Are you fucking serious?? Please tell me your fucking with me girl!!"

-You couldn't tell if your tears were because of him yelling or if it was the pregnancy hormones already coming out to play. 

-You were a puddle on the floor as you watched him pace back and forth. Yelling terrible things, things that you were never even sure he was capable of saying.

-The worst thing he said... the worst thing he accused you of... was cheating.

-"It ain't mine!!! That's for damn sure!!"

-"Daryl your the only one i've been with since the end of the fucking world!! Plus you don't don't how to fucking pull out!!"

-"Nah... you've been hanging out with Spencer for a while!! Following him around like a damn puppy!"

-The whole argument ended with punched walls, slammed doors, and a sobbing you curled up on the floor.

-You hated it... But you started to think maybe he was exactly like his father. He sure seemed to act like it

-The worst part is he thought it too... but the only difference between them was he couldn't rid this ache deep in his chest every time he thought of your tear-filled eyes as he screamed.

-He cooled off for 2 weeks... he needed to. He needed to gather his thoughts, he needed to clear his head and make sure he came up with the best damn apology he could

-He eventually did. He picked flowers for you, made dinner, got down on his knees, and ate you out right on the kitchen table.

-That night he apolgized so much it was ingraved in your brain, even after all the fucking you did. 

-"I'm really sorry, y/n. I just... this is all so new and 'm scared I'm going to be like my old man. Ya deserve a good guy to raise a kid with and that baby does too... I think I'm just a little bit scared... I'm going to fuck this kid up."

-It was the most vulnerable you've ever seen him. That alone just proves how different he was from his dad... or any man that would ever do the things he did to his child.

-After that, Daryl was always with you. He stopped going on runs and on long hunting trips. He was literally connected to you. It was almost suffocating, but it was nice to have him around and not run away every chance he got.

-The very rare times he did go on runs, it was just for you.

-The stores he would scope out, he made sure to go to the mommy/baby sections first and take whatever contraptions he could

-One time he brought home headphones that go around your stomach to play music for the baby.

-"Daryl... why does the baby need music?"

-"Guess it's supposed to increase brain waves or some shit?? I don't know a woman!"

-He made sure you were as comfortable as you could be. He ran baths for you and helped you bathe, he would give you massages, and he would allow you to use him as a body pillow.

-You had him wrapped around your finger... but he couldn't deny that he loved it

-Of course he was also your personal sex toy!! Even when you were all big and pregnant.

-Any and every time you needed him, he was there for you.

-Sometimes you could only ride him; that's the only position your big belly allowed you. So Daryl would just lie down, one hand on your hip and the other in yours so you could balance... He would just watch you thrust and buck down on him as if you were a goddess walking the earth.

-"Feel good, baby? Are you hurting?"

-"Mhhh... fuck! No, please... keep... f.... keep your hips like that!"

-Sometimes you couldn't even do all that you were so big. So Daryl would lay you down, a pillow underneath your hip, and he would thrust into you so softly. yet he would still have you cumming within minutes.

-You and Daryl both decorate the nursery. There wasn't much of a theme due to the lack of baby decorations in the end of the world. But you did your best, making sure it was gender neutral due to the lack of knowledge about the gender.

-You also had so much help from the community, like so much that it was kind of like the group's baby more than it was yours

-Carol was like your damn mentor, she made sure you knew what you were getting yourself into

-"Breastfeeding would probably be best for you, I mean there's only so much formula.... and if you're already leaking then that's a good sign!! But just in case, make sure you are massaging and lotioning your nipples every night... You can even have Daryl stimulate them during sex. Just to keep them flowing and not clogging up on you!"

-You just asked about baby bottles....

-Glenn, Maggie, Rick, and Michonne all gave you hand-me-downs from their kids. Like you had a mountain of clothes by the time you were 5 months.

-There were times when the pregnancy got so overwhelming for you... like just the exhaustion and the aches and pains and the insecurity, causing you to break down in tears.

-Daryl would hold you, rubbing your stomach softly while you cried into his neck.

-"Honey... you are doing so good. You will be such a good mom... This kid is lucky to have you, I know I couldn't carry a child the way you do."

-He was never good with words, never good with emotions... but something about seeing you all pregnant made him so vulnerable. Suddenly he was a damn poet...

-You were forbidden to set foot outside of Alexandria. Like literally forbidden... even from the group?!? As if you'd want to go out there...

-But of course, you complained about it, you couldn't let your pregnancy make you soft

-The birth was kind of crazy, very unexpected and very fucking crazy

-Your water broke, Daryl rushed you over to the medic. Suddenly, Michonne was holding one of your hands, and Daryl was holding the other. Rick was throwing instruments to Maggie, who for some reason, was delivering the baby. Carol was helping, then Eugene was in there, then Glenn, hell, why not have Abraham in there as well!

-But it didn't matter because 20 minutes into pushing, your baby was in your arms.

-You were very similar to Daryl in the "I don't think I'll be a good parent" department. But at that moment, looking down at your newborn... You knew you would do anything for them.

-For the first couple of days, you spent at the medic to make sure everything was good... in those first couple of days, Daryl refused to hold the kid.

-He seemed to think he would break them, they were so fragile and frail... his hands were so rough that he felt he would turn them to dust by simply touching them. However, he was always around, always watching and making sure they were okay.

-One day, you got frustrated with it, even if you were trying to be as understanding as you could. You had just pushed out a 7 pound baby with Daryl's big ass head, you needed Daryl to hold them when you needed to pee, okay??

-You pulled him over to your bed one day, sitting him down and handing him the baby.

-"Woah!! woah Y/N!!"

-"Shush!! You're gonna startle them... Here, just support their head... There you go..."

-He melted immediately, almost surprised that they didn't break from him merely holding them. It was a touching moment, almost like the world clicked for Daryl

-After that, the baby was attached to Daryl... you didn't mind, you got some good naps.

-Daryl was a good dad, no... he was a great fucking dad. Not to mention him being the best co-parent out there.

-Like you always got a full night's rest because Daryl refused to let you get up to get the baby.

-When you were stressed, almost crying on the floor because the baby would not stop crying, Daryl would take the baby from you, give you a soft kiss and tell you to take a nice shower.

-Daryl would make you meals while you tried to get the baby down for a nap or bedtime.

-It's almost like Daryl's years of hunting and living out in the forest prepared him for this in a weird way. Days without sleep, thrown-together meals, no time to focus on himself.

-Daryl talked so softly to the baby too, he was still very afraid to hurt them because of how small they were. So he used his softest voice when speaking to them.

-"You're a hungry little thing, huh?? Aren't you, sweetheart... yeah..."

-"Oohh Shhh... It's okay, honey. Daddy's here..."

-"Is that mommy?? yeah?? You wanna say hi to mommy??"

-He definitely calls the baby "Bug", "Bunny", and "honey"... and yes, "Sweetheart" as well. Idk it just fits him

-He loves calling himself daddy and you mommy. I feel like this is nonsexual too, like it just makes him giddy thinking y'all have a baby together.

-Unfortunately, he does need to leave on runs sometimes because he is like the only one who can track, so the group needs him. He hates it though, he hates being away from his kid.

-When he gets back, he won't put the kid down, man.... he makes sure to tell the baby all about his trips though. You could listen to him talk to the baby for hours.

-"Daddy rode his bike all the way back home with Uncle Rick on his bike!! Even though daddy almost flung him off the back of it many times.... what?" He said, watching you stare at him from afar.

"Nothing... nothing at all, Dixon." You said, smiling down at the dishes you were doing.

-Of course Daryl still makes time for you, no matter how busy he is... he doesn't care. He has to give the mother of his child love too.

-After the baby was asleep and he knew the baby would STAY asleep... he had you on that bed.

-Daryl was much softer now. Long drawn-out session with eye contact and soft caresses... he was a dad now, he was just softer in every aspect.

-However, daryl dixon is still the wild and dirty fucker he has always been. So if there ever is a time where you just need to be fucked nice and good, or even a time when daryl KNOWS you need to be fucked nice and good... trust he will.

-Like one time, you were so very stressed out. The baby would not go down for bed, the laundry needed to be folded, the dishes had piled up from dinner, one of your milk ducts was clogged, your hair hadn't been brushed for days... you were a tired mom.

-Daryl noticed it as soon as he got home; the stress just radiated off of you.

-He took the baby from you, rocking them gently as he ghosted his lips over your ear.

-"Go to the bedroom... I'll be there when I get the baby to sleep."

-It was not a suggestion, it was a demand, and you were not going to pass up on that.

-It was 2 hours of pure Daryl... a couple of breaks in between so Daryl could check on the baby, but other than that it was just him.

-I'm talking, rope, spankings, choking, praising mixed with some degradation, folding you in half, soft kisses, and face being pushed into the mattress so you wouldn't wake the baby.

-You were feeling much better after that :)

-I just want to draw some attention to domestic Daryl :) Like Daryl doing laundry or dishes while you take care of the baby.

-Watching the kid grow up was hard for Daryl, like really hard... because they were so small only a year ago?!?! Why are they talking and walking now?

-He would be so excited to show you how they walk or a new word he taught them.

-"Go on, bug!! tell mommy!!" He said, excitedly holding the baby up to you as you folded the never-ending laundry.

-"f... f... fr.. oog.. froog" your baby would struggle out.

-Fortunately, everyone loved the baby!! So you had babysitters for days.

-Sometimes, carols would come over just so y'all could get some actual sleep or just a decent shower.

-Birthdays are always big for the baby, since they are your first, obviously y'all are going full on out!

-Daryl made you dress up like a princess one year and, surprisingly, got Rick into a dinosaur costume another year!

-The baby had made you both so much softer around the edges, but that did not mean you two weren't still capable of the things you were before. I would say it made it even worse, the lengths you two would go to keep that baby safe...

-There was a raider you came in contact with on a run, it was all fun and games till he brought your kid up. A rage rushed over you, and you were this hungry monster, hitting and stabbing whatever you could because no one brings up your kid like that...

-The kid was NEVER allowed outside the walls until they hit 13... that was an agreement you both made very early on when you guys had seen the innocence the child radiated. You promised to keep them that way as long as you could.

-There were nights when Daryl would get quiet, like really quiet and you weren't used to that, especially now. So when you would ask if he was okay, he would kind of shrug it off... but when he eventually opened up, it left him a shaking mess.

-"I'm just thinking about my old man..."

-"Daryl, honey... You're nothing like that. You know that, right?"

-"Yeah... yeah, no I know. I just... I look at that baby and I think, how could anyone do that to a child? Did I do something? Was I made differently?"

-The whole him having a kid thing really sent him down a spiral of his abusive childhood. Not only was he scared of becoming his father, but he was scared of the things his father had done.

-When Daryl got frustrated or angry at your kid, he would have to walk away... not that he would ever hurt them, but the slight possibility that he could snap, even just yelling... he wasn't taking chances.

-Sometimes the thought of his father made him so paranoid that he would become distant, needing space to just clear his mind because he can't be a father if he feels like everything he touches will get burned...

-You just let him have his time, making sure to be soft with him when he comes around again.

-In conclusion, Daryl is very traumatized... he's hurt and sometimes it all gets too much for him but that doesn't mean he won't try to be the best damn father out there.

-The baby just does not stop growing and before you guys know it, they're now a child with thoughts and words.

-Of course they grow up to look exactly like Daryl, same blue eyes and brown hair.... asshole wouldn't let your kid have any of your genes.

-You would think having a baby would be harder than having a child, but you would be wrong.

-There is so much that comes with having a child!! They need constant stimulation or they go insane. So your house is always a mess, toys scattered everywhere, dirty clothes, snacks they forgot to eat... not to mention Daryl's crossbows.

-Daryl gets down on the floor to play with your kid, acting out funny little scenarios with they're action figures or letting them put makeup on him.

-Bedtime stories are a must! And luckily, Daryl is very good at telling a good story.

-Daryl being a good father gets all hot and bothered, like it makes your heart flutter and your stomach twists and turns...

-As soon as the kid falls asleep, you are on Daryl, man. Like a wild animal, probably even more eager and needy than before you had a kid.

-"Woah there.... I guess princess wizards and talking donkeys really get you going, huh?"

-"Jesus christ Dixon... shut up and fuck me."

-Even though quickies have been a more common occurrence nowadays, Daryl still loves his drawn-out love-making sessions. He likes to take his time on you, likes to worship the body that brought his favorite human into the world.

-He also makes sure you KNOW you're beautiful and he still loves you, stretch marks and baby fat and wider hips and all... he thinks you're the most sexy person ever.

-"So pretty... so fucking pretty baby... you're glowing..."

-"Look at those hips bunny... makes me wanna fill you up with another one..."

-"No, no... let me see that tummy baby... Look at that, so soft..."

-He's just very understanding surprisingly, like he just knows how your post-pregnancy body has you feeling. So he makes sure he does what he can to make you feel better.

-Daryl helps the kid with their homework, math and science... he tries to help at least. He usually gets frustrated because how did math change all of a sudden?

-"No, daddy! The triangle has 4 faces! but 3 sides...."

-"How the hell..." He sighs, throwing the pencil down in defeat. "Alright...You win kid, guess I owe you ice cream huh?"

-Daryl is very protective of his kid, man... I can not say this enough because this man will literally break someone's jaw for looking at his kid wrong.

-"A kid in my class told me I had weird teeth," your kid said sadly at dinner one night.

-"What?? Did you beat the shit out of them? You better have! What about their dad?? Can their dad fight? Cause I swear to god, when I get my h..."

-"Daryl!!" You had to step in because you knew he could go on and on with his threats.

-After that, Daryl taught your kid how to stand up for themselves... The "redneck way" he explained it. It was basically just throwing punches and bringing up their mother.

-School nights at the Dixon residence are never boring. Trying to get your kid to take a bath and get them in bed is almost more impossible than trying to get Daryl to do the same. Definitely their father's kid man...

-One night on a school night, you were making dinner while your kid did their homework. You were so focused on getting the recipe for "butter squash soup" that you didn't realize Daryl was coming up behind you.

-You giggled softly as his hands found your hips, his lips found your neck and he swayed you both softly. It was a romantic moment, the first slow moment you had all day it seemed... until you heard a squeaky, "EWWWW"

-You kid laughed out, covering their eyes as they jokingly gagged.

-"What?!? I can't love on mommy?!?"

-"No!! That's gross!! Mommy has cooties now!!"

-"Oh cooties huh?? Oh so daddy has cooties..." He said as he lunged at the kid, engulfing them into a hug and covering their little face with kisses.

-The night ended with you and Daryl sneaking out of your kid's room after they had fallen asleep, one last look just to make sure they were still asleep

-"Let's have another one..." You whispered to Daryl as you watched the kids soft breathing.

-"Well... what mommy wants, mommy gets." Daryl says, dragging you off into the bedroom.

[hyewka]

I just read your public vibrator gyu. GOOD LORD I NEED A TYUN ONE, but like in the car where the both of you were supposed to go on a late night drive and every time the stop lights go red, the vibrator goes into its highest setting this goes on until poor little tyunnie is sobbing and needs to fucked dumb in the car PLS PLS PLS I NEED IT I NEED IT SO BAD I take one look at tyun and my brain immediately goes "I need to fuck him"

im obsessed with usually composed subs that get bratty when you start to push and push, taehyuns perfect for that lol

idk why but him specifically in work business attire, tie perfectly adjusted, black framed glasses propped up as he stirs the wheel with one hand is sooo attractive but whats even more attractive is getting him to lose his shit when hes not supposed to. i know this isnt exactly what you asked but i think an enemies with a fuck buddy situation going on would be sooo hot here, so easy to get him agitated

he shifts in his seat like it’s nothing when you turn it up a notch. “really?” he scoffs incredulously, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “you’re gonna try that again?”

you twirl the lollipop between your fingers, not even looking at him. “focus on the road, taehyun,” you say, sounding almost bored.

he barely reacts. barely. but you catch it from your peripheral vision-- the way his jaw clenches, how his fingers grip the steering wheel just a little too tight. he’s pretending—he always pretends like he can handle it, like he’s composed, but you know better.

first red light. you turn it up, and he immediately jolts in his seat, biting his lip so hard you think he might draw blood. “s-stop… i’m trying to drive—are you insane?!” he grits.

“and doing such a good job of it,” you chuckle, leaning over to trace a finger along the line of his tie. "i'm just dying to know how long you’ll last like this.”

“fuck off,” he growls, but the effect is ruined when his hips jolt as you poke at his crotch. the gasp that escapes his lips is so sudden, so embarrassing, you can’t help but grin.

“what was that?” you tease, poking him again, watching his body spasm. “can’t handle it, can you? poor tyunnie.”

it's pissing you off slightly that taehyun's still holding onto that facade, eyes focused straight ahead like he’s actually going to make it through this. he's making this tougher than your patience allows.

the light turns green, and he slams on the gas a little too hard, jerking the car forward. you snort, watching his legs tremble under the strain. “you look so pathetic. can’t even keep it together on a simple drive. how’d you even get your promotion acting like this?”

“s-shut up—” he tries to snap back, but he's barely holding it together. you hate admitting it, but he's so god damn attractive it drives you up a wall. he keeps adjusting his tie and his eyes keep glancing around the road. he’s a mess, glasses slipping down his infuriatingly perfect nose and all.

next red light. you crank it up again. taehyun’s head drops back against the seat, his chest heaving, hips bucking helplessly as he lets out a low, broken moan. “shit—please, stop, i c-can’t—”

then, as if giving in to the desperate haze clouding his mind, his hand shoots down, fingers fumbling at the waistband of his slacks like he’s going to jerk himself off right there.

before he can even start, you smack his hand away, hard and fast, making him gasp and look at you with wide, desperate eyes.

“bad, bad boy,” you chide. “don't you dare touch yourself, keep your hand on the wheel.”

he stares at you, incredulous, his breathing heavy, but he’s too wrecked to come up with a response.

you tug on his tie, pulling it tight against his throat. "bite down."

taehyun surprisingly doesn’t hesitate, sinking his teeth into the tie, his moans muffled as he tries to grind down into the seat, his hips moving on their own.

when he starts driving again, your finger circles his crotch, enjoying the taste of the artificial sweet cherry flavor on your tongue (and of course, how loud he's shamelessly being). “you act like a brat at work because you like being put in your place outside of it, right? no wonder you’ve been such a pain lately. guess this is what you’ve been wanting all along.”

he chokes on his own breath, a strangled noise escaping him, his cheeks flushing red. spit starts to drip down his chin, wetting the tie he’s biting down on. you roll your eyes. "disgusting."

third red light. you turn the vibrator to its highest setting. his body jerks violently, a sob ripping from his throat as he slams the brakes, forehead resting against the wheel. “no, no, fuck, fuck—i c-can’t—”

you reach over and slide your hand down, palming the hard length of his cock through his pants, feeling the wet spot where he’s already leaking. “so fucking wet for me,” you murmur, your fingers pressing into him, making his hips jolt. “you’re such a fucking mess.”

he’s sobbing now, still biting on his tie, completely ruined, tears streaming down his cheeks as he begs, practically shaking in his seat.

you just smirk, watching him unravel. “poor thing,” you coo, leaning closer to his ear. “so desperate to cum, but you don’t deserve it, do you? look at you, sobbing like a little bitch.”

“plthse,” he slurs through the fabric, the words barely audible, muffled and wet. “i’ll b-be good—just lemme cum, plthse—i can’t take it anymore.”

you press harder against his cock, feeling him throb under your palm. “you’re not cumming until i say so,” you whisper, your hand sliding down to cup his balls through his pants, squeezing just enough to make him gasp. taehyun’s hips jerk up, chasing your hand like a dog in heat. “but keep begging. i like it when you beg."

[merakiui]

Mera!! ( ˶ˆ꒳ˆ˵ )

What’s your take on the octatrio reacting to an omega reader using their clothes or other items in their nest when they’re going into heat? I’m particularly curious what you think of Azul since idk if you’ve ever characterized him as an alpha. But I think all of them could be so cute regardless! Omega/omega and omega/beta have such good potential! ( ⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝)

They could be in a relationship, but I think it’d also be fun if reader just snatches their stuff without asking. Aaaaaaaaa (╥﹏╥) I just miss classic omegaverse tropes sm

:O omg I have so many thoughts about this!!! I love this trope,,, it's so cute and there are so many ways it could go depending on dynamic. I like to write Azul as an alpha because of my own self-indulgent preferences, but also I like to imagine he was an incredibly late bloomer and everyone thought he was an omega for the longest time until he finally has an actual rut and !!!!!! I could ramble on about that forever. <3 but I do agree!! There's so much delicious potential with non-traditional abo pairings!!!!

Being besties with them...... something something they're so attuned to your scent because you're close and so it's fairly easy for them to locate you,,, quite literally sniffing you out!!! I think seeing you cuddled up in your nest with his clothes and any other things that smell like him would make Azul feel so much better about your relationship, whether platonic or romantic. It reaffirms that you like him and are comforted by his presence and scent. That you trust him. Of course there's also the characteristics of your heat that make you much more receptive to him, which he'll use to explain and rationalize everything. T_T but deep down he's pleased and hopes that one day you'll ask him for his clothes. He wants to see you clinging to his shirt or wrapping yourself up in one of his sweaters all the time!!!

Floyd...... oooohh he thinks you're just the cutest. He'll keep his distance at first. He doesn't want to startle you or stress you out. But since it's him, you're familiar with his scent and it makes him happy when your pheromones are purely sweet and stress-free. <3 waaaa he adores you!!! You'll have to invite Floyd into your nest if you want him to come close and even then he's still hesitant because you're not in the right mind (if you're just friends). He's willing to lend you as much of his clothes as you want for your nest. It's cute seeing Shrimpy get so particular about everything, even more so when he sees you bundled up in his sleep sweatshirt. Floyd has really good restraint, so if you aren't in an established relationship then he'll tread carefully and do as you ask (unless if it's something outlandish,, like you asking him to knot you, to which he'll giggle and playfully dodge the demand with: "Shrimpy doesn't really mean that~") he understands omega hindbrain is usually running on carnal instinct anyway.

Jade is impossible to read most of the time, and when you do try to read him it's like solving a complex equation. >_< he can be so difficult (usually on purpose) sometimes... most of his teasing is there to distract you from his body language, how he's always so relaxed around you, but when you're in heat the last thing you're trying to do is dissect and analyze Jade's behaviors. Beneath that sharp smile of amusement, there's genuine sweetness and it's quite a heartwarming sight to see you hugging a bunch of his laundry close. Jade wouldn't be Jade if he isn't taking photos to later tease you about when you're not so heat-brained. He'll ask you silly and obvious questions like "Do you find my scent that enjoyable?" just to have his suspicions validated. Jade will stay to look after you and ensure all is well if that's what you'd like, but if you want anything specific from him you'll have to use your words and ask~ >:) how is he supposed to know otherwise? Give Jade one chance and he'll spoil you rotten in that nest, tending to your every need.

[just-some-random-blogger]

The Salt In My Blood

You were the beloved Jewel of the Realm, the youngest Targaryen born to Alyssa and Baelon. Though your nature resembled more a lamb rather than a dragon, you posed a threat at court, for a single word out of your mouth inspired a thousand actions from The King and The Rogue Prince. Thus, your match with the Lord of the Iron Islands.

Daemon Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader x Dalton Greyjoy | 6k+ | cw: fem!reader, targcest (sister!reader), reader has valyrian features (silver hair, violet eyes), power imbalance, graphic depictions of violence/assault/murder/death, canon divergence/inaccurate timelines, ye old misogyny, fuckedupedness of men, smut (dub con, loss of virginity, piv, biting, marking, breeding kink, corruption kink, baby trapping, cockwarming, cunnilingus), internet translated high valyrian, angst, social commentary, typos, etc.

A/N: !!mind the warnings!! This is really yucky because it is. all men do is hurt women. Also I did basic research for Dalton Greyjoy and just used him cuz I needed a character. idk what he's actually like and I'm 99% sure this timeline doesn't add up so, just roll w it ok? Ok. If my internet translated high valyrian sucks, well, it be like that. And surprise surprise i made another song for a fic because i should make use of my music degree while im jobless 💔 my heart goes out to @arabellasleopardcoat because her fic capital really poked my brain and got me fired up enough to write/create again, even if just for this fic. i love you.

Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx @delicious-xx @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony @risefallrise @thebullship @sa3losa @sloanexx @azperja @happilyhertale

Father, father, shining star, save my brother from the war. Mother, mother, hold me close. I fear brother won't come home. So, I pray, night and day, I do my duty here. Find me, oh [a] husband, so fierce with not a fear. Father, father hears my prayer. Mother, mother dries my tears. All my strife ends tonight for my husband's here.

"But what if someone sees," you whisper.

Daemon clutches your hand tighter as you hurry down the hall. He looks over to you, your expression matches your shaky voice.

Perhaps, had the conditions been different, he'd be softened by your words. The ferocity of his protectiveness would have made him stop in his footsteps and clutch your cheek. Perhaps he would have promised to safeguard you.

But these conditions did not elicit such urges from him. No. It stoked the fires bacchanal in his gut. The stolen taste of your honeyed lips in the garden was not enough.

Daemon finally brings his darling sister into his bedroom, and there, he answers you, "who would dare spy on the king's heir, the prince of the realm?"

Your breath quickens at the sound of your brother locking the door.

The prince of the realm stalks over to you, a dragon gazing upon a meek lamb.

Again, you whisper, "what if someone finds out?"

Daemon could growl. He almost did as he grabs your waist and sinks his head into the crook of your tender neck. You don't even react when he does this, save for your gasp.

Oh, how like you, how docile and doe-like, never one to raise your voice, or fight back, especially not with him.

"Let them find out, sister," he claws your clothing, "then they will not steal you from me."

You are so pliant as he squeezes you, so soft as he roughs you back to his bed. You let him handle you like he did your dolls growing up. He treated them with less than a quarter of the gentleness you would; they'd end up tattered and broken because of him by the end of your playing session, much to your heartbreak.

Though you cried about it, you never once held it against him, because each time, Daemon would wipe your tears and apologize. He liked breaking your dolls. He liked being your comfort.

He knew without a sliver of doubt you'd let him do the same to your body. You'd let him break you, then kiss the tears off your cheeks. You'd let him, for he was your star, and you were his doll.

Daemon presses you beneath him. He lays you down where he sleeps. He kisses you, the way he has sometimes imagined he would while touching himself, or while in the arms of another. His long, silver hair cascades down his shoulder, joining your long, silver hair that's spilled on his pillows.

For so long, he's denied himself of you, because you were too pure, too darling to be tainted.

You whimper as he pushes your skirts up, bunching them by your ribs.

But now, it's all different.

His mouth suckles its way to your neck.

"Daemon."

Now, it's not about denial. It's about what's right. It's about what you deserve.

"Daemon-" you whimper when he reaches into the waistband of your smallclothes, "-wait."

He breathes hotly against your jaw. He grabs your knees and parts them for himself.

You push his shoulders back, catching his attention. He is displeased, and not even your glassy eyes could quell it. He warns you with an annoyed sound.

You gulp but mutter anyway, "this is wrong."

"Wrong?!" snaps he.

You tense at his anger, yet even then, you caress his cheek gently, "I am to be married to Lord Dalton Greyjoy."

"And you would have me believe you want him?" Daemon quips, "that you do not want me?"

You push yourself up on your elbows. Tears begin to spill from the corner of your eyes, "Daem-"

"Why do you think I am doing this?" He pushes himself against your core.

You whimper at the contact. He is hard.

He grabs your wrists and pins them to your sides, "I do this for your sake, little girl. To save you from your prison."

You gulp and blink rapidly, your silver lashes lace with tears.

The slightest semblance of remorse flashes on your brother's face.

With your head lifted, you watch as Daemon brings his hands to your ankles instead. He rids you of your shoes and chucks them over his shoulder.

Slowly, he strips you naked until you are left in nothing but the jewelry and the stockings he bought you once before.

You cover your breasts, and he lets you while he kneads at your slightly parted thighs.

His eyes are glued on your womanhood, on the curls that don't see the light of day and the flesh that's never been touched by a man.

Daemon clenches his jaw as his fingers inspect the heat there. The two digits find molten wetness flooding your entrance. You make a breathless sound and squeeze your thighs, trying, with pointless effort, to stop him. His eyes flick to your face, the look of embarrassment, of shock, of pleasure visible to him. He debates forcing your legs.

He licks his you-coated fingers and tuts instead, "open."

You look at him, your Daemon, with a faint line between his brows. You close your mouth and lick your lips. Your hands find their way back to your breasts.

The sight is maddening, especially with how the jewel of your necklace looks between the squished mount of flesh.

"Open," he commands with less patience.

Daemon watches his darling princess part her legs for him. His trousers strain more than it did already.

He watches you closely and motions with a finger to your chest, "those too."

You do not immediately comply. In fact, you look at Daemon with pleading eyes. He raises his brows at your bratty demeanor, and shakes his head, "are you disobeying me?"

You see the threat in his eyes.

"Kessa nyke mazverdagon ao rūnagon aōha dīnagon?" Shall I make you remember your place?

You shake your head and pipe softly, "daor." No.

Finally, you reveal your breasts to him.

He smirks, "good girl."

Your brother kneads your delicate flesh and grinds his clothed groin against your weeping cunt. The sound you emit makes the feel of the clothes on his skin unbearable.

He grabs your hands and places them on his waistband. He looks down at you as he rids himself of his top. By the time his burning chest is free, you've gotten half the wits to undo his breeches.

His eyes don't leave you as he takes off his shoes.

You timidly pull his pants down, sitting up slightly as you do. You make a soft sound when his manhood flings free. Daemon shoves you back and does the rest himself.

"Daemon. I don't think-"

Your voice is crushed by the feel of his cock sliding into you. A rush of heat ripples through your body. He leans down and kisses your shoulder as you whine.

"Enough," he pants. He uses all his restraint not to fuck you dumb then and there. He grabs your thighs, pressing them into your chest. He can feel your tension. If he fucks you now, he could leave you unable to walk straight. But as sweet as that sounds, he doesn't actually want to hurt you, not that way.

Daemon sinks down to your jugular and kisses you there before he brings his hungry mouth to your breast. He sucks and nips, imagining it being heavy with milk for his babe, the babe he'd put into your belly.

The thought makes his moan and rut his hips.

You make a strained sound and your hands push at his arms. You call his name again, soft and shaky.

Daemon tries to ignore you, his palm coming to your lonely breast on the other side, but the persistent call of his name makes him sigh.

He lightly grazes your nipple before he releases your flesh. He trails kisses up your skin until he lands on your face, your face, which was now wet with salt.

"You need to relax. Mmm?" he coos, kissing your lips, "skoro syt gaomagon ao limagon? Hm?" Why do you cry?

You adjust beneath him, repositioning your thighs, digging your fingers into his nape. You whimper, "lēkia."

Daemon's belly burns. Look at you, crying for your older brother.

"Kessa, ñuha hāedar?" Yes, my little sister?

"Iksan zūgagon," you mutter, tears streaming down your temples. Your nails scratch up his scalp. I am afraid.

Daemon, selfish as he is, does not like the fact that leaves your lips. His brows furrow. He rubs your thighs in an attempt to comfort you. He kisses the corner of your lips, "hen lēkia?" Of your older brother?

You shake your head quickly, rubbing your thumb on his jaw.

His brows furrow tighter. His hold on your thigh tightens, "hen bona Āegenka Āzma?" Of that Iron Born?

You stay still. You take a moment before mumbling, "Viserys said I should marry him for my own good-"

"Fuck that cunt Viserys," he spits angrily.

Your lips quiver.

The anger in Daemon's chest dissipates as you rub the deep line between his brows. He props himself up, sinking a hand by the side of your head. He looks down at you.

"You cannot protect me forever," you whisper, finally relaxing beneath him.

Daemon watches as you lick your lips.

You gulp, "I am a Targaryen princess. I have duties to the realm, to my family."

"Your duty is with me," he grabs your hand, bringing it to his chest.

Your violet eyes sparkle as you examine his features. You tuck the long tresses that block his face behind his ear. Your belly ignites at the fierce beauty of your beloved brother.

"I burn for you," Daemon says, "I know that you burn for me."

"But Daemon-"

The gentle thrust of his hips stifle your words.

You whimper and instinctively mold your body against him. Your legs tighten around his torso as his thrusts grow more and more confident.

"Enough," Daemon repeats this time softer, head sinking back into the crook of your neck, "you have always belonged to me, and you know it."

Daemon kisses you, delighting in the gasp you give when he plays with your pearl. He muffles the sound of your mewls with his mouth.

"They insult us all by daring to mix dragon blood with fucking sea squid," he pants, "you were meant to carry my seed, be my bride."

You moan, feeling a foreign force in your belly.

"I will not let that sewer monster be the one to make you a woman," Daemon licks a stripe up your neck.

You tangle your fingers into the roots of his hair, "Daemon."

His nails scratch up your sides, "twas I that watched you blossom into womanhood, tis I that should be the one to take it."

Neither of you speak after he says this. You both simply whimper, wordlessly agreeing your bodies were made for each other.

The prince had not a single care in the world. He urges you to scream out to him with the flick of his pelvis. He didn't care if anyone could hear, neither did he care that anyone would see the viscious marks he was leaving all over your throat.

You were better than he had ever imagined, and he was determined to make you his. He was intent on emptying his stones, over and over again, until you could take no more, until you were too exhausted to leave, until your body had no other choice but to carry him a child.

And when he finally does spill into you, coming with a grunt and a soft, "you're mine," you, the virgin princess finally understand the fuss over sex, and reply to him with an, "I love you."

Daemon fucks you until his bed is soiled with a mix of your come. He fucks you until every minute movement from him makes you shiver and whine. He fucks you until your skin is marked with tender bites. He fucks you until you beg for respite, and then he keeps himself inside you after.

You were a worn little thing, and yet you managed the energy to still cling to him as you dozed off.

He kisses your temple and sleeps soundly, knowing he's done it, he's made his claim; you were his. That was irrefutable. Only a madman would deny him of you now. He basks in the pleasure of your body, and in the knowledge his baby sister so wholeheartedly trusted in him to let him do this.

One can only imagine, then, the mortified horror you felt when you were given to Lord Greyjoy anyway.

This was not part of the plan. You were meant to meet Daemon. He told you you were going to speak to the king together, and yet here your eldest brother was, ushering you towards your captor-husband to be.

"My princess," Dalton says, reaching a hand to you.

You stare at his glimmering eyes, finding nothing but malice and lust behind them. You turn to your brother for help. You do not want to touch this man.

Viserys offers you none and looks away. It hurts when he does so, especially since he does so with such apparent scorn. He smiles at Dalton, "greet your lord. You will soon be wed to him, sister."

You muster enough artificial interest to smile. Goosebumps form on your skin when he kisses the back of your hand.

He notices and chuckles, rubbing where he kissed, "such demureness. Do not be frightened of me, my dragon. I would not hurt such a pretty thing."

You clasp your hands together after he releases you.

"Not unless you ask," he adds, bursting into a laugh.

Neither you or Viserys return the amusement. In fact, the latter's face contorts at the distasteful joke. His nostrils flare, "you dare jest such uncouth things in front of your king?"

Dalton Greyjoy is unbothered, but stifles his laughter. He clears his throat and bows, "my apologies, my king. Tis the Ironborn in me. I cannot help my nature, much like you cannot help yours."

You feel light headed the entirety of this interaction. The room feels like it was closing in on you, and you kept glancing at the door, praying that your other brother free you from this torment.

He does not. He does not come. In fact, you do not see Daemon anywhere the entire day.

Dalton keeps you by his side, taking your arm in his as he makes you stroll him around the Red Keep. You do so, of course, no matter how strong the urge to run away and hide from him was. The entire time, Dalton recounts his stories of battle, his stories at sea, his stories of life. He's sincere enough, but you are not interested in the slightest.

"I think you'd enjoy the feel of sea salt against your skin, just as much you enjoy the whip of the clouds," he grins with genuine enthusiasm.

Any response you have is put out by his next words.

"I can introduce you to my salt-wives."

"Salt-wives?"

"Aye," he says proudly, "I'd say I have about twenty, but I cannot assure you its accuracy."

You are horrified. Finally, you have the gall to pull away, "what?"

Dalton chuckles, somehow amused, but his brows furrow, as if irritated, "we Ironborn keep salt wives in our ships, to give us comfort and warmth when the sea gets too rough. Is this princess so sheltered to not know this?"

You curdle when he reaches for your neck.

"You needn't be jealous. You'd be my one and only rock wife."

You scowl at his condescending tone, "I thought that was just a wives' tale."

He laughs. It is rich, amused, and foreboding. He shakes his head, "it's about as much of a wives' tale as your dragons are, princess."

Later that night, you weep at the king's feet, begging him not to marry you off to such a man.

Viserys does not hear it, and it is only then that Daemon finally appears.

When he does, it's as if the gods themselves breathed life into you. Quickly, you run into him and sob into his chest.

Daemon holds you tightly and glares at the king, "what have you done to her?"

Viserys scoffs. The dark room, illuminated only by the fireplace and a few lit candles, feels to him like it's darkened because of Daemon. He shifts where he sits, "I? I found her a husband."

Daemon's eye twitches, "you gave her to me! You said it just this morning."

You look up at Daemon, hopeful at the sound of his words.

"I said I would think about it once you report your patrol at the City Watch to me."

Daemon releases you to impose on his brother, "I kept your city clean from crimes and safe for the people."

"And where did you go after?" Viserys narrows his eyes.

You rub your arms as you watch your brothers argue.

Daemon does not respond.

Viserys turns to you, "tell your beloved sister where you went after your patrols."

Daemon does not move.

Your chest tightens at the silence, "... Daemon."

The said man opens his mouth, "I went to get a dri-"

"A whorehouse!" Viserys blurts, rising from his seat to glare at Daemon. He turns back to you, pushing past him, "I would know. I paid every whore in Fleabottom to seduce him."

Your heart leaps into your mouth, "w-what?"

Daemon is stunned.

"See now," Viserys is close enough to clutch your cheeks, "your beloved brother is a man like all the rest. No more is the dragon righteous than the kraken."

Your eyes begin to fog with tears. Your hands begin to tremble. Why was he doing this to you?

"Greyjoy is no less a dog than the rest of us. He at least, is honoring a tradition. Daemon honors only his cock."

You turn to Daemon, hoping to find this was not the case, but his expression says it all. You let a pained whimper, "you teach me so cruelly, brother."

"I teach you," he swipes your tears with his thumbs, "for your own good."

"You fucking--"

You scream in terror as Daemon lunges at Viserys. You reel back and watch as the two crash down to the floor, the younger of them finding the upper hand. They roughly struggle against each other.

You can no longer remain simply screaming when Daemon grabs Viserys by the collar and slams him repeatedly against the ground, especially not when Viserys claws at Daemon's face to get him off. You dash forward just as the guards order the prince to stop.

It only takes another scream from you, begging them to stop, for the kingsguards to burst into the room.

You grab Daemon's arm, and out of instinct, he swats you back, hand hitting your nose with rage powered force.

You shoot back into a kingsguard, feeling your face throb in pain. You swipe your philtrum and find red on your fingers.

It takes Viserys screaming your name for Daemon to stop and realize what he's done.

The impact of hitting the armored man makes your back twinge, but it does not hurt nearly as much as the back handed hit you received from your brother.

The kingsguard catches you and stands you upright. He quickly asks if you are alright, but doesn't wait for an answer because he's then shoving Daemon back, putting himself between him and you when he tries to come near.

Daemon glares in offence.

"Throw him in the fucking dungeon," Viserys spits out as he is helped up by another guard.

Daemon fights back, but is no match against three guards.

He screams your name as he is dragged off.

You clutch your face as he tells you he didn't mean to hit you. You face throbs as he tells you he loves you, and only you.

For once, you doubt his words.

Viserys comes to your side, placing a gentle hand in your shoulder. You watch as he commands a servant to get something for your injury.

He clutches your cheek that was struck and sighs, "if you wed the Red Kraken, you will strengthen our hold on the Iron Lands. Dalton Greyjoy is a formidable warrior. I couldn't think of a more capable man to safekeep the Jewel of the Realm."

As he stroked your hair, you realized that Viserys was right. It didn't matter who it was, all men were the same. When your septa warned you of men's depravity, you believed your brothers to be the exception. Now, you knew exactly why you were called-

"Little lamb," Viserys coos, "I only want what is best for all of us."

You were too naive to believe in good things.

And so you marry Dalton Greyjoy the next day.

The haste with which the wedding is prepared is to prevent you from changing your mind, you figured. That, and to keep Daemon in prison for the least amount of time.

Part of you wanted to visit him, but part of you wanted him to suffer. In the end, you realized you were too weak to behold your brother as a prisoner.

Daemon screams and bangs at his bars, demanding he be released. But the prison guards have handled worse and throw cold water at him to shut him up.

He knew by the time he was free, he would be too late to stop your marriage, but still, he meticulously planned what he would do the moment he was.

That night, after the wedding festivities were over, Dalton takes you to your room and makes you his wife.

"It's been a while since I've had a virgin," Dalton says, caressing your cheek, "don't worry, I will be gentle."

You want to scream, you want tofight him back, but you remember you're not a virgin, and fear paralyzes you. You mumble, "m-my dragon riding."

Dalton pushes back bour silver hair and kisses your shoulder.

You can't help but think of Daemon in this moment, but it makes you feel sick, and so you will him out of your head. You mumble again, "my dragon riding may taken my womanhood."

Dalton pulls away and stares at you for a moment.

"I- I was told as a child, it happened to many Targaryen princesses."

He pulls his hands, which were on your hips, away then shoves you down on your bed. He smirks as he undoes his clothing, "then I can be rough with you, aye?"

You quiver at his gaze.

He laughs, shaking his head, "didn't I say I would not hurt you? Unless under your request?"

You inch back as he crawls over. He grabs your ankle, then the other, causing you to panic. You instinctively kick him off, but instead of being deterred, he is excited.

"Sh, sh, sh," he hushes, "it will not be unpleasant, my dragon."

Your skin pricks with gooseflesh when he removes your shoes, your socks, then sneaks his hand up your skirt.

You whimper and turn away, finding you could no longer kick back when he seizes your knees.

"Please-"

"Shhh," he hushes, giving you the first solemn look he has this entire day he's been smug, "I've had much practice from my salt wives. You, my rock wife, will taste the fruits of my practice... as I taste you."

You gasp when he suddenly rips your underwear off.

"I swear to you, your body will enjoy it, even if your mind wants you to believe otherwise."

You muffle your mouth with your palm when you feel Dalton sink in between your thighs.

He was right.

The entire time he touches you, it feels like your skin was being scorched. Your heart was not in it, but your body twisted in pleasure. You hated that you longed for Daemon, even after the fact you were not enough for him; he was still the only one you, and this moment proved it.

You were brought to tears at how pathetic it was. Tears streamed as you reached your peak, one of the many you receive from your... husband.

He handled you with carnal instinct, just as Daemon did, but unlike him, Dalton did not kiss your tears. In fact, he did not kiss your face once. It is you that initiates such a thing, amidst the throes of your lewd pleasure. He grabs your jaw when your lips connect, and quickly releases his load into you after.

Your peak is cut short because he pulls out just when you reach it.

You watch as he rolls over and goes to sleep without another word.

The next morning, the servants call you Princess Greyjoy and it haunts you.

"No need to look so sullen, wife," you hear over your shoulder.

If the cold from the early morning wasn't enough to make you shiver, the kiss on your shoulder was.

The ship rocks as you tear your gaze away from King's Landing, King's Landing that looked so tiny now from where you stood. A sea of tears laid between you and the home that will never be yours again. You turn to Dalton. He leans his elbows on the edge of the ship and looks up at you, "we can do many things to liven your mood."

You watch him as he rubs your hips. Your stomach curdles but you manage to offer a smile, "I... am flattered, but I do not want to distract the captain of this ship."

Dalton chuckles and straightens up, "trust me. The crew would appreciate it if you did."

You squeak when he yanks you into him.

"Right boys?!" he calls loudly, "shall I make a salt wife out of my rock wife?!"

The crew cheers and it makes your skin burn in mortification.

The next thing you know, you are thrown over his shoulder. He slaps your ass and takes you to his quarters. The crew laughs as he does.

You helplessly grunt when he drops you on his bed-- your shared bed. You silently peer up at him as he stares at you. You are relieved he paces across the room, towards his table. He grabs something and chucks it at you. You flinch but manage to catch it.

He sits on the table as you inspect the pouch. You open it, finding herbs inside.

"I heard you've been drinking that," he says.

You look up at him.

"Haven't you?" he asks.

You smell it and wretch. It smells exactly like-

"Moon tea," Dalton says, making your blood run cold, "for the bastard in your belly.*

You are frozen in your spot. Your stomach drops when he stands and walks over. He grabs your chin. It is not harsh, but it strikes fear in you anyway.

"I asked you a question, wife."

You open your mouth, but no words come out.

"HAVE YOU BEEN TAKING THE FUCKING TEA OR NOT?" he screams, grabbing your neck.

Your hands fly to his grip. Your fingers attempt to pry him away.

You wheeze when he squeezes you. Your flail your legs and try to kick him off. You can't. Just as your vision begins to go dark, he releases you. You fall onto the bed and frantically try to catch your breath. You cough and hear him smash things around the room.

And so you behold the man who said he would not hurt you unless you asked him, brutalize the furniture.

You think your chances are better in the sea rather than on this boat. You slowly maneuver towards the door while he is distracted. Just as you are about to sprint, he grabs you and throws you back down on his bed.

"You stupid slut!" he screams, "you think you can run?!

You try to scream for help, but the pain in your throat when you try to stops you. Not a second later, you scream anyway.

He slaps you across the face, promptly silencing you. The sting is ten times worse than what Daemon did.

"I was promised a Targaryen princess, not some whore of a dragon!" he screams, kicking the chair by his desk across the room.

You feel lightheaded. You see double.

He laughs angrily, shaking his head, "dragon riding, my arse."

Indistinguishable sounds leave your lips.

Your heart drops as he storms over.

"Who's the father of your bastard child?!"

"ANSWER ME!" he demands, grabbing your shoulders, dragging you to your feet. Your head recoils at the sheer force of it. You take a moment to steady your head.

Your eyes search Dalton's enraged features, hoping to chance upon a sliver of compassion... in vain. The sound that leaves your mouth is response to the bruising squeeze of your arms. You cannot help but whimper as tears stream down your cheeks, "you're hurting me."

He is further angered by this. He gives you a powerful shake. Your head lashes back again and you scream.

"Give me a name!" erupts the lord.

You no longer have it in you to hold your tongue, and so you confess, "Daemon!"

Dalton releases you. He is repulsed, "your brother?" He scoffs, "you revolting, little worm," he slaps you again, making you lose your balance.

Before you crash into anything, he grabs you and keeps you upright. You can feel your cheek and lips swell at his assault. You taste iron on your lips.

"And here they had me believing you were some meek lamb," he laughs dryly, brushing your hair back, "you're nothing but a whore, grown from perversion and abomination."

Your expression hardens. You glare at him and rebut, though your head was pounding, "and your sea rituals are more righteous than my family traditions?"

Without another word, Dalton shoves you back, propelling you into his desk. Your skull crashes against the edge with a horrendous thud.

You fall limp onto the floor. Dalton cares little if you were dead or unconscious. He walks out of the room right before he can witness the red staining your white hair.

Dalton is no fool. He knows better than to disfigure a Targaryen princess.

He walks towards the wheel of the ship and continues the course to what his crew believed to be a shortcut to home. In truth, he was bringing the ship to its doom, to face you with with a trail of the sea.

He would crash the ship into a chokehold of rocks, and if you survived, if he found your floating body, he would keep you, as you proved your resilience. But if you were swallowed into the depths, if he was unable to find you in the debris, he would praise the Drowned god for your riddance.

The same want with his crew.

Of course, there was a bit of this that felt like suicide, but he knew he was too vengeful to die, so he knew he had nothing to fear.

When the Greyjoy ship finally reached the rocky pass, Dalton was promptly warned of the danger by his lookout, who he obviously ignored.

He ordered to hoist the sails, and, blindly, the crew followed, even through apparent worry.

It didn't take very long after for the ship to crash into the cliffs.

The crew clamors. They scream and panic, turning to their captain that could not care less. He pretends to steer them to safety, but he actually slammed them further into their demise.

The deck begins to crumble. The mast snaps. The sails break off. Dalton calls to abandon ship.

The crew don't need any more convincing.

One by one, each man for their own, they try to escape with their life.

By the time Dalton jumps off the ship, the thing is half submerged in the water, crumbs of it on the side of a rock.

It was pure chaos.

Dalton swims far enough from the destruction, and knows his god smiled upon him and his decision when he sees a large wooden slab he can climb on.

He does just that and looks out to his crew, helping the ones that manage to swim over, commanding the others calling for help to simply swim or drown.

He looks around, trying to make out a body of a woman, a blob of a dress, a head of silver hair in the aftermath.

"My wife," he screams, "has anyone seen my wife?!"

He wasn't concerned, of course. He just wanted to know his fate as a husband, but this did make for a good alibi.

His surviving men look and swim around for you. They find no trance.

Dalton presses his lips, "little dragon couldn't fly away."

They take refuge on a cliff. Lord Greyjoy tells his crew not to bitch and panic because they will surely be found by a passing ship soon enough.

He had planned this shipwreck after all.

By the time Dalton and his remaining men were saved, a flash of red circled in the setting sky, hovering over the massive rock that held the shipwreck that bore the sigil of Greyjoy.

Caraxes screeches as his rider commands him to get closer to the scene. The dragon hesitates but eventually lands on the cliff. Waves crash upon the area, causing the beast to bleat when he is wet.

Daemon is frantic as he gazes upon the destruction. He is distressed unlike he's ever been. His voice is distinctly desperate and hysterical. He screams out your name, even though it was nothing against the roar of the splashing waves.

He heaves heavily as he erratically decides to dismount and jump into the water.

As he wades, he tries to convince himself that what he was doing was for naught-- perhaps you were not here to begin with. But the gut feeling was overwhelming; it was sickening.

He tries to believe that bottom feeder, Greyjoy, saved you before his ship crumbled. He tries to convince himself that cunt's lust for you was enough reason to keep you alive.

But he remembers the servant he threatened with a knife whilst demanding to know which route your ship would take. He thinks of how he almost shit himself while confesssing to Daemon that Greyjoy planned to pass through a rocky region as a shortcut. But Daemon's flown over that area, and knew it was out of the way to the Iron Islands.

After squeezing out what's left from that servant, Daemon's face falls when he mentions that rusted octopus had an argument with a servant girl that came to serve the princess a cup of tea.

Daemon was no fool. Dalton was a butish barbarian. If he found out you were drinking Moon Tea, he would do his worst on you for blemishing his pride.

And so he swam. Daemon swam, dove down, and searched for your body until he had to stop because Caraxes was getting restless. He commanded him to calm down, but he could only do it so many times until he, himself, was the same.

He eventually gets back on Caraxes. Daemon can't bring himself to leave just yet however, and finds himself praying to whatever god out there to return his love back to him.

Caraxes circles the area one last time before heading off. For some reason, Daemon feels the urge to check underneath a large slab of shattered wood. He commands his mount to lift it, and the dragon screeches as he does what he can with his hind legs.

The sound that leaves the prince's mouth is what could only be described as pure anguish.

A head of silver hair floats up and wafts in the water along with a tattered dress. Your body garnered a horrid tone of grey and you were missing your shoes.

Daemon cannot contain the tears that gush out of his eyes.

Caraxes carries your body in his claws all the way to the Keep.

The way in which he commands his ride to set your body down is frantic and incredibly detailed. Part of him realizes Caraxes probably recognized you, considering the way he laid on his belly and sniffed you as Daemon buckled to his knees and lamented over your frigid body.

He speaks to you in High Valyrian. His salty tears drip on your salt water drowned body. He promises he will never trick you, never argue with you, and never make you cry ever again if only you open your violet eyes.

He rocks back and forth with you in his arms, unsure which of you he was soothing by doing this.

He swears he will turn the sea red with blood and burn the whole Iron Islands to avenge you.

He is incredibly uncomfortable of the chill of your skin. He shakes his head, telling you dragons must not be kept cold. He kisses your face in an attempt to warm it up. He recounts a time where you accidentally spilled candle wax on him, burning his skin, and tells you that you still need to make up for your offence. He tells you he will forgive you if you simply hold him back.

Viserys had to account for three dragons by the time he found out what was happening, one was Daemon, whose grief morphed into murderous spite. He threatened to slay anyone who wanted to take you from him. Not again. Another was Caraxes, who refused to leave his heartbroken rider's side. The last was your dragon, who felt the loss of your connection, and went into a rabid state mourning.

It takes 5 people to secure your dragon in the pit, 5 people to subdue Caraxes, and 3 people to separate Daemon from your corpse.

The king takes a moment to clutch your hand. His face flinches. Where once your hand was so warm, no warmth now remained. He steps back and watches the maesters cover your body and take you away.

[cultkinkcoven]

Don’t quite know how to explain this but living my life with a chronic illness and not knowing wtf is up with me and then discovering years later that I have an extremely sensitive and hyperactive nervous system disorder is interesting because like

I try not to mystify my mundane experiences too much, I don’t like to think that I am inherently special or gifted in any way when it comes to like esotericism or whatever.

I made a reddit post a few years ago way back when I was first starting my journey with Archangel Jophiel. Tldr, since the time I was about 7 or so after an encounter or dream with Jophiel, I remember being able to see and sense energies on people and objects. Energy fields radiate off of all things, they are manipulated by each other. For a long time I thought it may have been some kind of visual snow maybe, although it doesn’t really operate like snow. During those few months when Jophiel was really breaking me out of my shell, that ability or whatever it is was heightened up to 10. I made a post asking people how I could turn it down. I could see the roots beneath trees and the currents in water. It now takes me a fair bit of focus to tap into that level of seeing. When it first started I genuinely thought I was losing my mind.

I did eventually learn to control it, somewhat. It’s still something I’m practicing.

but now years later hearing “your nervous system is extremely sensitive and reacts violently to things it shouldn’t, like barometric pressure changes and humidity, this problem may have been caused by repeated childhood trauma to your nervous system”, in tandem with my extreme sensory issues due to my autism is interesting. Interesting because it makes a lot of sense. Interesting because it makes me rethink my entire childhood my history with mystical experiences.

One side of me wonders if my condition perhaps causes hallucinations maybe. Maybe I wasn’t actually experiencing something mystical but rather psychological, caused by hyperactive ocular nerves or something. Some kind of synesthesia?

One side of me wonders if my exposure to the supernatural in childhood permanently affected my development and damaged my nervous system. I have a handful of experiences that would align with that theory. Rather than the experiences being the result of damage, the damage was a result of those experiences.

Idk

I do feel like my nervous system is simply turned way up, and I pick up on energies that I really shouldn’t be. This isn’t like a perk or super power in any regard, it’s actually extremely painful and has given me migraines since I was a very young child. At one point it was so bad I had to walk with a cane. It’s also not really all that useful in everyday life. It serves a practical use in occultism and witchcraft, but beyond that it truly is a nuisance.

I do however wonder if a hyperactive nervous system is more predisposed to perceiving supernatural shit and energy from deities easier. When talking to Lord Lucifer about this he basically confirmed the whole theory.

“You are extremely sensitive, sensitive to the point where benign things harm you, and the most subtle of changes are very noticeable, amplified. It makes things easier on my end, you are extremely perceptive and easy to communicate with, but it also makes you very vulnerable to overload. You’re a super conductor, but you are also prone to overheating.”

and that’s exactly what it is. Overload. I’m currently being medicated for my nerve disorder, it helps a lot with the pain. If I ever skip a dose I immediately feel it in my body, my whole body aches and is extremely sensitive to things like temperature and air pressure. And sound, oddly, the base in music feels like it’s mixing my brain goo around. Vibrations, light, sound, movement, they get jumbled up in my nerves and they just freak out.

Sometimes I ask myself, if it really is true that my nerve thing is directly related to my abilities, would I rather be healthy and lose my ability to sense as well as I do, or stay the same for the sake of my craft?

As cool as it is, I think I would take a properly functioning nervous system over this.

idk, just something I think about a lot. It’s not like I really have a choice.

[imagionationstation]

You, good friendo, are my sole source of quality Donnie angst. I struggle to find a better one XD

just a lil thought I wanted to share: I imagine 2012 donnie looks rather similar to Rise Leo when in rise's style, just based off the similar face shape and body lanky-ness.

So imagine if somehow, 2012 Donnie gets trapped in the prison dimension. Like, maybe april is reassembling Donnie from the power inside her episode at the same time that Rise Mikey is closing the portal to the prison dimension, and he kind of gets flip-flopped in space, idk :T

Hes all "what? Huh? When?" And tries to find a way out, but there IS no way out. And he's trapped with a very angry looking Krang.

How do you think Krang Prime would react to this sort off Leo-shaped, confuzzled fellow?

This doesn't need to be answered, it's just a lil idea that's been knocking around in my brain that I wanted to share with you :D

I hate to break it to you but I am legally obligated to answer this.

I unintentionally left open a door between Rise&2012 and I would be remiss to ignore such a treat. Here I thought insane excuses to put Donnie in a world of pain and agony was just how my brain works <3

I AM NOT ALONE

ALSO MY BRAIN IS GOING PLACES

LIKE I SAW IT AND I COULDN’T UNSEE IT AND SO I DID IT

AND YOU ARE SO RIGHT 🥺🤣😭

I DON’T KNOW HOW TO FEEL AND I LOVE IT

I think that we should consider the fact that Za-Naron is an all-powerful demon alien creature. So what if instead of merely erasing him, she decided to put him somewhere that no one could ever reach him? A dimension from where things are known never to return? A place where April could never get him back without her assistance?

Well. I think Krang Prime would be absolutely confuzzled by his arrival. But then thoroughly ticked off for obvious reasons.

Not Donnie being resurrected for five minutes in some random goth space area that apparently has air (??) only to save a half-dead Leon from a deadly beating only to get it himself because Krang Prime will not allow anyone to come between his vengeance but HECK NAH is Donnie going to stand by and let this kid be beaten to death.

Yk those fanfics where Leon is actually in there for weeks before his brothers portal him out because time difference?

Well. Now he gets a friend 😏

[key0-m0ve-al0ng]

This got long so TL;DR: Mikoto acts on autopilot ~%90 of the time, but I believe he planned (most of) his crimes. He has straightforward reasons that align with his actions, but appears purely unreasonable because of his mental state. Kotoko is very deliberate, but acts her most violent out of raw emotion. She appears calculating, but feels completely out-of-control despite her strong "heroic" front.

y'know it SEEMS cliche that John screams like a madman every time he fronts but gee horror tropes aside has Es considered that switching can HURT?? like a lot???? Like idk maybe feeling your body flood with adrenaline and being made to handle that shit the moment someone "pisses him off" is a little bit agonizing? Maybe having no idea what's going on until he can process the emotional flooding adds fear which really doesn't help???

Fuck mannnnn when you read between the lines, John and Mikoto are a REALLY good deconstruction.

... especially since he is contrasted mainly with Kotoko. I say this because I was just struck with an idea.

ESSAY TIME LITERALLY A WHOLE ESSAY CAME OF THIS RANDOM THOUGHT no sources tho pure opinion~

So KOTOKO, despite saving the girl being her primary objective, kicked her victim to death out of anger. At her core, despite all her ideals, she was not acting out of reason or necessity, however reasonable the actual action seems.

Given that prisoner pairs are meant to starkly contrast, that gives me my best reasoning as to why I defend Mikoto's innocent vote while also praying John DOESN'T disappear:

Despite how unreasonable and irrational John acts at first, there's a reason he reacts the way he does. And deep down, somewhere in his mind, MIKOTO knows the reason he did what he did. His motives are real, even if he doesn't remember carrying out such a "dream." This leads me to believe there were REALLY big reasons, and likely good reasons, for killing who he did.

A deliberate, maybe even carefully premeditated act would undeniably lead to the death sentence. His brain knows this even if Mikoto himself isn't consciously thinking of it. But a defense of randomly "losing control?" MAYBE he can keep surviving. Because all he was doing was surviving.

I believe that when one protects themselves, they protect others as well. Perhaps I am biased, but no, abusive people should not go unaddressed and uninterrupted. It's very very very implied that John and Mikoto went after people he felt endangered by. I went over this in my first "Double" analysis, but TL;DR I think the red herring John gave (which is funny cuz that phrase comes from tactics to throw DOGS off their trail) goes SO much farther thematically than I've seen talk about.

John has reasons that he does what he does, as does Mikoto. Systems are wired for survival. The lucky ones do well in academics and even many job environments because they are ALWAYS processing what to do next. Burnout is SEVERE because the brain is basically always "on alert," even when we're checked out. I can find clinically documented sources for this claim and I will if I make a video or something about this, but yeah it sure is an EXPERIENCE when it all comes crashing down. Trying to end a cycle.

As for Kotoko? She is literally portrayed to have a one-track mind. Her ideals and justice. But ironically? She killed out of raw anger and emotion, which is what the wolf at the end of Deep Cover represents. Despite having a very "normal" life overall, SHE is the one who truly loses all control of herself. SHE beats up the people who annoy her. Because it's grating, as she said in Deep Cover, to face the ugliness of humanity and NOT be able to escape your brain's response to it. SHE cannot "disappear" and forget her rage at injustice like Mikoto can. She is at the mercy of this uncontrolled rage and the resulting violence she allows herself to perpetrate. Repeating a cycle.

it's so brilliant. It's SO brilliant. They are the same. They couldn't be more different. Neither is a hero nor a monster. But they are heroes in SOMEONE'S, or arguably MANY people's eyes. And yet in both 009 and 010's cases, when we see their truest and most raw colors, we question EVERYTHING we assumed before.

Mikoto is not telling the whole truth when he says he doesn't get angry or remember anything. John straight-up lied to cover Mikoto's motives for doing so, and possibly out of his own genuine confusion. He is acting on instinct drilled in by traumatic events that the brain is using as reference; however, with how DID works, John is not going to know that. It's not his "job," the protection role he plays in the system , to know that. Yet there are reasons all the same. His BIG reason, which he calls out to Mikoto in "Double," over and over, was to SAVE Mikoto. Meanwhile, Mikoto is afraid of his actions, but presumably carried them out in order to stay alive. Whatever his "dream," he still wishes he could be seen as a good man despite what he presumably felt he had to do to survive. DID is the "sink or swim" disorder; it's literally about saving yourself and being protected from the emotions that come with it. Whether or not his reasons truly make sense is yet to be seen, but either way, Mikoto feels he cannot trust himself. He is cut off from emotions that would make him believe his reasons were "bad enough" to ACTUALLY warrant murder. That is why he split; to forget how bad it truly got. He has NO idea how protected he truly is.

Kotoko firmly believes that she is COMPLETELY honest about what she wants and what she wishes to do about it. She believes her anger is justified completely, and thus her actions must be justified as well. This reasoning allows her to be completely convinced that she is aware of and comfortable with her every choice. Her reaction to her own anger, leaving Lucky behind in that rage, and her reaction to the wolf in "Deep Cover" revealed her awareness and comfort to be a self-imposed illusion of strength. Her ideals are real and she fights for them, yet she's crossed so many lines that she's actually very afraid of what she's become. It's right behind her, isn't it? Something she cannot run from before it swallows her. And having picked apart every other person there? She is alone; but this fear isn't "strong," so she hides it away for the extraction machine to reveal to us as the audience.

Both are driven by larger-than-life emotions that can only come from raw existential anguish; emotions repressed until they explode. Neither are anywhere near what they seem to be on the surface. Both are unknowingly dishonest. Neither knows what to do about it.

I wanna say there's hope for them but you know. Superhell.

[cannedwyrms]

I think the game Scorn has one of the most interesting video game antagonists I've seen in a while, up there with Agent Black, Five Pebbles, Morgott, Picayune, and Le'garde. (All of which i will probably make posts on)

Now, I've yet to dive into the deep lore or whatever of the game, but I'd still like to share my thoughts on them because I think they're very unique when it comes to video game antagonists.

One of the most surface-level things that makes them so interesting is that we get to play as them at the start. Immediately, that's a really good way of making the player empathize with any character, especially when we don't know much about them. After they get buried in what is, apparently, energized, fermented cum (I'm not going to explain that, fuck you), we transition over to the actual protagonist.

The next time we see them, they are completely different, having horrifically mutated into some kind of lizard parasite. Then, they attach to your player character, digging their hands into your stomach and wrapping the skin flaps that cover their brain around your neck.

And this is what makes them so much more compelling to me. For most of the rest of the game, they actually help you. Their tail is the weapon you use, they hold your weird, gross little healing eggs and reload pod. They remain mostly passive, but their very presence in your body starts to hurt you, making you more and more immobile with root-like growths digging out of your flesh. They are attempting to fuse with you completely, 5 it's killing you.

Near the end of the game, you finally get them off of you, which takes a lot of effort and leaves your character with all their organs spilling out of their body, the parasite's last attempt to remain with you. It slinks off, wounded but not dead.

In the end, it attacks you mere feet away from your ultimate goal and fully fuses with you, turning you both into some kind of nightmare tree.

So why do I find this dynamic so interesting? Well, on a surface level it's not often you see an antagonist in a game so passive, and even helpful at times. Often, in video games, the antagonist is proactive, while the protagonists is reactive. This serves as an easy way to get the player to get invested in the game. In Portal, for example, Chell only does all the puzzles because GLaDOS is forcing her too. Link only embarks on his quests because Ganondorf is threatening Hyrule's peace, etc.

But in Scorn, you don't really need an antagonist like that, because having an antagonist who actually understands what's going on any more than you do wouldn't make sense in the context of the world. The world of Scorn is already so hostile, so alien and borderline nonsense, that the protagonist already reacts enough to it without the need for a character to push them forward. Plus, it seems like they already have a goal in mind, one that the player isn't necessarily privy to, which the parasite might already share with them.

Because of this, Scorn is free to make their antagonist more passive, more reactive to the protagonist (yet still proactive in their own way, they are the one to attach to you, after all).

On a deeper level, though, I have some thoughts. And none of them are normal. The parasite in Scorn attaches to the protagonist, which immediately strikes me as not some kind of power play or instict, but as a survival tactic, a way to gain back any sense of control, of belonging that they have lost. Their body had been warped beyond understanding, and they've been alone for who knows how long. Of course when they find another human (idk if they're actual humans, but you get my point) they'd want to stay close to them. Maybe they thought that, by fusing together, they'd be more able to survive. Or maybe they just wanted to be close to someone. That's why they reattach themselves after you remove them. That's why, even when it's clear being with you is so obviously not helpful to anyone involved, they try desperately to remain attached no matter what. It's such an interesting way to build an antagonistic character, because I fully believe that nothing they are doing is out of malice. Even when they ruin(?) your character's plan(?) I don't believe they did it to spite you, or with any anger or evil at all. Instead it's more likely that they did it out of desperation, out of a deep need to be accepted and loved, to be close to someone in a world so hostile and alien, so antithetical to human connection. They help you—or at least try to be helpful—and because of the nature of Scorn's world, it harms you both.

Thematically, Scorn is about life and death, the cycle of creation, intimacy as a method of control, and intimacy in general. And what's more intimate than literally becoming one being?

Ok, that's all go play Scorn it's a mad trip of a game with an aesthetic that I haven't seen in any other game. Its inspirations are obvious, but I just haven't seen many games use its style. I'm sure there's more to it, like I said I haven't really delved into the lore, but this was just my interpretation of the events.

tl;dr: Scorn is good, guys, go play it

[prncssie]

Hii pretty girl it's ☄️ againn~ (basically revealing my secret identity muahaha)

I'm sending an ask again because my hobie obsession is not going away anytime soon lol (and I feel like you understand me). One of the things that make him so yummy is his frame, you know what I mean? Like I know he's considered to be a little skinny scrawny stick bug person but have ppl actually looked at him in some frames?? His shoulder span is so wide. It looks so nice I swear, I always imagine rubbing his shoulders and back after a long day. He's also so freakishly tall I feel like he's so used to looking down at people. Personally if he were to look at me like that or lean down to hear me better I would probably fall in love right then and there. Plus this guys is so strong cause of his powers, we literally saw him hold up a bus with sheer arm power. You'd never realize it until you're trying to play fight him and you don't even stand a chance

Hoping to hear your thoughts on it as always 💘 have a wonderful day.

hi stinka! as leader of the hobie brown fan club, i would first and foremost like to say that hobie, is in fact, muscular. he may be just a silly little guy but he’s got some really lean muscles. like, hobie is BUILT beneath his clothes and you don’t notice until you touch him or see him nakey ( i would know ). i’ve never really thought about what his body looks like bc i love him so much. he could be ant sized and id make him an enclosure.

but but but!!!! i went on pinterest and this is like the best idea of what his body looks like in my head c: but obvi black

very lanky but built underneath. and you’d have no idea how strong he is — bc he’s not one to show off until — until he does something INSANE. like, i think the first time you realize he’s really fucking strong is when you’re complaining about something like so random like “my fridge is making this weird noise but i can’t pull it out and look :(((“

and he’s manhandling that shit with ease. he just pulls it right out and stands back there like it’s nothing. talking about “yeah it’s a bit dusty. probably needs a clean” as if he didn’t basically just pick it up and rearrange your whole kitchen.

but he’s so so so so so good with knowing his strength bc he never uses it on you, intentionally, unintentionally. it just doesn’t happen. it’s like his brain has this strength cap and he cannot do anymore than he already is. the only time he’s ever snatching you up fr is if you’re at risk of injury. like if you’re walking on the crosswalk and a car comes speeding and it doesn’t stop. it’ll feel like when you’re running a rope attached to you at full speed and it gives up. it’s so sudden you can’t say anything, much less react.

and he is big! not like width but horizontally. he takes up a lot of space. even his general aura takes up space. idk he’s just hobie. you know he walked in the room bc you just do. it’s also very hard to miss him when his head pokes up over the top of the crowd 💀.

don’t get me wrong though, he is a lanky little telephone pole. he just has some really subtle muscles that no one noticed until he’s pulling his limbs a certain way and they ripple and cause creases in his tight ass clothes.

[mushr00mfriend]

Hello!!!!

I just wanted to come on here and say that I love Delirium and your writing!!! It's so amazing how you managed to write such a rich and complex story without having it shoved down your throats or just underperforming. There are many things I loved about Delirium that I could go on and on about but I'm just going to settle on two things.

One is how I loved how Crow was written. Idk how to explain but I love anyone can imagine themselves in it. They are very ambiguous to the point where you can imagine what they would wear and not have to worry about if you can see yourself in them. A little rant incoming, but I've never liked how many authors always had a set image of their mc/reader in mind. This is different if regards their personality (we can't a boring mc can we?) but this is about how the author writes what the mc puts on or describes certain aspects of their body (hair or body) and this always set me off from most stories. Im sure this is such a small thing to get peeved over, but there many people that aren't included in that image of an mc an author has. When I reading Delirium, I was surprised on how Crow's appearance was never really described unless it was clarify wounds or things that happened to them. It's also amazing how Crow still has personality and yet is able to be imagined as anyone! Honestly, thank you for writing Crow/mc so ambiguously, ik this probably something stupid to thank you for but I'll thank you a thousand times for this.

Next would be how you wrote the relationships between the proxies and shades (I'm not if that's the right word) and overall the occupants of the mansion. It's very unique and interesting how you decided to write them actually caring and having fun with each other. A majority of the creepypasta fics I've read mostly involve all the proxies and others absolutely despising each other. Seeing each other as coworkers and nuisances. While I'll admit there are many fics out there that execute this perfectly, it's honestly boring and overused to see the proxies hate each other and yet live in the same house which honestly never made sense to me. Reading how the trio and others look out for each other, viewing them as friends and even family is honestly so astonishing. You managed to write the Slender Mansion trope that was loved for it comedy and crack and turned it into something that was still on crack but had the serious element that comes with serial killers working for an eldritch being so perfectly. It's also crazy how you wrote the characters as well. I mean the main trio in most fics would be written to hate each other and have that "I hate my coworkers but we have funny banter once in awhile". It's funny but I think prefer your version of the trio. In reality, they're just a bunch a mentally ill men who find solace and peace with each other. While they do banter, it's more light-hearted and teasing. How they're written with others is also amazing. The scene with Ben was pure comedy to me. Usually they argue and tell the other to fuck off but seeing how they interacted with him was so cool. I adore how you wrote the proxies and others together and I cannot wait for more.

I literally cannot for Delusion to come out. It's been on my mind for so long I'm pretty its evolved itself into my brain. I do have some questions regarding the story but please don't worry if you can't or won't!

1.) Are the Acts going to focus on something specifically? Is there a clear plot going on? An example could be like Act 1 focusing on Crow adjusting to their new life and then Act 2 being their victims or something else. I'm sorry if this was worded weirdly!!!

2.) Is Kate going to be a main part of the story or just someone who appears in one act? Is she going to put Crow into some trouble? Will Crow feel inclined to live up to her legacy or just feel indifferent?

3.) How are the others (proxy trio and occupants in the mansion) going to react to Crow now being part of the family? Is there going to be resentment towards them joining in? Are they going to be compared to Kate? (I'm not sure if I can ask this but doesn't hurt to try.)

4.) Is Crow going to retain their old personality or just be an empty husk that grows into their personality? Will they keep likes, dislikes or preferences? Or have to learn about their self all over again?

5.) Who are the love interests going to be? Is there going to be little or a lot? Will they come from beyond the Slender Mansion?

I think those are all the questions I have. Please feel free to not answer them if they are spoilers to Delusion or ruin the element of surprise you are planning!!!

I also have some hc's regarding Crow which I'm going to keep short.

1.) I like to think that Crow starts to collect shiny things or just starts to collect in general. Part of their namesake after all.

2.) From what I remember, crows are known to be super intelligent and remember the faces of those who are kind to them. They even give gifts to them. Id like to think that Crow remembers everyone. The ones who were kind, mean, etc. They won't leave gifts but maybe they show in subtle ways that they remember and appreciated it.

This is so long. I'm so sorry if this was super chunky but leaving long comments and asks is my love language to all my favorite authors. I hope you have a good day or night and take care!!!!

I am grabbing you gently by the face and looking you deeply in the eyes before planting a big messy kiss on your forehead!!! I am taking you by the hands and taking you to the aquarium!! We will go to the touch tank and giggle about the rays splashing us with water!!!

I was not expecting such a wonderful dissertation in my inbox! Your words mean so, so much to me. There's so much love and care I've put into Delirium and to see that others are able to get it is frankly, staggering. I'll be honest, I never expected the reception I've gotten on Delirium. Hoped for it, yes certainly! But it was like a pipe dream. Please lend me your ear for the ramble that I will now bestow upon you as a reward for your lovely, lovely words.

Crow was/is my best attempt at ambiguity because I, like you, did not like the heavily intended imprint that other authors put on reader-inserts. Power to them, of course, it's their sandbox-- but as a nonbinary person, The intense fem lean in so many of them really made me uncomfortable. Not to mention the explicit whiteness present in nearly all of them! I've been trying to lend an ear to the BIPOC parts of the fandoms I'm in and one thing that really stood out to me was the fact that many authors don't notice that the way they use descriptors implies that the reader is White. It's because they are White themselves, of course, but it really hit me that internal biases can come out in such subtle ways (is it a bias? Probably not the right word, but I'm more talking about the way one thinks about themself and how it translates into text, with a racial focus).

Then I made a friend who has Alopecia and is bald, or nearly so. And I realized that so many reader fics put emphasis on the presence of hair. This also ties into the BIPOC exclusion, because a lot of that description also implies that the hair is straight or wavy, not curly or coily.

So, I've tried my best to read about it and eliminate those unconscious descriptors from Delirium. I'm certain its not perfect-- most people have hair, for example, and with different textures, so it's hard to not mention hair at least once-- but I tried to give it the best I've got with a vagueness that could imply almost nearly everyone. 

It's harder with personality, with Crow's reactions to things, with the family set up, with the relationship with Cathy (I've gotten lots of comments regarding these); but as you said, no one likes a boring MC, and I'm okay with these things being picked over. They're integral parts of the story I'm writing, after all-- but what Crow looks like? That isn't.

(I'm open to constructive criticism, of course. The internal biases ingrained into us through the dominant culture are deep set and require constant maintenance and vigilance. Learning comes from both the self and others.)

Yes! Yes! The relationships are so important to me!! Gah! I've put these little guys in the spin cycle of my brain for so long!! At this point they have been so blorbo-fied that releasing them back into the wild will certainly lead to their death, so I keep them safe in their enclosures and make them get along :] -- Shades is the right word, by the way! Anyone not a Proxy is a Shade.

The ever-present tension and fighting is interesting, yes, because conflict is tasty-- but as you said, this does not bode well in a living situation. I've done quite a few instances of close living with others for periods of time (camping, mainly), and with many types of people. Some chill and some not. And despite the not-chill ones being there and causing problems, those problems didn't happen all the time. When a group is so big, there comes a point where the members get along because they have to. Social pressure does a lot, but the shared existence does as well. No one is bad or mean all the time.

Now, murderers 'employed' by otherwordly beings is a different barrel of fish, of course. But we treat our crack seriously here. How good is your 'business' of your 'employees' are constantly yelling and beating the shit out of each other in front of the 'customers'? This isn't a Waffle House. It's a respectable manslaughter establishment. This is a Waffle Home.

And here I burst into tears and blubber nonsensically on the floor-- hearing someone say they like my interpretation of the Proxy trio dynamic makes my week. My month. My year. My goddamn lifetime.

"In reality, they're just a bunch a mentally ill men who find solace and peace with each other"

You!! You get it!! You see it!! My tears could replace the ocean. With all they've been through, everything they've seen and experienced together, the horrors they go through every day-- in the end they have each other. They rely on each other. They trust each other. They bicker and banter and argue and fight and after that they put each other back together. They help each other hold their broken pieces. Their relationship is messy and brutal and harrowing and so, so good. Companionship blooms on the battlefield. Devotion flows out the trenches. Fealty coats their bullets. It fills their bunks. It keeps them warm against the icy cold.

Okay, enough weeping.

The scene with Ben was quite important, in my eyes-- from what I remember, there hadn't been any sort of scene with the Proxies and the other's in their Family interacting (Jason isn't part of their Family, to be clear). It's an important scene because it's stage dressing. It shows you what goes on, expands upon the fanon-atypical characterization. To bring back the 'business' metaphor-- the Proxies are like supervisors. They take orders from management (their Lord). They must, then, be at the very least cordial with the workers (Shades) to keep the business operating. In my world, in my interpretation, they're all in the same boat. They're all trying to make it to the end of their shift. They have to work together, they're a team. So, at this point, when everyone's been coworkers for so long, everything just kind of mellows out. They've had their disagreements and arguments, there's been grudges, etc. But everything's chill now.

At least until the new hire arrives. Now that's certain to stir things up :]

Responding to your Crow headcanons wayyyy at the bottom:

1. This is an excellent one because I love trinkets and it's such a fun way to tie into the name symbolically. This is going into the character sheet for sure.

2. Memory is a complicated subject here, but I will say this plays in nicely with what is to come :]

(I'm also always, always rabid for thoughts about my book and it's characters, so feel free to lay more headcanons on me!)

---

As always, I write way too much. Answers to your (wonderful) questions under the readmore:

1. Not weird! There is a clear, overarching plot that builds throughout the book; the 'Acts' are essentially the more minor plot arcs that the characters will go through, the kind that flows into each other and both builds on themselves and that bigger plot behind them. Your examples are quite similar to what I'm thinking! Act 1 will be about Crow adjusting to their new life, yes, but also other things. The other acts, well... You'll see ;]

2. If I say nothing, that's almost like saying something, isn't it? ;]]

3. Resentment, yes, as well as curiosity, anger, eagerness, bitterness, and much more. Some of these feelings will change for the better, some worse. Crow will most certainly be compared to Kate-- they're her replacement, after all. Some won't care about that, and other's will be incredibly hurt.

4. A little bit of both-- Crow will retain parts of themself, and have to relearn many others. Some things will never quite come back, and some new parts will come to light. Think of yourself as you were a year ago. Are you the same? What about five years ago? It's a similar thing if you ignore all the eldritch-bullshit going on.

5. This is a liiiiiitle harder to answer than the others (genuine rant/discussion incoming. Sorry):

 I've been thinking on this exact thing for a long while. I don't really... Have a firm grasp on what romance is or looks like. When I first started this project my goal was for Crow to get all romantical with the Proxy trio (Masky, Hoodie, and Toby) because I thought I wanted them to kiss me on my hot mouth. That was like, seven to eight years ago. Not saying I don't want to mack on em still! Just that my personal life journey has meandered along until I had to take a good, long look at the story and wonder what I wanted it all to say in the end.

There's a lot of hard, heavy topics in Delirium. There's gonna be a lot more in Delusion. We're talking about severely mentally ill serial killers and Lovecraftian horrorterrors here-- it's gonna get pretty ugly. And as I've been pulling together the plot and writing the characters and constructing the end, and thinking about my own life, I realized something.

Romantic love is always placed on a pedestal. It's considered the final destination, the top of the pyramid. It's what everyone wants, what everyone needs to feel complete. To be complete. To be fixed and healed. Not only that-- it's what you should want and need. It's what should fix and heal you. And if you don't-- if it doesn't-- something is terribly, terribly wrong with you.

At least, that's the current zeitgeist (the defining spirit or mood of a particular period of history as shown by the ideas and beliefs of the time, thanks internet). But that's not really true, is it? It isn't the reality for a lot of people. It isn't for me.

I may be philosophizing and queer theory-ing a little too hard over a Creepypasta reader-insert fanfiction, but it's what I feel. For many real people, and for these characters, romantic love won't save them. It can't. But does one need to be saved? Does one need to be 'fixed' or 'made complete', especially by love? Who says they are broken, or incomplete in the first place? Is that what I really want to say here? Not really.

So there was no romance in Delirium. And if you (I'm using the non-specific, all encompassing you here) are hoping that there will be some in Delusion, I'm not sorry to say there won't be. Not in my opinion, at least. Because, really, there's gonna be parts in Delusion that people can construe as romantic. It's not necessarily un-romantic-- there's gonna be kissing, hand holding, cuddling, sharing clothes, making food for one another, sharing interests, sharing secrets, entwining lives inseparably, etc. Some can argue that these are actions reserved for romantic partners-- but I do all of these things with my friends. Others in real life do as well. What delineates romantic love from platonic love? Sex? Certainly not. People have sex with strangers they'll never see again. Are they in love? Friends with benefits exist. Are they in love? Some married people, when they grow old, stop having sex. Are they no longer in love? Some people don't have sex until after being married. Do they not love each other? Some people date for several months or years before having sex. Were they not in love until then?

Or, more importantly-- did they not care for each other until sex was put in the equation? I think that's something that is-- incorrectly-- tied to sex. That one does not actually care, or trust, until they have sex.

Do you not share your food with your friends? Your secrets? Do you not spend time with your friends? Go out to eat with them, see movies, play games? Do you not share your interests with them? Your art? The vulnerable, fragile sides of you? 

A cat shows you its belly. A dog stares at you, pressed as close to you as possible. A lizard closes its eyes as you watch it. A deer lowers its head to graze. A snail gently rasps its radula against your skin. A caterpillar inches across your finger. A mouse cleans itself in front of you. A crow brings you gifts.

How is that not trust? How is that not care? How is that not love?

I think it's one of the fatal flaws of reader-insert fanfiction. Generally people expect romance with these things. How do I, exactly, essentially, 'advertise' that Delirium and Delusion are an insert fic without an x or /? The ampersand (&) has been making its way through the general ecosphere, but I don't know how well it translates. I don't want to falsely advertise, but at the same time I don't want to miss readers who may genuinely like it, who will read and be satisfied in the end even if there's no true romance.

So, to finish: there will be no love interests. But the original vision stands: Crow will have a deep relationship with Masky, Hoodie, and Toby. They will be close to others as well (that may be spoilers, so I'm keeping it vague).

Thank you, again, for your words. For taking the chance and reading my work. I hope to make Delusion live up to your expectations <3

[bigtedbear]

Hi it's me 🍏 again the brain worms have consumed me and you will now be subjected to them. I am so sorry. But I'm glad you liked my idea!

Technically speaking, when I wrote that initial ask, I was thinking about voyeurism. Y'know... Thoma waking up in the middle of the night, maybe to take a piss, or maybe he had been awake all night, cleaning the reader's study and making sure everything was in place. Except he heard a noise.

And of course, like the little curious man he was, he went to check. I could be a monster, after all, and having a monster in his Lord's state? Absolutely not! No one of the Kamisato family would get hurt under his care.

But... As he made his way out of the study, towards the living room, treading silently over the wood flooring... Those were moans. And very high pitched, too... Had the same ring a very, very familiar voice, one he knew better than his own.

Keeping his steps light as a fox's, Thoma decided to take a peak at his superior's room. Just in case, y'know, perhaps Ayato was in pain? Just a little peak, through the small crack in the doo—

Oh.

Oh. Oh great Archon's. Instead of catching a glimpse of a pained Ayato, clutching as his stomach or head or something, Thoma's eyes were glued upon his Lord's shrieking figure, keening as the reader kept plunging into his ass over and over again, the blue haired man asking for more and more and more—

Thoma couldn't peel away his eyes. He was horrified. He was awfully hard. Thankfully the reader hadn't noticed his presence; the mindful husband he was, always focused on ensuring his partner's pleasure.

But Lord Kamisato? Oh, of course he noticed immediately, almond eyes snapping away from his beloved's face and focusing on the one green eye peeping into his room. It was then when the reader noticed something had changed, slowly bringing his hips into a stop, pouting slightly as Ayato seemed to be somewhere else entirely, before deciding to bring his attention back on him by doubling the speed of his thrusts, pushing relentlessly against his prostate while Ayato screamed lewdly.

It was only then Thoma could snap out of his stupor, running away as silently as he came.

And, for a couple days, he'd ignore what he had seen that night, even if looking at his Lord's face for too long only reminded him of how it twisted in pleasure, whining the reader's name at every second.

Until he found himself alone in his room, all the day's chores crashing down on him and gluing him to his bed. In one instant, he was putting on his pajamas, making himself cozy under the covers. The next, he was humping his pillow while two of his fingers curled up inside his asshole, thinking about how delectable Ayato looked that night, teary faced and with a sheet of sweat covering his pale skin.

But then his thoughts would drift to the reader. How powerful he seemed, how dominating, barely affected by the beautiful man under him; in complete control of how his hips moved and how his body would react. Thoma wanted a piece of that, too. He wanted that thick length to part him in two, even if Lord Kamisato's disappointed eyes stared at him while that happened.

Anyways I'm too lazy to actually finish this whole thing, but something something Ayato eventually confronts Thoma about being a peeping Tom (ha, peeping Thom if you will), they agree to not talk about it ever, Reader realizes "hey I'm getting too attached to a man that tried to kill one of my previous partners", completely blows off Ayato for a couple weeks...

Bada bing Bada bong! Reader comes home and finds Ayato slobbering over Thoma's dick to try and get him jealous. Ensue threesome were reader has two hot guys fighting over sucking his cock. Ayato is very possessive of course, while Thoma's switchy little ass is trying to not die from a heart attack.

Perhaps some double penetration??? Or Ayato getting spit roasted. Idk I didn't think that far ahead tbh... Maybe Ayathoma take turns on being fucked by the reader. Even Thoma sandwich... Ayato taking his dick while the reader absolutely plows his ass with some back shots. Very versatile scenario, tbh...

Again I'm so sorry for crashing in your ask box and dropping a hole as fanfic in here, especially since it's awfully long, but I'm very glad my little fantasy gave you an idea for your next fic! Ayathoma affair is real!!! — 🍏

I personally love the idea cause the kamisato ayato I know and love is a schemer at heart and nothing will take that away from me 🥳🥳

As of now, I'm handing over my laptop and my login details good sir 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

Depending on what the crowd wants out of the 300 follower special, it'll either be this or an mpreg fic

Currently though, this is what I'm leaning towards because it gets my brain juices flowing 😛😛

[onboardsorasora]

I don't normally post this late but I just finished writing this and Idk. I've had this idea banging around in my head and I wanted to write some Dewis. I hope it's good, if not, we can pretend it didn't happen 🫣🫣

Dewis Sleepwalking (potential 👀?) Au

Daniel bolted up in bed, he looked around quickly at the unfamiliar room. His chest heaved as he left the vestiges of the dream behind, it felt… too real. They always do when this happened. It was lucid dreaming on steroids and he wasn't always in control of what he did.

“It's cool, you're in my room Danny.” 

Daniel's eyes swung to the left side of the bed, his brain felt a little like molasses. Also normal. He looked at Lewis, confused but also apprehensive.

“Fuck, sorry mate.” Daniel rubbed his eyes and clambered out of the bed. Away from Lewis who sat up against the headboard scrolling through his phone. “You're very calm about this.”

“Max texted me.” Lewis locked his phone screen and grinned at his friend who looked spooked, for lack of a better word.

Daniel sighed and dragged his hand down his face. Of course, Max would have texted Lewis to warn him. How embarrassing.

“Mate, I'm so sorry.” Daniel groaned. This was not exactly how he hoped they would start their holiday. At least it didn't seem like Seb was awake yet.

“Danny it's fine.” Lewis insisted, he patted the empty side of the bed that Daniel had vacated, it was still warm.

Daniel was just about hoping the floor would swallow him whole. It was bad enough that he couldn't control it, but for Lewis to be one to witness it. At least with Seb, he knew he'd get a chuckle, a little teasing for a while. Before Seb would sit him down and pump him for information. 

He had no idea how Lewis would react, he was very particular about his space and who was in it. Daniel should know, he'd been trying to get one step closer for a little while now.

“So you sleepwalk.” Lewis said it with a shrug and a small smile. “Actually, I'm kinda glad Max texted me, cause seeing you standing in my doorway– asleep– could have been a little more terrifying, y'know?”

“Nah yeah, figure I looked like an axe murderer.” Daniel grinned a self deprecating slash of his teeth and mimicked stabbing the air with a knife. Daniel licked his teeth, stretching his lips over the expanse of them like he used to when he had braces.

They fell silent for a beat, Lewis watching Daniel with his keen brown eyes and Daniel looking anywhere but back at him. He needed to leave, he'd embarrassed himself enough for the day he felt.

“I'm just gonna…go.” Daniel pointed behind himself to the door. He scraped his teeth against the skin under his lip, feeling the grit of his stubble against the enamel.

“No, talk to me.” Lewis reached across the duvet, the space Daniel vacated was colder now, all his body heat already neutralized by the air conditioning.

“What do you want me to say?” Daniel groaned. It was always awkward around new people. It wasn't something he advertised, he had enough known issues with sleeping that he wasn't exactly trying to let everyone know that he also couldn't count on himself to stay in bed while he was at it. Max knew because, well that was unavoidable when you shared as many hotel rooms as they had, they created a system about it 

And now Lewis knew. But not because Daniel confided, but because sleep Danny decided  to walk down the hallway to apparently have a  cuddle with Lewis.

At least he had the decency to pull on the pyjama pants he had packed because he did not go to sleep in this.

“Wait– I came in here in these right? You didn't like see me bare assed and saved my modesty right?” Daniel asked suddenly with wide concerned eyes. 

Lewis blinked owlishly at him before dissolving into giggles. He took a moment or two to compose himself. Daniel laughed as well, because what else could he do, it truly was a ridiculous situation.

“Nah, you came here in that.” Lewis snorted, “so you're saying if I want a show I should come into your room? Noted.” He teased and Daniel laughed harder, a blush dusting his cheeks.

Tired of the distance, Lewis reached across the bed and grabbed Daniel's flailing arm and pulled him back onto the soft mattress. Daniel fell onto his side with a soft oof, he tried shifting backwards– to at least sit up– but Lewis' grip was like a cuff on his forearm. 

Daniel felt like his flesh was warm in that location only, the rest of him cold for Lewis' touch as well. He couldn't help but notice where their tattoos touched; grateful over love.

“Daniel. Talk to me, please.” Lewis asked quietly. Chocolate met honey and Daniel sighed, ready to give in. He gazed up at Lewis through his lashes, eyes roving over his smooth skin, the moles and freckles on his cheeks and his perfect lips.

“I sleepwalk, have for years. Being in a new place tends to trigger it, so I normally like bring shit from home that's familiar so I don't go off the rails in every hotel room. We got in too late last night so I just crashed.”

Lewis swiped his thumb soothingly along Daniel's skin as he listened. brushing the hairs on the back of his arm flat, just missing the tip of the rose.

“Why did you come here?” Lewis asked softly.

“I dunno Lew.” Daniel groaned and threw his other arm over his eyes so it didn't feel like he was baring his soul. So Lewis wouldn't see his soul was already bared. Why else would he come here unconsciously?

They were quiet again as Lewis waited patiently, he didn't stop his stroking.

Daniel sighed gustily, realizing he wasn't going anywhere until he gave Lewis what he wanted.

“Because I was looking for comfort and I– I knew you were here.” Daniel clenched his jaw and his fist to keep from doing something silly like get defensive and lash out in his embarrassment. This wasn't Lewis’ problem, it was his.

“So why didn't you go to Seb?” Lewis sounded confused, Daniel could imagine the furrow in his perfect brow, one braid coming loose from his bun to hang in his face.

Well that was the question of the hour, wasn't it? The answer wasn't one Daniel wanted to give, he wanted to keep it hoarded in his chest, behind his ribs. Safe and unknown to the world, especially Lewis.

Lewis' other hand grabbed Daniel's arm that kept him blinded, he tugged and before he knew it, Daniel was arrested by warm brown eyes leaning over him. God Lewis was beautiful.

Lewis' eyes crinkled and Daniel felt cold with the knowledge that he'd most likely used his outside voice. Lovely.

Lewis opened his mouth to say something when the door opened after two perfunctory knocks. They both froze and Seb walked in, two cups of coffee in his hands, hair a nest of bedraggled curls.

“Lew have you seen– oh. Morning.” His accent was thicker in the mornings. Daniel sprung off of the bed and dragged a hand through his own curls.

“Morning Seb. I'm.. Just gonna go.” Daniel didn't look at any of them specifically, before doing an awkward finger snap and gun gesture and leaving quickly. They could hear his door close soundly at the end of the hallway.

“What did I miss?” Seb’s wide eyes flickered between Lewis– who now lay across the bed, his head pressed where Daniel's had been– and the empty hallway. Lewis groaned.

Part 2

[tori-isss-dying]

how did i get here? autistic burnout turned into depression and then how tf did that spiral to here? i am insane. i'm fully fucking insane. bpd, ocd, cptsd, eating disorders, psychosis the list never fucking ends why can't i die? like actually i'm crazy i'm gonna end up hurting someone, i don't want to hurt anyone. there's so many things going on in my brain and body at once that i fully don't exist in reality at all anymore, i'm only in my head and i can't escape, none of this is fixable no one can fix me, no one, i don't open up ican't open up everyone will leave no one actually likes anyone it's a ll fucking fake all of ot's fake you're all fake idk what to do none is coming to save me no one i'm stuck in my head alone i caan;t get out help me my perpective of people and honestly everything is so unbelievably fucked i genuinely think everyone's just a character idk how to react when ppl interact with me bc i'mnnot used to people wanting me they don't want me they like peole pleasing me no one has ssen me they see watered down me if they saw me theyd be running in a fucking heartbeat im going crazy and there's too much blood everywhere and i can't move my arm i don't want to live i can't live this is so not normal it's so not normal to view the world like this my erspective is so paranoid and just awful idk what to do it's like im in my thoughts and i cant say anything or interact right because that would be masking and i have to be me otherwise it's not me they like it's fake but if i'm me then im insane so i fall iito this weird middle gorund where im only slightly a person only slightly have beliefs only slightly have opinions that's how you get them to stop judging your every move and getting mad at you when you do nothing wrong you can't do anything wrong if you do just slightly more than nothing cause fuck knows if im not half here then im not here at all

[symptoms-syndrome]

I feel like. A big part of why I don't tend to get along with a lot of other autistic people is my own trauma, which is unfair to them but like. IDK what to do about it so I just sort of sit there in discomfort feeling like I'm being ableist.

To be more specific, I was raised with a lot of rules. I went to finishing classes and was trained to sit up straight say the right things do the right things don't speak out of turn always be polite etc etc etc. And autistic brains tend to love rigid rules I think. Because I definitely latched on. Having a very clear set of rules for social interactions is like. A godsend for someone who struggles so so hard with that sort of thing.

The problem is, a lot of other people don't follow that ruleset. So while I can be a smoothly operating gear within the machine of "polite society," I'm just sort of. A loose, weird thing among regular people.

What stresses me out, I might even say trigger me, is when people are "rude." I'm not sure if they're actually being rude or not, but that's the first thing that my brain comes up with for this kind of behavior. Talking over others, talking about inappropriate/uncomfortable topics, talking too loud, not giving the right body language. It sets off little alarm bells in my brain. And I feel really bad about it, and I feel really bad about how judgemental I can be sometimes about it, and I feel really bad about how it makes me feel. But it makes me feel panic!!!

Like. For example, when we were interviewing for roommates, my brother kept sort of? Pacing? Or doing his own sort of thing away from the rest of us? And it kept. Setting off alarm bells. You're being rude! You seem unhappy to be interviewing! You seem uninterested!!!

Ugh. It's frustrating. I wish I could react to things other autistic people do normally or with more compassion. I try my hardest I really do. It's just really triggering sometimes and when I'm triggered it can be hard to not respond with a panic response. Though I don't really act on it often. Just feelings. It depends on the behavior. I just wish I either fit with other autistic people or fit with neurotypical people. I fit with neurotypical people...okay. but I really struggle to connect with a lot of other autistic ppl IRL. Not even bringing in the fact my experiences are wildly different from a lot of people I know who are (low support, late diagnosed, "quiet") autistics.

[cornistasiathecoblinking]

Dealing with some rejection dysphoria lately.

I started taking an antidepressant last month (after years of barely managing) and it's been helping me cope. I mean, I still feel like I have a black hole in my chest that just consumes everything positive around me. But, I mean, I have been coping better, at least. So that's a positive! My brain doesn't feel like it's full of static as much as it used to.

But it's... still very, very hard.

I try to keep a tight grasp on my feelings. I try to not project them onto others because I know exactly how that feels and the curse must end with me. No one else is responsible for me.

I have 30 years of unlearning to do. Two emotionally immature, unstable people with untreated PSTD who always projected the responsibility and management of their mental health onto me, their child.

And here I am, at 34, and just... still feeling like I'm always tiptoeing around buried landmines. Waiting for one misstep, letting my mask slip slightly, allowing myself to be distracted just enough once and say the wrong thing, or not reacting the right way and thus triggering an explosion of how I did "this" or "that" wrong. How I'm just terrible and ungrateful and how I'm rejecting them and their attempts at being "good people."

And I just freeze and can't breathe. I want desperately to tell them, "If you are so good then why are you treating me like this?!"

It's just... the lack of self-awareness and accountability that kills me. To see the correlation between how you treat people and how they eventually pull away because, hey, guess what Asshole! People actually don't want to hear about how much they suck day in and day out over every perceived slight!

Or maybe they are self-aware and just... don't care? Idk. All I ever heard was, "I can treat you this way because I earned it!" as if fighting in a war, gives you a get-out-of-jail-free card.

Newsflash! It does not! Your Trauma doesn't give you free rein to treat everyone around you like garbage!

It's taken me years of untying these knots from my brain and I feel that I am "better" in a way, but I still have a specific trigger when the other party just... refuses to engage in any meaningful way. To let the conversation die. To ignore, talk over or change the subject on me in midsentence without any form of consideration for me or my time or my interest, or my feelings.

And I know that for the most part, it's not intentional! But... when I tell you "This specific thing you do hurts me" and you just... *breathes*

Believe me when I say that I am... painfully aware when I am not liked. I can see it in their faces when I look at them. I can hear it in their tone when they talk at me. I can see it in their writing when I am trying to make conversation and their body language tells me that they would rather be anywhere else but around me.

And then to blow me off like it's my problem (which, essentially, it is) only to act wounded when I eventually stop wanting to talk to you, to hang out with you, to allow myself to be subjected to that sort of open disregard of me.

...

I think my dad has gotten better at talking to me. He still has a LOT to work on, but he actually does try to communicate with me and have a conversation and not just let.... it die right there on the vine. But it's still hard.

I want to take my dad by the shoulders and tell him,

"Thank you for changing. Thank you for trying to be better. And I am trying, but I still can't find it in my heart to forgive you after the way you and Mom treated me; like I'm just used furniture that you don't know what to do with but can't throw out because one day you might find a use for it. Like I don't matter and never will matter. Like I've never been worth knowing."

I think that is essentially what my problem comes down to: I don't believe I am worth knowing.

Telling my spouse all of this was hard. "All my life I believed, to my very core, that I am difficult and unlovable. When you spend your life feeling this way it's so hard to unlearn it. I am trying though. Somedays are so much harder than others."

It still is hard. But it's a work in progress, right?