After years of being kept apart, Alice's little sister Leila is coming to stay with her over summer break.
20,000 words, 2 chapters
Warnings: this story is about two incredibly mentally ill girls doing their best. expect angst, drugs, dubcon and noncon.
Silent Running [Human Domestication Guide]
Esper is a cloned soldier, property of the corporation that created her. Echo is an advanced SIGINT AI, trained from Esper's brainwaves and living in her head. They've been running from the Affini for months, ever since Terra surrendered. Time is running out.
Currently on hold as I work on other stuff, but it will be continuing soon!
Warnings: mention of death/murder, violence, transphobia, will eventually contain dubcon, noncon, and drugs, the usual hdg stuff
14,000 words, 2 chapters
Crossing The Line
A short horny one shot about kissing your sister for the first time (and then some)
2,000 words
Blood Ties
For generations, your family has hunted monsters. You and your sister were raised to continue that legacy, until she chose to become a monster herself. She destroyed everything you've ever known, and you've been on the hunt ever since.
It ends tonight.
5,300 words
Warnings for minor body horror and noncon and scary magic sex.
your sister was always cruel. she teased you every day of your life. you grew up with it, the casual jabs, poking at your effeminate side. you were an artist, a soft, sensitive soul, and your family knew it, but at least your parents were willing to entertain it. your mother paid for an art studio and a music studio and a garden, your father would not take you on hunts, and your brothers stopped brawling with you. gradually, they all fell away, leaving you alone, youngest son and brother to none but one. by the time you were seventeen, nobody would talk to you.
except for your younger sister. she would visit you in your studio and mock your paintings. mock the music you tried to make. the beard you were trying to grow. you hated it, resented it, but you also, deep down, couldn't help but appreciate it. the last tender familial connection, wrapped in barbs, your fist covered in shared blood as you gripped it as tightly as you could bear.
until she left. accused of witchcraft.
“come back,” you begged her in a letter you did not know how to address, letting it loose on the wind instead.
“as you wish,” she responds in a piece of paper you find on your windowsill months later.
and then she didn't. for a long time. four years go by, four miserable terrible years where the only thing that grows in your garden is loneliness and resentment. eventually you forget everything you said in the letter. it turns to a blurry, fuzzy haze, simply an impression of a hope, a dream of the future you can't remember upon waking.
you're twenty-one years old when she does come back, a knock on your window. you scramble out of bed after it becomes clear it's not a stray pebble but bare knuckles on glass, a dull clear tonk tonk tonk.
“Elise?” you whisper, luminous golden eyes you'd seen in dreams sending fond thrills through your heart despite the way you cringe in expectation.
“let me in, idiot!” your sister hisses, her voice somehow clear through the glass. you startle again, reaching out and unlatching the door. she clambers in, dragging with her a long staff with a bush on the end which you belatedly realize is an honest-to-god broomstick.
Elise sweeps through your room, spinning and taking it all in, four years and changing, and she sneers at it all. “blessed be, could you get more droll? you've moved on from landscapes to still lifes, and from the harp to the lyre, but it's all just art and artifice, isn't it?”
you start and stutter and sputter, “you- wh- four years and that's how you return?! in through the window on a goddamned broom like a witch, insults pouring forth from your vile mouth!?”
your sister has the audacity to laugh at you, “maybe if you'd actually done any of the stuff you put in that letter i wouldn't have to be doing this…”
“doing what?” you demand.
and then her broom comes up and hits you in the temple and your world goes black.
*>~<*
“welcome back, Caleb,” Elise whispers, and you jolt upright, your heart the jackrabbit running wild. she sways backward easily to avoid you crashing into her, and then a strong, gentle hand pushes you back down into the bed.
“Elise, where-!” “farfaraway,” she interrupts. you fling your eyes about the space, trying to recognize it as the familiarity of home, of the keep where you grew up, any of the dozens of rooms you were acquainted with, but it's instead comparably shabby. walls packed with shelves packed with things you couldn't begin to glean the meaning or purpose of, jars and books and scrolls and gemstones and things you don't even have the words to describe, and all you can think is she's been a busy little witch.
you try to push upright again, but her hand doesn't leave your chest, keeping you pinned there with casual effort that shouldn't be possible. you weren't strong, but you were always stronger than her, and her hand portrays none of the effort it should have taken, no tension in her shoulders, nothing but a smile on her lips.
“mm-mm, Cay-leb, you're going to stay right there. i have something to read to you.”
and then, with one hand holding you and the other holding the letter, she reads to you everything you laid bare to her those years ago. every last thing you wanted so badly and never thought you'd admit, let alone had admitted, and she reminds you of it all. you cover your face in your hands and cry, sobbing and thrashing trying to get away, so you don't have to hear it, and later you'll wonder why you covered your eyes and not your ears.
and then she's done. she finally stops talking and lets you cry, and unbelievably the hand on your chest becomes a hand snaking beneath your hands to rest on your face and an unbearably gentle voice whispering “let it out, it's okay. i know it all, even what you couldn't write in that letter. i can read between the lines just like i can read you.”
and you cry harder, pressing your face into her hand, your own shifting to grab onto her, one hand grabbing her wrist and the other clutching her shirt, and she lets you cry. after a long, long time, you run out of tears.
eventually, your sister whispers “i have a present for you.”
you open your eyes anew, baptized in your own tears, and look into her radiant golden eyes. predatory slits that contract in excitement. your breath hitches, and you say “no,” but she doesn't listen. the hand on your chest draws a strange symbol and there's a flash and a constricting feeling as luminous chains appear to hold you down while your sister stands and walks away.
she approaches one of the shelves within your line of sight and reaches out with a dainty hand to pluck up a strange hunk of crystal, edged with blue but bold and red in the center, at first what appears to be a geode, but as she moves with it it reveals some sort of optical illusion, showing the inside from every angle as if the edges merely faded away into nothing despite the clear delineations of the crystalline spurs and tubes that you slowly resolve into the shape of a heart.
"it took me a long time to find everything i needed to make this, love. i knew, when you wrote me, when you sent that letter to the wind carried on a wish, what would make it all better. what would soothe the way your heart aches. no trivial magic can make you the radiant creature you crave, the thing you couldn't truly name. the thing hidden between the lines of your letter. i needed something more. something unique. your own perfect existence, the ability to be as you truly are without restriction. because what form can suit you? my beautiful, beautiful…
sister…"
and you cry, “no!” but she refuses to listen to you when you beg and cry, pulling against the chains across your arms and your chest, thrashing in place to get away, she's standing at the side of the bed now, and it's like she doesn't even hear you screaming when her hand plunges into your chest, and you can't make yourself look at the source of the unbelievable pain that scorches your mind clean, nothing before, nothing after, only the moment where you're dying right up until your sister replaces your heart, and it begins to pump, and you're still you, but something else suffuses you, a greater sense of the world, of potential, and your sister coos into your ear “it's okay, just let it happen.”
and you try to fight it, except you don't really want to, you don't even know why you fight it but you do, using the new strength you've been given to wrench free of the bonds placed on you and surge forth from the bed, staggering away from the witch who took your sister, screaming “GET AWAY FROM ME!” in an unfamiliar voice.
the witch leaps into the air with hand outstretched and grabs her broom as it swoops in a circle. nimbly, she swings herself up and around to stand on it above your head, near in the rafters of what you dimly now recognize as some wooded haven turned shelter, walls made of brush made of trees, not rafters but canopy above your head. her other hand whips around, sending an arc of blood splatter across her home. she's dropped your old wasted heart on the ground, discarded it. you don't need it anymore…
“if you're going to be a brat about it… dear big sister, i've done you a favor! you don't even realize what this is yet! if you'll just calm down and let me explain…” she says, dropping to sit on her broom, elbows on knees and chin on hands, pouting in the way that always disarmed you and still does, all the terror and aggression still there, ready to snap, and she sees it plainly on your face, keeping her distance. “if you stop fighting it, and let it change you, you'll come out of this more beautiful than you ever could have imagined!! i handcrafted that geode heart for you! four years of layered spellwork, things that will never be undone by mortal hands, mine nor yours nor any witch nor wizard nor warlock, only may the gods unweave this thread i have woven for you! all for you, my sister!”
“i'm-” you cut yourself off with a choked sound, voice high and hoarse, “stop- stop calling me- stop calling me that, i'm not- not your- i'm a-”
your sister was always cruel. she laughs at your stutter for but a moment before her face turns sour and she leans down further to shout “stop fucking fighting me!! what will it take to get you to admit it and give in already?! you are, okay!?”
you stagger back, your limbs feeling strange, an odd prickling sensation starting to overtake them. you look down and find that you're going a little clear at the edges. but you're not disappearing, you're… crystallizing. “no…” you whisper, and your heart wants to go jackrabbit pace but then in a flash your sister is standing in front of you, one hand on your face and the other over your chest, “quiet…” a drawn sigil making your eyes roll back in your head at the sheer relief that her word brings you, fleeting thoughts fleeing you. “can you let it happen?”
“no…” you whisper, but cannot deny the way your heart eases when she touches you, the way your head spins and rushes, and you suppress your every desire that tells you to say yes, and you keep fighting, but your sister closes the gap and grazes her bare fingertips against the crystal edges of your heart, the gap in your chest, and she caresses your very heart, the one she crafted just for you so that you could be her sister the way you begged her in that letter, though you never had any clue it would be like this. you had no idea what it would be like, except you had so many swirling twirling ideas of dresses and skirts and makeup and vanities and not your mother but your sister teaching you how to do it all.
and then your sister begins to pull her hand away, and you move as if to keep her hand on your heart, but you're kept where you are by some force, and as her hand goes more crystal grows with it, sealing the hole in your chest but proudly displaying that which your witch has given you.
“every witch must summon a familiar. every witch but i, for i knew i did not want some cat or bird. i had only one intention, when i became a witch. my familiar was always meant to be you, my sister. if you will, you will have all that you desire and more. i promise you this, upon my word as a witch."
“nn- nn- nnnn…” you try, but you can't say it, you don't even want to, maybe only feel like you have to, but you can't, and so eventually, with a suffusion of soul and light and warmth and love and the very weave of the world itself, you sigh, “yes.”
you fall forward in rapture, your sister's hands upon you feeling like electric to clear the cobwebs away, your mind finally for once truly clear, open to the potential you always had, and Elise coos “my familiar, i love you, you will be radiant, i love you,” and doesn't stop talking the whole time as you let go, every part of you becoming hers, the crystal she made, blue at the edge with a deep core of luminous red, inside and out, replacing every bit of the ugly flesh you'd hated since you first formed coherent thought.
“your potential is limitless,” your witch says, guiding you back down to the bed in the middle of the room as the burst of energy begins to leave you and you start to collapse. “all you need to do is think, and you will change. the only limit is you! and i know you always saw more than what you painted. you always imagined more than what you played. all rote repetition for years, pleasing those who didn't care anymore. but i care, love. show me what you can be!”
“thank you…” you whisper. you feel your crystalline form begin to shift without any more prodding, flat chest rounding, unwelcome protrusion between your legs receding and forming a smooth mound with delicate crystal anatomy like a dream finally remembered. you shrink, altogether, getting smaller until you're shorter even than your sister, and as you go you continue to round out around your hips and your ass, and your sister chirps happily, “i knew you'd be beautiful!”
more swims through your mind, almost visible to you, and when your sister looks into the crystal of your head she sees faint images, the thoughts in your head, and finds herself just as lost in them as you are, all the malice and cruelty and sadism melting away as she sees you plainly, everything you wish you could be, dragons and wolves and hares and pegasi and on and on, creatures mundane and mystic alike, things neither you nor your witch had name for, things that perhaps had never been seen before and may never be seen again except in you, and you and your sister, your witch, you both begin to cry together.
your sister, for once bigger than you, and maybe that's how you like it, cradles you even as she runs her hands over your form, one smearing blood that turns to layers of crystal that become you again, and she asks you “what is your name, love?”
“C- C- C-”
“no… what's your name, sister?”
“my name is… my name is Selene…”
“you've picked a beautiful name, Selene. Selene… i'm going to touch you now, okay?”
you didn't know you wanted it until she said it. but it occurs to you in the moment that yes, your witch should be touching you. some instinct buried in your new heart says that this is part of what familiars are meant for. so you open your crystalline mouth and plead, “touch me,” and your witch trills happily, though you can hear the tremor of tears in it, “good girl, good familiar.”
and her touch stops being simple brushes and she starts to grab you, crystal soft and pliant under her hands, giving way in the way that flesh does, dimpling as she grabs you, and she tells you that “i'm the only one who can touch you like this. to anyone else, your flesh will be as crystal, unyielding and cold. but to me, you are the sister we both deserve, soft and warm and made by me. you will be unbreakable. and you will be mine.”
you cannot imagine being anything but “yours,” and you groan as her clean hand grabs one of your tits, somehow sore and sensitive from the transformation, but again perhaps only under her hands would they feel like this, and then her other hand, still bloody, strays further down to cup your brand new anatomy, the result of shameful examination of scientific texts in the library that you should not have had access to. you knew what it would look like, and you knew what you wanted it to look like. your sister cards her fingers through soft crystal folds, and though you are not wet the blood on her fingers still is, and though it begins to wear away and become part of you again for the moment it provides what you both need, and you keen as the base of her fingers bump again and again that bundle of nerves.
your witch leans in and bites at your ear; your keening changes pitch when she approaches, for a moment close to your lips, you want to intercept her and kiss her, but her intent matters more, until she pulls away from your ear and you wrestle your head into position to kiss her. for a breathless moment you expect your cruel sister to come back, but your witch cannot be that cruel to you, and she gives you what you're so desperate for you, locking lips with you and kissing you deeply. your inexperience does not matter, as something strange begins to take over you.
a sense of your witch, deep within your heart, it's okay, let me show you… she whispers without words. and visions begin to flood you, new years of intentional experience, knowledge of bond making her want to help you prepare. memories taken from unwitting victims, of how to kiss Elise. and these things flood your head, and you thank your sister for the gift she's giving you, letting the memories guide you, and Elise hums happily, deep in her chest.
then, with so little fanfare you are at first unsure if you'd missed it, she slips a finger into you. bloody lubrication finally gone, she chants a few arcane words and you feel as you fill ever so slightly with lubrication as it pours forth from her fingertips. her fingers keep moving, and you moan, your legs coming up involuntarily as your whole body begins to tense, it's everything you'd so desperately wanted it to feel like in those darkest moments when you allowed yourself to imagine how this might feel.
you begin to cry, and your sister kisses the tears away, smiling as she begins to move her fingers, pumping them in and out in time, letting your stuttered moans slowly sync up. she grinds the heel of her palm into your clit in time, too, and it becomes like a kind of music, a thought your sister picks up on, saying “this is much better music than all that drivel you regurgitated for our parents. you will write such ballads…”
you cry, “thank you, Elise!”
“why, love?”
“for- for making me- your familiar, because- because i wanted this! thank you for letting me change!”
“good girl,” she murmurs into the side of your head, pressing soft kisses to your temple even as she fucks her hand into you, but you're not surprised when she pulls out, the connection going both ways giving you an idea of what she's about to say, “i don't even need to ask if i can fuck you, do i?”
“no, please, please Elise, please i know, i already know,” and you do, you know what she did, the ways she's changed herself for you, the ways that even your witch is mutable, and you know this even before she begins to pull her robes up to reveal the cock between her legs, perfectly proportioned for you, and her black witches' robes spill over the two of you as she gets in front of you and lifts your legs until they're nearly against your chest, and without needing to look she guides herself to be aligned with you, and because your sister is not cruel she leans forward and asks you “are you ready?”
and because you know your sister you're already nodding before she even finishes asking, and as the last syllable lands on your ear she's prodding your entrance and then she's inside you, and you're filled with warmth and love and your head spins, and you begin to feel fuzzy, and all that fills your thoughts is how perfect you are for your sister, remade for her, in your own image but hers, the thing you always wanted to be that only she couldd see, and you can't imagine what your life was like before, anymore, the misery and horror of twenty-one years as a man fading away into a blurry haze that ceases to matter, because all that you are is here in your sister's hands, as she rocks back and forth slowly at first, then faster, until her pace is frantic but irregular, sensation crashing back and forth across the link you've formed together, a bond getting stronger every second just like the sensation deep in your stomach, pulses of sensation as you're filled to the brim and just beyond, and your sister stutters, once and then again, and she tenses, and you fill with an even somehow greater warmth as she spills freely inside you, and for a brief moment you are seized with the impossible notion that you won't reach the same conclusion tonight, until she keeps rocking, distant squelching of cum being forced into impossible crystalline anatomy, and she presses into you, her hand snaking past layers of cloth until she finds you and starts rubbing, fingers firm but somehow soft and gentle on your clit, and the heat builds as does the red in your chest, taking over, the glow spilling forth and amplifying, everything you wanted from her, and the connection falls deeper still, your pleasure echoing and magnifying until your sister cries out along with you and cums again, filling you even further, and you lay like that for indeterminate time, convulsing as your minds entangle, borders blur, and you are no longer certain where you end and your witch begins.
in the end, neither of you seems to care. you simply are. witch and familiar. sisters at last.
Some friends and I decided to have a fun little writing jam, and we started
THE FIRST GREAT SISCON-OFF
Linked above is the collection of 6 anonymous stories written by myself, @maolong, @kitsunedollie, @sweetestsixshooter, xX_sister_bliss_Xx, and one anonymous author! The theme is CORRUPTION. We're going for glory, so after you've read all six (one author opted out of the voting), you can vote on your absolute favorite below! Enjoy six new siscon stories from a variety of really lovely and crazy talented authors :)
Which is your favorite?
Golden Rule
Blood Ties
Faith is NOT a Siscon
Kitsune's Cunning Stunt
A Special Kind of Safety
Voting ended onJun 16
(One of these can only be read with an account, so make sure you're logged in if you want to see all of them. Also, we'll definitely be doing this again in the future, this was just a fun little friend server jam ^^)
The authors will be revealed in ONE WEEK after voting is done, so enjoy these anonymous fics until then!
The votes have been tallied! Between the Tumblr poll and the Discord poll, the results are as follows:
In fourth place with 5 votes is A Special Kind of Safety by @maolong!
In third place with 9 votes is Kitsune's Cunning Stunt by xX_sister_bliss_Xx!
TIED for second place with 18 votes each are Blood Ties by @kitsunedollie and Golden Rule by @sweetestsixshooter!!
And in first place with 38 votes is Faith is NOT a Siscon by meeee~
Expect all of these up on Tumblr shortly, and their AO3 links are all linked here! Really really wonderful work from everyone - the real winner is YOU all because you have 6 fantastic siscon stories to read!
We'll be doing this every once in a while (we were talking about maybe quarterly?) and next time even more really cool siscon authors have said they wanted to participate~ We hope you all enjoy and thanks for reading!! 💖
It was just a joke, a bet that you'd wear a shock collar for your big sister if she bedded your mutual crush before you.
It stopped being funny when she turned the voltage up.
"Come on, what's the golden rule?"
"Do unto others as you would have them-"
Electricity lances through the skin between the two terminals of the shock collar around your neck. Your sister's wicked laugh is so shrill in your ears that it's nearly as debilitating as the shock. "No, no, puppy, wrong again!"
You know what sentence Fade wants, the light bulbs surrounding its placard in your head are sparking and flickering on and off. A stupid edgelordy joke she picked up back in middle school to mock your strict adherence to your moral code and never dropped.
But fuck that.
Unbidden, you repeat it again: "Do unto others as you would have them do-"
Fuck! Your teeth bit into your tongue at the shock this time. You stare up at your big sister with obvious loathing. You're trying, you've been trying to hold to your beliefs for ten minutes, but the sparks in your head keep obscuring your most core moral tenet, and the fresh blood in your mouth tastes as red as her hair.
It was a joke at first. A bet where you'd have to wear a shock collar for a day if your big sister could bed your 'mutual crush' at the house party first. You didn't even come up with an alternative prize if you won instead, because your sister was your real crush, and you magnificently 'blew your shot' by spilling your drink all over the white dress of the target right when Fade walked by.
A wandering partygoer looking for the restroom caught you touching yourself outside the door while you listened to them fuck, and your sister laughed your beet-red face out of the building when she returned to the kitchen and heard what you'd been doing.
You still got what you wanted even with the embarrassment. She put the collar on you and the first shock gave you enough masturbation material for a month, but the fact that it made you moan and go red in the face was enough evidence for your sadistic sister to realize that it wasn't a 'punishment' for you. She immediately kicked the power setting on the remote up past the threshold that felt good, and she hasn't shown you an ounce of mercy since.
A headache is starting to pound in you, and there's a pressure building to just make her stop, no matter what it takes.
You'd be turned on by the smoky way she intones "One more tiiime, puppy, the golden rule. I know you know it." if your brain didn't ache. Maybe you're still turned on by it anyway. The blood in your head hurts, the blood in your neck is terrified of electricity, and the blood between your legs is telling you to listen for a totally different reason. "Do unto others as-"
She twitches with the remote and you flinch, hard. You look up at her gleaming hazel eyes, and… fuck.
"Do unto others… first." Your gaze dangles down onto the floor as one of the strings of your moral net frays and snaps.
"Gooood puppy!" Fade swings one foot up from where she's been dangling them off the dining room table and jabs you in the nose. It sparks tears in you, and they're watered by the fact that she's right when she says "And now puppy is going to do unto Sephora and shoplift the Dior makeup she was 'too broke' to buy her big sister for her birthday!"
Fuck you Fade-
It's fine, it's Sephora, it's all overpriced garbage anyway.
Fuck you Fade-
Do unto others, do unto fucking capitalism, it's fine, fuck Sephora-
"Can I help you find something?"
Your head jerks away from the products you've been staring at with dread. "Oh! No, I'm just comparing shades."
"Let me know if you need anything!"
Fuck, that's bad, someone saw me.
One pitiable wage-slave's seen your face now, and the building has enough security cameras to make a bank vault blush. You have two choices:
Stuff $260 worth of disgustingly overpriced designer makeup in your bag and burn $20 to buy some trash to avoid suspicion…
Or stuff everything in your bag and leave without paying at all, so that you can fill your gas tank enough to not take the bus to work tomorrow.
Fuck.
You yank the $20 out of your wallet and pray to whatever gods are listening that someone is off sick tomorrow and you can make decent tips in their place.
You dump the paltry contents of your purse right on Fade's lap when you get home, and of the five bottles cascading over the couch, she picks up the decoy with disdain. "What's this, Lawless-"
You snatch it away. "Not that one." She greedily picks up another bottle, and a grin immediately lights her face. She croons "Gooood puppy!"
If it were 'Good girl' maybe I wouldn't hate you-
"Disgusting puppy gets its disgusting treat!"
She turns to stand off the couch and snags a finger in your collar to pull you in for a kiss. You startle and jerk backwards. "What was that?"
She smirks. "I know what you want. You weren't outside that door for Zane."
You go crimson. "I…"
If she already knows, then-
"Can I have another?"
"No, I don't think so."
"Damn."
"Hmmm…" She puts a finger to her lips and makes a comical thinking expression. "Well, maybe if you get me something else, then I can put up with your sick sister fetish." Dread flickers over your mind before she continues "I want the bottle of Dom Pérignon from the top shelf at your work."
Black and green label, so high you'd need a ladder to get it down. "No. No way." You could wait tables somewhere else if you got caught, but what actually matters is that "Davin's bartending, he would be on the hook if that went missing."
Fade cocks an eyebrow and a hip at you. You shake your head again. She points the remote at you, and you quickly protest "He's a good guy, he doesn't deserve it, he helped me pay to get my car towed last month!" You still haven't paid him back.
Your big sister takes a step forward and pokes the remote into your chest with a growled warning "Puuupppy…"
You smack the remote away from your chest. "No fucking way I'm not-AH!" Your knees hit the floor hard, and your hands blithely try to coax some air back into a throat that got shocked empty.
"Bad puppy! You made up for my birthday, now you're going to get me something I actually want!"
As you try to put your thoughts back together, you wonder why you ever had a crush on her. She's such a bitch. It's fucking over, you're done, this has gone too far-
You lift your head, and, well, fuck, there it is. Plaid schoolgirl skirt, white top, no bra, like she's trying to seduce her teacher. It wasn't ever about her personality, and you fail to keep your eyes out of her skirt - white panties, like a god damn pinup.
"Puppy." Your throat instantly seizes up in fear, but it relaxes at the offer of "You get this, and you can look."
You wait too long, and she points with the remote again, so you stammer out "Fine! Fine, fuck."
It's the end of your shift, and you got lucky that you picked a stylish enough shock collar that it could pass for a chunky choker. No complaints from customers, and you only had to deal with a friendly ribbing from Davin before he clocked out early. You reach around and try to pry the lock off again, but within moments the anti-tamper feature shocks your fingers.
Fuck! If I tell anybody I'll seem like a fucking moron and she'll deny it and hide the remote, and if I keep going I'll be a hypocrite that fucks over someone that doesn't deserve it.
Your brain starts to grope around for justifications, hard.
He already helped with the tow and he didn't even ask me to pay it back, he's probably got enough to cover it. He'll be fine.
You can feel murmurs of decay in your chest as you head back inside and check for witnesses. The closing waitress is rolling silverware and watching an ASMR video on her phone, and your manager will be locked in with frozen fish for another twenty minutes. Lucky.
As quietly as you can, you shuffle the ladder out from next to the beer fridge and climb.
Your 'prize' is filthy with dust, and you climb down carefully without leaving any marks three hundred dollars might be enough for your boss to check for fingerprints. You stuff the illicit item in a paper bag and the ladder back where it came from, but a set of bottles catch your eye in the fridge. Your neck buzzes with a phantom electric shock and your head swims with shadowy thoughts.
If something's going to go missing, it'll be less suspicious if it seems like things just got inventoried incorrectly…
An invisible force stops your hand before you touch the door.
He's already going to be in trouble, this will just make it worse.
But… he's probably going to try to throw somebody under the bus for this, and it might be me, so I might as well get something to help me forget all this. If Davin's going to blindly try to fuck me over anyway, then I might as well get to actually drink some of what I steal.
"Puppy!" Your sister rushes to you the second you're in the door to yank the bottle out of your bag while you fumble with the handful of soju bottles left and try not to drop any of them on the floor.
With zero gravitas, Fade rushes into the kitchen and you can hear the cork on the bottle immediately pop. You follow her and crack one of your own drinks while you watch her root around in the low freezer for ice cubes far in the back. Your eyes trace up her gorgeous legs, envious that she's kept her tone since quitting gymnastics, up to her ass, admiring the curve and thinking of what your hands and teeth could do to it, and-
There it is.
Unguarded- or, basically. Though you'd rather stick your fingers into the waistband of her tight shorts, you could reach right into her back pocket and take the remote for the shock collar.
You take two steps forward. "Hey Fade, grab me some ice too, I want to share." She wiggles her ass. "I'm not sharing." You continue stalking forward while she shuffles bags of frozen vegetables out of the way to try to find more cubes. "You're going to be wasted."
"As if, my tolerance is super high."
You manage to pinch the little device out of her pocket right as she stands up, and you dance backwards out of her reach with it held in the air. "Fucking finally, you bitch. I never should have given you this."
She throws her ice into a glass and rolls her eyes. "Give it back." Your indignation at her certainty about its return could etch you into Mount Rushmore. "No. Why would I?"
She rolls her eyes again and her whole head too, then she suddenly darts a hand out and tries to snatch the remote out of your hand. Not quick enough, and you laugh. She puts on yet another dose of dramatic exasperation and painfully flicks your clavicle. "I guess you don't want your treat then, stupid puppy."
That makes you freeze - smothering your self-loathing all the way home pushed the reward out of your mind too. "What treat?" Fade pouts and holds her hand out, but you don't move. "What treat? You never said what it was?"
She waves in the air dismissively and pulls out her phone to flash the screen at you: a picture of herself, nude above the waist and making an exaggerated ahegao expression that instantly makes various indiscrete places on your face and body flush with intense blood flow. "This is your treat, I was going to send it to you." You lick your lips, and she shuts the screen off on her phone and points. "Give it back first."
Fuck.
That picture was unbelievably hot, and you only got to look at it for a tantalizing second. "Show me that you're about to send it. Draft the message." She sees something in your eyes, so she swipes to unlock and queues the text up. You take yours out to confirm, and she plucks the remote away as soon as it dings. Your eyes greedily rove over the picture - black choker, dual braids, she even put eyeliner, eyeshadow, and mascara on for it.
Hot damn, you need to get somewhere private-
"Fuck!" Your phone leaps out of your hand when she buzzes your collar again, and it clatters to the floor. Before you can complain, Fade pushes you against the wall with an intensity in her eyes totally separate from the disdain she held you in moments ago. "I knew you'd take it, you fucking pervert. That's disgusting. I bet you were smelling my dirty panties for years before that party."
You stammer out "I, never went through your laundry-"
She steps back. Zap. "Liar!"
"I didn't!" Fuck, did you? Was that just something you imagined doing? Considered doing? It's getting hard to feel out the lines between what you think you did, and what you actually did.
While you try to figure out which of the fractal mirrors in your head is showing reality, she pours a full glass of her expensive alcohol and callously throws it back without seeming to taste it. After a few moments you decide, you definitely didn't perv on your sister's dirty laundry, you just thought about iiiiiiii-
Your eyes roll back in your head at the gentler electricity running through your neck, and you slump back against the wall and moan. This is the 'joke' you wanted when you let your sister collar you, and she was supposed to laugh genially like she is now, and not like the psycho she's been lately.
When you run out of breath you look down from the ceiling to see her with a hip cocked and a smirk on her face. And hell, is she biting her lip? "You like that?"
You nod.
"Are you a good puppy?"
"Yesssss" Hell, if she'd been this playful, maybe this could have actually been fun.
In the center of your hazy vision she steps back another foot and, to your excitement and shock, undoes the fastenings on her shorts and lets them fall to the floor. Before you can even stammer out a question, she makes her demand: "I want Haile's first place gymnastics trophy."
You go pale and your mouth snaps closed. There's no way you're stealing your best friend's trophy after she trained so hard that she was out sick for two weeks after the competition. "What? No way, what the fuck is wrong with-"
Shock! "Bad puppy!" This one was way too strong to be fun, and you have to fight through teeth that are starting to chatter with jumbled nerves. "She earned that, you don't know what she went through-"
"I earned it! I'm better than her, the judges just picked her cause she's anorexic!"
"That's, not true, she worked hard and she deserved it-" The collar sparks hard, but then it evens out into the 'fun' range again. As your vision goes hazy and golden, your sister slips her fingers into her panties. Your mouth drifts open, and you're a notch from drooling.
"Get it for me and you can touch."
Pleasure drunk, you start to stammer out "N,n-uh, no…"
Fade starts to slide her fingers in and out of herself while she tweaks the dial on the remote to hurt you more. Something that frayed in your mind at screwing over a coworker starts to completely tear, and you can hear every fiber of the paper coming apart as the pain increases. It's hard to resist justifying what you're going to agree to.
The competition is already over, she already won, who even looks at trophies, fuck-
"Okayyyy…"
Your best friend's unlocked back door opens as silently as ever, and when your fingertips find the polished marble columns of the trophy in her room, the anticipation of touching your sister is evaporated by an ache deep in your chest that carves through your heart. Tears start to wash down your face as you hear your own voice echo:
'Every step away from your values takes you further from the person you think you are.'
You can still feel the rain pouring through your hair the night your best friend showed up at your house sobbing. You held her close until you were both soaked, and when she finally told you that she'd cheated on her boyfriend, you pulled that line out. You meant it. You'd never said it before, but you've lived by it every day since then because it's true to you.
So has she. She confessed her mistake to her boyfriend, and… against all odds, they worked it out. Stronger than ever. He was the one who nursed her back to health after the gymnastics collapse. He's the one she meets every day after school. He's the one she's going to marry.
He's the one who stands beside her. Her best friend.
Not you any more.
Because you helped her make amends.
Your fingers clench around the trophy, and the glue holding the marble to the base feels ready to crack.
She's going to leave you someday. She's going to walk down that aisle and he's going to put a ring on her finger and he's going to take her away to Germany and you're never going to see her again.
Do unto others first.
You stuff the trophy in your backpack and zip it up, but then you notice a handful of crumpled five dollar bills sticking out of a purse on the dresser.
Fuck it. She never paid you back after your phone fizzled out in the rain that night.
Fuck you Fade fuck you Fade fuck you Fade fuck you-
"Yes, yes, yes yes yes yes, puppy!" As soon as you're in the door your sister pushes you onto the couch and plucks the trophy out of your hand. Little sociopathic laughs bubble out of her while you stew in resentment at being made to act so reprehensibly. Her eyes drop back to you, and she tosses the prize onto the couch. Your heart and stomach are lanced by spikes of painful excitement when she climbs onto you, straddling you with your face six inches from her chest. "Trashy puppy gets its filthy treat!"
Your breath is thin as you lift your hands and slide them under her shirt, but she leans back and smacks one hand away, her other lifting the remote into the air. "Bad puppy!"
The shock burns that wicked delight at punishing you into your brain, and both your hands drop to your sides. You complain "What?"
"Did your big sister say you could get under her top?" She tisks and wiggles a finger in your face. "Stupid, stupid puppy." Her smirk could curdle the calcium in your bones when she grabs one of your hands and lifts it to her breast over her shirt instead. You raise your eyebrows and wait for her to shock you about it, but she actually looks vaguely excited. Tentatively you squeeze, and she wiggles the little black remote, but she doesn't press the button. You wait too long, and she squeezes the back of your hand to make you grope her properly. Her eyes are locked on yours, and with the way that she bites her lip, you can't help but feel your blood rush at the idea that she's enjoying this too.
Paranoid of another zap, you slowly lift your other hand to her chest and start to knead both sides in symmetry, and her breaths start to turn steamy. It isn't until she starts to push her chest forward in time with your squeezes to get you to inflict more pressure that you start to think that maybe, just maybe, this is going somewhere. Her eyes drift shut for a small moan, and you drop one hand down to her exposed thigh and squeeze there. She cracks her eyes open to smirk at you again, but then she closes them again and starts to moan louder.
You can already feel the potential electric charge between the terminals against your throat when your fingertips brush under the fabric of her skirt, but instead of moving them further up, you tuck them around to gently cup her ass. She reaches up and pokes you in the nose with the remote, finger right on the button, but after a second of staring she laughs and lets her hand drop beside her.
Pressure is starting to build in you that you're sure would earn you mockery or even a shock if you let any noise out, but you can't help but start to pant to match her as your face goes blazing hot and your eyes start to go hazy from arousal. You already got zapped for trying to tuck under her shirt, but you're already under her skirt, so if you slipped your hand under her panties…
Your heart skips a beat and your hand ceases its travel as soon as she speaks. "Are you having fun, puppy?"
Fuck, is 'yes' the right answer? It's obvious, but does she want me to say that?
You may be a stupid puppy, but you're at least trying not to be. "Yes?" Much to your chagrin, she leans back and steps off the couch. She seems to be delighted by the disappointment in your eyes, and she gestures with a finger for you to follow her as she stalks backwards across the room. Completely entranced by the possibilities in her smoky stare, you stand and follow. She finally reaches a spot where she can point down the hallway. "I want grandma's watch."
No.
Your grandfather gave her that when he turned 18 because he couldn't afford a ring. It's the thing that kept her believing that he'd come back after his parents sent him away for dating a girl two years younger. She spent the whole funeral staring at the timepiece in her hand instead of listening to the eulogy. She's forgetting things more and more these days, but the one thing she never misplaces is that watch.
The workers at Sephora probably gave your picture to the police. Fuck 'em.
Davin's probably going to throw you under the bus for the missing alcohol. Fuck him.
Haile's going to leave you for a man she betrayed. Fuck her.
Not your sweet grandmother, not her most cherished possession-
Shock! Shock!
You waited too long and she gave you a double tap. Your eyes are clumsy getting back to open and focused.
"Puuuuppy…"
You try to grab at the loose gravel of your remaining fortitude and start to shake your head-
Shock!
It goes blank for a moment. A few moments. You can't count, you're an etch-a-sketch with no magnets.
When you're back, you're staring into her eyes, and she worms her way into your mind.
It's fine, right? It's for her, for your big sister? It's okay? Your grandmother is going to die anyway. Probably even soon, maybe. You might as well do this now before she goes and dies on you.
Through a throat still trying not to spasm, you force out "O-… okay. I'll do it."
"Aha!" Sparks burst in her eyes almost as loud as they did in your head a moment ago. It's almost more torture to see her delight in your suffering than the suffering is itself, but her validation feels so good.
But you need more. You need the reward. Now.
…do unto others first…
You dart forward and smash your lips against your sister's. Before your eyes close you can see hers flare, and an instant later you can feel the electric shock kick in-
"Ah!"
Fade yanks her bright red face away from yours, both your mouths stinging viciously from where the electric current jumped from you to her. Though it's a fresh place for the pain, you've been adjusting to the torture for a week, and it's totally raw for her. Burgeoning tears threaten to spill out of her wild eyes, and she starts to stammer and gesture her remote at you. "Bad puppy! Bad pupp-"
You dart forward and kiss her again, just in time to make her zap herself through you. The fuzzy pressure in your head is being catalyzed by the electricity, and the pathetic whimper from your big sister pulls a voracious smile onto your lips. You can see fear bloom in her eyes at your expression, and when she limply tries to lift the remote to point at you again you close the space between you and push her roughly against the wall, pinning the remote between your hand and hers above her head.
She didn't manage to press the button this time, and you lean in for another hard kiss, this one delicious from the softness of her trembling and swollen lips.
Another. She stays still for it.
Another. There's something in her breathing…
Another. She twitches.
Another. She kisses you back.
You snicker at her. "You liked it this whole time, didn't you?"
"No-ah!" You didn't leave her enough clearance between your faces, and she whimpers again at the shock when she presses the button again.
Your lips are starting to go numb, but you murmur into her hers "You liiiiked it." just close enough for the threat of the shock to keep her trigger finger chaste.
"I didn't like it…" Her voice wavers, and it's clear enough that she's lying for you to consider it consent. Another kiss you wish your lips were more sensitive for, and she kisses you back immediately. All the hair raises on your body, and a tingling sweeps through you. You could have had her this whole time, all you had to do was do unto her, first.
Your body is lined with ecstasy as you start to slip your hand under her shirt, and her gasp is so delicious after days of being her playtoy. Your fingers rove over her bra for a few moments, then you slip them under the band to inch toward her breast.
Some vestige of emotional energy flexes in her, and you pull back for a second to let her say "No, bad puppy…" Her finger twitches over to the shock trigger, but you hold yours between her fingertip and the button, then lean in and reply so closely that your lips are physically touching. "Are you sure you want to do that, big sister?"
You can hear the last vestiges of dominance crack in her voice. "No…" She flexes her hand open and the remote is yours. You laugh into her mouth, wicked in your own right, but quiet and self-satisfied.
Finally free to separate the threat of your lips from hers, you move past her face to her ear. "Who's a good puppy now?"
"Y-… you…"
"Your little sister is a good puppy? And she gets to do what she wants to her big sister now?" You slide your hand up and over her breast in the crowded space under her bra with the tiniest of squeezes as a promise.
"No…"
You lick her earlobe and press the button at the same time, and she practically shrieks in your ear at the shock. Though the pain from both sensations is stark, you're starting to enjoy being a conductor to torture your sister with. She tries vaguely to wriggle free when you start to squeeze her breast in earnest, but all you have to say is "A-a-aaahhh" in her ear to make her go still again.
Free to indulge yourself, you coax hesitant moans from her with her breast and nipple, play at her throat with your lips and tease her gently with teeth, and then your hand dips down to her waist. She shakes her head with another fake denial, but from the way that she's shuddering and panting at your touch, you know you've won. You snag a finger under the elastic of her skirt and yank it down to pool around her ankles, and the squeak she makes at the exposure puts a ticklish delight in your chest.
God, I should have done this so much sooner. She was just begging for someone to dominate her.
You pull her off the wall and gently push her onto the couch, and her lack of resistance and the wet spot on her panties show you that she's ready for the next step. You turn the safety of your collar on with the remote, then unlock it and dangle it off a finger as you stalk toward her. "Faaaaade~"
Her eyes fill with apprehension as you reach around her neck to fasten the collar on her, anointing her with a kiss on the lips as punctuation that she doesn't return. You lean back and wiggle the remote in the air. "What's the golden rule, puppy?"
Dread and paleness spread across her face. "Do unto others first."
You shake your and overtly flick off the safety, but you don't press the button right away. "No, no, bad puppy!" You straddle her and position her thumb between yours and the button to trigger the shock, then you lean forward and whisper into her lips "Do unto others, as you would have them do unto you."
Your sister used to be afraid of the dark.
You remember that as you step through the gap where the front door used to be — not because it really matters, but because what used to be is gone now, and because sometimes you need to be reminded that the thing waiting for you in these ruins isn’t your sister anymore.
You can still remember the great hall lit and full of life, sixty candles in the chandelier your mother loved so much and a fire roaring at the hearth. The great hall is open to the pitch-dark sky now; the chandelier is a tangle of blackened iron at your feet. You step over it as you chase the sound of her mocking laughter, echoing off the walls you grew up in.
Your sister used to hum when she was nervous.
An old tune your father taught you both, something his father had taught him, passed down through so many generations of hunters that nobody alive knew the words it had been set to. You’d tease her for it, and she never could get herself to stop once she caught herself doing it.
You’re humming it now. You stop.
The ornate dagger at your hip still feels strange to you, even after carrying it for a year. It’s old, older than the manor itself, and by rights, it should have passed to your sister, the eldest daughter of the house. But she left it behind, buried in the ashes for you to find as you picked up the pieces of everything she destroyed. You’ve never been sure whether that was an accident, a message, or a gift. You stopped letting yourself think about it after a few months on the hunt.
The hallway to the east wing is half-collapsed, but you can hear her footsteps just past the rubble. The ceiling could cave in at any moment, scorched beams creaking overhead, but there’s a path through if you’re careful. You’re always careful.
She knows this place as well as you do. She’s leading you somewhere, and you’re letting her.
You track her to the library, and suddenly you understand. It wasn’t a mistake on her part that led you to find her, or a coincidence that the hunt would end today, of all days — the anniversary of her betrayal. She’s brought you back to where it all started, to where you found her standing over your parents’ crumpled bodies, their blood running down her chin as she spoke the incantation that set the family manor ablaze.
A pair of blood-red eyes glint in the dark, then vanish, and in an instant your hand finds the blade at your hip.
“Hello, little sister.”
Her voice comes from behind you, impossibly close. You turn, drawing your dagger and slashing at where her throat should be in one fluid motion, but there’s no-one there.
She speaks again, this time from somewhere high above you, on the library’s half-collapsed second floor.
“I’m hurt. We’ve been apart for a year, and you greet me with the edge of a knife?”
You hear her weight shifting on the floor above you and raise your weapon towards where you know she is, focusing your magic through the intricate sigilwork along the blade as you speak an incantation of pure destructive intent. It’s your father’s technique, rough and incomplete — he never taught you, but you’ve tried to reconstruct it from what you remember of how he fought. In the right hands, it could have leveled what remained of the manor. Yours have never been the right hands, though. Your spell will be smaller, less refined, but no less deadly for it.
The dagger gets hot in your hand as the inscriptions it bears ignite, compressing the air above you down to a single point of impossible density. Then, for a fraction of a second, a star blooms in the library. A wall of heat and force explodes outward as it collapses in a brilliant flash, reducing the second floor to splinters and dust, a cloud of debris swallowing the room whole.
There’s a breathless moment as the dust settles where you think your hunt might finally be over. You don’t let your guard down, though, buying you just enough time to react as she comes flying out of the rubble, hitting you like a freight train.
The melee is frantic, a flurry of claws as strong and sharp as steel clashing against your blade, the blade she was meant to bear. It would be only fitting to kill her with it, wouldn’t it?
She’s fast, faster than you’ve ever seen her. But her wild swipes and slashes are unpracticed — for all her talent with magic, you’re better than her in close combat. You’ve always been better than her. You break through her defense and tear a gash down her forearm, the dagger’s enchantment burning flesh as it carves. She hisses, and you steel your nerves. You can do this.
But then, you see her. You really see her, for the first time since all of this started, and it’s… it’s her.
It’s your sister. She’s thinner than you remember, all pale skin and bone that would make her seem almost frail if she hadn’t just nearly killed you. But she still holds herself the same way when she’s hurt, and it’s still her face, even if it’s being worn by the monster that killed her.
You hesitate, and it costs you. Her grimoire is in her hands before you even register that she moved, that ancient leather cover recognizable even in the near pitch-black library. You’ve seen her cast from it a thousand times; you know better than to let her finish.
You lunge, and she doesn’t even look up from the page. Her lips are moving, the intricate sigils inscribed in the book forming in the air around her. It’s like reading a language you almost speak — you can see the spell’s structure and pick out fragments of its horrifying logic, but the bigger picture eludes you. You’d cast a ward if there were time, but there’s no time.
The spell finishes and she sidesteps your lunge with a laugh, the last thing you hear before the world goes silent.
Not quiet, not muffled, silent. The total absence of sound, like one of your senses had been simply plucked from your skull. Sound was your lifeline here, fighting the dark, and now it’s gone. You do your best to follow her movement, desperately trying to keep track of her. It doesn’t work.
She comes at you from a direction you weren’t expecting, and you narrowly deflect claws aimed straight for your throat, the force sending you stumbling backwards. You slash recklessly at where she was and meet nothing, only to be placed on the defensive again, losing ground as she takes you apart with one brutal strike after another.
You try to keep up, frantically retreating as each sparking clash of claws on steel wears you down. Your heel catches on something behind you and you glance down for an instant — it’s the windows, or what used to be the windows, the massive panes of glass now melted down into glistening slag on the floor. Her claws rake across your shoulder and you bite down on a scream you wouldn’t have heard yourself make anyway.
You’re running out of room. She pushes you until your back is against the wall, then shatters your guard and sends your blade clattering to the floor. You can feel warm blood coursing down your arm, dripping down onto the glass beneath your feet.
This is it.
She grins, then rushes towards you, and in an instant her hand closes around your throat.
It’s cold. That’s what you notice amid all the panic, how cold her hand is. You’ve held this hand so many times before but it’s cold and dead now and it does not let go no matter how hard you claw at her wrist, her fingers, anything you can reach. Your vision is going dark at the edges, your struggles are getting weaker and weaker.
And then the silence breaks, sound crashing in like a wave. Your ragged breath, your pulse pounding in your ears. It’s deafening, but her voice cuts through it all.
“I missed you, little sister.”
The library goes dark.
Cold is the first thing to greet you as you wake — cold stone beneath your back, cold air stinging in your lungs. Then comes the pain, the wound you took to the shoulder searing itself back into your slowly growing awareness. You try to move your good arm but firm restraints stop you, and a jolt of fear shoots through you as you as you realize you’ve been stripped down to your smallclothes. You wince and open your eyes, trying to take stock of your situation as calmly as you can; panic won’t help you right now.
There’s a vaulted stone ceiling high above you, one you swear you’ve seen before. You glance towards your injury, but are surprised to see bloody bandages wrapped tightly around it. Had you been saved somehow? No, that wouldn’t make sense. Why would you be restrained if you had been rescued?
Looking past your bandaged arm, though, you see more of the room around you. Torchlight dances on a stone statue that stands against the far wall, silently guarding rows of ornately carved tombs. Your heart drops, the panic you tried so hard to stave off beginning to set in as you realize exactly where you are.
You haven’t been saved, and nobody is coming to save you now. This is the crypt beneath the manor, and you’re tied to the ritual altar.
For a moment, you hear nothing but the sound of your own unsteady breathing.
Then, from behind you, footsteps as your sister moves into your view.
“Good morning,” she says, smiling down at you. It doesn’t reach her eyes.
“You bandaged my shoulder,” you blurt. It’s the first thing your mind lands on, a detail you can’t quite make sense of.
She sounds almost offended as she replies.
“Of course I did. I’m not going to let you bleed to death, sweet sister.”
“Then let me go,” you command, in the closest thing to a confident tone you can manage right now. You know you’re in no position to make demands, but you have to say something.
“I will,” she says, pleasantly. “Eventually.”
She pulls a chair from somewhere beyond your vision and sits beside the altar, staring at you like she’s waiting for something.
You meet her gaze defiantly. Keeping you alive would be her fatal mistake, if you could just find a way out of these damned restraints. As if anything had changed, you test them again. They don’t move.
She laughs at you, that same laugh you grew up adoring now a knife that twists in your gut.
“I would have been disappointed if you didn’t try, but you’re not going anywhere. I need you to stay still for this.”
Anger compels you to speak again, to ask the question that has been burning in your mind since she left you.
“Y-you killed them. Why did you—”
She cuts you off.
“It was for you, angel. You’ll understand that eventually.”
“Don’t.” You spit back at her, pouring venom into your tone. “Don’t tell me I’ll understand, or that it was for me. You murdered our parents and turned everything I knew into ash, and then you ran from me. You’re a coward.”
“I freed us.” Her tone is gentle, like one used to correct a misunderstanding. “I freed myself, and I freed you, too. I know you can’t see it that way yet, but that’s alright.”
“How does—” you start, but she interrupts again.
“They were going to get us killed,” she says, as if it’s a fact. “Maybe not this year, maybe not the next, but eventually — in some dark place, for a family name already half-forgotten and for a world that would have used us up and left us in an unmarked grave.”
A flicker of sadness crosses her face.
“We were never people to them, little sister. We were weapons. You know I’m right.”
A small, treacherous part of you doesn’t disagree. But you’ve seen the trail of bodies left in her wake, she’s a monster. There’s no justification for what she’s done.
“That doesn’t give you the right to kill them.”
“No,” she agrees. “It doesn’t.”
The admission stuns you into silence.
She rises, placing her grimoire on the stone beside you. “But I don’t care. I’m not going to try to justify my actions to you.”
“I kill who I want, because I like it.”
She reaches into her cloak and produces a small wooden box, setting it beside the spellbook.
“I take what I want, because I like it.”
She lifts the lid. Inside, a fine silver needle rests on a bed of dark silk, a small reservoir of violet ink sitting beside it.
“And what I want, more than anything, is you, sweet thing. I won’t let anything keep us apart any longer, least of all this idiotic crusade of yours.”
A thin filament of light forms at her fingertips as she focuses, coiling around the needle and lifting it into the air. She touches it to the surface of the ink and the intricate carvings along its length drink deep, violet crawling up through the grooves. The ink beads at the tip, trembles, then drips once into the reservoir.
“Your hunt ends tonight, little sister, though maybe not how you imagined.”
You’ve hunted vampires before, seen the dark magic etched into the skin of the poor souls bound to their will. You had made peace with your own death long ago, but she’s not going to let you die; she's going to make you hers. “N-no, wait!” you plead. You can hear the change in your voice, your anger giving way to fear. “Please, just stop and we can talk about this.”
“We are talking,” she says, gently, sitting down beside you as the needle hums. Panic drags you under completely as it draws closer to your arm, your heart pounding in your chest. You writhe against your restraints; not because you think you can escape, but out of instinct, like an animal caught in a trap. When they don't budge, something inside you breaks. You start to cry, ugly sobs wracking your body as tears fall down your cheeks.
Her free hand moves to stroke your face and you freeze up, still sobbing as the claws that tore your shoulder to shreds now wipe away your tears. “Shhh…” she soothes. “It’s okay, just hold still for me. This won’t hurt, I promise.”
Her words aren’t particularly comforting, but fear keeps you locked in place, a still canvas for her magic. As the needle first touches the inside of your wrist, you learn that her words weren’t particularly true, either. It stings as it pierces your skin again and again, tracing out delicate sigils. You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek, holding back whimpers. You won’t give her the pleasure of knowing she’s hurting you.
The pain is bad, but you’ve trained your whole life to ignore it; the feeling that comes as the ink seeps into your body is far worse. Everywhere the needle has left its trail of violet begins to grow warm, getting more sensitive. At first, it only amplifies the torment, your skin tender and raw as your sister continues to inscribe delicate magic. But slowly, creeping in at the edges of your suffering, comes a new feeling — one that fills you with disgust.
It starts to feel good.
The pain begins to fade as pleasure takes its place, the bite of the needle and your sister’s cold touch stirring a warmth inside you that dredges up feelings you’ve long-since buried. As shameful as it might be, there was a time when you would have done anything for your sister to make you feel this way. But those feelings were wrong, and that thing isn’t the sister you grew up loving. Whatever she’s doing to you is altering your perception, just like the spell she cast in the library. You need to fight this.
It takes all your energy, but you can still find the faint feeling of pain in what she’s doing to you. You focus in on the hurt, centering it in your mind as you try to exclude everything else she’s making you feel. You don’t think it’s working.
She stops for a moment to coat the needle in ink again and you breathe a sigh of relief, but as much as you hate yourself for it, you can’t shake a feeling of emptiness as her touch leaves you. When her work resumes and the sensations return, a moan nearly escapes your throat, barely held back by clenched teeth. You’re not sure how much longer you can keep this up, the pain you had been using to anchor yourself is all but gone now.
Time blurs as your body screams out for you to simply give in, to accept the gift of pleasure she’s giving you but you can’t, you can’t give in.
You can’t give in. You can’t give in. You can’t—
“It’s finished, sweetheart,” she says, gently.
Your eyes, clamped shut, slowly drift open. Your sister is smiling at you, her fangs showing just past her lips as she dries the needle on a small cloth before setting it gently back in its box.
She’s… done? That doesn’t make any sense. Your injured shoulder no longer hurts, the sting faded into the same pleasant warmth that suffuses the skin around your new tattoo. You hate the way the sensation makes your tummy flutter, but you’re still you, despite whatever she did to you. You’re not sure if that’s better or worse.
“W-what did you do?” you stammer. “I thought I would be—”
“A mindless thrall? If all I wanted was a hollowed out pet, I could have taken any girl I desired. I want you.”
She reaches up to cup your cheek in her hand, a terrifying glint in her eyes.
“I would enjoy making you into an empty plaything, but that would waste something beautiful. No, your mind — and your love — will be given to me willingly before this night ends.”
No matter what she does to you, there’s no way you’ll surrender to her.
“And you think that making pain feel—” You nearly say good before you catch yourself. “... making pain feel weird, is gonna make me love you again? After everything you’ve done? You’re insane.”
“No, sweet sister.” She traces the intricate violet linework of your new tattoo with her claws, the sensation dragging a shiver out of your traitorous body. “But this is only the first gift I have for you. What I’m going to do next will hurt much worse, and I wanted you to enjoy it. I certainly will.”
Her hand dips beneath her cloak again as she draws forth an ornate band of black leather — a collar inlaid with silver sigils, delicate as lace.
“I had this made just for you. Don’t fight it too hard, okay?”
You give her a defiant glare, steeling yourself against whatever effect the collar will have. The moment the clasp closes around your neck, you feel it begin its dark work. It starts at the edges of your thoughts, a low fog and faint pressure in your head. A memory crystallizes, though not of your own accord.
You recognize where you are: a dark alleyway in Prague, standing over a girl’s body as her still-warm blood pours out onto the cobblestones. You’re sure you’ve never seen her before, but there’s a familiarity that nags at you. When you turn her over to examine her wounds, your stomach drops. She looks just like you — your red hair, your green eyes, your cheekbones. The resemblance is uncanny.
The memory keeps shifting; new cities, new bodies, but never a new face. Always yours, staring back at you, empty-eyed. A message, you had decided, early in the hunt. A taunt, maybe. I could do this to you. Stay away, or don’t. See what happens.
In the waking world, your sister moves in the periphery of your awareness. A candle catches flame on the altar, and your temper ignites with it as you realize what she’s doing. She’s gloating. She’s out there, doing whatever she wants to your body while she makes you look at this, a year’s worth of her cruelty laid out in front of you.
Then something speaks from the corners of your mind, and it speaks in her voice. The intrusion startles you, and adds more fuel to your anger.
You think she killed them because she hates you. You couldn’t be further from the truth.
What else could it be? you snarl back.
Maybe she missed you, it says. She looks for your face everywhere she goes, finding only echoes of you. It’s not her fault none of them filled that void. This is just what love looks like when it has nowhere else to go.
Love. She wants to call it love when she abandons you, when she kills the innocent for pleasure, for the crime of reminding her of you. Your hands curl into fists; the cruelty of it, the sheer audacity of it, it’s enough to make you want to scream. You feel the force of your magic coiling behind your rage before you can stop it, and you scream into the fog clouding your mind.
If she loved me so much, then WHY DID SHE RUN? A whole year and she never ONCE—
The fog slams down as your magic surges; a thick, suffocating weight bearing down on your thoughts. When it settles over you and all becomes numb, her voice speaks again, gently.
You hunted her. You picked up the blade and carried on the legacy she tried so hard to free you from. What else could she do?
You open your mouth to answer and find the words harder to reach than they should be. You pull harder, and feel the fog thicken in response.
That’s not— you start. She’s the one who—
But in the real world, you hear her begin to chant, a dozen candles flickering around you as the air starts to move. The sound of her voice, knowing she’s casting something, sends a spike of panic that cuts through the fog. You don’t have time. Whatever she’s doing out there, you don’t have time.
You reach for the well of anger that drove you as you chased her across Europe, the only thing that kept your feet moving through every cold city and dead end. You reach for it and it comes up thin, diminished, the dying embers of the fire inside you.
In a panic, you grasp at the one memory that has never failed you, your unassailable answer to your every doubt. The library in flames. Your parents crumpled on the floor. The way your sister grinned with their blood still coating her lips. You wait for the anger that always comes.
It doesn’t.
You can see every detail just as sharply as the day it happened, but the memory sits behind glass now, and the place where anger used to live is quiet.
And then the collar shows you something else.
Your father’s voice raised. Your sister stepping in front of you, blocking his way into the training room. She’s thirteen, she’s saying. She’s thirteen and you will not send her out there, not on her own, not tonight. She’s not ready. The way your father raised his hand to hit her, and the way she never flinched.
Another memory, years later. Slipping through the manor’s back door, bleeding after your first solo hunt goes wrong. You have to get to your room quietly; you can’t let father see the gash torn in the fine leather cuirass he commissioned for your birthday. You don’t make it, collapsing on the floor of the storeroom. You wake to your sister leaning over you, bandaging your wound and mending your armor with a spell.
She loves you. She has always loved you. She did what she had to in order to protect you, and she would do it again.
You’re not sure if that was her voice, or your own.
There’s a void in your heart. A great, gaping wound torn open by the absence of the rage that drove you for so long. Without that, what do you have left?
You have her, comes the answer.
The only person who ever loved you, who ever saw you as more than a blade.
You want to argue, to snap back, to scream that it’s not enough, but it’s right. She’s all you have.
Outside your memories, you see her standing at the foot of the altar, palms raised to the vaulted ceiling as she speaks the final words of the spell she’s been building since the collar pulled you under. The candles around you flicker, then snuff out as something dark gathers in her hands — a dense, writhing knot of black-violet curse that pulses in time with your heartbeat.
Fear drags you up from the depths of memory as she moves towards you, the curse crackling in her hand.
“H-hey, no, what are you—” you start, your voice small and terrified.
“Don’t worry,” she says, climbing onto the altar and straddling your legs. “I know you’re scared and confused, but I’m gonna fix you, okay?”
Your heart pounds in your chest as she brings the curse towards the bare skin of your tummy and it begins to reach out, like it’s alive. The last thing out of your mouth before it touches you is a barely coherent “no, please no nonono—”
And then, between two beats of your panicked heart, time stops as the curse takes root.
At first, it feels like warmth pooling just beneath your skin, a heat that gathers low in your belly. Then, the corruption spreads, veins of violet and midnight threading throughout your body. The threads ignite and you scream into the cold air, but it doesn’t hurt, not after your sister's first “gift”.
Your back arches, your whole body shaking as wave after wave of corruptive pleasure crashes over you and you hate it, you hate her, for making you enjoy it. You hold tightly to that hate, refusing to let go or give in as ecstasy burns you from the inside out. The curse devours thought and memory, grief and fear, everything that made you human, until only the hate remains. But the harder you cling to it, the harder the collar presses down on your thoughts.
You don’t have to keep fighting, little hunter, it tells you, and you don’t want to listen but— you’ve been hunting her for so long. You finally found her, and she loves you. Why push her away?
There was a time when you could have answered that without hesitation, but you don’t have an answer now. You’re terrified as you hold the last ember of your humanity in your hands, but you’re not strong enough to resist.
You let go, and the tide of ecstasy carries it away.
Your resistance shatters, a dark hunger growing to fill the hollow space inside you until it consumes you. You cry out, thrashing against the restraints as something pushes up towards the surface of your skin. You watch through tears as a pattern takes shape, growing in delicate curves — a twisted, heart-shaped mandala of petals and thorns that blossoms over your womb.
It feels like an eternity before you can breathe again, and as you look up at your sister, she’s smiling. Not the predatory grin you’ve come to fear, but one full of warmth and adoration, the smile you fell in love with so long ago. Your chest tightens, and you smile back.
“Oh, there she is…” she breathes, leaning over you to undo your restraints. The thought of fighting her doesn’t even cross your mind. She pulls you up into a tight embrace; her body is corpse-cold but her touch spreads heat inside you everywhere it goes. “I missed you, baby sister.”
You start to say it back but she cuts you off with a kiss; hungry and desperate, a year’s worth of love coming out all at once. Her fangs graze the inside of your lip and you shudder, your head spinning.
The heat in your core is rising and you can feel your body still changing — bones shifting, muscles twisting, a growing pressure at your shoulderblades and tailbone, but you can’t care. All that matters is her, her lips on yours, her claws on your skin.
She breaks away, trailing kisses down your jaw, your throat, her fangs at your neck. She nips gently, like she’s asking permission; you know what she wants, and you’ll give it gladly. You nod, and her teeth sink into your flesh.
You cry out, your vision going white as ecstasy, bright and shattering, hits you full-force. The venom in her bite burns through your arteries as she drinks deep, and the more blood she takes from you, the warmer her body gets until she feels almost alive again. You squirm in her grasp and her claws dig into your skin, but you can’t stay still. The grinding and popping of bones is too much to ignore, the pressure building until—
You scream into her shoulder as your spine cracks and your shoulderblades split with a wet, agonizing stretch. Bat-like wings, delicate and violet-veined, push through your skin, unfurling in spasms. Blood runs down your back, down to where your tailbone is growing, twisting and elongating into a black spade-tipped tail that flicks against your thigh.
Every part of this should hurt, but it doesn’t, not anymore. It feels right, like this was how you were meant to be — but more than anything, it feels good.
“Gods, look at you…” she purrs as she pulls away. “You’re perfect.”
She’s beautiful, crimson eyes and rosy cheeks, your blood dripping from her fangs. You don’t know what you’re doing as you lean in, but instincts guide your lips to hers again. She kisses back, and you taste salt and warm copper on her tongue.
Her hand slips between your wings, her sharp claws giving gentle scratches that send shivers down your spine and through your tail. Her other hand glides down your stomach, then lower, and you moan into the kiss as it finally finds the aching need between your thighs.
Your wings flutter and your tail coils tightly around her wrist as her touch drags needy whines from your throat. It’s overwhelming, you feel raw and sensitive after your transformation, but you can’t stop your hips from bucking against her hand, the hunger inside you taking control.
Your first orgasm hits you without warning, your hips twitching uncontrollably as it crashes over you. She pulls away from the kiss but her touch barely slows, even as you fall apart in her hands.
“Good girl, that’s it,” she praises, your body still shaking and oversensitive as her fingers pull you closer and closer to the same edge you just fell headlong over. She leans in close to your neck, her breath hot and heavy, but she doesn’t wait for permission this time — her fangs pierce your skin again and when the venom hits, you cum a second time.
She doesn’t give you a single moment to come down. You try to speak, to think, but the pleasure washes it all away as she brings you over the edge again, and again, and again. When she finally stops, you collapse, nestling up against her — small, and broken, and hers.
“Welcome home,” she whispers, stroking your wings gently as she begins to hum that old hunter’s tune.
“Missed you,” you mumble against her chest.
Her arms tighten around you.
“I know, baby sister. I wont ever leave you again.”
Some friends and I decided to have a fun little writing jam, and we started
THE FIRST GREAT SISCON-OFF
Linked above is the collection of 6 anonymous stories written by myself, @maolong, @kitsunedollie, @sweetestsixshooter, xX_sister_bliss_Xx, and one anonymous author! The theme is CORRUPTION. We're going for glory, so after you've read all six (one author opted out of the voting), you can vote on your absolute favorite below! Enjoy six new siscon stories from a variety of really lovely and crazy talented authors :)
Which is your favorite?
Golden Rule
Blood Ties
Faith is NOT a Siscon
Kitsune's Cunning Stunt
A Special Kind of Safety
Voting ended onJun 16
(One of these can only be read with an account, so make sure you're logged in if you want to see all of them. Also, we'll definitely be doing this again in the future, this was just a fun little friend server jam ^^)
The authors will be revealed in ONE WEEK after voting is done, so enjoy these anonymous fics until then!
Do you want to get really high together except I don’t smoke and you do it til you’re nonverbal, and I’m just fingering your mouth for the rest of the night? Let me know ok
Another insincere smile, a hand on their waist, a joke that is returned with a reddening of their face, a kiss, a finished drink, an invite back to theirs, a gentle clumsy touch, all just to fill a gaping wound in your chest you’ve held since the day you were born.
It always follows the same cycle. You get lonely, you get desperate. You find a stranger, the sex is usually okay. But that void remains. Nothing again and again. A pit longing for something to be slotted into place. The pieces just don’t quite fit right. You feel nothing yet you wish for so much more.
You found the world to be so unlike the movies, starting with your best friend in the world admitting she had a crush on you early in high-school. You tried, she was gorgeous, brilliant, and so fun to be around. The pieces were there yet the picture remained fragmented.
This cycle repeated often. You would try desperately to make relationships work over and over and over. You would always find yourself back home. You would always find yourself sobbing in your big sister’s lap.
She would run her fingers through your hair, reassert that you didn’t have to be like the other boys, and that you’ll find your person.
Then you transitioned. You finally understood. You didn’t want someone else because you didn’t want you.
Your sister was there for you immediately, on top of your new name and pronouns, helped you get a new wardrobe with some of her own hard earned cash.
You started spending more and more time with her, little by little feeling something right. Coffee and lunch, movies and the bar. Exhausted evenings with a movie and pizza on the couch that would quickly turn to napping atop one another.
Your other relationships often failed, but there she was, your shining beacon in the dark.
You begin to realize, it’s her. It’s always been her. But, why did it have to be her. The one time you long for another’s touch in a way that simply isn’t physical and it’s her. Your older sister. Her gleaming smile, her cute freckles, her stupid sense of humor, and even all of the times she pesters you while you’re trying to rest.
You let it well inside your chest. There’s never going to be another for you, but she can’t be either. At least until one night where you both are drunkenly walking home from the bar.
Evening clouds over you like a soft blanket, once charted routes feel unfamiliar, with her the world feels sharp and bright. You stumble, you fall, and she catches you. The streetlights cast a halo over her soft skin.
Everything you have felt floods out of your chest.
It's almost the anniversary that you used to share with your ex-wife, and you can't help but miss her, even after everything. Your sweet daughter asked to take you out to the club where you met her mother all those years ago.
🎵 One Heart - Kaskade
You walk into the nightclub, early enough in the night that people haven't crowded the dance floor yet. Vague nerves pluck at your fingers, trying to make you adjust your clothes, but the dim lights and the smells of the venue wash you in nostalgia whose tides soak away the anxiety of coming back after so many years. She takes the lead, tracking to a bartop on the far end of the main room, bypassing a few that she clearly doesn't care for as much.
A quick glance back at you, and then she's ordering the drinks. You finger around for your slim wallet in your bag, but by the time you pluck it out she's tapping her card on the reader. It's adorable, she feels like she's treating you to drinks, but your birthday gift to her would cover a month's worth of overpriced drinks, and her voice acting commissions don't cover what other parents would charge their adult daughter in rent. Yet. The expensive microphone and sound canceling foam panels were worth every penny, her voice is gorgeous. She took to voice training with an enthusiasm rarely seen outside of the pressures of olympic parents pushing competition on them, and you're dead certain she could make a career out of it if she wants. Singing too, maybe.
'You can do anything you put your mind to' is usually just a phrase, material for motivation if it gets through someone's insecurities, but success is in Chanté's heart and those dedicated eyes. She turns to you with a wink, a drink, and an excuse not to think. Either she perused the bottles of liquor on top of the cabinets at home to figure out a simple cocktail you'd like, or her mother dropped a detail about what you like to drink before she left. Her other mother. You're just you, so Angelica got 'mother' in your mind and you got 'mom' in Chanté's voice. She just calls your ex by her name, in the rare times that your daughter even refers to her.
The fog machine is timid this early in the night, and you watch its wisps eddy and swirl in the air a foot off the ground and take in the moment. It smells like a Halloween costume store, but heavier, nights of neon sweat instead of autumn days of latex masks. The drink kicks, and the first swallow is a threshold, but she got a flavorful liquor mixed with sweet soda, so a quick stir with your finger, a surreptitious suck of the liquid off it, and the drink goes down smoother. Your daughter sidles up next to you, leaning on the bar, flicking a glance at you, and then she peruses the 'crowd' with you. You just might be eyeing the same girls, though there's still a little sting at being here. You picked up her mother at a place like this, twenty-three years ago. Nearly to the day, it's only a week off.
Chanté doesn't know that. She knows it was a club, she knows it was this club, but your anniversary was always an overnight babysitter visit while you and your danced, and then a cheap motel where you and your wife paid for replacement sheets on checkout.
Your daughter starts to bob along to the beat beside you, hips already moving more than the other nearly sober people in the venue. You have to wonder how many times she's been here before. She invited you out because you'd been looking down for a few days, or maybe a few weeks. The anniversary feels different every year. Sometimes rueful, mad that Angelica left, sometimes regretful, that you let your daughter grow up without her other parent, sometimes depressed that she never tried to reach out and contact you or Chanté again. This year it was mourning - you still miss her, even with the anger and spite that play tug-of-war with your heart.
The music started industrial, and as it drifts into hip hop your daughter switches the elbow she's leaning on to catch your eye and twitch her head to indicate a solitary dancer already enthralled by the music. She's got your dark hair and your flat shoes, and you can see someone in her that you used to see in the mirror a long time ago. There was a little reflection of that old self in the mirror earlier when you checked your makeup for the last time and adjusted your bra straps to be a little tighter, for better support when dancing.
You smile and make a little gesture with your shoulder. You doubt your daughter would try to get with someone that reminds her of her mom, and you doubt you could wing-woman for her even if you tried, but maybe she'd like dancing with her. You'll probably dance too, eventually. It's what you came here for, not the nostalgia that keeps making every flash of the lights feel like a flicker from the past.
Chanté smiles and bobs along with the music, apparently unconcerned. The first round of drinks ends and you turn to ask for another. The music is loud and you have to ask for a double four times before the bartender nods and turns away. You gesture wordlessly to your daughter to place her order as well, and after conferring with the topless man behind the bar she leans up to your ear to tell you that he needs to check your ID again.
Tedious, but you already had your wallet out to pay, so you pull out the plastic card to flash at him. He gives you a dismissive smile and waves you off. You shrug and turn to the card reader, and-
She paid again. A coy little smile dances across her face, and she playfully takes a sip of your drink before she hands it over. It twinkles in your head again, the symmetry.
You take the lead this time, heading over to an empty corner of the floor, and you start to move your hips, mostly glancing at the stage the paid dancers will climb onto once the night really starts to get going. The drink in your hand abates any emphatic movement, so you're left with a few songs to ruminate again.
Your daughter has the same eyes. Her mother only saw a year of them, and she was gone before they shifted from blue to green. It was a fight, because your daughter deserved for you to put up a fight. Son back then, and it was why your wife left. Her ex-girlfriend moved back from Canada, and she had a newborn daughter with her. It took a year for you and Angelica to concieve, and she was the one who really wanted to not know the baby's sex before their birth, ready for anything.
She wasn't though. Something changed when the doctor announced it. You didn't see it in her eyes right away, but you caught her staring out the window more often, found her more hesitant to participate in parenting than she should have been. The ex came back, they caught up in a coffee shop once, and then things changed for Angelica. She was more affectionate with her son, and everything seemed right, until she dropped a 'she'. Something washed through your soul when you heard it. There was one minute, one brief period of ambiguity, and then she admitted it. 'Maybe she'll be trans, like me!'
That was the first part of the fight. You couldn't accept her raising her child as though he were a trans girl before his first birthday. No matter how much you tried to make her see that statistics said that the odds were better that he'd be cis, and that raising him as trans could be bad for him, she insisted. Wouldn't take gender neutral parenting either, and it broke your heart.
You tried to hold the glue between you together as long as you could, but she dissolved it the night she came home and told you she was leaving to be with her ex. You didn't even have to ask. It was because she always wanted a daughter, and she'd rather parent a step-daughter than her own son.
Your eyes drift to your daughter again in this dark room, and she's like a mirror of her mother. Taller, lucky enough to get HRT early in mid-adolescence instead of in her early adulthood, but those round cheeks, happy eyebrows, imperfect teeth, racy clothing choices. Confident from a life spent well supported and loved. Your drink is done, you point to hers, and she hands it over.
The crowd has grown alongside your buzz, and seemingly Chanté's has as well. Her movements are more emphatic, she's turning and stepping further, a little smile is curving her lips. A pop remix on the speakers, adding reverb to some lyrics and dropping out others, just enough to make you wish it were your daughter's voice on the track instead, giving her a chance to make her love for the song heard somewhere outside the echoey shower you share at home.
Maybe she is actually singing to it a few feet in front of you, or maybe you're just hearing what you want to. Someone called you a cougar the last time you came here, and though it felt unfair, she wasn't wrong. You can't help being attracted to youth, the energy, the spark, the candor. It never changed as you hit middle age, and you like to think you can still get away with the short shorts and low cut shirt you dusted out of hiding tonight.
Your daughter is certainly pulling off her miniskirt, and you can't help but let your eyes linger on her legs, for too long. You blink away. Another drink maybe.
The first has settled in, the second was good company, and the bite of the third washes away the stress from two weeks of nonstop work. Chanté seems to be enjoying dancing on her own, so you lean on the bar and close your eyes to let the trance music spin your feelings around in time with the colors pulsing just outside your eyelids. It could have been two songs or two years before a hand touches yours. Soft and tender, not demanding. It's her again, a smile on her face and body language clearly inviting you to join her again.
You can feel the alcohol in your steps as you follow her through the crowd, your hand held resolutely in hers, unshakeable even through the bumping bodies. She grins at you as she turns around, and she was right. Right to bring you here, for you to come here with her. To join someone as happy as her, happy to be herself and to share her company with someone that she loves. She starts to move with that smile, carrying it in each of her movements and through every song, fully present, letting everything outside of this room fall away.
You follow her into it, letting the drinks and the movement of the crowd take you deeper alongside her. You have more energy for this than you've had for most of your life over the last few years, and though you know it'll be a tired morning, it's a night for life and living and being. Blue light flashes, and it catches your daughter in a perfect freeze-frame with a joyous grin, eyes closed, nowhere else but the present, right here, right now, with you.
Just like her mother was, right here, in this very club. Same blonde hair, same rhythm, same hands above her shoulders in violation of the tenets of dancing you'd been told decades ago. Too much joy in her to hide, to obscure behind social convention, to shy away from out of social pressure.
You thought about calling Angelica when your daughter came out as trans. She'd been right, in the end. Maybe she'd visit, try to be in Chanté's life again. But she didn't earn that. You raised her, you supported her, you were on top of her new pronouns within days, and she asked you to help her find a name. You recalled stories of how your ex-wife found her name, and suggested that your daughter look for a character that felt like her 'trans awakening'. She picked an alternate spelling of a video game character she'd liked since she was a kid.
She always knew her mother was trans, and maybe that was why she transitioned herself. She never asked you to contact her mom after she came out, and she never asked for contact info herself. Maybe she always considered herself yours alone too.
Her eyes open and a glint from the disco ball catches her green irises, flecked red by the glitter on the ornament spinning above you. The DJ makes a smooth transition from one trance song to the next, and the crowd pulses around you, pushing you closer to your daughter. The drinks have kicked in and her energy is infectious; your arms are moving as much as hers, hips swaying and feet tapping, losing yourself in the moment with her like you've always been able to do in this place.
A few beats of darkness and your eyes open again, and she's so close, eyes on yours, energy matching, just the right distance to put your hands on her-
She reaches up and wraps her arms around your neck. You match her timing on the beat unconsciously, and she takes a half step forward that invites your hands onto her waist. So chaste a place compared to everyone else in this club, right now and in years past, yourself included. There's no time to be self conscious, because her eyes are hot and unwavering, and she's mouthing along to the lyrics of a song that was contemporary when you first danced here. The glitter in her lip gloss is bright in your peripheral vision, a shining beacon you're too entranced by green irises to see.
As the moments pulse past, you're drawn further and further into the moment, and it all feels perfect again, you belong in this building, in this night, in this life. A shiver runs through you as the time stops and it's just you in the moment, dancing with a gorgeous woman who wants to be close, even closer to you as your hands drift down to her hips and you can feel her plush curves. Your exerted breaths get hotter and she steps closer, swaying with you, touching her chest and hips against you, so close you could kiss.
You can feel that desire within you now, and it dawns on a soul watered by drinks and years of knowing this girl for who she is and everything she wants to be. Maybe some of it is the possessiveness of hiding her away from someone thousands of miles north pulling you too close into your daughter's embrace. Maybe some of it is the fact that your daughter just happens to be exactly your type. Maybe some of it is loneliness, maybe some of it is lust, but it doesn't feel like that, you know her too intimately to see her as some one-night. After decades of being the one to show initiative with younger women, you feel all the pressures of desire withheld by an invisible net across your lips, forbidding you from leaning closer and touching your lips under the strobing lights like you're drawn to.
You have to wonder what Chanté is thinking, why she came here with you. She loves you, of course, she wants to see you happy, but she could have gotten you drinks and found you a nice corner and a dance partner, then looked for one of her own. She could have danced side by side with you or kept in front of each other a few feet away, like earlier. A mother and daughter sharing an activity, not making much eye contact, just being mindful of each other's movements to not step on toes.
But she's all the way on you, those smoky eyes tracing over you every moment that passes. You've never known the difference between attraction and love, not properly, and right in this moment, there's something made of desperation inside of you, begging an unspeaking reality to let you understand, to be able to see what she's feeling properly and not misread it, to know why she's choosing to be so intimate with you every beat that goes by, why she's staring at your lips now, why she-
Kisses you.
Years of practice and symmetry with past moments here over the years keep you moving in time with the music, but suddenly everyone else in the club has disappeared into blackness, all that's left is the beat and her soft body under your hands. Her arms wrapped around your neck, the strands threaded between your eyes and hers as she pulls back but stays close, paying attention to see how you're responding, if it was unwanted, if she just crossed a line, but to you right now, you're just two women on a foggy dance floor sharing attraction and unignorable physical chemistry.
You don't flash a yes in your eyes, you don't wait for her to try again, you definitely don't pause enough to let her pull back and think she's made a mistake. You move into your role in this and lean forward in the scant space to kiss her again. It feels just like kissing her mother, only now the sheath of vulnerability you were wrapped in when Angelica left you is a shelter, a tight copse for you to share with someone that you're sure will never leave you, not like she did.
Chanté's next kiss is greedy, but the one after she holds, hips bouncing, eyes closed, savoring the touch and losing herself in it just like you do. You can feel the love in her body and soul and how she's caring for and offering it to you when she knows you need it. You'll never know if she planned this the whole time, if it was an impulsive mistake, if it was the alcohol or the confident woman that she is that made this happen.
You release your lips first, and the club is back, the throng of people moving around you, the lights and sensations and smells, the alcohol buzz in your body and mind and under the aroused blush on your cheeks. You want to tell her that you love her.
You do, even though saying you love someone after your first few kisses is too soon. You mouth it for her to see, you say it with meaning, knowing that it's not coming from the correct place for a moment like this, that even though it's made from her beauty and life and your need and want, that its core is coming from your love for her as a mother loves a daughter. One that loved the person she was before she transitioned, that watched her grow and find herself in your care. She's found you now, and she pulls even tighter to you, foreheads together, her nose clumsily bumping into the bridge of your glasses on the offbeat.
She didn't say it back, maybe she missed it in the overwhelming music, maybe she didn't understand what you mouthed, but you can feel it in her all the same, the way her body moves with yours perfectly, in sync and in love, no matter whatever kind of love she holds for you or what it might grow to be beyond this moment.
You know you want it to grow into something new. You don't want to replace your ex with her daughter, but dear god she'd be an exquisite fit, completely your type and completely yours and you could be completely hers if that's what she wants. Entwined in your shared sensation of abandonment, but maybe she can show you the way out of that with her bright attitude and pure heart. A path for you two to walk and dance down together, in the club and out of the club, in your home and in your bed. Hers, yours, both, neither, the couch, the kitchen, the car, wherever and whenever you feel it for each other, and you know you'll feel it everywhere.
There's a part of you trying to calculate, to be responsible, to be a parent, to do your best to figure out the situation and see if there's anything you need to do right now to make things turn out right for her after this night, but instead you wrap your arms all the way around your daughter's waist and hold her to you, selfish in your need to feel this moment and let it cleanse all the years of loneliness.
After an eternity of moments far too short yet eternal in their expanse, the overhead lights kick on. Two hours danced by with soft, passionate kisses and warm, knowing smiles, and now this night is over, ready to shuffle on into the next, a new night, totally different than the one it was when you walked in the door. Still hours from the sunrise, there's an uncertain dawn in your heart that rises with the brightness of the room, and you selfishly hold your daughter to you, still now, foreheads still together, afraid to pull away and see her eyes, to let her see yours, to see how much you need this and what it'll pull out of your heart if she rejects you.
Strangers all around you, sweaty and tired and slow to obey the directions to leave. Witnesses to a moment technically incestuous, but pure of heart and love. Her arms retract slowly, and cold creeps in in their absence, the sensation an unwanted phantom in a stuffy room, but real to you all the same. You can't look at her, you won't pull back. She tries to pull away a few millimeters and you wordlessly push forward.
You feel fingers on your cheeks, gentle and considerate, ready to reject you with the sweetest words from the sweetest lips and the sweetest heart. She guides your head away from her and you give a long blink. You have to face her eventually though. She started this, but you're the one responsible for it, for accepting and needing it more than she knew. You're going to open your eyes and be her mother again, too close with your hands where they don't belong, savoring a body that isn't yours to touch.
"I love you Camille."
You open your eyes, and her tears match yours. Just on the verge of falling, but ready to be caught by each other.
She didn't say 'mom' like you would have subconsciously expected. She loves you, Camille, the woman she brought here and kissed and shared this night with.
You need her to kiss you again, right now, to seal whatever this is between you, to bind the two of you together forever as something new. It's not your place to push it on her, to offer it gently, or to ask for it. You need her to kiss you because she wants to, because she wants you and she means it.
You can feel from the way she presses her lips to yours again, cradling your face in her palms, that she needed to kiss you too, that this moment was everything to her too.
You'll live together in this memory forever. In your lips, in your hearts.
Some friends and I decided to have a fun little writing jam, and we started
THE FIRST GREAT SISCON-OFF
Linked above is the collection of 6 anonymous stories written by myself, @maolong, @kitsunedollie, @sweetestsixshooter, xX_sister_bliss_Xx, and one anonymous author! The theme is CORRUPTION. We're going for glory, so after you've read all six (one author opted out of the voting), you can vote on your absolute favorite below! Enjoy six new siscon stories from a variety of really lovely and crazy talented authors :)
Which is your favorite?
Golden Rule
Blood Ties
Faith is NOT a Siscon
Kitsune's Cunning Stunt
A Special Kind of Safety
Voting ended onJun 16
(One of these can only be read with an account, so make sure you're logged in if you want to see all of them. Also, we'll definitely be doing this again in the future, this was just a fun little friend server jam ^^)
The authors will be revealed in ONE WEEK after voting is done, so enjoy these anonymous fics until then!
doting kidnapper slowly, tenderly, lovingly cutting off all your clothes so she doesn’t have to undo your shackles or handcuffs n risk letting you escape <3333
tiny puppy!! @kitsunedollie - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
