#survivor returning to abuser

[mako-ink]

Farrah’s event spoilers//

Okay, so I finished her event yesterday and while I keep finding these events that don’t progress the overall story to have become bland/old, especially the events with poorer pacing and writing that feels like it treats the viewer almost like a child (basically telling everything not like an actual narrative with natural dialogue) I VERY VERY VERY much like how in the perceived good ending, Farrah finds out what her mother did and never forgives her.

As a person who grew up abused by their own mother, always hearing people say “well she’s your mother, you should forgive her” it always feels like a breath of fresh air when I see fictional characters denounce the parents that were meant to protect them, even if Farrah’s mother had good intentions she must have known eventually what was going on. There’s no excuse really otherwise. I’m glad there was the choice to look further, deeper into Farrah and her mother and find out hey, maybe this person failed terribly as a parent but didn’t really show any true effort to apologize or make up for the possible years of torture Farrah went through. There really isn’t any kind of apology that can be forgiven in that instance, and Farrah doesn’t owe a relationship or forgiveness to her mom.

I don’t know, stories that criticize bad parents has always hit very close to home, forgiving your abuser in my opinion is never a good route to go not only in a writing sense but also for my own mental health, I would never submit myself to forgiveness to make my abusers feel better about what they did to me. In short Farrah event has a decent moral perspective.

[rosalinesurvived]

Having very very shitty Griffin Callenreese thoughts again. His name is going to utterly dissappear. Literally nobody knows him. Nobody could think of him, even Max as he tries will mourn for a man he scarcely knew for longer than he knew him. Literally just tried to support his brother in his shitty family with an abusive father, got turned into a lab rat and got brutally murdered by a man who he was kind to. Out of all people Abraham could have viciously hurt like that he chose Griff, who meant no harm, who was "the only one who didn't bully him" Griffin was never cruel to anyone and this is the lot he gets.

[lesbianasukalangleysoryu]

to my star 2 my brain is on FIRE

[xwritingdixonx]

Is It Better To Speak or To Die? | Daryl Dixon |

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Masterlist

Summary: After being rescued from Woodbury by Rick's group, you struggle with living a "normal" life in the walls of the prison. The trauma's inflicted on you at the hands of the Govenour drag you to the deepest depths. A certain archer is the onyl one who can drag you back out.

Warnings: slow burn, language, smoking, grief, depression, talk of body scars, implied smut, implied past abuse, Governor (enough said)

Word Count: aprox. 10k

Era: Prison, Alexandria.

Song Recommendation: Cinnamon Girl - Lana Del Ray, Would That I - Hozier

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The survivors of Woodbury had called The Prison “home” for only a week. The war and downfall of the Governor and Woodbury were still fresh in everyone’s gut, though others were making themselves comfortable very quickly. You were not. It was such an irony to you. Taking shelter in a prison as if this world wasn’t a prison. As if the traumas of the past year of survival didn’t hold you by your throat. Your own mental prison.

The bowl you held still warmed your hands. Though you knew no appetite arose in your stomach, you still took the bowl Carol offered just to be polite. Standing alone, your back leaned against the support beam of the gazebo all the benches sat under for meals. You had been a part of Woodbury...but you certainly hadn’t been a part of the community. Not near the end at least.

Most people steered clear of you. Avoiding your tired hardened eyes and threatening gazes. Avoiding the tenseness in your persona. Completely removing themselves from the possibility of having an interaction with the emotionless shell you had become. Others were compassionate, showing you any empathy they could bear. You’d get a polite head nod and warm smile occasionally, though you never returned it.

In Woodbury, no one asked questions, they talked and gossiped amongst one another but never bothered. But at the prison, you were new. Fresh meat. So in turn, you had your fair share of stares and whispers from Rick’s group.

Carol had become your latest bother. In the mornings, just like today, people would slowly make their way to line up for their share of breakfast. Your desire was to simply come out in the crisp morning air and smoke a cigarette, attempting to forget the night of terrors you encountered when you closed your eyes. You’d be sure to isolate yourself a bit away so the smoke didn’t bother anyone’s morning. But Carol simply wouldn’t accept it.

The last few days she’d noticed the lack of breakfast passing your lips. You’d smoke a cigarette and then wait to eat a proper meal for dinner. Reminding her of another certain someone.

She couldn’t make you line up and wait like everyone else. She couldn’t make you come and sit at a table and be social. So, she’d make you your own bowl and walk it over to you, giving you a polite smile, and then walk away. She did this for the past 3 days, catching onto your pattern early on.

“How’s she doing?” Rick drawled as Carol handed him his own bowl of powdered eggs and steamed potatoes. “Can bring a horse to water but you can’t make ‘em drink.” Carol joked back, Rick nodded in response and thanked her for his bowl.

Rick had been keeping an eye on you ever since you’d arrived. Unlike most of Woodbury, who willingly came running out to be rescued, you were found by Rick. The door to the room he found you in had been locked from the outside.

Everything he found out about you from that point had been from the mouths of others. You hadn’t even used words to tell him your name, he had been told by someone else. “Morning.” Rick greeted Daryl who was already almost finished his own breakfast, “Mornin’.” He stood with Daryl, neither of the men having time to sit with all the plans to improve the prison.

Daryl followed Rick’s gaze, noticing the way Rick seemed to be lost in thought. When the gaze ended on you, Daryl scoffed. “Figured that one out yet?” He asked, shoving a spoon of egg in his mouth. “Not yet.” Daryl had tried himself to scramble for puzzle pieces of you but had no success. You didn’t talk. Not a word, not even a whisper. There was a part of him that was intrigued by you, a part of him that wanted to dissect. But there was the other part that told him to mind his business.

“Good morning.” Riley begins to pass by, greeting Rick and Daryl. If the term Southern Bell was a person, that would be Riley. Blonde hair, dark emerald eyes, sweet smile, curvy in all the right places, and a smooth southern drawl. Smooth and sweet, nothing like your jagged sharp edges. Riley had been brought in with the Woodbury group and quickly made herself useful in running her mouth…but also in learning medical. “Morning.” Riley’s green eyes darted in the direction the men were looking. Because how dare their attention be on anyone but her.

“I feel so bad for her…” She commented, putting herself into their conversation. Rick and Daryl both gave each other a glance. Rick wanted to know about you from you. Not from the gossip and storytelling of others. “I swear it’s like her mouth was sewn into a frown when Jackson died.” Riley actually looked quite empathetic when she said this. “Who was that?”

“Her twin brother.”

Rick took a pause from eating his breakfast to let this new information marinate into his brain. Though neither of them asked for it, Riley continued. “When they first got to Woodbury, everything was fine. But then the Governor wanted Y/n to be one of his soldiers.” Using air quotations at the word soldiers.

“Y/n refused over and over. One night, Governor took Y/n and Jackson for a walk outside of Woodbury’s walls and Jackson didn’t come back…Governor said he got bit but…” Riley’s words trailed off as she looked at your stone-like features. “Y/n joined him after that…some people thought he killed Jackson and used it to force her to.” Her tone was uneasy as if the Governor would come to get her if she dared speak of it.

Or maybe she was more afraid of you.

“After that, I mean..” Riley scoffed dramatically and tried to ease the tension with a laugh, “I-I shouldn’t be talking about this anyway.” She gave the men a sheepish smile before swiftly walking away, joining a full table.

"Forgot how much people love to gossip huh?"

"Hmm," Daryl hummed in response. Rick took Daryl's empty bowl and stacked it on his own. "Gonna go give Judy her breakfast, alright?" As he nudged Daryl with his elbow, Daryl responded with a hum that was accompanied by a nod.

Daryl had learned the art of minding his business a long time ago. He didn't want people in his...so why pry into others?

You had finished your cigarette and smushed it into the concrete under your boot, now aimlessly poking around in the texture of the oatmeal. Carol frequently cooked her oatmeal for a tad too long and with too much liquid, giving it a mushy, snot like texture. It gave you another reason to skip out on breakfast but you at least wanted to try.

Daryl watched as you took a bite from the bowl. You moved around the food in your mouth, chewing slowly. The texture on your tongue was enough to turn you away. You looked in the direction of the bench where all of the younger children sat. Some talking with food still in their mouths. Their chattering stopped when they saw you approach like a dark gloomy cloud threatening rain.

Without saying a word, you placed your bowl in front of Patrick, offering him your share. Behind his thick glasses, he looked at the bowl then at you, and smiled. “Thanks Y/n.” You replied with a nod and walked away. Patrick was one of the few people from Woodbury who was consistently kind to you. He was always polite and never treated you any differently. You had actually heard him defend your name more than once. Perhaps he was just too young to feed into it but it was an act that didn’t go unappreciated by you.

And your act towards Patrick hadn’t gone unnoticed by Daryl. It wasn’t as if you had saved his life but you could’ve thrown your share away. Snuck over to the pig's pen and scraped it in. Instead, you gave it to a child.

Daryl would be lying to himself if he said he wasn't intrigued by you. He had never been intrigued by anyone in his life, though he couldn't deny the itch that was the mystery of you.

Two mornings after that one, Daryl had woken up particularly early. Readying himself to go outside the fences. There was a steady whisper amongst his friends the true reason he wondered out of the safety of the prison walls. The thought of The Governor still being alive haunted Daryl’s mind as it did the others. But no one would do what he did nearly every morning. No one except you.

Not many were typically up at this hour. The sun had barely risen and the morning air was still chilly from the night. When Daryl walked out into the courtyard, he didn’t expect to see you. He knew you were typically up earlier than others but not as early as him, not on days like this. You sat on the top of a picnic bench, feet planted where someone would typically sit. You faced away from Daryl but he could see the puff of smoke that typically followed you.

He could tell you weren’t in your typical nature. Despite the circumstances, you typically kept yourself put together. You wore a black long-sleeve fitted to your body and a pair of old gray sweatpants. Your hair was untamed and frizzy, having not been brushed yet. What had you up this early? What had you out of your cell so disheveled? And obviously, in such a rush?

The drag of the cigarette burned the back of your throat. It wasn’t as if you actually enjoyed smoking them. They tasted bad, itched your throat, and the smoke made your eyes water. But it felt as if holding them stopped your hands from shaking so badly every morning. It didn’t. But you’d keep lying to yourself and saying it did. You had woken up from another devilish dream, jolting you awake with a rapid heart and heavy breathing.

Typically you’d sit on the edge of your bed, head in your hands until your heart rate returned to normal. But on this particular morning, you couldn’t sit any longer in those walls, feeling the tightness of their build.

“Mornin.” He greeted you. What was he doing? Why was he even over here? Daryl’s mind ran with thoughts and questions as he awkwardly disrupted your own running mind.

You glanced over at him, your eyebrows furrowing with confusion. Someone disrupting you at this time wasn’t expected. As soon as Daryl saw the harsh glare hit your features, he regretted his decision. He didn’t know what to say to you or what he was doing. Both of your heads turned at the sound of a door shutting, Carol lugging a big pot over to the serving table.

“Carol’s gonna start setting up soon…if ya wanna get outta here.” Your eyes followed Carol for a second before meeting Daryl’s.

Daryl had never seen you face to face, he’d never even spoken a word to you. Your initial glare wore off your face and you gave Daryl a single nod, standing up from the bench. Daryl caught his bottom lip and nervously chewed at it. “M’going…out” Daryl pointed in the direction of the woods, “If ya wanna come.” You glanced between Daryl and the woods and thought for a second before giving him a proper nod.

“Alright. I’ll wait for ya at the gate with my bike.”

It didn’t take long for you to meet Daryl. You’d switched your pants out with jeans and your bare feet with boots. Accompanied with your backpack and a pair of fingerless gloves to fight the chilly morning. You had obviously run a comb through your hair as well.

Daryl appreciated the space you gave him on the bike. You sat an inch or two back, your arms loose around him. Typically when people rode with him they held on tight, maybe a little too tight and too close for Daryl’s comfort, but you didn’t. A steady routine had been built between you and the archer after that morning. Along with a growing friendship.

Carol had picked up on this growing routine. By the fourth day, she began waking up even earlier, packing both of you lunches and a snack as if she were a mother sending her children to school.

The first few days your silence made Daryl uneasy. But soon, he actually began to enjoy your company. He even enjoyed your silence. It came in handy when he was tracking a deer or bunny.

The two of you had created your own language of looks, touches, and whistles. One morning you had gotten separated from Daryl while tracking and the song of the whistle was born.

The once colorful leaves were now a dirty brown and crunched awfully loud when you stepped on them. The early Fall months were slowly becoming even colder which meant being on the lookout for anything edible became far more important. Especially meat. Daryl had begun to teach you how to track on your own, which meant the two of you could cover more ground on the same hunt.

Your footsteps were steady and quiet, your eyes trained on the consistent tussle of the leaves. There was a specific herd of deer that had been on Daryl’s radar that he’d spotted a few mornings ago. Daryl walked a few feet behind you, checking that the tracks you eyed were accurate.

The leaves began to blend together, and the steady path you found was now lost from your sight. You kneeled down and dug the leaves away from the ground hoping the tracks would be embedded in the dirt. But the ground was too cold and dense to be marked with anything. It was when you turned to face Daryl and accept your defeat that he was no longer there.

A sense of panic seized through you. Your eyes scanned around the surrounding tree lines for a sign of his silhouette but you saw none. You’re fine, you told yourself, but the comfort Daryl’s presence provided was now gone and you were beginning to spiral. You didn’t know these woods well and you didn’t know your way back to the prison from here.

Out of sheer desperation, you brought your lips together and let out a two-tone whistle. You gave it a second of silence and just as you were about to repeat, a long one-tone whistle replied back. Daryl quickly came back through an opening in the trees looking as if he had run back to you. His eyes were filled with panic. “Ya alright?” You nodded, seeing him again immediately put you at ease. “M’sorry. Found the tracks, they go off this way.”

Daryl spent a lot of time studying you. It wasn’t intentional…but he couldn’t help but pay attention to every detail. He knew when something was on your mind by the way you dazed off more or the more cigarettes you smoked. Or the way you fiddled with the sleeves of your shirts and jackets. He understood the different expressions on your face and what every one of them meant. You expressed yourself a lot through your eyebrows and eyes. No matter what expression, your eyes were always filled with such sadness. You never smiled. Even on days when Daryl felt good and felt as if he was going to have some major breakthrough, you never did.

Daryl enjoyed what he’d built with you over these last few months but his mind and body were becoming restless. He yearned for you, he yearned to know you. It was like being covered head to toe in mosquito bites. And then someone tying your hands so you’d never be able to scratch them. He wanted to hear your voice and he wanted to see you smile. He told himself that if he ever got to hear you laugh, he’d start praying and going to the prison chapel.

He realized he’d never even seen your teeth before, though it was an odd thought, it would be added to the pile of things that itched and irritated.

Then there were the other thoughts. The bites that itched but also ached and throbbed. He wanted you to sit closer to him on the bike and he wanted your arms tight around his torso. He wanted to hold your hands and stop them from shaking in the morning. He wanted to keep you close after running away from a hoard.

Daryl had spent his time dissecting you like a frog in science class.

Now, he had grown impatient of dissecting. He’d never wanted anyone how desperately he wanted you. You were his sweet tooth craving, you were his stomach-decaying hunger, and you were his fucking mosquito bite. But despite all of Daryls itches and desires, he'd never try to change you. He'd never push you out of the comfort of your silence though he would always be waiting.

The time spent with Daryl had put a piece of you at ease. You’d had grown a special attachment while Daryl had practically sewn you to his hip. The only time you weren’t with him was when it came time to shower or sleep.

You met Daryl every morning at the gate, ready to go wandering amongst the trees or scavenging. Some day's you made it back in time to catch lunch together. Especially if you had an early morning catch and had to get back before the meat went rancid. Most days, you'd find a quiet and safe spot to eat the lunch Carol packed and made it back to the prison before sunset and dinner.

There was peace in this routine...but you couldn't live in this routine forever. There were other duties that needed attention around the prison. The early morning adventures had become less but the time together never changed.

When you weren't enjoying the company of Daryl, you enjoyed the company of the garden. And when it was too late in the day for either of those things, you read books about the garden and thought about Daryl. You learned what crops could be grown in the winter and then looked for their seeds in old gardening stores...with Daryl.

Some, Most, Every night you thought of him. You thought of all the things he'd taught you, of his patience with you, and all the stories he told to fill the air. He'd tell you stories of him and Merle. You wanted to tell him that you knew Merle. That when the Governor locked you away, Merle would come visit you and sneak you food. That he was kind to you despite being such a prick to everyone else.

But no matter how much time and peace Daryl provided, the nightmares never left you. You still woke up with shaky hands and a racing mind and memories of your brother. Although you did cut the habit of reaching for a cigarette. Mainly because your pack was running low and it was becoming impossible to find any more.

Unknowing to you, Daryl had been finding them while scavenging and hiding them in spots you didn't look.

You grabbed the carrot at its very base and pulled it from the soft dirt, a soft snap following. The gloves that kept your fingers from freezing were covered in mud and bits of green. It had rained in the night which made the ground perfectly soft to harvest produce. So, instead of going out this morning, you and Daryl were in the gardens. Well, Daryl followed you to the gardens and wouldn't leave.

"This one alright?" Daryl held up a cabbage with his own gloved hand only a few feet away. You glanced over and gave him a approving nod. He tossed it into the basket that already held a mixture of carrots, celery, and fresh herbs for Carol's cabbage soup.

Carol had become less of a bother to you. In fact, you'd actually created a swift routine with her. You read and researched the books about plants and gardening while she read the ones about cooking. You were the farmer while she got to play Martha Stewart.

"How's it going you two?" Rick and Carol approached the gardens with a little extra pep in their step. The rain fall had made this winter day chillier which meant everyone was bundling up and multiple fires were lit in the courtyard and cell blocks for warmth. "S'alright!" Daryl shouted as he fought with a carrot that seemed to be deep rooted in the ground. From your kneeling position on the ground, you watched Daryl with amusement as he struggled. You would’ve thought that carrot was as big as a egg plant with all his pull and tug.

“You got it Pookie?” Carol teased, Rick and her both getting their own dose of amusement. “M’fine.” With one last pull, the carrot popped from the dirt. “Ya gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’” Daryl held up the carrot, it was about the size of his thumb. You heard Rick and Carol have their own set of laughter, “Maybe you should stick to huntin’ those deer.” Rick said between a few chuckles. Daryl scoffed and tossed the baby carrot into the basket, as he kneeled down to continue picking, he caught your expression.

It was so small he could’ve missed it but he didn’t and he was so glad he hadn’t. You looked back down towards the dirt, a smirk tugging up the corners of your lips and poking your cheeks, dimpling them. For a second, it felt as if someone had punched Daryl in the chest. But it was there just as fast as it was gone.

From that moment on, Daryl wanted nothing more than to feel that again…as did you. You felt foolish. There was this awful gnawing inside you that was telling you every day what you already knew within your heart. He was chipping away at every wall you’d built up and beginning to break down the wall to a very soft spot of you. You had begun to feel like a turtle removed from its shell. Mushy, sensitive, and vulnerable. Gross.

"Hey Y/n!" The youngest Greene girl greeted. The community of the prison had begun to warm up to you. They no longer avoided you like the plague opting to actually say "hello" or "good morning" or maybe even a "goodnight." It had become very well known the closeness Daryl and you held and if people knew, people talked.

You looked up from your current book to Beth standing in the doorway of your cell clutching a small pile of tan books to herself. "Can I..come in?" She awkwardly shuffled her feet farther in and adjusted the books, you nodded. Beth let the curtain that covered your doorway drop and happily took a seat on your bed. You sat up straight and set your book of, Wildflowers Of All Seasons, on the bed beside you. While you adjusted yourself, Beth seemed to be studying your room.

It was more decorated than she had imagined. Your cell was on the upper level, one down from Daryl's. You had a very small wooden nightstand beside your bed that had various half-melted candles. Their wax dripped down the sides and embedded itself into the wood. On the wall across from your bed stood a very slim wooden table.

It was decorated with different trinkets and bottles you'd scavenged, a zippo lighter, and a stack of your growing book collection. Shoved underneath was a wire basket that held all your clothes. Your only 2 pairs of boots and bookbag sat beside it. Your everyday black, fleece-lined jacket was hung off the pole of your bed.

"I found these in the library and thought you might like them." Beth laid out the books on your bed, making it a point to show you every single one of them. Peterson - Field Guide to... They all read. They were very small and slim, a pale shade of tan, with various illustrations on the front pertaining to the title. Perfect to slip into your bag.

"I thought they'd be nice for you to carry when you go out in the mornings." Beth watched as you examined each book, "I wanted to grab them for you before anyone else found 'em." Beth held a very innocent hopeful smile the whole time she spoke to you but your silence was causing her to become uneasy. You picked up a specific one, Field Guide to Animal Tracks. You looked up at the girl and gave her a thin-lipped smile to show your appreciation.

A wide smile formed on her face and she left with a very sweet "Goodnight."

Glenn relieved Daryl from watch tower duty later than expected. It had to of been close to midnight when he got back to his cell. As he walked by your cell, he carefully peeled back your green curtain to check on you. You were a restless sleeper, Daryl heard you almost every night tossing and turning or waking up with a jolt.

Most of your features were concealed by the darkness but from what was visible, you appeared to be in a peaceful sleep. There was a veil of softness to you when you slept. A softness and calmness that never graced you during waking hours. He knew it wouldn’t last very long but he wanted to ensure that at least right now, you were okay. But he could not stand and watch all night. He felt creepy enough.

Daryl noticed the little tan book sitting on his bed as soon as he pulled back his curtain. The moonlight slightly gleamed off the sleek shiny cover. Field Guide to Animal Tracks. As Daryl flipped the book open to its title page, he felt his ears and cheeks warm up. Thankfully the darkness concealed his cheeky smile.

To Daryl. Not like you need it. - Y/n.

The group of deer that Daryl had spotted a month ago was still high on his radar. Though he still had yet to actually catch any of them.

The cabbage soup was still hot in your thermal, emitting a cloud of steam when you popped off the lid. You and Daryl sat in each other's company in your typical spot. A large tree had fallen down just at the entrance to a clearing in the woods providing a perfect resting spot. Had it been Spring or Summer you could only imagine the beauty of the green scenery. But this cold winter didn't provide much besides dry grounds, barren trees, and a frozen pond.

There was a peaceful silence that settled, as it always did. You both ate your soups and turned the pages of your books. Surprisingly, Daryl had actually learned a good bit from the book you gifted and he thoroughly enjoyed it.

"Ask ya something'?" You broke your concentration from your book and looked to Daryl. "Ya know why I started coming out here in the first place, right?"

You took a second to think before hesitantly nodding. "Ya never said anything." Daryl truly never understood why. He never hid it from you but still, you never asked questions. You didn't ask what the notes were on all the maps he had, never asked where you were going, or when you'd be back. But he always knew that you knew he wasn't just hunting deer, he was hunting the governor. "What would ya do...? If you ever got to him?"

Perhaps Daryl had pushed too far. Your head snapped back down to your book, though Daryl knew you weren't actually reading anymore. Your eyes were out of focus and your lips formed a frown. You had never taken the time to think about it. You just knew you wanted him to suffer.

Daryl hadn't spoken another word to you since lunch knowing he had poked at a very sensitive subject. "Wait here a second," Daryl said just as you made it back to his bike. He jogged back into the tree line leaving you sitting on the bike, awaiting his return. Daryl returned soon after, a cluster of bright yellow daffodils in hand. You gave him a puzzled glance but as he held out his hand and said, for you, you felt the urgency to cry. Your nose burning up with tingles and your eyes becoming glazed.

"Thought ya might like 'em, I saw them in your book earlier." Your hand gently took them from Daryl's and you stood still. Very still.

Daryl awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. "They're uh...daffodils, right? Start bloomin' late January into March?" He had secretly been sneaking reads of your books over your shoulder. It was so fast it startled him. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him into you, every muscle in his body stiffened. Daryl was reluctant to hug you back but he gave into his heart and gently laid his arms around your torso. The large jackets you both wore proved to be a barrier from feeling the true touch of the other.

“Thank you.” Your words were raspy and just above a whisper. Had you not been so close, Daryl probably would’ve missed them. “Course.” His words were mumbled against your shoulder, not wanting to make a big deal. A low groan in the distance disrupted your short moment of peace, telling you it was about time to go.

The sun was beginning to set when Daryl’s bike rode up the gravel path to the prison. The smell of a brewing soup hit your nose as the two of you began to walk closer to the dining area. “Find a table, I gotcha.” Daryl’s hand lingered on your shoulder for a second longer than it typically did. Despite wearing such a thick layer of clothes, it was as if you could still feel his touch. Even after he was already at the serving table striking up a conversation with Carol.

You sat your pack down at the usual table. It was farthest to the left, farthest away from all the other tables. “Mind if we join you?” Glenn asked, he and Maggie both holding a steaming bowl. Just as you were about to take your own seat, a loud chuckle sounded snapping you around.

“Oh come on Y/n.” Two men had been walking past on their way to fetch their own dinners. You recognized them, they were commonly on wall duty at Woodbury. The taller one motioned to the flowers that poked out from the front pocket of your jacket. “You can’t be serious.” You could feel your heart drop to the very pit of your stomach. It was as if your body was preparing you for the merciless mocking that was sure to come.

“You’re telling me the Governor’s number one soldier is walking around with flowers in her pockets?”

Stop.

You wanted to say but the words became a ball in your throat. Your eyes darted off to the side. All of a sudden, you didn’t know where to look or what to do with your hands or how to stand properly on your feet. You knew the truth behind their “jokes”.

You are not soft. You are not delicate. You are not loveable.

“The hell are ya doin?” Daryl had practically appeared out of thin air, putting himself between you and the men. You saw this as an opportunity to make an escape for your cell block.

“We were just teasing man. We were friends in Woodbury, just joking around.” They still had slimy smirks on their faces that only poked Daryl even more.

Daryl was fuming. “Didn’t look like she was fucking laughin’.” He took a step closer. “She never fucking laughs!” Before Daryl could unleash his fiery rage, Rick intervened. Rick beckoned Daryl to walk away, mumbling that everyone was looking. “Hell if I care.” Daryl snapped swinging his arm in the air. He turned on his boot and snatched up your pack that you’d left behind before going off to find you.

Daryl hadn’t found you in any of your traditional spots. He checked your cell, the library, the garden, and even the showers. He asked everyone he walked past if they’d seen you but no one had, it was as if you just vanished. And the thought of that was throwing Daryl into a deep pit.

The prison chapel had been restored and decorated by Carol to be used for the grieving prison folk. She had put as many candles as possible on a long wooden table. They had been burned and replaced so frequently that the wax dripped down the sides of the table and dropped dots on the floor. There were many different pictures of lost family members or lovers littering the table…it was quite depressing truthfully. The glow of the candles lit up the room and cast an orange glow on your sad features.

You didn’t look at Daryl as he sat down beside you.

“Didn’t know you were religious.”

“I’m not.”

It was an odd thing…to hear you speak so openly but Daryl wasn’t opposed. “I just…” Your voice was hoarse and low, as low as a whisper. “I find this a way to be with my brother.” Daryl had gotten so used to silence that it almost startled him to hear so many words come from your lips. You shook back the hair that fell on your face and let out a deep sigh, resting your back flat against the wooden church pew. Daryl didn’t want to speak, he didn’t want to scare your voice away, he just wanted to listen.

“I hope that doesn’t sound foolish.”

“It doesn’t.” Daryl shifted himself closer to you. “It doesn’t.” He repeated, his thigh pressed against yours. And for some reason, you felt the need to spill your guts. Perhaps being in a church would drag you to confess. “I-uhmm…I never fought against the prison. I refused to do any of it. I truthfully didn’t care if he killed me for it.” You didn’t have to explain yourself to Daryl but you felt the need to. If what you felt towards him was what you thought, you had to. “But, he just locked me in my room. Wouldn’t let me out.” Somehow, Daryl knew. He never saw you with the Governor, never saw you fighting. And when Rick told him the locked room he found you in, he pieced it together.

“Everything is true though. Everything they say about me, everything he made me do before that.”

Daryl didn’t care, he never had. Daryl cared that you didn’t want to. He cared about the fact that you were forced to. You shrugged your shoulders and looked off, “I’m as guilty as they come.”

Daryl couldn’t stand the sad look on your face, “Alright then…put yer hands behind yer back. I’ll take ya to your cell.” His joking manner caught you so off guard that a laugh escaped you. It was airy and gentle. He truly couldn’t believe it.

You laughed. And Daryl was in church.

Daryl returned to his serious demeanor to reassure you, “I care about how he hurt ya, Y/n. Don’t care what you did.”

Your eyes found Daryl’s in the dimly lit room and for a second you felt it, deep within your chest. And it ached and feared but it also loved. “Good.” You couldn’t fight the smile that squeezed your cheeks as you looked at him. Your eye contact broke allowing silence to welcome itself back. But only for a short time. “Daffodils are the birth flower of March…Jackson and I were born in March.”

After that night in the chapel, Daryl wanted nothing more than to hear your voice. It felt like his ears were filled with honey every time you spoke. It was raspy yet smooth with a hint of a southern drawl from growing up in Georgia. A thick rich honey that he wanted in a cup of hot tea and to take down his throat.

Winter was soon turning to Spring. The sky was bluer and most days the sun shined. The green of the grass and trees were returning. The garden was beginning to look even more promising come warmer weather. And just as the flowers were beginning to take bloom, so were you.

Your hard demeanor had softened, especially for Daryl. You still didn’t talk to many people besides him but you said a word or two when you wanted. Daryl took it upon himself to give Jackson a “grave” where the others were. It was just two pieces of wood, formed into a cross with his name carved in it, planted into the ground. “So that ya don’t have to go down to the chapel. Ya can be outside with him and the garden and stuff.” He had said when he showed you.

“It’s rotten work trying to find these deer.” You and Daryl strolled the wooded area, eyes on the deer tracks that embedded themselves in the dirt. Daryl shushed you and continued his concentration on the tracks. You smiled to yourself and shook your head. “I was rotten work…at the beginning.”

“Nah ya weren’t, not to me.” Daryl didn’t even hesitate, he didn’t even turn look at you. He just continued walking ahead of you, following the tracks.

The two of you settled in your usual spot. Leaning against the fallen tree at the opening to the clearing in the woods. You were right about the clearing looking more beautiful in the warmth of Spring. The trees were plump with fresh green leaves and the water in the pond sparkled under the sunlight. The grass grew tall with a mixture of white and yellow wildflowers. Your fingers ran the edge of the book page as you turned it.

Your current book was, Field Guide to Medical Plants and Herbs. There was some type of cold floating around the prison and finding the medical supplies to treat it was sparse and you’d do anything you could to help.

Daryl was interrupted from tending to his bow by your elbow jabbing his side. Without looking at him, you held up a folded piece of paper and pen. Daryl gave you an odd glare before plucking them from your fingertips. You did this often. When you couldn’t be bothered to use your voice or if you didn’t want to break concentration from a book.

There’s so many things I want to say to you.

Daryl could feel his heart begin to quicken its pace within his chest. He didn’t know what your words meant but at the same time, he did.

The folded paper got tossed back into your lap.

There’s so many things I want to say to you.

So say them.

Just then, a rustling sound sounded from within the trees from across the clearing. You gripped for your blade as Daryl grabbed for his bow. Two deers came through the trees, their white and tan tails flicking back and forth. You could’ve sworn you heard Daryl stop breathing for a second. Daryl slowly leaned up on his knees, bow in hand raising to his eye. Your eye caught it before Daryl’s did.

Another deer emerged from the trees, a fawn close behind her…and then another. “Don’t.” You brought your hand to Daryl’s bow and lowered it to point at the ground. He went to protest but when he saw the twin fawns happily nibbling at the tall grass, he stopped. It was a beautiful sight, as were you.

When your eyes broke away from the deers and to him, that’s when he decided. Daryl cupped your cheek lightly and met your lips with his. His lips were gone just as fast as they were there but his hand didn’t leave. He was still so close that your lips feathered his. Your arms wrapped around his neck as you pulled him down to you again.

What happened that day was never spoken of. But as Daryl sat in the darkness of the train cart in Terminus, he so deeply wish it had been.

But now, you were gone as was the prison. The look on your face, when the Governor stood outside the prison, was burned into Daryl’s eyelids. The way your chest heaved with anger, your hands shook with rage, and revengeful teary eyes stared off. The last he saw was you slipping out through the prison fence to go after him. Daryl yelled at you to not do it, to come with him, but you didn’t listen. You’d let yourself die if it meant you finally got your hands on him and Daryl knew it.

You could be dead. You could’ve died weeks ago fighting the Governor. You could be out there alone and starving and scared. Or you could be just fine. Daryl would never know.

When Terminus fell and he watched Rick cuddle and kiss Judith in his arms, he had a surge of hope. And when he saw Carol alive, he had more hope. As everyone said hello, it was as if he waited, waiting for you to magically appear. “Nobody has Y/n?” A deafening silence followed, quieter than you ever were. “Daryl…” Michonne stepped towards him. As he went to walk away, she stopped him placing a hand on rising his chest. “Darlyl. I’m not saying she didn’t make it. I’m just saying she didn’t look good.”

“Yeah? And you didn’t help her?” Daryl snapped shoving her hand off his chest. “Get off me.” Daryl seethed with hot tears in his icy blue eyes. It became an unspoken rule to not speak your name around him.

Your hand pressed firmly on the wound that oozed blood down your side as you limped your way into the cell block. Your right side was stained in the crimson color, all the way down to the knee of your jeans. You strained and let out a groan of pain as you took a step up the stairs that led to your cell. You didn’t need to look at yourself to know you looked awful. The walkers that completely ignored your existence when you limped by them told you enough.

Your entire torso throbbed in pain. The bruising from the kicks you took to the stomach were forming and it felt impossible to move. Your head felt like tv static and you had an undying desire to sleep. But you couldn’t. You likely had a concussion and knew that if you slept now, you wouldn’t be getting back up. Besides, you had to find Daryl. There was a hope that he’d stayed in the area and you’d find him if you just looked. You knew the woods around here well, you could find him. He was waiting for you, he had to be.

In your fuzzy state of mind, you threw whatever you touched into your pack. You changed out of ruined clothes and into clean ones. When the collar of your shirt dragged down your face, you let out a whimper of pain as it got caught on your bottom lip. There was a cut that dragged from the under your left nostril, across the left corner of your lips, and ended at the bottom of your chin.

It became a blur how you left your cell safely and ended up on the path Daryl and you walked every morning. You had to get to your spot. The spot with the fallen tree and clearing. Daryl would wait for you there. You were sure of it. When you got there and he wasn’t there, it was okay, you told yourself. You just had to wait for him.

You lowered yourself to the ground, a few whimpers of pain escaping your lips. With your back resting against the tree and arm draped over your mid section, you slipped into unconscious. You awoke to the sound of a man’s voice. “Hey, hey.” He said trying to wake you but your eyelids were too heavy to lift and you felt the weight of every muscle in your body. “Heath! Go tell Laura to bring the car around. We gotta take her back.”

“It’s a ten hour drive back Aaron, you think she’s gonna make it?”

“I don’t know.”

You awoke with a slight jolt. Your chest heaved with heavy breathes as your eyes dilated to the bright and unfamiliar room. Your body ached but the softness of the mattress you laid on seemed to comfort it. “Pete, go get Deanna.” Aaron instructed, sitting up in his seat next to your bedside. Your eyes wandered the room, trying to figure out where you were. “Hey. I’m Aaron. You’re in the infirmary in a community called Alexandria.” You looked to the man that sat to your right. He had a very kind face and gentle eyes. His clothes were perfectly clean and his curly brown hair was freshly washed and fluffy.

“Myself and others were on a trip along the East Coast to look for survivors to bring here.” Aaron clarified further, “We found you and brought you back, you were in really bad shape…you still…you still kind of are.”

Aaron could see the confusion and panic drawn on your face. Your head snapped to the door when you heard footsteps on the polished wood floors. “Hi” Deanna gently said approaching your bedside. “We’ve been waiting for you to wake up. What’s your name?”

Your mouth hung open for a second, your mind still wasn’t clear, and you had no clear memory of the last three days. “Y/n” You finally replied, voice hoarse and raspy. Deanna smiled at you, “Where am I?” You asked finally finding your voice. Deanna and Aaron exchanged a glance, “You’re in a safe community called Alexandria in Virginia.”

Virginia?

You could feel your world begin to tumble, a thousand thoughts racing your mind. You were so far away from Georgia. You were away from home. Away from Daryl. “No.” You attempted to pull yourself out of the bed but were stopped by Aaron softly holding you back. “No, no, no.” You repeated and dropped your head down into your hands as panicked sobs racked your chest. “Pete! Go get her something to calm down.”

You didn’t want pills to help calm down. You wanted to go home. You wanted to be with him. You sat yourself up in the bed despite the pain in your torso telling you not to. “Daryl?” You asked Deanna. She could see the desperation in your teary eyes, “I’m sorry we only found you.”

Aaron sat up from the dirt floor of the barn after Rick had knocked him unconscious. Rick’s group continuously went back and forth with one another debating their plan. Once they finally decided and everyone was being assigned a position, Rick turned to Daryl. “Daryl, go keep an eye-“

“Wait, Daryl?” Aaron interrupted Rick’s order from his spot on the floor. He felt everyone’s eyes on him in an instant. “Daryl Dixon, right? Y-you knew an Y/n?” Daryl stomped over to Aaron and gripped him by the front of his shirt, pulling him close. “How the hell ya know Y/n?” Daryl’s tone was threatening yet shaky. Aaron knew if he didn’t start talking he’d end up back on the floor.

“She’s in Alexandria, she lives with me, she’s safe! A-a little over a month ago, myself and others were on a trip along the East Coast looking for survivors. We found her in the woods down in Georgia.” Aaron took a pause, “She was in really bad shape, we brought her back and she’s been there ever since.”

“She talks about you all the time.” Daryl’s hand shook around the fabric of Aaron’s shirt, his eyes studied his face trying to find any indicator that he was lying. ”I don’t fuckin’ believe ya.” The thought of you being alive and safe comforted Daryl but he wouldn’t so easily believe a stranger. “I’m not lying, I swear.” Aaron frantically said, “She-she gave me something to give to you. It’s in the front pocket of my bag.”

Daryl shoved Aaron back to the ground with a thud. Rick tossed Aaron’s bag to Daryl, practically tearing off the zipper getting into it. Daryl’s unsteady hands pulled out the familiar small tan book. As he flipped open to the title page, he read the words you’d written to another that day.

There’s so many things I want to say to you.

So say them.

As Daryl read the new words you’d written, he could feel the lump forming in his throat.

It was easier to die than to say them.

“I probably should’ve led with that, huh?” Aaron joked attempting to lighten the mood. Rick’s gruff voice responded, “Shut up.”

The sun shined in Alexandria despite the rainstorm that came through the night before. You found yourself where you always were, in the gardens. The heavy rain had bent many of the plants out of shape and the raised wooden garden beds were flooded. The mixture of water and grass squelched under your boots as you examined the damage. With a deep sigh, you pulled out a box of cigarettes from your back pocket along with a zippo lighter. It wasn’t a habit you proudly picked back up. But after the fall of the prison and Daryl no longer being there to help you, it found its way back.

You tilted your head up to the sky and blew the smoke from your lips. You closed your eyes and let the sunlight cast its rays onto your face. And as you did, you tried to imagine that you were standing in the garden of the prison again. That Daryl stood only a few feet away, fighting with a vegetable, and cursing as he did.

“Hey Y/n.”

Spencer disrupted your daydream, standing a few feet away and calling out your name. “Sorry,” He jokingly held up his hands in surrender, “Aaron’s back, he asked for you at the gate.” Aaron had returned to Alexandria several times over the past month with new faces. Every time you’d go to the gate and wait for him to return, your heart full of hope. But every time the same disappointment rained down on you. It was never who you wanted, it was never him. So, when Aaron told you about a group he’d been tracking and trying to bring back, you didn’t care to listen. You saved my ass and now you think you can save everyone? You said to him a few nights ago.

“Going.” You replied bluntly. You wouldn’t allow your hopes to grow just to be smashed into pieces. Your eyes were on the ground as you walked to the front gate, cigarette dangling from your lips, and hair falling in your face. Spencer talked his jaw off beside you, every word he spoke going in one ear and out the other. But the sound of a familiar whistle vibrating against your eardrums perked your head up in an instant.

You tossed your cigarette from your mouth and found your way back to him. Daryl met you halfway, his arms desperately pulling you in close. Your arms wrapped tightly around his neck, feeling his shaky breaths on the skin of your own. Your hair was soft and smelled of shampoo. Daryl grasped the fabric of your shirt that smelled ever so slightly of cigarettes.

When Daryl pulled away to look at you, he finally saw the fresh scar drawn on your lips. He wanted to scold you. To tell you how foolish you'd been to go after the Governor alone. "Ya got him?" Was all he could bring himself to ask. You avoided answering but you nodded, "Come on, I wanna go see everyone else."

Despite the group still not fully trusting Alexandria, they felt more at ease knowing you’d been kept safe here. After helping Rick settle the group into the Alexandrian homes, you sat on the front porch with Daryl. Daryl hadn’t let you out of his sight for a second. Everything you did and every where you went, he was there. Besides when Carol shoved him away to shower.

The two of you passed back and forth a lit cigarette, comfortable in the silence of the night air. “Tara asked me about the Governor.” Your words were quiet just incase anyone were listening. Daryl looked to you. “Yeah?” With a deep sigh, you blew the smoke from your mouth. “Yeah…asked what he did to me.”

Daryl could see the way the thought of it dragged your lips into that familiar frown. “Told her I didn’t wanna make her guilty conscious even worse.” You said it as if it was meant to be a joke but Daryl saw through it. “It’s gettin late.” Daryl begin to break you from those thoughts. He was right. The sun had set about an hour ago and everyone was setting up their beds for the night.

“Ya ah….Ya gonna go home?” Daryl didn’t want you to leave, he never wanted to be without you again. “I am home.” There was no hesitation in your reply. Daryl’s eyes snapped to yours in an instant. “Ain’t what I meant.” You stood from your spot and reached a hand out to him, “Come with me.” Daryl glanced between your hand and your eyes. The night was dark and the porch light dim but you could see the rosy color blotch at his cheeks. You lightly kicked his foot with your own, “Just wanna show you where I’ve been staying.”

Your room was in the fully furnished basement of Aaron and Eric’s home. Aaron had welcomed you in, knowing you couldn’t be on your own in your condition. The stairs were on the farthest right wall of the basement, leading you down into a lounge like area with tan carpet and white walls. An L shaped leather couch sat in front of a, now useless, flat screen TV. Past the couch, on the back wall, stood two white doors. Daryl presumed behind one of them laid your bedroom.

You walked him over to the left door and pushed it open. There was nothing special about your room. Simply a bed, two nightstands, a dresser, and a bookshelf in the corner. You sat at the foot of your bed, Daryl took it as a sign to do the same. “I’m sorry Daryl.” Your voice was just above a whisper, avoiding his eyes when you spoke. “I should’ve looked harder for him…I shouldn’t of gotten so distracted.” Your head hung low in shame, “I should’ve talked about that day..in the woods.” The dimly lit room hid the tears that fell from your eyes. “I should’ve said everything I wanted to say.”

“We should’ve.” Daryl corrected you, stopping all your blabbering. Your watery eyes met his with a look of confusion. “Everythin’ ya said. I was there too. S’not all your fault Y/n.” The impact of Daryl’s words made you go quiet. “Ain’t yer fault what he did to you either.”

“I love you.”

Daryl had never shut his mouth so fast in his life. You weren’t sure where your outburst of confidence came from but you didn’t regret it. You accepted it every waking day and every sleepless night you were apart from him. “Nah, ya don’t.” Daryl rejects your confession at the grace of his own insecurity. Your hands raise themselves to his face, a stern look gracing your features. “I have since the prison.”

Daryl didn’t know what to do. He could feel his heart pounding against his chest and the warmth from your hand on his cheek. You gently lean in before connecting your lips with his. When you pulled away, you rested your forehead against his own. If you had just ruined everything Daryl and you had, you at least wanted to bask in his presence one last time. “I love ya too.” Daryl leaned back in, capturing your lips in his.

The night you’d spent together was full of gentle touches and whispers. The only time silence happened was the sleep bestowed upon you afterwards. Your bedroom was dimly lit come morning time. The only windows in your room were up towards the ceiling, just above ground level. For the first time since Jackson died, you woke up peacefully. No panic attack awaiting you, no need to run away and fill your lungs with smoke. Feelings of the night before returned to your mind, memories in vivid detail. Daryl awoke when he felt the movement of the sheet from beside him.

With your back turned to him, Daryl took it upon himself to graze the skin of your bare back with his fingertips. He caught a glance at the deep scarring along your side. The gash had turned into a raised, dark pink, bruised color on your skin. Daryl could see shadow of lines covering its length from the stitches that had held it together.

As his fingertips traveled down, they stopped on another scar. The left side of your lower back was imbedded with the letter “G”. The scarring of the initial raised your skin, though it wasn’t pink and bruised like the other. It had healed to a shade paler than your skin tone. Daryl simply couldn’t believe it. Fucking bastard.

“Branding iron.” You begin, voice slightly rasp from sleep. “Never did it to anyone else…just me.” Daryl’s hand fell from your back, “Come here.” You reluctantly did so, turning to face him. His hand found the side of your face that didn’t rest on the plush pillow. His facial expression’s became serious but his eyes remained gentle. “Ain’t gonna let no one treat you like that ever again. Ya feel like someone breathes around ya the wrong way, you tell me alright?” You playfully rolled your eyes, a cheeky smile forming but you still replied “Alright.”

Daryl thumb drug along your bottom lip, stopping at the pale scar. “Promise ya won’t ever stop doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“…Bein’ happy.”

–––––––––––

A/n: I've proof read this over and over so I hope everyone is able to enjoy it and theres no mistakes! If anyone would like to submit a request, feel free too. If it's a project i'd be willing to take on, I will try my best to get to it.

[dykesynthezoid]

Can you imagine Armand just in your run of the mill abuse survivor therapy group… comes home like hello Daniel; oh, I am well— yes it was a quite productive session… Jennifer shared the most interesting anecdote during Roses And Thorns today… Yes, she did share later that her ex boyfriend is still stalking her, although Dr. Carrie appeared somewhat perturbed when I recommended that Jennifer could simply begin stalking him in return. I know, I thought it was a useful piece of perspective myself, but she didn’t seem to think so. Oh, but she did introduce us to the most wonderful thing, Daniel! It is called a visionboard! Here is mine— Yes, that is glitter. Hm? Oh, the eyes, yes. The magazines she gave us had so many to cut out! I do think the arrangement came out well, don’t you? I had to be quite delicate with the glue stick… I’m glad you think so. You know, I’ve been thinking, Daniel, that perhaps I should kill Denice’s mother… But I am being helpful, Denice would be much happier if she were dead… Yes… Yes, I see what you mean… She would likely prefer to kill the woman herself. You’ve made an astute point, beloved. No, I think it was quite wise of you— Of course I understood what you meant. Anyway, next week we are going to be talking about something called “Trauma Bonds”

[vor-leser]

Benny now an animal, I knew AM would let him play.

(Stuff about my own version of pre-monkeyification Benny below the cut because i have too many thoughts on this)

It's kind of hard to make heads or tails of any of the ihnmaims characters since the cannons of the different adaptations contradict each other so much, so I reconciled my own version of events in my head as to what I think Benny was like pre monkeyfication. I tried to fit everything from the comic, game and book in though.

Benny was a very masculine guy, excelling in every sport, and despising everyone who did not live up to his standard of what it meant to be a strong man. All his life, he tried to embody this ideal, not only marrying and having two kids, but going on to join the military. When he became general, he was known amongst the soldiers as an authoritarian punitive leader, often abusing those below him to whip the weak ones into shape. His ideals were solidified under the pressure of the continuing third world war, instilling a kill or be killed mentality into him. Eventually, he came to the realization that he was gay. However, because this reality threatened to break apart the way he viewed the world and his masculinity. With the mounting pressures from a chain of losses and his own internal struggles, he reacted by overcompensating and becoming more brutal than ever, leading him to kill multiple of his own men. Returning from the Chinese American War, he developed a severe case of PTSD. Constantly making him feel as if his life was at stake, he found himself unable to show any weakness. He hid his own war crimes thoroughly, all the while continuing to receive accolades from his superiors for his tenure. He constantly felt the need to not only hide his crimes, but also his sexuality, making him paranoid that people would realize he was a fraud. This did not only put a strain on him, but also on his family.

AM specifically chose Benny, because he embodied the many ways in which humanity tore itself apart through war, constantly finding new methods to make their own existence miserable for an imagined ideal.

At first, Bennys presence among the survivors proved very useful. Out of all of them, he had the most experience in dangerous situations and a lot of physical strength. His wisdom and leadership helped them a great deal, eventually though, they would inevitably disappoint him. Falling into his old patterns of behavior, he would berate Nimdok the most for his obvious weakness, saying he was holding them back. With time, he did the same with Ellen, Ted and even Gorrister, which formed a rift between himself and all of them. He felt as if he could rely on no one but himself.

Still, his usefulness irked AM. He had gotten one over on him too many times, but this would make his coming defeat even more crushing. It started with his mental state. Paranoia had already slowly crept up on Benny, but when he was forced to relive his trauma, it spiraled out of control. Being starved, beaten and defeated, he started to lose his humanity. His egoism, distrust and brutality, all born out a desire for survival made him a nightmare for the others. AM found it amusing, how he had turned Benny into a parody of humanity and its worst aspects, seeing it fit to strip him of his last remaining bits of humaneness, breaking his body into the shape of an ape-thing.

His spirits were now completely broken, being reduced to a bumbling fool. Even though his shame mellowed him out, there were still occasional outbursts. Now ironically enough, he had become the survivors greatest liability. Luckily for him, the others pity him and keep him around, a kindness he likely wouldn't have awarded them.

(Also drawing a guy thats canonically supposed to look handsome while making him resemble a monkey is hard :,) )

[alistarascendance]

❝𝐈 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐨, 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐨𝐰𝐧—𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐈 𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧?❞

— in which, fabled legend Alistar returns from the Chasm decades after their descent, only to find themself faced with an issue: humanity, in their absence, has created a world of suffering, dilapidated by greed, and Alistar’s presence only continues to fuel their selfishness, as a living legend must kill… or be killed.

Alistar: Ascendance is a cyberpunk, dystopian romance interactive fiction that was originally intended to simply be a story, before its writer (me) decided to be impulsive and turn it into an IF.

DISCLAIMERS

this story will contain depictions of alcohol, smoking, blood, violence, profanity, mild gore, yandere behavior, toxic relationships, suggestive themes, discrimination, self-hatred, mentions of emotional and physical abuse, suicidal thoughts, an oppressive government, fictional languages and religions, real world philosophies/religions including but not limited to: cynicism, nihilism and atheism; a corrupt world, discussion of morals and human conscience, as well as other mature themes. this list will be updated as the story is written.

please keep all of this in mind while reading!

A gender-selectable MC, who you choose the name, personality, sexuality, appearance, and morals of.

A wide variety of choices to choose from that will impact your story, and the need to keep your MC sane (or just go batshit insane. That works, too).

5 male love interests + 1 secret RO, all of whom you can maintain a simply platonic relationship with if you wish, or you can just continue to flirt with them endlessly (+ a FWB relationship for some).

An enriching world and story, set in a cyberpunk dystopia (we know all of you are here for the romance though).

A powerful MC 😔😔

ROs (romance options, also referred to as LIs or love interests).

THE SURFACE DWELLER:

Seven. 21, Chaotic Good. Mechanic.

“The HIVE needs to fall. There are no exceptions—not even for you.”

The first person you meet once you arrive on the Surface, you and Seven have a unique bond. He’s got a reputation in the slums and Neon for being great at parties, but his friendliness can easily be read as something more.

Is it something more? Further observations will have to be made…

THE SURVIVOR

Saturn. 23, Lawful Evil. Bartender.

“Keep your head down, and you’ll survive.”

The quiet bartender has a curious perspective on things. He seems to have no problem with the HIVE members patrolling his bar, even serving them drinks like they’re normal customers, despite their heavy armor and edges that are too sharp to be humane.

He also doesn’t seem to be particularly interested in you in the slightest. Why’s that?

THE DIPLOMAT

“Is it better to live in quiet solitude, your voice stripped and taken—or would you rather have died, knowing your voice was the loudest amongst them all?”

Chain. 23, alignment unclear. Current occupation unknown.

He’s someone to keep an eye out for. While he hasn’t practiced his craft in years, he may still prove to be dangerous. Just as friendly as Seven, but far more difficult to truly befriend.

Obtain new information as soon as possible…

THE PUPPET

Judge me if you must. It doesn’t change the fact that I’m up here, and you’re down there.

Orion. 25, Lawful Neutral. HIVE operative.

The HIVE member patrolling Saturn’s bar. Part of something greater than he is, but he’s a part of it, regardless. Keep him around…

OTHER ENTITIES

Argos: Neutral Good. Age unknown. The deity whose spear you brandished, after his passing. He was a good man, but the fact only makes your sins rest heavier in your heart.

Teacher: True Neutral. Around ~200 years old. The chasm-dwelling shadow who taught you all you know of the Chasm and its residents.

Alistar: alignment unknown. Around ~200 years old. That’s you! You’re Alistar. At least, that’s what the world has been calling you ever since you ended the war and revitalized humanity, so that is what you will be referred to as throughout the entirety of the story. However, if you’d like to change your name (as Alistar is the default) you may!

As I am primarily an author (as in I literally have done nothing else with my life) I am new to coding (I took ONE coding club in fourth grade) and am trying to write out and perfect a chapter before converting it into typical IF form.

Once I manage to get things situated, I’ll started to code. I’m currently almost done writing chapter 4, so I’ll start working on coding once I finish it.

If anyone wants to read the chapters I’ve written until now, just shoot me an ask or message :)) I’d be happy to show you. otherwise, here are the ones I’ve posted so far:

CHAPTERS

CHAPTER ONE: COURTING DEATH CHAPTER TWO: THOSE WHO REMAIN CHAPTER THREE: TARNISHED DREAMS

asked to be tagged for new chapters!

[the-writer-of-waterdeep]

If I see one more post treating Gale and Mystra like a genuine couple I will scream

In a game where all the companions are in relationships with immense power imbalances, don't you think Gale is in one too????

It is heavily implied that Mystra (A goddess known in the Forgotten Realms for tricking and deceiving, look up Dornal Silverhand) groomed Gale, being his teacher first and then a lover. He didn't fumble anything, he was the magical equivalent of a high school banging his teacher and everyone (more like in real life with male abuse survivors) treats it like he "bagged a baddie" and "fumbled it"

The most horrific thing is that he STILL doesn't quite realise what's happening, he still believes everything she says and believe she knows best for him.

Also, he wasn't trying to unsup her, that's what Mystra saw it as. He adored her and wanted to be her No.1 special little guy so he did something FUCKING OUTRAGEOUS out of LOVE (because he believed and still believes it's love). Does Mystra have the right to interpret it as an attack on her godhood, absolutely but don't get it twisted with what Gale actually says!

"Not to destroy Mystra, but to prove my love for her"

"I merely sought to return one tiny diamond to an imperfect crown"

Sorry for ranting but FUCK.

[cinnamongorll]

a fragile line - masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female OC Fic synopsis: three years ago, Juliet escaped her father's religious survivor camp, ending up in the Boston QZ. Juliet created a life for herself in Boston, desperate to forget the trauma of her upbringing. One day, Juliet arrives home to find a mysterious letter which forces her to return to her home town. Juliet can't travel the harsh post-apocalyptic landscape alone, so she enlists the help of the grumpy and, at times, frightening man she works alongside: Joel Miller. Tags: extreme slow burn, age gap, older man/younger woman, protective joel, jealous joel, hurt/comfort, pov third person, mutual pining, angst, sexual tension, friends to lovers, canon-typical violence, feral joel, parental abuse, eventual smut.

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Inspired by ‘Strangers’ by Ethel Cain, ‘Haunted’ by Taylor Swift, and ‘Francesca’ by Hozier 🫀

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read on ao3 - 38/38 chapters (179k words)

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read on tumblr:

chapter 1 'Marked for death'

chapter 2 'Put it on me'

chapter 3 'Twice'

chapter 4 'Something in the way'

chapter 5 'Way down we Go'

chapter 6 'Hearing Damage'

chapter 7 'Slipped'

chapter 8 'Killer + The Sound'

chapter 9 'Carolina'

chapter 10 'Salt and the Sea'

chapter 11 'Tulsa Jesus Freak'

chapter 12 'The Night We Met'

chapter 13 'First Defeat'

chapter 14 'Who We Are'

chapter 15 'Bloodstream'

chapter 16 'Villain'

chapter 17 'NFWMB'

chapter 18 ‘Funny’

chapter 19 'Strangers'

chapter 20 'No Sound But The Wind'

chapter 21 'I'm Your Man'

chapter 22 ‘Running Up That Hill’

chapter 23 'My Tears Ricochet'

chapter 24 ‘Safe and Sound’

chapter 25 'House Song'

chapter 26 'My Body is a Cage'

chapter 27 'Happiness is a Butterfly'

chapter 28 'Illicit Affairs'

chapter 29 'The Last Time'

chapter 30 'If You Lie Down With Me'

chapter 31 'Breakers Roar'

chapter 32 'August Underground'

chapter 33 'Haunted'

chapter 34 'Bad Man'

chapter 35 'Can't Catch Me Now'

chapter 36 'Another Love'

chapter 37 'Francesca'

epilogue 'If I Go, I'm Goin'

[cxrdycxps]

Black Box Warning • Ellie Williams

☢️ toxic reader • toxic Ellie • bad for each other • sad reader • mentions of suicide • alcohol abuse • reader and Ellie are kind of rough with each other • grief ☢️

Main Masterlist • Ellie Williams Masterlist

The more of me you see, the less of me you’ll like.

You fucking hated Jackson. You hated starvation more so obviously you didn’t leave. But Jackson was the worst fucking thing that ever happened to you. It was everything your sister would’ve loved but she was dead in a forest in Virginia and here you were. The lone fucking survivor.

Jackson was full of happy people who laughed and smiled and enjoyed the normal life. Jackson was full of fucking actors. There was still a ravaged earth outside their walls and no dance nights in a run down bar would change that.

You went to them though because it was easier to get over served at the bar when it was crowded. Sometimes you’d actually get drunk before Seth cut you off.

There wasn’t much coming or going from Jackson, not in the six months you had lived there. There was a bit of fanfare when some girl showed up with a baby. She had used to live there and her kid belonged to the dead son of the school teacher.

You hadn’t stuck around to hear much more. You didn’t care. People died every fucking day, no one cared, not really or the world would stop. The world should pause for grief but it doesn’t. Sometimes you take a deep breath and you keep running.

Besides working and drinking, Jackson didn’t offer much in a way that let your exorcise your demons. Not until Ellie Williams returned and a couple of smart comments turned into a busted lip. Then you could taste the blood on her lips. Taste the sweat on her skin, taste her orgasm.

It wasn’t love. It wasn’t even like, not really. You ended up living together for convenience, she needed a room and you liked having access to fuck her when you needed to feel something.

There wasn’t a surface in that house that hadn’t been christened with nail gouging, biting, cursing sex. It was rough and ready and it never really helped. Not really.

A lot of people thought you were a couple. Ellie’s not-uncle Tommy thought it, Ellie’s not-right-now-not aunt Maria thought it, and Ellie’s ex girlfriend thought it. Neither of you corrected anyone. There was no point explaining how you both hurt each other to make yourself feel better.

“You were probably really good at this before you lost those fingers.” You told Ellie offhand and then gasped when her teeth punctured the skin of you bicep. “You’re like a fucking rabid dog, Jesus Christ.”

“Oh fuck off.” Ellie abandoned you across the arm of the sofa and you looked over your shoulder at her.

“You’re seriously going to stop?” You asked her, aghast. She only did that when she was really moody.

“Fuck off.”

You muttered under your breath as you pulled your jeans up. Ellie slammed out the door and you stared at the brown hunters’ jacket she had left behind her. The snow had fallen heavily and she had patrol today.

You had to walk by the stables to get to the watch tower and you pulled on your own jacket before grabbing hers and muttering under your breath. At the last minute you tossed the jacket back on the hook. She had left you hanging. Let her get fucking hypothermia.

You were half way to the stables when you met her doubling back and you weren’t too mature to laugh at her when she rolled her eyes at you. “Could’ve brought it.”

“Could’ve let me cum. Go fuck yourself, Williams.” You pulled your own coat tighter against the frozen drifts. When you arrived at the East gate you found your watch partner and tilted your head back to stare at the sky with a groan. “Not my fucking day.”

“Suck it up. Don’t care about your lovers tiff.” Eli snapped at you and you pictured him with a busted lip and several missing teeth. It helped the annoyance. “First Ellie forgets her fucking jacket and then you’re late and complaining.”

“Cut Ellie some slack.” Dina chided Eli and you chuckled to yourself. Always in her corner even when Ellie had abandoned her and her child. “You know what today is.”

“Oh fuck. It’s Joel’s dead day.” You swore before wincing. You knew it had to be something bad for her to leave you hanging like that. “Shit.”

“You forgot her father’s anniversary.” Dina stared at you, a disgusted look on her face. You looked at her with a shrug and her jaw dropped. “The most traumatic experience of her life and you forgot? You’re her fucking girlfriend.”

“I mean, the most traumatic experience was probably her girlfriend being pregnant. That would fuck with me for sure.” You scoffed and made to climb the scaffolding that climbed the wall.

“God you’re so fucking useless to her.” Dina didn’t let it go, following you closely. You blocked her out, wondering what was the point of patrolling the wall when you could barely see the tree line with the snow. “She needs you to support her.”

“Dina, you’re confusing me with someone who gives a fuck.” You told her, watching as the gates opened and the trail patrol groups set out on horse back. “So some old dude got his head bashed in. I didn’t know him. I don’t care.”

“You’re her girlfriend.” Dina repeated and you shrugged. You wondered if you were her girlfriend. That seemed to be too big of a title for housemates that fucked each other to avoid their grief. Ellie hadn’t remembered your sister’s anniversary. Why should you remember Joel’s?

“Look, you fumbled your chance with her. You came back to Jackson to start again without her. If you want her that bad then have her.” You checked the rifle left in the patrol hut and checked the bullets left for you.

“You’d give her up that easy?” Dina asked, astounded in that very judgmental way she had. You looked up at her, bored with the conversation. “You’d just pass her off?”

“I would and yet you still don’t want her.” You laughed. “That’s kind of telling.”

Dina didn’t say anything and you settled in for a long eight hours, the rickety chair creaked when you took a seat on it, rifle in your lap. You wondered if you could argue the cold had earned you an extra drink or two to warm back up. Sometimes Seth felt bad for you. Most times he just told you to fuck off.

“I didn’t just give her up.” Dina spoke what felt like hours later. You didn’t look away from the snow because you didn’t care enough to let her know you were listening. “She left me and JJ. I didn’t expect her to come back.”

“Is it cause she’s down those two fingers? Because let me tell you, that hand? A complete write off. It does nothing of note.” Dina made a disgusted sound and you laughed, incredulous. “I mean you’ve got a kid, you’re not exactly in place to play the blushing virgin.”

“Do you understand what it’s like to love someone who sees themself as a sacrifice?” You would never tell Dina but you understood. Every time you closed your eyes you saw her face as she made the decision to sacrifice her life so that you’d survive.

She was stupid. Your sister. She had so much more to offer the world than you could’ve ever. You’d spent every day for the last five years torturing yourself for her decision. You, better than anyone, related to Dina. You knew what it was to be left behind.

“I do.” You shrugged turning to face Dina. You didn’t tell her you weren’t talking about Ellie. “But I didn’t abandon her, so I guess that makes me better than you.”

“Or it just makes you more stupid.” Dina argued and you knew she probably had a point. You would never tell her. “Ellie ruined everything we had because of a man who she didn’t even like when he died.”

“Stop talking. Or I’ll throw you off the fucking wall.” You pinched the bridge of you nose to fend off the coming headache. It seemed that you had only encouraged her.

“She hadn’t talked to him in months when he died. She felt bad because she hadn’t liked him.” Dina insisted.

“You’re so fucking stupid. He saved her life. I know you’ve seen her fucking arm. They were gonna cut it out of her brain to maybe try and make a vaccine. He killed the fucking doctor and his daughter killed Joel. That’s how it works. It’s a cycle!” You snapped at Dina who looked shocked, leaning away from you. “She loved Joel, she just couldn’t understand his reasoning for choosing her over the rest of the world. He loved her more than the world. You don’t turn into what we are over someone you don’t fucking love.”

“I don’t know-”

“It’s a twenty foot drop. I will make JJ an orphan.”

///

“You sort it out with Dina or you tell her to fuck off.” You didn’t give Ellie a second to even get in the door, finger digging into her chest. “I had to her spend eight hours with her stupid commentary on how I should treat you better.”

“Tell her yourself. I don’t fucking care.” Ellie kicked her converse off and dropped her bag, shrugging by you. “Anything to eat?”

“Do I look like a fucking house wife?” You asked her with a scoff and she rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath. “Head on over to Dina’s, I’m sure she’ll make you something.”

“Stop with the fucking Dina rhetoric, I’m here, ain’t I?” Ellie slammed her hand down on the table in the kitchen and you laughed coldly.

“Should I be glad? Am I winning by eating off a plate that Dina licked clean?” Ellie narrowed her eyes at you and then your head hit the wall. Her hand was around your neck and you let your eyes shut slowly. “Finish what you started.”

“Jesus, you’re such a needy fucking bitch. Picking a fight because I didn’t let you cum this morning. You got fingers, don’t ya?” She asked, her free hand unbuttoning your jeans. She didn’t pull them down, just slipped her hand inside and laughed cruelly. “You been this wet all day or does my hand around your neck really do it for you?”

“Like three fifths of a hand.” You gasped and she squeezed tighter around your neck and pinched your clit cruelly. You would’ve been embarrassed with how much this was working for you if you cared at all what Ellie thought of you. Instead you ground against her hand as she pumped two fingers into you. You shuddered against her when you came and let her push you to your knees.

There was no smart comments when she shucked her jeans and boxers, pushing you forward by a grip on your hair. You didn’t bother to tease, paying extra attention to her clit, just how she liked it. She held you in place while she came and you stayed without complaint while she spasmed around your tongue. “At least you’re good for something.”

“Oh fuck off, Ellie.” You sighed and pushed yourself to stand up. You didn’t give her any further attention and moved for the shower, knowing she would bang on the door as soon as she realized. She preferred showering when she got home.

She got her revenge on you later that night. Hoarse screams came from the next room. Shouts of Joel’s name along with pitiful cries had you shoving your blankets down and making your way into her room.

She sat on the edge of the bed, her head in her hands. She was shivering in the cold and you watched her for a second. “Get out.”

“You’ve woken me twice already.” You told her, leaning on the door frame. She still didn’t look up and you realized she wasn’t shivering. She was crying. “Can’t save them all.”

She had said that to you once, when your told her about your sister. You had punched her and then fucked her for it. She didn’t even react to the words and you stepped into the room. “Get back into bed.”

“Fuck off.” She did as she was told and you slipped in beside her. “I’m not in the mood.”

“Shut up and turn around.” She faced the wall, her back to you and you pressed up against her, an arm around her middle. “It’s too cold to sleep alone tonight.”

///

Ellie was always awkward the day after you shared a bed. It didn’t happen often, it was never planned, and you preferred to pretend it didn’t happen.

“Hey,” Ellie spoke quietly from the kitchen doorway. You didn’t look up, letting your tea steep. “I’m sorry about last night. Yesterday was-”

“Joel’s death day. I know.” She paused in place and you finally looked over to watch her consider your words. “Dina reminded me.”

“Oh. Okay. Well I’m sorry for waking you anyway.” She mumbled and you shrugged. “And thank you.”

“I had to get to sleep at some point.” You told her blandly, turning back to your tea and removing the leaves. “Was the only solution.”

“Jesus, do you have a fucking off button for that attitude. Every time we do anything that might show this is more than fucking you shut down.” You laughed and turned to face Ellie.

“More than fucking? I’m just a hole and a mouth that you use to get yourself off. You are no different for me. If you want emotions go somewhere else.” You told her and she rolled her eyes.

“Imagine your sister sacrificing her whole life for you to end up this bitter fucking shell of a person.” Ellie laughed bitterly. “What a fucking way to honor her.”

“Oh, so that’s how you’re feeling this morning?” You asked with raised eyebrows. “Atleast I didn’t walk out on my girlfriend and kid to trek across the country and avenge my father just to let his killer go at the last second.”

“Your obsession with Dina is bordering on a mental illness.” Ellie accused and you shrugged, sipping at your tea. “She’s into women, you might have a chance.”

“Yeah? So she can turn me into whatever the fuck sort of lap dog she made you? I’ll pass.” You kissed your teeth when Ellie stepped closer. “You act all high and mighty but I know you got down on your knees and begged her to take you back and she said no.”

Ellie clenched her fists and you braced yourself for impact but she only shook her head, turning on her heel and slamming out the door. You stared at the brown hunting jacket for the second day in a row.

You would’ve brought it this time but that wasn’t very ‘bitter shell of a person’ of you.

///

Seth was distracted this evening. He had served you nearly double what he usually did. You let the music drown out your thoughts and sipped at your whiskey. You were bordering on what could be considered tipsy. Your toe was tapping along to the music and it could actually be described as a pleasant evening.

Of course, you never got that kind of peace for long. You weren’t overly polite when a grating voice started somewhere to your left. You ran a hand down your face and tried to ignore it. Everyone else was able to go on with their day and you needed just one good one.

You could have a few more drinks, if Seth was amenable, wait for Ellie to finish her night with Tommy and then get throughly fucked when you got home with Ellie’s hand around your neck and her filthy words in your ears.

“I’m beginning to think you two don’t even like each other.” Nope. There it went. Your pleasant buzz, your nice evening. With just two seconds and a handful of words, Dina had ruined it all.

You ignored her, sipping from your drink again. She didn’t like that and pushed in on your side and took the stool next to yours. You let your head tip back and huffed out a breath. “You never sit near each other in public. Any interaction the pair of you have is openly hostile.”

“Dina, I have worked by your side for four days this week, that’s thirty two whole hours I had to listen to your opinions. I don’t care. Now fuck off.” You told her, tracing your index finger around the rim of your glass. Your pleasant buzz was long gone and now the drink was fueling your anger, riling you up quickly.

“Why bother pretending?” Dina asked and you looked up. Your eyes caught Ellie’s first. She was watching you, half out of her seat. You turned away from her to look at Dina.

“Pretending what?” You asked her with a laugh. “We live together. We fuck. That’s all there is to it.”

“Except every time you looked at her tonight you got this serene little smile on your lips. Why are you pretending you don’t feel anything for her?” Dina asked and you blinked at her.

“Why are you pretending you aren’t mad at her for getting Jesse killed and then passing up the opportunity to kill the one who killed him?” You asked and stood from your stool, downing the last of your whiskey.

You were almost two steps away when a hand gripped your arm. Ellie almost barreled into you in her rush to get Dina’s grip off you. “Don’t fucking touch her.”

Ellie stood in your way to get to Dina and you shook your hands out, keeping your mouth shut now that people were watching. “She doesn’t like that.”

“Time you get on out of here.” Seth spoke from behind the bar.

“Time you stopped over serving her.” Ellie snapped at him, still staring at Dina. Seth only sighed and shook his head.

“It’s her sisters anniversary.” Seth spoke quietly and Ellie laughed bitterly.

“That’s in June. Stop fucking enabling her.” Ellie turned away from Dina and Seth and grabbed your hand in hers and dragged you from the bar. “Is it too much to ask for one nice night?”

You pulled your hand free and crossed your arms. You shouldn’t have to explain yourself to her. You always felt like a child when you did. “It wasn’t-”

“I’m not blaming you. That was all her.” Ellie assured you and you nodded. You stumbled a little, more than tipsy now the air hit you. Ellie’s hand shot out to catch you and you fell against her. “Let’s get you home.”

“Birthday. It’s her birthday.” Ellie paused in place and let you lean against her. She wrapped an arm around you and pulled you against her. “I was trying to have a nice day. Was just enjoying my evening.”

“I know. I was watching you.” Ellie didn’t say anything else but she did urge you to start moving again. You leaned against her and she kept an arm wrapped around you. When you got home she let you go and you wrapped your arms around yourself and made your way to the sofa. “You want a glass of water?”

You didn’t answer Ellie, tipping yourself to the side and pressing your face into the sofa cushions.

///

You woke on the sofa, your head tilted to the side and a blanket tossed over you. Ellie had put a bucket on the ground too. You weren’t the kind of person to puke while drinking but she was so you could understand it.

It was still dark and you were fucking freezing. Your teeth chattered and you shuffled up to your room, changing your clothes quickly and staring at your empty bed. Ellie’s would be warm. Ellie would be warm.

She blinked at you from under her blanket when you cracked her door open. She had left her lamp on and you wondered if it was just in case you came in. She didn’t say anything but she shuffled over and lifted her blanket. You took the offered place, pressing your face into her neck when she wrapped her arms and the blanket around you.

“Thank you.” She only hummed, her hand sliding under your top to softly stroke the skin of your back. It didn’t take her long to drift back off to sleep and you watched her in the low light from the lamp.

You wondered if you could ever be what Ellie needed. You knew she needed to heal, she needed to be forgiven for her imagined sins. You weren’t sure you had that in you. You still hadn’t forgiven your sixteen year old self for letting your sister die.

You had spent every single day since punishing yourself for her death. She was your age now when she died and you wondered if you would ever make that decision?

If you would’ve sacrificed yourself to save her?

You weren’t sure you’d ever done anything that didn’t serve yourself first.

///

“I should’ve fucking known that pairing you up would’ve resulted in this.” Eli sighed when you arrived to the stables without Ellie. “Where is she?”

“Fucked if I know.” You told him honestly. Ellie had been off with you since that night in the bar over a month ago. She disappeared for hours at a time and you hadn’t bothered to ask where she was going to escape you.

“I’m here.” She left the stables with Shimmer and Henry in tow, both of your preferred horses. Ellie shared a look with you but you had nothing to add so you just took Henry’s reins and boosted yourself up onto the horse.

You and Ellie had patrolled together a number of times. It was how you had both first met, back when she had just arrived back in Jackson. It had resulted in some of the best sex of your life.

There wasn’t much discussion between you both, mutters about directions and when to stop and take a break. You usually let Ellie make the decisions because she was outside the wall more often than you were.

She was distracted today though. She had missed two turns and an outpost that needed to be signed. You called her attention quietly the first two times and by the outpost your very limited patience was gone.

“Jesus fucking Christ. Will you pay attention before you get me killed!” You snapped at her, hopping down off Henry to sign the log book stashed inside the dilapidated farmhouse.

“Why do you hate Dina?” Ellie asked when you looked up from your signature. She was standing in the doorway, blocking your exit. “Like you really hate her.”

“I don’t hate her.” You sighed, wondering why Ellie chose now of all moments to bring it up. Maybe that’s where she had been the last month. With Dina. Maybe she was leaving you. Did you have her enough for her to leave?

“You really hate her. Like I thought you were going to punch her that night in the bar.��� Ellie sighed and you shrugged. “I need to know why.”

“Why?” You asked her quietly. She wasn’t going to let you leave so you took a seat on a rickety arm chair, dust puffing up when you took a seat. “Why do you need to know all of a sudden?”

“It’s important to me.” She told you earnestly and you shrugged again. You didn’t hate Dina. You disliked her, sure, but you disliked everyone. “I need to know.”

“I guess it would make it easier, huh?” You asked Ellie with a cold laugh. “I tell you why I hate the woman you love and you can go back to her without guilt, right?”

“No. The part of my life spent with Dina is over. I’m not the person I was and it wouldn’t work any longer.” Ellie sighed. “I’m with you now. That’s not going to change because you hate Dina.”

“I don’t fucking hate Dina!” You snapped and Ellie raised her eyebrows at you. You ran a hand over your face and sighed. “I don’t.”

“You feel something very strongly for her.” Ellie moved closer, taking a seat on the sofa. The same plume of dust came up when she sat and she coughed. “I need you to explain it for me.”

“She thinks we’re the same. She thinks because she loved you that she knows what we are.” You told Ellie and she nodded. “She asked me once if I know what it’s like to love someone who sees themselves as a sacrifice.”

“And you do.” Ellie sighed softly. You nodded, your hands clasped tightly. “I don’t think I’ve ever told you that I’m sorry, about your sisters death and how it affected you.”

“I’m sorry about Joel.” You sighed, your head tipping forward so your expression was hidden. “Dina was wrong though.”

“About what?” Ellie asked. You didn’t look up at her this time, the conversation more real that anything either of you had shared before.

“She’s never loved a sacrifice.” You explained, clearing your throat didn’t help, the lump stuck. “You’re not a sacrifice. You’ve never been a sacrifice. Joel knew that, that’s why he stepped in that time. I can see it. You don’t throw yourself into fights you can’t win. You throw yourself into fights you will win.”

“I don’t thin- I don’t know if that’s-”

“You fight for the ones you love. You fight for those who fought for you. Joel risked everything to keep you alive. He was a fighter too. Both of you lost a fight the day he died. But with even ten minutes more of a chance he would’ve lived. The people fighting you both knew that. It took years to be able to beat you.” You explained to her. “That’s not a sacrifice, Ellie. That’s the unfortunate reality of the life we live.”

“I couldn’t save him.” She whispered and you nodded. “I won’t ever forgive myself.”

“I know. I couldn’t save her. She wanted to go. She had always wanted to go. She didn’t sacrifice herself for me. She wanted out and she took it in a way that looked meaningful.” You explained and Ellie blinked at you. “She was always sad. She always had been. She welcomed death. I’ll never forgive her.”

“I didn’t know that.” Ellie whispered and you looked up at last to face her. You didn’t say anything, wiping under your eyes. “You never told me.”

“I don’t discuss my feelings Ellie.” You sighed, exhausted. “So no, I don’t hate Dina. I’m jealous that she got this version of you, one that was full of life and she let you go over some misguided theory.”

“You wish I wasn’t like this.” Ellie wasn’t asking. “You want who I was.”

“I want who we were.” You explained. “If we had both met at eighteen we’d have been unstoppable. I would’ve had the love you needed.”

“You don’t love me now?” This time Ellie was asking and you blinked at her.

“Of course I love you. I think you might be the only person in this world that I love. But I don’t love you how you need.” You told her with a sigh. “We ruin each other every night and then kiss the cracks we’ve left on each other’s hearts like that will fix it. This ain’t healthy.”

“So you want to break up?” Ellie asked and you shook your head. You wanted her to understand so bad.

“I should want to. I should leave so that we can both heal but Ellie, I can’t live without you. So we’ll never get better.”

///

You thought Ellie would come home more after your conversation. You had never felt as exposed as you had returning from the patrol. She had walked back to the house with you, arms just barely brushing when you walked.

You hadn’t even made it in the door when she was pinning you against the wall, her face pressed into your neck. She had kissed her way down your body, undressing you tenderly. You hadn’t ever experienced this gentleness from her and you had to choke back the tears that welled in your eyes.

It had been so long since someone had been gentle with you that you had almost forgotten what it felt like.

She made you cum with her mouth and when you tried to return the favor she had only pulled you close and in a move she had never made before, she hugged you close and kissed your forehead.

She left you soon after, claiming she had something she needed to do. You let her leave, your own mind on what you had to do.

You pushed into the kitchen, pulling the bottle of whiskey out from the drinks cabinet and emptied the whole thing down the drain. You winced, watching the last of it leave the bottle.

You left then and headed straight for the Tipsy Bison. Seth met you at the counter looking stern. “Three is your cut off point tonight.”

“No, I’m not- would you, could you cut me off? Altogether?” You asked him, hesitating. “Even if I ask?”

“If you’re sure?” He asked you and you nodded. He shook his head with a smile and you gave him a weak offer of a smile back. “I’ll let the others know. This is a good thing, kid.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure if I believe it.” You told him and he laughed. “It’s an important thing though.”

“She’s worth every bit of it.” Seth promised and this time you laughed, amazed at how transparent you were being. “It’s time the two of you realized that.”

///

When you got home Ellie hadn’t returned. You wondered again where it was that she had been disappearing off to. You didn’t want to push her, waiting to see if she’d come to you. If things really had changed.

It wasn’t until you went to bed that you found the note on your pillow.

I need you to know that I know how this looks. I know it looks like I set everything up today just to let you down again. I didn’t know that you felt the way you did. I didn’t know that you could ever love me. I’ve been planning this for a while and I hate that we got so close to being normal and I’m going to ruin it. Maybe you’re right, maybe in another life or another timeline we would’ve been happy. I’m sorry that it isn’t this one.

I need to do this.

Love always,

Ellie.

[twistedwonderlandshenanigans]

All My Scars

The stories behind one of the scars each of the twst cast has SOME ARE WAY ANGSTIER THAN OTHERS OKAY please read the tw and the tags, and like the stuff in brackets under characters names that have them for a heads up...what Specifically their section covers

TW: SH, abuse, Bad Parents (specified in the reading), references to alcoholism, implied SA survivor, and some OOC stuff bc I like making Cater cry sorry PROCEED WITH CAUTION FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, apologies for inconsistencies

IF YOU DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ. Here's my masterlist to some fluffier stuff if you still want to check out my writing. Thank you!

I'll be doing a fluffier version of this some other time, like dumbest childhood injuries they had or something, so if this ain't for you, please hold! --------------------------------------------------------------------

"How did you get your scar(s)?"

Heartslaybul

Riddle The question caught him off guard. He glanced down at his hand where your thumb ran over the small indentations on the skin between his thumb and pointer finger, a small smile kicking up the corner of his mouth.

"That was Che'nya. When we were kids." You looked at him, your silence prompting him to continue.

He smiled a little more, gently pulling his hand from yours to look at the scars left there, laughing softly, though a bit pained.

"I wasn't prepared to receive very much physical affection, but Che'nya couldn't really help himself. He said if hugs were off the table, he just wanted to nibble." He chuckles softly "Of course he didn't give me much of a warning, though Trey tried to stop him before he bit me. It was a shock at the time, but both of them explained it was an expression of affection...I confirmed it later on in an article on the behaviours of beastmen. Trey was used to getting bites from Che'nya, but usually with less pent up energy. Nonetheless, he helped me take care of it before I had to return home."

His brow furrowed a bit as he sighed.

"Of course, my mother noticed eventually, the divots on my hand. It was the first and only time I ever outright lied to her - lies of omission aside. I know she didn't believe me when I told her it was just me being clumsy with my pencil, but I suppose it was a tender mercy she didn't have time to deal with me that day." He looked at the divots a little longer, a particular softness in his expression.

"They're the only scars I have. I find it rather ironic that the only imperfection I carry in my mother's eyes...is the lasting impression that there is at least one person who cares for me more than she has ever been capable of."

His smile was sad, but he tried to keep things light as he looked at you. "That is not an invitation to try and bite me as well. I know full well you care for me...because you've helped the scars nobody can see, fade."

Trey

"Which ones?" He chuckles softly, pausing his kneading as he held out his arms for you to look over the various marks he had, before he pointed at one, taking matters into his own hand. "My youngest brother likes this one for some reason. He thinks the texture is different and kinda just rubs my arm when he's calming himself down."

He turned his arm so his elbow was pointing out a little bit so he could look at his forearm, pointing to a bigger scar. "This was a burn from bumping against the edge of the oven while trying to take out a tray of cookies in a rush."

He turned his arm yet again, showing off another one. "This one was from me trying to reheat baked potato leftovers. I put butter on it and threw it in the microwave, but I almost dropped the bowl when I took it out and had the bright idea to try and catch it. Splashed hot butter up my arm." He chuckled again, using his shoulder to bump up his glasses. "I have a few from Che'nya as well. Some from my siblings. Some from baking. But they make for good stories should I ever need something to share."

Cater (Heads up for the abusive parent HC's regarding using kids for media Clout) <- you can read by clicking the link

He looks startled, like he's just seen a ghost before trying to laugh it off.

"I uh...oooh sevens don't tell me you saw me eat dirt like two days ago while I was skateboarding! I swear normally I'm better than that, I just- I didn't scar, just a scrape and nothing more, swear! It's sweet you're concerned though."

You gave him a bit of a sad look, before sighing, looking away awkwardly, knowing there was no...delicate way to tell him what you wanted to.

"Look, you don't have to tell me anything you don't want to, but the last time I was babysitting Cheka I...saw what he was watching on his tablet and um...well I unsubscribed him from the channel but there were some videos on there that-"

"Stop."

Cater was hugging himself, balled up as tightly as he could get on the opposite side of the couch, his hair shrouding his face somewhat. He was taking shallow, rapid breaths, and while you wanted nothing more than to reach out and comfort him, you didn't think he would respond well to touch at the moment.

"How much did you see?" His voice was as demanding as he could get it from inside of his little shell.

You cleared your throat a bit. "I didn't go digging into any of the videos, won't watch any if you don't want me to...it was just some of the thumbnails that...worried me that you...might have more than emotional scars to work through..."

You moved slowly to kneel on the floor next to Cater, offering your hand should he want to take it. "I'm sorry, there were better ways for me t-"

"You're right." He sobbed softly, looking out at you, nothing but pain on his face as he tried to hold in another sob, taking your hand in his, and moving it to gently run over his outer forearm.

"I c-cover them up um...a-all the time, it's second nature now but.." he takes a few moments to try and catch his breath.

"These ones were all from the same damned prank video...mom..covered the floor in dish soap in the kitchen...I was like...four, I still loved cookies, so when she said there were some, I came running in...slid and crashed into the oven...."

He sniffled and rubbed at his eyes with his free arm. "I remember watching the doctor pluck glass out from me and my mom was outside the room....just...yelling at my dad..."

He waved his hand over his forearm, letting the faded scars come to light beneath his concealer, trusting you to keep this a secret. His eyes still held unshed tears as he looked away from his arms, and from you.

"And the worst part? That video went viral. People thought it was funny. So of course mom went and did more and more prank videos, even if some people made it popular for the wrong reasons, there was still attention and validation there for her efforts, so it didn't matter. If I was crying, it was cute for me to...fuss, because I was- am the youngest, and nothing I felt really mattered. It was- I just-....I like being who I am now...most of the time...because nobody...nobody sees beyond what I want them to see...er...most people now I guess..." He gave you a bit of a bashful smile, clearly upset and conflicted still, before his face fell again and he gently tugged his hand from yours.

"Just give me a few minutes and everything will be okay again. Promise."

Deuce (with the HC he's deaf/HoH)

He kinda just sighed deeply at your question, shooting you a bit of an unimpressed look.

"I mean you could take a guess where I got most of'm and probably hit the nail on the head." He huffed, rubbing the back of his neck a bit, his eyes drifting to the side awkwardly as he wracked his brain for a scar story that wouldn't dredge up memories he'd rather forget.

"I mean the scar story my mom tells her coworkers about..." He cringes a tiny bit at the idea of relaying the story the same way his mother does, but sighed anyways.

"I was young, like really young, maybe two or three. It was before I was used to my hearing aids, so I didn't have them in at the time. She had just turned a little to greet one of our neighbours who had come out to say hello, only to hear ungodly squawking, followed by giggles...I didn't know the bird I'd managed to grab was giving me a heads up it didn't like being grabbed, besides it's struggling...long story short, it bit me pretty good." He blushed a bit and pointed to a relatively small scar on his cheek. "I don't even know what kind of bird it was. I just know what happened because it was something my mom talked about a lot."

Ace (TW for alcoholic father/abuse/manipulation)

"Mmh?" he sounded rather uninterested. It was a fair question, given the amount of time the two of you hung out, it wasn't like you wouldn't notice the jagged scar on his neck to his collarbone.

He shrugged, trying to play off how uncomfortable the memory was. "Just somethin' that happened when I was a kid."

Your unspoken questions bothered him more than he thought they would, rocking to sit up properly and look at you a little pissy.

"Look, I'm over it, so I'll tell you but I don't want a damn reaction or pity, okay? I was nine, my brother had just gotten his admission letter into NRC, and my dad was drunk off his ass. Threatened my brother with the cost of my life if he quit his job and stopped being his beer fund- not that it was much of a threat, it was a glass bottle or some shit he'd shattered and held to my neck. That was the night my brother made arrangements for me to live with his friends families so he could still come here without making me walk on eggshells around my dad. He still won't tell me if he kept paying the bastard's beer money or not, but my dad's in rehab now, and I don't ever gotta go back to him by myself again. I can just visit my brother now he's got his own place, even if he's got a roommate. So now you know." He got up from the couch, shaking out his hands a bit.

"Now, I'm gonna make some breakfast and I'm using your materials. Ain't no way I'm trekking back to Heartslaybul just for breakfast."

Savanaclaw

Leona

"Don't remember" He stretched on his bed, yawning. "Same shit I told Ruggie. It doesn't affect me now, so what's the point in remembering it? Can't hold on to every dusty memory."

"Aren't scars a symbol of nobility to those from Sunset Savannah?"

You could practically feel the discomfort rolling off of Leona in waves as he turned his back to you more.

"....yeah, they can be..." he sighed, feeling the weight of your next question mounting. "Just chalk it up to some stupid royal tradition that should have been abolished years ago. You don't have to believe it, but I'm done talking now."

Ruggie (Hyena Hierarchy shit ig?)

"Eh?" His ears flick playfully as he snickers. "They ain't a big deal. Growin' up some of the girls would play a little rough, 'nd now I mainly take care of the rugrats they like to chew and bite on anything they can get their little teeth into, not limited to ears and tail."

His ear flicks again and he holds his hands out. "And I mean, my hands ain't scarred but I don't have fingerprints cuz my grandma taught me how to do the hot food flip, you know what I mean." He snickers. "But y'know, just cuz they don't hurt anymore, doesn't mean I won't take a little extra cuddles or pets if you're gonna offer."

Jack

He scratched the back of his head a bit. "You noticed it??" He seemed a little awkward, and now that the fact had fully settled that the only scar he had was the small one on his upper lip, you could kind of understand why.

You nod a bit and he sighs, his hand dropping from behind his head and looking off to the side, a little bit embarrassed.

"It was a frog." He cringed a bit at his wording and at the eyes he felt from you, and he knew you were trying to hold back laughter.

"I- my bigger cousin was showing me a frog he caught and it jumped on my face. I didn't have full awareness of ah...my capabilities and...where my claws were in relation to my face... ended up hurting myself in the process of getting it off of me. I don't remember much else after that....just that I don't...love frogs..." He admitted a little shyly, tail tucked slightly, and clearly embarrassed.

Octavinelle

Azul

He looks at you rather unimpressed, then gestures to the tweels.

"They think I'm a chew toy. They would be the reason for any and ALL of my scars, as I've never been in any other danger where scarring would be an issue."

Jade

The question seems to hit him harder than you expected. Jade was normally hard to read, but his discomfort was apparent with your question. He gave you a practiced, but strained smile.

"The story behind my scars are not something I share willingly with anyone. I will be taking my leave." (but you can read the story here >:D)

Floyd (partial nudity?? but it's just Floyd showing off the scars he has all along his legs enthusiastically)

"Aha! I got a whole buncha scars shrimpy, which ones are ya curious 'bout?" He flopped down next to to you, and took his shirt off, showing off scars on his back.

"Oh didya see the ones on my legs durin' basketball practice?" He tried to pull up his school uniform pant leg, to no avail. He huffed and just slid his pants off, leaving him in his boxers as he showed off the scars all along his legs.

He beamed "It's a helluva lot harder t'see em when I'm in my mer form, blend right in with my scales, but my human body?? I look sick!! And there ain't too many humans who can boast 'bout havin' scars from a shark attack or a tussle with a barracuda! I got a whole buncha stories I could tellya if ya think you can stomach'em-" He snickers.

Scarabia

Kalim

"Ahah....I..I've got a scar?? Where?" For some reason he seemed a little panicked, looking over his arms anxiously. "No, no I shouldn't have any scars I um- I- just-"

His behaviour made you a little worried, so you moved to take his hands in yours, trying to steady him, but he pulled away from you, looking at you rather frantically.

"Just tell me where! I....I can- I'm alright, promise, but I don't have any scars!"

I'm realizing I have an obsession, here's another story

Jamil

"I mean I have a few minor scars on my hands from when I first started learning to cook." You watched his practiced movements as he chopped vegetables at a quick pace, sliding them off the cutting board as necessary to make more room for himself.

"Though I suppose with how intently you watch me work it's not a stretch to assume you noticed them." He gives you a bit of a knowing smirk, before pausing for a moment, and flexing his wrist to show a small scar on the back of his hand.

"That one was from taking care of Najma. She was just learning how to walk and wandered out of my fathers sight. My mother was taking care of something inside the palace, so as soon as I noticed she wasn't toddling around us, my father and I began searching for her. She ended up somehow getting herself wedged between....seven, I can't even remember. I remember putting both hands in, and pulling one one out with a cockroach on it, and the other struggling to pull Najma out until my dad was able to assist." He shook his head and sighed. "I cut myself on the wood around her, needed a couple stitches after....but she was all good, save for a mouthful of sand she had stuffed into her mouth." he chuckled softly.

"But if I have any other scars...you'll have to wait longer for those stories."

Pomefiore

Vil (SA Survivor vaguely implied)

"I do not know what you are referring to potato. I don't have so much as single blemish on my skin."

You met his eyes in the mirror, a silent questioning match ensuing between the two of you. You broke eye contact first, leaving him satisfied as he took a deep breath.

"There is nothing inherently wrong with scars. But the ones I have don't deserve any more thought, the person who inflicted them are no longer a part of my life, and never will be again. It's been over seven years, I know that there isn't a cell on me that has not been replaced by a new one."

He met your eyes back in the mirror. "Never bring this topic up again, unless you require assistance with your own scars."

Rook

"Hm? I've taken great care to cover them all up, mon trickster. Since coming to Pomefiore and being under Vil's supervision, most of my scars have faded to a point they are barely identifiable." He smiled softly at you.

"Though if you've noticed one or two, I assure you the story is lackluster." Despite his casual appearance, Rook seemed to be on..even higher alert than usual, as in you could actually pick up on the tension coming off of him. Despite this, your curiousity got the better of you.

"How can they be lackluster? Aren't most of them from archery or animals?"

Rook met your eyes with a rather cold expression, and regardless of stature, made it feel like he was looking down on you.

"No."

His glare lasted a beat longer, before he beamed, "Ah, it's best I get going. I bid you good day."

Epel (got top surgery over the summer)

"WHATCHYA MEAN HOW'D I GET MA SCARS?!" He has a wide grin on his face, hiking his shirt up.

"I AIN'T GOT NO TITS NO MORE!" He sets his shirt back down, a shit-eating smile on his face. "It was about damn time y'know! Lookit how flat ma ches- look at the scars!! Ain't they cool lookin?? Make me look MANLY an' strong, earlier Sebek done asked who I fought nd I just told'm it was my femin-feminini-.....it ain't funny now, but his face sure was!"

Ignihyde

Idia (TW for SH scars)

The ends of his hair went almost clear, and he looked rather deflated. "....cats. Stray cats. Used to pick them up without trying to bribe them first..." he mumbled, pulling at his sleeve a little more to try and cover them up, before trying to flash you a smile, though he was clearly uncomfortable and upset, so it only lasted a moment before he turned completely away from you.

The silence was heavy between the two of you, knowing the truth was more than the consequences of an angry cat.

He hugged himself more, still away from you.

"I don't do it anymore...Ortho is here now..to ah...remind me to do better...even if he doesn't know about it, his presence is enough."

Ortho

"Scar??" He tilted his head and giggled a little bit. "I don't really get those. When I get scratches Idia helps me buff them out. Why, do you see one?"

He ran a diagnostics test, trying to answer his own question, but came up empty, now trying to look over himself manually for any sort of disfiguration, only to look at you more confused and a little amused.

"What are you talking about?"

Diasomnia

Malleus

He had to hide a slight pout at your question. "Fae do not scar, not easily..."

He could see the way your eyes shifted between his face and his ear, before he sighed. "However...when I was much younger, I was prone to fits of anger, often scaring and sometimes harming the guards that were too slow to react around me." A tiny smile started to form as he thought about it more.

"Besides the initial pain when his weapon brushed past me, the guards face of terror was enough to make me giggle, despite the blood that dripped from the tiny incision." His hand came up to gently hold his ear between two of his fingers, rubbing over the small scar along the edge of it.

"I told him if he agreed to play with me I wouldn't tell my grandmother what he'd done. In a way, he was one of my first friends..but the news inevitably made it's way through the chain of command, and he was soon replaced by another heartless, soulless guard...they were all like that you know....so afraid of me, as a Draconia, to even extend the hand of friendship to a child."

Lilia

"Kheeheehee I've not got a single one, not anymore! I've had more than enough time for all the memories of my glory days fade like the scars that would have told the stories. Besides, having any visible scars would put a damper on my absolutely adorable face!" He batted his eyelashes, resting his cheeks on the 'v' shape his hands made.

Silver

"How did I get my scars?" He repeated, then looked thoughtful for a moment. "I don't have many...ah." He pulled his pant leg up gently and revealed a somewhat...suspicious looking scar on his calf.

"When I was younger, Sebek's yelling wasn't always enough to wake me up. He got fed up and bit me. He was successful in waking me up, so I have a few other scars similar to that one from when we were kids, but when he was about ten he had to stop. It was too much and he had poor control over his bite force."

He touched the side of his face pensively. "Though I was outside a lot as a child too. I'm sure I've got more scars and marks than I've cared to count. But Fa- Lilia was always attentive during our sparing sessions, so I've never received a scar from a blade."

Sebek

He huffed, an annoyed sounding bellow leaving him as he crossed his arms and turned his face away from you.

"I have not had the opportunity to receive a scar but-"

"The opportunity?"

His face flushed a bit, and he looked a little grumpy, "SILENCE, do not interrupt me human. Of course you wouldn't understand! My grandfather has battle scars still, they're a symbol of his bravery and valiance in Briar Valley! If I should ever have the OPPORTUNITY to receive a scar by blade, I would like to have one that matches his."

Extra

Che'nya

"Eh?? Well why'dya wanna knyow?" He chuckles, sitting crisscross against nothing, upside down in front of you.

"I was just curious- you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

He just giggles more, wiping one hand over half his face, evidently using magic to get rid of concealer on that side of his face.

"It's nyat a big deal, all I've got are acne scars and the result of me just pickin' at myah skin." He grinned, pouting playfully and making a peace sign. "'m still absolutely adorrrrrrrrrrrrable though, makeup just is more tolerable than putting lotion on and reminds me not to pick at it." He purred through his own compliment, before using his hand to use magic and put the concealer back on.

Jack Hearts-Trappola (same TW as Ace, only it's implied here, not outright)

He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Don't ask Ace that question, kay? It'll put'm in a funk for the rest of the day even if he denies it." He moved to pour himself a glass off coffee, aware you were still waiting for an answer. He took a sip before looking back to you, and answering best he could.

"The scars I have were mostly caused by glass. Once I got into the entertainment industry, I took up soldering and welding so I've got a few pretty bad burns myself from slag or poor PPE, but I had fun doin' it. So no harm no foul." He grinned, the same wide, shit-eating grin that matched his younger brother's expression so closely, it was uncanny.

Falena

His laugh filled the room, boisterous and light. "Ah, you noticed them?" He had all sorts of scars along his arms, in sets of two or three, headed in the same direction.

"Thank you. Here, scars are a testament to one's nobility, strength and perseverance. I received many from Leona when we used to spar, he was always quick on his feet and caught me off guard many times." He chuckled again. "I was never the best at fighting, but it was an important skill to develop should I ever need to defend my son...and if my wife isn't around to exact her fury." His wife gave him a light, playful shove, making him laugh in response as well.

Najma

"Okay if I tell you, you can't tell Jamil or my parents okay?? Don't go snitching me out." She pulled you up to her room, and to her window, sliding it open to a palm tree just outside.

She pointed down at a ridge on the tree, and then pulled up the cuff of her pants and pointed to a scar from the middle of her calf up to her knee. "That fucking tree bit me when I was just trying to go meet up with some of my girls. Do you know how quiet I had to be so my mom and dad didn't catch on??"

Neige (HC he uses mobility aids (forearm crutches + wheelchair when necessary) when not in public eye)

He laughed softly, settling back into his wheelchair and pulling his leg up across the other one, pointing to a small scar over the front of his ankle.

"I got it when I was really young. I was trying to run away from someone who was chasing me, I don't remember if it was tag or not, but probably! I ended up getting a deeper cut than I thought I did when I tripped over one of those concrete barriers they use for cars. It was already falling apart, so the I guess it was moreso the mix inside the concrete that got me?? I don't remember. I do remember getting ice cream after though." He giggled. "I think I was on my way to a photoshoot. I'll have to see if Vil remembers."

Rollo (vague religious themes, SH, never ask me to write for this man again)

He had a band around his wrist, as if he had a bracelet that had turned into one massive scar. It wasn't entirely unreasonable for you to ask, and now that you knew of his brother, there was no reason to really keep it to himself now.

He sighed, holding his wrist out to you rather disdainfully.

"It's a reminder. Every time I look at it, I can imagine the pain my dear brother was in as fire and magic consumed him. I burnt myself for weeks in the same place so as to remind myself repeatedly what my failure has caused. It serves as a reminder what hell will feel like should I never repent of my sins, or fail in correcting the path so many have fallen to. Magic is no god of mine. I will not let it dictate when life is lost or gained. Not in my life. Not in anyone's if things were to go my way...but I'll show them the right way eventually."

His eyes slid over to you.

"You agree, don't you? You'll walk down the righteous path with me and preach the truth to everyone until they join us too."

--------------------------------------------------------

Free me from my mental prison dear god why do I do this to myself at the worst times of day/night.

[gatheringbones]

[“Intervention by the juvenile system can lead to incarceration—called “secure detention” in the juvenile system. “Every day, girls are securely detained for offenses that would not result in detention for a boy,” Sherman has argued.

While some young people are detained because of the gravity of their offenses, others are held in a misguided attempt to help them. Young people are placed in secure detention to protect them from conflict in the home, danger on the streets, potentially abusive boyfriends, their own impulses, being commercially sexually exploited, and returning to their traffickers. Prosecutors ask for young people to be held, and judges detain them because they see detention as the only way to provide young people with (or force them to accept) services. Young people are detained to ensure that they appear in court—either in their own cases or to testify against those who have harmed them—with the assumption that the legal process will somehow benefit the child. Young people who come into the system as victims of commercial sexual exploitation are often detained by judges who believe that holding them will prevent them from being revictimized, sometimes without evidence that they are actually at risk. In a Baltimore court, for example, an attorney explained that her client had been labeled as trafficked based on unsubstantiated information from a school resource officer; the girl did not understand why she was being described as a prostitute in court.

In their zeal to prevent trafficking, law enforcement officers and judges fail to recognize that involvement in the juvenile system makes young people more vulnerable to commercial sexual exploitation. Musto calls this use of detention “carceral protectionism”: “enforcement with a protective bent or carcerality inflicted with care.” Detention in a carceral protectionist world is not always meant as punishment, but instead is seen as a necessary evil intended to benefit young people. “]

leigh goodmark, from imperfect victims: criminalized survivors and the promises of abolition feminism, 2023

[superbat-lmao]

It really strikes me how in so many fics where Dick Grayson meeting Jason Todd goes badly, where Jason is written to have a past history of sexual abuse usually, how callous/direct/abrasive Dick comes across through Jason’s perspective.

Like returning home and being suspicious of a stranger in your house, being so in the middle of your own feud with your adoptive father and family problems that it doesn’t even occur to you to snap into Robin/Nightwing training.

There are some I’ve seen where Dick actively makes it worse for Jason, like asking who the hell he is or saying to Bruce “you didn’t tell me you were getting another one” or especially anything A/B/O related because people love to write highly emotional reactions with those sorts of subtexts being explicitly laid out with the “scent” meanings.

But just, it strikes me how many people write him as an aggressive teenager who thinks he’s been replaced and that his father, who revoked his access to being a hero/his mother’s name for him out of a fucked up/misdirected sense of protection, doesn’t want him anymore. That it wouldn’t occur to him, in his own home, to have to respond to a situation with the same level of caution and understanding he grants survivors as Nightwing. That he’s really just 18 and in a space where he’s been conditioned to keep “cape business” downstairs and is reacting with all of the emotional volatility of a teenager because it’s the level of compartmentalization that Bruce instilled in him and he’s so woefully unprepared to have to code switch back into being Nightwing when met with familial turmoil.

And that Jason couldn’t possibly know any of this from The King of Emotional Repression™️ and that the man didn’t think to inform Dick of Jason’s situation. That Bruce can’t understand why it would hurt Dick to come home to something like this, or how it would harm Jason to be met with teenage hostility that is adult hostility.

There are a lot of fics where people write that Jason thinks B will “get rid of him” and other sorts of self deprecative phrases about him being homeless, a street rat, “turning tricks” in some cases. And that Dick is so blindsided by his own personal problems with Bruce that he just, none of this occurs to him.

That he really is only 18 and suddenly expected to be able to handle things he’s never even considered. He’s been trained to handle difficult cases, to see the worst of the worst, but Dick’s only 18 and has far less experience with families than he does with drug smuggling.

He’s an acrobat and a hero because of his training. He’s still learning to be a son, and now a brother.

[djuvlipen]

The Talibans have closed all the women shelters in Afghanistan and are instead putting women in jail to "protect them"

The Taliban regime in Afghanistan is sending Afghan women to prison to protect them from gender-based violence, Khaama Press reported, citing the Office of the Deputy of the United Nations in Afghanistan.

The United Nations Assistance Mission in Afghanistan (UNAMA) has stated that gender-based violence against women and girls existed in Afghanistan even before the dominance of the Taliban. However, with the advent of the new regime, the social life of women has been limited, and family violence against women, especially by their husbands, has increased.

The UNAMA office added that before the re-establishment of the Taliban, there were 23 shelters for the protection of women survivors of gender-based violence in the country, none of which are now active.

The Taliban have also deemed protective shelters for women "safe houses" and declared them unnecessary.

The de facto Taliban regime has deemed protective shelters for women or 'safe houses' as originating from Western culture and declared their existence "unnecessary," Khaama Press reported.

The officials of the Taliban administration have stated that they take commitments from caretakers of violence-affected women to not harm them.

The UN report also says that women are no longer working in the judiciary or law enforcement, and are not allowed to deal with crimes of gender-based violence. Women are only permitted to attend work when called upon by their male supervisors.

"In cases where women survivors of violence had no male relatives or there were safety concerns, they were sent to prisons; similar to addicts and the homeless," the report stated.

Meanwhile, the 'Purple Saturday Movement', managed by a number of protesting women, has expressed concern in a statement regarding the realities reflected in this report, according to Khaama Press.

"Imprisoning women who are themselves victims of gender-based violence is not only against Islam and Sharia, but in reality, it is a horrific form of mental, emotional, and physical abuse of women that must be stopped immediately," the statement of the movement reads.

UNAMA has further stated that since the Taliban came to power again on August 15, 2021, the handling of gender-based violence complaints has been unclear and inconsistent.

The Office of the Deputy of the United Nations has also emphasised that women who have experienced violence are now afraid of seeking official justice for fear of arrest, Khaama Press reported.

More than two years have passed since the Taliban banned girls from studying beyond sixth grade in Afghanistan and there is no sign of reopening the schools to girls studying above sixth grade.

Since the Taliban took over Afghanistan in August 2021, they have issued several decrees that impose restrictions on women. Afghanistan's women have faced numerous challenges since the Taliban returned to power. Girls and women in the war-torn country have no access to education, employment and public spaces, Khaama Press reported.

[askdiscordwhooves]

This update was drawn by me, @jitterbugjive

I want to address one thing that I KNOW some people are going to complain about because they've already complained about if it would happen, and that’s The Doctor and Derpy getting together in the end. I understand the concerns. This is in no way meant to say ‘your abusers will eventually change for the better if you just say the right things to them’. This isn’t that kind of story. These are special circumstances that DO NOT EXIST in real life where the abuser was under MAGICAL mind control. That’s not who he actually is and when he’s himself he’s not remotely an abuser. He is safe from having a relapse, the curse is gone and over with because the core Discord was killed while the fragment left over in their universe has been reformed.

 Real abusers are not under any kind of puppetry or mind control when they do what they do, and no not even getting drunk counts as this because when someone is an abusive drunk they’re still choosing to get drunk when they are well aware of what they do when under the influence. If The Doctor did any of this abuse on his own terms, I wouldn’t have let them get back together. I’m an abuse survivor, I know better than that. When you try to compare completely fantasy scenarios that can’t happen in real life to.. Well, real life, you’re kind of reaching at straws at that point. Besides, this relationship wasn’t automatically better just because he returned to normal. Both of them suffered damage and trauma and both needed to navigate around it to be able to trust one another again. If there’s any kind of comparison to make, it’d be more like a loved one suffering a psychotic episode and doing horrible things they’d never do in their right mind. And some people are able to understand and forgive, while others are not. The pain of having a psychotic episode and saying and doing things that hurt people is really hard to overcome, it’s hard to trust yourself and it can be hard to make amends. But a psychotic episode does not dictate who a person is. It just doesn’t. And that’s the closest thing to reality this story is. I tried to handle this as best I could, because in my line of work recovery is the most important thing and I understand that someone coming out of a bad episode needs support and compassion (Unless they’re a terrible person in general) and there have been extreme cases where perfectly good people end up going as far as murder- even murdering their own children, but their loved ones are able to reason that they were sick and they are going to suffer great pain upon realizing what they’d done, and they are going to seek help. Maybe you wouldn’t be able to forgive someone who did terrible things in a psychotic state, and that’s within your right, but it doesn’t mean people who can forgive are any less valid. Listen, if a husband can be capable of not blaming his wife for killing their kids in a psychotic state (a very real event that happened rather recently, simply google “wife psychosis news killed children husband forgives” and you’ll find it), it's perfectly reasonable that someone can forgive someone who was under magical mind control.

If you are in a physically abusive relationship, you need to get out of it. The likelihood of this person changing for the better is extremely low, and you can’t cling to the idea of the rare few people who manage to work through these kind of things. Those are very special circumstances and in my opinion if there’s a relapse into violence after making genuine efforts to change, that should be the end of it once and for all. It shouldn’t be happening to begin with, it should not be tolerated. You matter, you deserve to be treated with kindness and compassion. Never let anyone tell you or make you feel otherwise. Please take care of yourselves, and DO NOT use this story as a basis for how to manage your own relationships, no matter how much you might think you see yourselves in it. This is fiction, and the scenarios in this story do not happen in real life. If you can’t discern reality from fiction, that is all on you, not me.

[georgiapeach30513]

Your Mark on Me, Part 16

Summary: will your marks ever be enough?

Pairings: Steve Rogers X Reader

Rating: explicit

Warnings:  explicit language, explicit sexual content, scratching, blood, minor blood kink, slapping, mentions of abuse from Peggy, sex in front of someone, PIV sex, unprotected sex, mild breeding kink, creampie, mentions of reader's IUD removal, arrest, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 5.6K

Previous

Series Masterlist

“Woah, woah,” Bucky says, jumping in front of Steve. His hands press into his friend's chest as he shakes his head. Using force to push him back. Not able to say in words just what Steve needs to realize, “You can’t just barge in there.”

“The fuck I can’t. Move. Immediately. I need to see her,” Bucky shakes his head. His normally bright eyes are worn. Exhausted to a point of unrecognizing. “Please?” Steve softly begs. “I need to know she’s okay.”

“She’s not,” Bucky responds. The heavy weight of needing to tell Steve that you aren’t okay finally getting lighter as he says two words. “She’s alive, but she’s not okay.”

Bucky’s hands fall to his side, while Steve’s mouth falls open. His mental exhaustion starting to catch up with him. “I don’t know what that means, Buck.”

“Bruce checked her vitals. She’s stable, but mentally, and physically worn. She survived, which is the best possible scenario. We got her out, and she’s here.”

Steve gulps, his eyes looking around at all the closed doors. He knows that he’s going to get one chance to bolt to your room. If he goes to the wrong one, someone will stop him from going into another room using brute force. He has one chance. “What does that mean?”

“She’s a survivor,” he answers softly. Proud of you for remaining resilient and strong.

“Did — did, my god,” his voice cracks as he shakes his head. “Did someone touch her?”

“Yeah, but she isn’t talking to tell us who or what they did, but — you can see she’s been beaten,” Steve swallows bile, his eyes don’t return to Bucky. One shot. One moment to get this right. They wouldn’t put you in the front of the house, or in the back, you’d be too close to an entrance. They’d put you on the level floor, close to where food was, and you wouldn’t have to walk far. They’d make sure you have your own bathroom.

“Steve,” Bucky says, but doesn’t attempt to grab at his friend as he rushes past him. Bucky knows if anyone tried to keep him away from his Shy Violet he would bully past them. Bucky stands frozen while Steve dashes to the room he thinks is yours, and slings the door open.

Sighing, smiling, crying when he sees your sleeping form curled into a ball on the bed. You look so tiny, and infant-like. Your body seizes and twitches around, and you hold your legs to your chest tighter, and Natasha turns to watch Steve.

“She hasn’t eaten much, but Bruce gave her some medicine that would take away the pain, and help her sleep,” he takes slow calculated steps towards your bed. Hearing words coming out of Nat’s mouth, but not understanding anything. “She’s got her open wounds cleaned. Steve don’t.”

He lifts the blanket off your body, wincing when he sees the bruising and rope burns. Steve slowly lets the blanket fall before leaning over and kissing your forehead. Falling to his knees beside you, he leans onto your mattress. Just staring. Watching you sleep even if it’s not peaceful.

He’d been an idiot, and it cost you so much pain. The marks on your body is the pain that he can see was inflicted on you, but what’s worse is knowing the hurt he caused. All of this could have been avoided had he just held you close. Hidden you, Bucky, and Shy, but he was an idiot. He’s the reason that you are not only feeling all this suffering and turmoil, but he’s also the reason you seem so defeated.

It has been too long since he last saw you, and all he wants to do is gather you in his arms, and hold you until you can’t feel any bad things ever again. He makes a silent vow that you’ll never feel this again. Especially feel pain that’s connected to him in any way.

“Steve,” Nat says softly, but he waves a hand towards the door. Nobody could make him leave your side ever again. You and him would have a ribbon sewn onto each other. Have you wound so tightly close to him that people won’t know if it’s a leash for you or for him. Tethered together for all eternity. “She’s not the girl you left behind.”

“I wouldn’t expect her to be,” Nat cringes as she watches her friend. He’s so tormented imagining the things that they did to you. How they could have altered your way of living because he was a fucking idiot. “I failed the one person that I actually lo…”

“Steve?” He leans in closer to the bed, while your eyes try to focus on the man in front of you. Your breathing is erratic and wild, nose flaring as you see him. You thought you’d see him sooner, but he comes in at the last goddamn second, while you’re now a broken shell of the woman he met all those months ago.

“Steve Rogers?” You have to be sure because of what you have pumping through your veins. A rage that is so deep that you are equal to his darkness now. A blackness that has tainted your soul, and you’re not sure you can ever be brought back to the light.

“Yeah, Dovey, it’s me,” it all happens so fast. Sitting up just enough to have your weight balanced, so you can reach out in front of you. Curling your fingers slightly so you can claw down his face, desiring nothing more than to hear him scream in agony. Instead he inhales deeply, biting his tongue as he takes the assault.

You grit your teeth as you watch the mark on his face darken as beads of his blood pool to the surface. Hating yourself for finding even his flaws beautiful, and hating him all the same. There’s not much of a difference between love and hate. The sentiments are wrought with so much passion, and the blinding rage you feel is too similar to the pure love you once felt.

“Scream!” You sit up in bed, and Steve gets a front row seat of every scrape, cut, bruise, burn, and whatever torture Peggy enjoyed. Glancing so quickly over your body, but keeps his gaze on you. You hate that you saw his small reaction to your battered body, “Curse me! Hit me! Just hate me! Hate! Me!”

“I would never,” his voice is so calm and soft it makes the absolute anger simmer inside of you. Bubbling to the surface until you try and push him away. Hitting on his arms over and over again because you’re so angry. You're angry that the vile woman had you tied up like livestock and you couldn’t fight back. You let Steve feel just how much with every blow, and still he doesn’t move.

He absorbs every harsh hit to his body, before you stop. Resting your head on his shoulder, “I can never hate you.”

“But you said,” tears well in your eyes as those disgusting images of him leaving you rush through your mind. “Y-y-you pulled out, and took yourself away from me! You k-knew what coming inside of me meant! And you treated me like — like a fucking whore! Fuck you, Steve Rogers!”

“Dovey.”

You flinch away from him, but the same power in your eyes is gone. The fury is replaced with sorrow. Your words are more defeated, showing just how exhausted you are, “Don’t you fucking dare! You have no idea,” the images of how tender and caring he was play through your mind. The weight of your arms over your head, and just how sore you are. How vulnerable and weak you felt being in their presence and all you wanted was for him to use his stupid thick arms to wrap around you, and hold you tight. Telling you it was okay and this was all a dream. But you still feel them on every blemish on your skin.

“They marked me,” your voice cracks, and you curl into yourself. Unsure if someone laying their hands on you and marking you in some way is what bothers yo because that was Steve’s privilege, or if you’re reeling with the abuse they dealt you. It’s all so confusing and going through waves in your mind. Everything that has happened plays over and over. Steve slowly starts to move to the bed, and you're so done with fighting and hurting, you don’t object. He grabs at your body, pulling you into his lap, and relaxes his chin on your head, and you retch. “I see them all over me.”

“I don’t,” he’s such a fucking liar. All he does is lie. Everything he’s ever told you was false. “All I see is the most beautiful, strongest, brave, amazing woman I’ve ever met. And,” he takes a deep breath, and presses his entire hand on your neck. Using his body heat to warm up the only mark he cares about. “Dove.”

“Don’t call me that,” he holds you even tighter, realizing that you’re not going to reject him just yet. You need to feel anything but the pain they made you endure. Their pain was to torture you, while his pain was to claim you. Vastly different, and still your mind blurs the two together.

“That’s what I always call you.”

“I prefer Dovey,” his chin resting on your head is replaced with his mouth. He presses his lips against you, and holds it there. He had been so stupid. He didn’t deserve any form of forgiveness from you, but he was going to take every bit that you gave him. “I’m so tired.”

“Sleep. I won’t be leaving you. You’ll always be right by my side. I’ll never leave you again.”

“What if I asked you to,” he nuzzles his face against your head, and you wish it was that simple. They used his love for you as a weapon. The love you felt for him was bastardized as they made fun of the desperate little bird in love with Steve who he could never love back because he will always be in love with the devil. “What if I told you I never wanted to see you again.”

“I can’t do that, Dovey. Being away from you for a few weeks was torture. My blood sizzled with so much hatred towards the people that took you. I was on my way back to you, but I was too late. But I can’t walk away from you ever again.”

“Why?” For one word it packs on so many questions and convictions. Why was he so sure he couldn’t stay away from you? Why did he feel the need to leave you then, but now that he was without you there’s a difference? Why should you believe anything he says when he can change his mind so carelessly, leaving you vulnerable to vultures.

“Why?” You ask him again, sitting up from his embrace, but remain in his lap. Your bloodshot eyes and tear stained face look at him with so much confusion. How could he possibly ever feel the things that you felt? Things shouldn’t be this hard, and feel so raw. That’s all it’s ever been with Steve, transactional to a degree, but you were the one always paying him, and he took savagely and selfishly. “Why, Steve?”

“Because I love you,” you slap him hard across the face, watching his blood smear across his skin. A weird desire to lick it off of him, telling him that every drop of blood and inch of him belongs to you. Asshole. “I do, Dovey. I love you. And I feel like a coward that it took losing you in the most horrific way to realize it. To understand that my actions are only about how you are the only thing that matters to me. If you say the words, I’ll throw it all away just for you. Because you’re all I need in this world.”

All these words don’t even compare to the actions that he has done that led you to know how much he loves you. But the way that they hit you has a knot rise in your throat, stopping your ability to say anything. You just stare at his stupid handsome face streaked in blood and reddened from your slap. Hearing the words for the first time in person is a punch in the gut. You never thought three words would sound so beautiful.

“I know it doesn’t mean much right now. I failed you, Dovey. The one thing I swore I would never do. I let influences control my mind when it should have been you controlling it. I didn’t see reality because I thought I was protecting you, and instead I allowed my nightmare to come true. I’m sorry, Dovey.”

Words still never break past your lips, but you know Steve isn’t lying. You know that man isn’t telling you what you want to hear because you spent over a year trying to get him to admit his feelings. It’s the timing and the conviction that has rendered you speechless.

“I’ll spend the rest of my life telling you how much I love you and trying to make up for the things that I did. You say the word and I’ll do it. Whatever you want.”

“If I asked you to cut your hand off?”

“Which one?” Prick. You wouldn’t let him actually do that, it’s just silly. “I’m not asking to hear it back from you. It’s my turn to understand what it feels like not to hear it. But I do, I love you.”

“I don’t love you anymore, Steve,” his mouth turns up in a grin as he nods his head. Pulling you in close to him as he holds you once more. “I heard you tell me you loved me while I slept. Saw that video so many times while I was there. Had Loki taunting me. He told me that you said pretty words to make my legs spread. Funny thing though, you were nothing but a monster, and I still spread my legs for you. I ran, and you chased. I pushed you away, and you pulled me closer. Since I walked into the club, you’ve never let me live my life. I didn’t want you then, and I still don’t want you now.”

“Okay, Dovey,” he didn’t realize how the sting of your words could cut so deeply. Hitting him right to his soul, even if he didn’t believe them. For someone so beautiful, you knew what to say to make it feel worse than scorching metal on his skin. He wonders if you felt this bad while he avoided saying three words to you, he’ll start every conversation with ‘I love you’, just so you don’t forget. “I understand.”

“But,” he feels the tiniest glimmer of hope. There’s a bit of the same lightness in your voice as there was before. A bit of that cheeky tone that you used to use. Like you came back if only for one syllable. “I need you.”

You feel the gulp that he swallows right down to your core. You don’t want it, but it’s enlightening to know that part isn’t broken. You wrestle with wishing that it was broken and wondering how you ask Steve to fuck you like he hated you. Give you something that is vastly different than what you had to watch on a never ending loop. Show his passion with furiously stabbing into you, and overstimulating you, degrading you. Hate and love are powered by the same deep settled desire. And you wanted to feel both emotions with every thrust.

“But I can never love you ever again.”

“That’s fair,” he solemnly says. His fingers dig into your skin with how tightly he holds onto you. “As long as you let me keep you right by my side forever,” it is a fair trade. He’ll have to accept that you just need him. It’s all you have to offer him. It’s all that remains with your hope. Your need for him. Everything else was ripped out of you.

“What did you do to the bitch?” You look up at him with a teasing smile that is borderline demonic. You want to hear every gory detail of how he pulled her apart limb by limb. “She was the worst one. Everything she did to me was personal.”

“I know,” he pauses long enough for you to turn in his lap. Sitting face to face with him, while your legs wrap around his waist. “It’s the reason why I have Sam and Clint guarding her. After I got to her, she was forcefully and painfully tied up and brought to the club basement. She’s awaiting your punishment. While I have some colorful ways to dispose of her, I think the decision should lie with you. It’ll be the first step of my apology.”

“You — you want me to punish her?”

“If you choose. Torture her, make it quick, talk to her, whatever your mind can come up with,” oh. Oh! She broke the sane part of you, now what remains is a hellcat that wants her to suffer. All you can think about are delicious ways that you can serve her a better dish that she served you. And there was one thing that she used as a weapon, and you are going to take it back. Put the gun back in his holster. And she was going to watch every agonizing second of it.

“Looks like the brat has returned,” her voice gives you a second of pause until Steve squeezes your hand. His crystal blue eyes stay locked on you, and you can’t turn away from Peggy. “He couldn’t even finish the job. You know why?”

Steve’s throat rumbles with a growl, and it’s you that squeezes his hand. Giving him the same comfort he just gave you. She doesn’t scare you anymore. Turning to look at him with a smile. “Why don’t you sit in the chair, Captain,” you give him a wink. Cupping his cock, and wiggling you fingers at his balls. Making sure to move over his package, starting to claim him in front of her, “Lose the shirt,” he doesn’t hesitate to remove the shirt, and you watch his inky back as he glides over to a chair.

Waiting for him to sit down, and spread his legs wide. His own hand fondles himself as he smiles at you. He’s such a devil. He knew exactly what it was you’re wanting. You want this mark to be one that Peggy sees first hand. A front row seat to the most beautiful and magical moment, and she couldn’t say anything.

“What happened to your pretty face, Steve? You always said that you didn’t want your face marred with ink,” a low chuckle releases from your lips as you walk behind Steve. You told him those three marks you left on his face, running from above his brow, slashed through his lip, were sexy. They were yours in the heat of the moment. Even in anger, you still need Steve. While your body healed, Steve scarred.

He loved pain, and a pain that showed how irrecoverably he belonged to you was so much sweeter. He continued to pick at the cuts, and made them a bit deeper, a crude reminder of how vicious you can be. Making them scar, staining his face in a beautifully macabre way. “Oh, I did that to him.”

“Let me guess, you got a backhand for that?”

“I got cradled, and held against his chest while he kissed the top of my head,” her head twists towards Steve, and he confirms your words with a nod. Steve would never hurt you to put you in your place. He deserved the anger you felt towards him.

“Whatever makes you feel better, princess.”

“Have they been treating you nice? Told you what happened to your organization?”

“Drugs and pussy?”

“Mmm,” you wish she could see the malice that was zigzagging in your eyes. The way your body was buzzing like it was on drugs with anticipation. She had no idea what was coming for her.

“Sluts and drugs will always be in business. You destroy one, another will pop up.”

“What about what you were doing to me? Do you make auctions like that a normal occurrence?” She smiles at you, but refuses to answer. “I’m sure you pick a ‘prime slab of meat’ to sell to your wealthiest clients. Telling them what they want to hear because you are the police. You control where they go. And the underground system to keep your clients away?”

“Honey, if you only knew the politicians and people in power that love to come suck from my teat for women they can use. They all buy you whores. Ask Lark. She was a fun one. Nothing was off the table for her. You see she’s the worst kind of addict. The one that wants her fix so bad, she’s willing to be filmed and fucked stupid by the AD and judge at the same time. I’m sure pretty boy, Steve destroyed all the videos of evidence. Good for him, he’s always looking out for me.”

“Dovey,” god, he’s so good. You turn to look at him, needing his strength because this is harder than you could have ever imagined. She is a vile human, and you wanted her to pay in the worst possible way. “I love you, baby. I love you so much that it hurts. I’m so fucking in love with you. I can’t wait to marry you and fill you with my babies.”

“I need that,” you hear her tongue clicking as you walk towards him, “Almost as much as I need you,” you straddle his legs, letting your dress ride up your thighs, leaning into him, and kiss over the branding scar, “Do you need more?”

“Names,” he whispers into your ear. It’s exhausting trying to pry the right information out of her. Your hands rub up and down his blackened skin. Lips kissing over his body as you start to grind over him. Loving the feeling of your body being able to still have that effect on him.

“Sloppy little whore. Too bad. I had you primed and ready for secretary Ross to purchase you. Did you see me in the audience? Steve, do you realize what kind of slut you have grinding on you? You and I could be rich, baby. There were more that were willing to pay millions. Does Stark ring a bell?” Steve grips tight to your ass, holding you in place as you turn to look at her. “Howard Stark. The deal was for you to be passed from Ross to Stark. Ross was going to rent you out.”

“You’re lying,” this changes everything. You have to watch Steve’s small movements to know if you’re doing the right thing or not. This could go wrong so fast, and you just wanted her to see how much Steve loved you. If she wanted to perverse his affection for you, so could you.

“Suit yourself. Go ahead and kill me,” Steve starts to maneuver you over his lap, and you forget about her. Just look at him, and nod. You were ready. He had what he needs. More information and names.

“This is new, Dove, what’s your word?”

“Ink,” you whisper, lifting off him enough, so he can free his member. Clarence springs free of his confines, and you stroke his veiny cock a few times. Your fingers are barely able to circle around him. Rubbing his spongy head through your slick, you sigh as you sink over him.

Throwing your head back, you mewl out his name when he’s fully sheathed. Reaching up to your straps, so you can pull your top down, letting Steve almost fully see you. You commit the feeling of him splitting you open to memory. Relishing the slight sting, and it all goes to prove how very right, if not slightly painful you are for him. Your body always accommodates his size.

“Are you seriously fucking her in front of me?”

Lifting yourself up off him, you slam yourself back down. Setting a slow and hard rhythm while his hands on your ass cause your skirt to rise higher and higher until all Peggy can see is your walls clinging to Steve. Hugging onto his steel rod as you let him impale you. Picking up your neediness and pace, you go harder. Harder. Harder until you’re panting. Yipping every time he crashes into you.

“Dove.”

“Harder,” you grunt. His hands hold tightly to your body as he tries to calm your movements. “Fuck me like you own me. Like you paid to destroy me for every man. Ruin me.”

“Sick fucks,” her voice setting off his anger. He picks you up off him, and spins you around to where you're on your knees facing her. Kneeling behind you, he pounds into your warmth so hard you see stars. Screaming out his name, you disappear into his harsh pleasure.

Just feeling every inch of him, and despite how hard he thrusts into you, his hands are soft. Coaxing you through each snap. Your legs quiver as your body succumbs to his ministrations. Trying to find something to grip onto to ground you, but you slip further into sin. Just where you belong.

Still shoving into your wet heat, he lifts your back up to his front. Cupping your tits, while giving each peak a pinch. His mouth bites along your neck. “You’re so perfect for me, Dovey. No pussy has ever felt better than yours. I have never allowed anyone to claim every part of me. My mind, body, and soul are yours to own. And I will claim you over and over again, until you love me again. People tried to rip you from me, and me from you, and here we are. I love you, my sweet Dovey. And I will destroy you every night. I will degrade you, because you’re my fucking slut. My whore to use and own. My filthy girl that I love with every fiber of my being. And you are the only one who will ever own all of me.”

A gurgled scream of pleasure rips through your chest as your entire body heats up. You have waited so long for him to hear exactly all that he’s saying. You absorb him. Hold it tight to your heart, so maybe it can thaw the ice that has frozen around your heart. Little by little his love and warmth were chipping it away. Melting the remains.

You want to love him as fiercely as you did before, and you would. Eventually. “Come on my big fat cock.”

“Come on Clarence,” he sees the slight grin on your face, knowing you were becoming his sweet girl again. “Steve, fuck me so hard and deep. Come inside of me. I want to feel you in my belly. I want…”

“Don’t you fucking dare! Steve!”

“I need to feel you inside of me. Do it,” he takes a deep breath before he bites down on your neck, and your body trembles as the euphoria overtakes your body. Beautiful rounds of sparks light up your body. Your walls clamp down on his cock, and his cock pulses thick, warm, creamy cum straight into your belly. Letting your body milk every drop for itself as the two of you fuse together.

“You’re a fucking idiot.”

“Am I?” He asks, starting to kiss over his teeth marks. “Or was Loki for putting his hand where it didn’t belong and ripping her IUD out? She was checked out, and you better be glad you didn’t damage anything you worthless cunt.”

Steve lets his softening cock drift out of you before he pulls up his pants. He pushes his fingers into your used pussy before he picks you up. Letting you koala around his body as he walks over to Peggy. Giving her a smile before cramming his fingers into her mouth while she wriggles around, trying not to taste the two of your releases. He wants her to savor the two of you becoming one, something she never got.

“I know what you did to her. She doesn’t keep secrets from me. I know she’s unprotected right now, and we’re both willing to take that risk. I know how you tried to beat her down because you’re an insecure little bitch. You thought you had my love, but it’s not even one ounce of what I feel for Dove. Have a nice life.”

“You’re not going to kill me this time?”

“No. Sam and Bucky went through your house, and found everything we needed. Oh, you sure did like running that cock sucking mouth of yours. I can’t wait for all these politicians to realize how you sold them out. There should be a team of police with a warrant to legally obtain the evidence from your house, you know, legalities. All those whores you used to keep doped up, and sent off to prison when you were done with them, I hope you enjoy their company. Fuck you for trying to take what belongs to me, you piece of shit,” his foot presses against her chair as he pushes her back away from him.

Her chair makes a loud screeching sound, and he smiles at his cum drying around her lips. Holding onto you tighter as doors burst open, “Peggy Carter, you’re under arrest,” a voice screams, and you snuggle in tighter. Blocking out all the screaming.

“Sorry, you had to hear that, Tony.”

“Nothing I didn’t suspect. Thanks for getting us what we needed,” Steve gives the man a solid nod before he walks you away from the chaos, not stopping as he leads you completely out of the basement.

“Let’s go home, Dovey.”

“Steve?” He places you into the passenger seat of his car, reaching over you to buckle you in before he pulls out a package. Smiling at you, while you take it from his hand, “You won’t be mad at me if I take this?” he shakes his head no, while you take the small pill out of the package. “Do you want to talk about an appropriate contraceptive for us? Because I prefer when you come inside of me.”

“Do you not want an IUD anymore?” You shake your head no, grabbing a drink from the water bottle in your cup holder. “Dovey, you can use whatever makes you feel comfortable. I’m not going anywhere. I know you will let me know when you’re ready for a baby. You still want kids?”

“Are you still ending this within a year?” A nod has never meant so much to you. He vowed that this life was over for him. He didn’t want the risks that came with it, especially with children involved. “Then, yes, I still want babies with you. Until then can we go snuggle with Ember?”

“Yes, because enticing you with a little bitty baby boy is what I aim to do. Make you desire to have a baby sooner rather than later,” you weren’t unaware that’s what you were doing every time you begged to see Bucky and Shy.

“We have to wait at least a year, okay?”

“Okay,” he agrees, and you lean over to him, kissing on his mark of your lips. Pecking on the skin over and over again, “You keep doing that, and you’ll have to suck my cock until we get to Bucky and Shy’s.”

“You know I will.”

“I know. It’s because you love me,” he looks over at you, smiling so wide. He’s so much more beautiful when he’s happy.

“I do love spending time with you. And I love that you are patient with me. And you love that I am getting there.”

How things have changed. Now it is Steve that’s having to just know that you do love him. You can’t say it yet. But one day you’ll be able to say it again. You’re only slightly trying to make him suffer for making you wait. But it’s more than that. It’s having to watch the way he loved you in the way he moved, and the way he felt you. It’s having to see how much he cared while other people laughed at his stupidity. It’s hearing him say those stupid words for the first time while you slept. That’s why it’s this is difficult. He felt it, he said it, he just couldn’t tell you.

Despite the struggles you’re facing, he’s remained consistent. Wearing every mark you have inflicted on him like a badge of honor. But in so many ways those marks were earned. The first day that you let him inside of you. The new ones on his face being the day that you broke down. Screaming how much you hated him, while he let you deal with your emotions through anger.

Now over his heart is a cage with its door open. He let you go enough, fly out on your own, to know you would come back. He doesn’t keep you locked away in your cage, but instead has made you his equal. His only thing that keeps him alive and sane. Somehow some stupid naive girl found a way to tame the beast. And to mark him, claiming her territory. And for you he will always be.

Yours.

Always yours.

Embedded in your skin, while you linger all over his.

The End, Friend

Masterlist

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