Speaking of the yandere outlaws, how would “the boy” behave when he finally earned the right to have the girl fully? Maybe after he catches her trying to escape and brings her back like you said.
Yandere Outlaws- The Boy/Betrayal
The boy exists in this in-between sort of space where I think he can be easily influenced.
He realises just as well as the others that holding you hostage is an awful, terrible thing. He recognises that you don't want this. And I think he's the only one who's truly guilty about it.
The gunslingers shrug it off. They wanted you, so they took you. Easy as that. The boss has done much worse in his life. What difference does one missing girl make? Even the wrangler and the second in command go against their better instincts with only a flicker of guilt.
The boy though? There's still a little innocence in him. A sense of justice stronger than the others. The question is - can he hold onto it?
I see the two of you getting along at first, maybe even getting friendly. You pity him - he's a victim too, a kid who got roped into something much bigger than he could handle.
He's the one who brings you most of your meals. Head down, sneaking glances at you from under his hair. He doesn't talk much at first, doesn't even stick around to watch you eat. Just leaves the plate on your vanity and hurries out of the room.
Maybe one day it gets too much for you. Maybe one day you ask him to stay.
He freezes, hand already on the doorknob.
"You want me to stay? Why?"
You shrug, not sure how to articulate it. Not sure if you want to address the ugly truth that both of you feel hovering. Eventually, "I guess I just want someone to talk to."
"Oh."
Maybe he comes a little closer, sits on the edge of your bed. Still not looking at you.
You push the food around on your plate.
"This is good. Who made it?"
"Oh, umm, I did."
"You're the one who does the cooking?"
"Mm-hmm. The others are too busy with work I guess. And you don't want them to cook for you."
"Why's that?"
He wrinkles his nose. "Their cooking is awful."
And that's how it goes. Snippets of conversation really. A few moments stolen between wrangling horses and learning to shoot straight. A few moments where he sits on the edge of your bed and you both pretend that your thighs aren't bruised with fingerprints.
Maybe you come to trust him. Maybe you think that just because he doesn't look at you like the other outlaws, that he doesn't want what they want.
A mistake. But you're too naive to realise it.
I think things finally change on one of those icy, stormy nights. Most of the outlaws are out on a job, and it's just the boy, the boss and you.
It's a cold night, devil cold, the rain sheeting down so hard you can barely hear anything over it.
Maybe one of the outlaws leaves your door unlocked or maybe you manage to climb out the window, rain soaking straight through your chemise. Either way, you make it to the stables without anyone seeing you.
You're shivering, your chemise clinging to your waist and practically see-through from the water. But you don't care. This is the closest you've come to escape and you aren't going to let the chance slip by.
There are only two horses in the stable. The boss's mean old mustang, and the boy's chestnut colt. Between the two of them, it's hardly a choice. You've got the bridle on the boy's horse and you're just about to reach for the saddle when someone grabs you.
They yank you backwards, startling out a short scream. Your back thuds against the wall and a hand slaps across your mouth.
"Shhh," the boy hisses, "The boss will hear you."
He's warmer than you and still dry.
"You're running away."
You nod hesitantly, his hand still pressed against your mouth. His face is blank. You can't read anything in his eyes.
"You're cold. You aren't dressed for the weather. You'll die of exposure before you make it home."
You shake your head. Anything is better than being a stress doll for a bunch of outlaws, how can't he see that?
He stays like that for a long while, his hand on your mouth keeping you pinned against the wall. The lantern light makes his eyes seem darker - the pupils wide, black as oil.
He sighs, and you realise he's made the decision for you. You're not escaping tonight.
"I know you hate it here, but you'll die if you try and ride out tonight."
He doesn't give you time to reply. Just grabs your wrist and drags you out and across the yard. You plead with him. Beg. Say that anything in the world is better than this.
But the rain is coming down heavy and he doesn't hear you. Or at least that's what he tells himself.
The kitchen door slams open and he pulls you in, both of you soaking wet. You might have said more, tried to reason with him again.
But the boss is waiting for you.
Standing in the half-dark between the kitchen and the hall, his revolver gleaming dully.
"Thought you mighta done something reeaall stupid, boy."
His voice is low, rough around the edges. A wolf learning to speak.
The boy is just as frozen as you are. It takes a few false starts before he can spit the words out.
"No, sir."
"You caught our filly right before she slipped the lasso I see."
"Yes, sir."
The boss moves toward you then, the light finally showing his eyes. That cool blue about as bright and dangerous as lightning.
He grabs your jaw, hard. Pulls you up on your toes so your lips almost brush his.
"Awful big storm for such a little girl."
The boy is still holding your wrist and looking at the floor, his hair blocking his face. He doesn't intervene.
"You coulda broken your neck, tryin' to ride in weather like this."
The boss leans closer, warm lips brushing your cheek. His voice is low enough for just you to hear.
"I'd be real heartbroken to lose you darlin'. You ain't gonna put an old man through such pain, are you?"
His grip tightens on your jaw, fingers digging into your cheeks. You know instinctively that the next time he comes to visit your room, he isn't going to be quite so nice. He isn't going to keep holding himself back.
"No, sir." Your voice is less than a whisper.
"Good."
He pulls back and smiles at you. Pats your cheek with small, rough smacks. He calls back to the kid, never looking away from you.
"Our girl is chilled straight through, boy. Why don't you warm her up?"
The boy is tense. You can feel it in the way he holds you, can see it in the set of his shoulders.
"Yes, sir."
He starts walking again, pulling you along behind him.
You wait until you're out of earshot, about halfway up the stairs. You say the boy's name, and maybe he hears some of the fear in your voice because he stops. One hand on the bannister and one still around your wrist.
"The boss is going to -"
"You shouldn't have tried running then."
His voice is harder than you've ever heard it.
"You're...you're my only real friend," he continues. "The only person I can really talk to. Some of the others aren't so bad, but they still think of me as just a kid."
His grip tightens on your wrist.
"You were going to leave without even saying goodbye to me."
He starts walking again, dragging you behind him. The door to your room is ajar, and all you can see is a crack of darkness, broken by the occasional flash of lightning.
"The gunslingers were right," he says, half to himself. "If you want something, you should take it."
Your heart stutters. What does he mean by that?
He stops in front of your bedroom, one hand on the doorknob. He turns to you and you finally get to see his face. His hair is dripping water down his temples and between his brows, making him look as bristly as a coyote.
There's something different about his eyes, about the way he looks at you. Like something in him has finally worn away.
You feel your whole body going cold.
He looks at you just like the other outlaws do. That spark of lust, mixed with a callous cruelty.
He doesn't seem like a boy anymore. Doesn't seem like a colt just growing into its legs, eyes all wide and sweet.
It doesn't matter that he's younger than you. In the half-dark, with the rainwater dripping off your clothes, he finally seems like a man. A man just like the others. With the strength and the will to take what he wants, regardless of whether or not you say yes.
A man who will take what he wants. Who's going to take it tonight.
And as he pulls you into the room, grip like iron around your wrist, you realise exactly what the boss was implying when he told the kid to warm you up.
Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Alternate Ending
Warnings: kidnapping, head injury
Caretaker woke slowly. Their head hurt. Their body hurt, but nothing compared to the splitting headache. They opened their eyes and immediately screwed them shut. It was too bright.
“Oh thank God. You’re awake!” A voice came from somewhere to Caretaker’s right.
Slowly, Caretaker opened their eyes just a little. They could see Teammate One sitting next to them. “Where?”
“You’re in a hospital. I was worried I was too late. You took a very nasty fall, Caretaker.”
Caretaker closed their eyes and groaned. “Didn’t fall. Pushed.”
“Who pushed you?” Teammate One asked in alarm.
Didn’t matter. “Whumpee?”
“Whumpee pushed you? What in the actual fuck?” Teammate One asked shrilly.
“No. Whumpee didn’t push. Whumper did. Where is Whumpee?” Caretaker gritted their teeth as they pulled themselves to sitting.
“I don’t know where Whumpee is. Why did Whumper push you?”
Caretaker’s heart stuttered a beat. Whumpee wasn’t there? Wasn’t brought in with them. “To take them,” Caretaker’s face fell.
“Who?”
“Whumpee. Whumper pushed me to take Whumpee.” Whumpee had been kidnapped. And though Caretaker knew who had Whumpee, they didn’t know where they were taken.
I post a lot about all the lovely, sweet things that come with tickles. But, of course, things can always happen which are accidents or beyond a ler or lee's control. Here's how I'd deal with a safeword or someone stopping a session before it's started.
"I'm not feeling it anymore." // *safewords*
Stop.
Reassure them.
Ask what they need.
Do something else with them.
After things have calmed, ask
Here's a guideline.
Immediately:
Okay, darling. It's okay. Are you alright? I've got you, I'm here.
Once they've calmed, if applicable:
Would you like some space or some cuddles? Whatever you need, darling.
Once they've regulated and relaxed:
Okay, should we make some snacks and watch that show you love instead? We can just cuddle and watch TV.
After some time (at least 30 minutes in most cases):
Do you wanna talk about what happened, darling? You can always tell me if something felt scary or bad or wrong. It'll help me to keep everything safe in the future. If you just weren't feeling it, that's more than okay too! Its only ever fun for me if it's fun for you too. You're not feeling it, we don't do it, always. My job is to make you feel safe and cared about. You are more important than tickles ever will be. I've got you.
Any kind of play should always feel safe, fun and enjoyable for both parties. No matter how relaxed or intense sessions get, safety and comfort should be everyone's number one priority. If it isn't... well, you need to look at your values.
The North Wind was the coldest and cruelest of winds. So when a man came to your father's door claiming to be him and asking for your hand, your father was quick to turn him away.
"My daughter is too bright and too kind to be wasted on the worst of the winds. Come back once you learn to carry spring on your breath instead of snow."
And all that night the wind whispered down your chimney. You dreamt strange dreams - of the colours found only at the edge of the world, of snow flurries and seas black as night.
The man returned the next day. And your father once again refused him. "Come back when you can grant succor to the poor and the pitiful and not freeze them where they sleep."
That night, the wind keened even higher and rattled the window shutters. You dreamt of a wedding dress with frost for lace and a ring the gold of sunrise on snow. When you woke, your ring finger was cold as ice.
The man did not come again that day and you huddled close to the fire, rubbing warmth back into your bones. Your father paced his study and tried to scheme a way of avoiding the wind.
That night, the air laid still as in a coffin and you slept the black sleep of the drowned. You woke in time to see the first snow of the year, two months too early.
Your father's crops froze in the ground or rotted with the thaw. He paced his study and tried to scheme a way of avoiding the creditors.
When next your suitor came, your father's good manners had been worn down by debt collectors and bank notes. He snapped at the wind like a thing cornered. "Come back when you can guide ships safe to port and not wreck them on icy shores."
That night, a blizzard blew in from the north and any creature not crouched by the fire or huddled indoors was found frozen solid. You dreamt again, of a man with cold hands and even colder eyes who danced with you under foreign stars.
Your suitor did not come again but terrible news did. Your brother's ship was wrecked by a storm high on the winter coast. All souls were lost.
Through your grief, a terrible anger began to grow.
When next your suitor came, you greeted him at the door. He had a face as finely chiseled as an ice sculpture and eyes the deep black of the hinterland sea.
"If you would have me as your bride, then I will have a dowry from you."
He took your hand in his and his touch chilled you worse than a corpse's would. He looked at you with a hunger born out of winter and scarcity and cold.
"Anything. Ask anything of me and you can have it."
All through your brother's funeral you thought of ways to avenge him. And now you asked the North Wind for the one thing you thought he could never obtain.
"In a kingdom far south of here, where the snow never falls and the winter never comes, there is a jewel carved from the sun God's bones. Bring me that as a wedding band and I will be your bride."
You thought he would flinch or ask you to reconsider. Instead he bowed and kissed your hand and said he would soon return.
You felt your hope slipping, but he did not return the next day. Or the day after that. The end of autumn came without snow or gales or the return of your suitor. Slowly, you began to breathe again. Began to heal from your brother's death. Began to dream of summer and love and fresh fruit bursting between your teeth.
The winter equinox dawned with clear skies. There was to be feasting that night, and dancing. You dressed your hair with silver chains and sweetened your lips with winter berries. When the music started, one young man after another swept you into his arms and spun you around the bonfire. You tilted your head back and laughed and flirted and forgot all about your suitor.
Near midnight, the wind started to blow. The fire hissed as snowflakes drifted down from suddenly cloudy skies. Your dance partner caught one on his glove and offered it to you. Daring and high on the thrill of dancing, you licked it off his finger. "Tastes of winter in storm," you teased and when he took you for another dance, you wondered if you'd caught yourself a husband.
He spun you around but the arms that caught you were icy cold even through the fine velvet of the wearer's suit.
Midnight tolled and you looked up into the eyes of the North Wind.
He pulled your hand to his mouth and pressed his lips against your skin. At his touch, even the bonfire at your back seemed to lose its warmth.
"The journey south was wrecked with danger and the sun almost melted me clean away, but I have brought your dowry."
Before you could pull away, he slipped a ring onto your finger. It was the gold of fire and sunset and desert sand, and it's warmth spread through you.
The snow turned into a blizzard but you didn't notice it. The wind outside the safety of his arms was sharp as stinging nettles and the townsfolk called to each other in panic, barely able to keep their torches from blowing out.
The North Wind kissed your cheek, eyes glimmering with triumph.
"You're mine now. My spring bride, my dearest love."
All your dreams of a sweet summer love melted. When the snow finally settled, you were no longer in the town square but in a throne room at the edge of the world. Green and blue lights danced in the sky and shone through the palace ceiling, bathed your new husband in all the colours of his kingdom.
He leaned forward and claimed his first kiss.
When you pulled away and tried to step out of his embrace, he tightened his grip and his smile both.
"You are my wife now," he explained in a voice as comforting as frostbite, "And a wife cannot refuse her husband's love."
Your sun ring was the only spot of warmth on your body and you clung desperately to the anchor it offered.
"I would not refuse you, husband of mine. But I am the daughter and the sister of common men and there are traditions to uphold before I can climb into your wedding bed."
"What more must I do to have you?"
What would he be unable to do, here at the end of the world?
"Build me a fire that burns all day and all night on one stick of wood and you can have me as promised."
"These are strange traditions you have, wife of mine. But I have come this far to have you, and I will go further yet."
He left you with a flurry of snow and the hissing shriek of a gale. When he was gone, you paced the throne room from one end to the other and could not find a door. Everything about the room was as stark and cold as he.
Exhausted and chilled, you sat at the foot of his throne. What terrible thing did you do to earn the love of the North Wind? You wiped away your tears and then jumped at the hissing sound they made when they touched your ring. Like water spilled on coals.
"You've melted his heart," your ring hissed. "And he cannot afford to let you go."
You stared at your hand. Eventually you found your voice and the strength to ask, "How do I escape him?"
"Trick him. His heart holds all his power. If you have it, you can ride the wind far from here. He was once a man and still might be tempted into a deal."
The ring was silent after that and you waited for your husband's return with bated breath. It was dawn when he came to you, a branch slung over his shoulder. It was of a dry, white wood that you didn't recognise.
There were no fireplaces in the North Wind's palace and so he laid the branch at your feet before he lit it. It caught with a harsh crackle and fire spread across it in a greenish haze. You stretched your fingers out to feel the heat and even the meagre warmth of it was a comfort.
But that comfort turned to a slow dawning horror when you realised the branch wasn't turning to ash. The fire ate at it but the wood refused to darken.
"It's a branch from Death's own orchard," your husband said proudly. "It can burn for eternity and never go out."
"Well done," you said, even though your lips were numb from panic. "But we must watch it burn for the full day and night or else our marriage cannot be consummated."
He sat down beside you and curled his arm around your waist. "It is an easy task to watch this fire, wife of mine. When I grow tired, I need only think of the reward that awaits me."
For a whole day and night, the North Wind held you his arms and watched the fire burn. When Dawn's light touched his palace again, he kissed your shoulder and then your neck and then your lips. He sighed with a deep contentment.
"At last I will have you."
With each kiss, you felt yourself grow colder. With each caress, the binding ties of marriage grew tighter. All night you thought of a trade to offer him and now you said it aloud.
"Husband of mine, I will come willingly to your bed and serve willingly as your wife. But I would ask you first for a boon."
"Ask, wife of mine. If it is mine to grant, then I shall grant it."
You slipped off his lap and turned to look at him.
"I would have your heart."
The North Wind sighed and miles away, a gale began to form. "You already have it."
"So have said countless suitors over countless years to countless girls. And still they were unfaithful, unkind. If your love ever turns away from me, I will be stuck here at the end of world with naught but sea bears and ice hounds to comfort me."
The North Wind sat on his throne and regarded you with eyes old as the mountains. In his own hall, in his own country, he did not seem like a man who could easily be tricked. Still, you tried. You let your hands drift across his cheeks and up his thighs, let his skin bask in the warmth of your touch.
"Grant me this, husband. And I will be yours for eternity."
Was it lust or love that made him hand you a knife and bid you cut out his heart? He guided your hand to the tender spot between his ribs and the bare skin of his chest almost made your reconsider.
The blade was carved out of whalebone and moonlight and he was bleeding before you even pressed down. You thought of your brother, drowned in the ice so far from home and found the strength to slice into him.
The blood that welled up from his chest was thick and black as oil. Where it touched your skin, hoatfrost bloomed.
He didn't seem to feel any pain - he only pulled you higher up his lap and watched the guilt and horror flicker across your face.
When the cut was deep enough, you pushed your hand into his chest and felt for his heart. His organs were colder even than his skin and it felt like you'd sunk your hands into snow.
The beating of his heart mirrored yours and when you finally grabbed it, the thrumming of his blood sounded just like your own.
You held the North Wind's heart in your hand and pulled it from his chest.
All at once, in all the countless winter kingdoms, the wind stopped howling and the snow grew still.
His heart was the size of your palm and oozed icy blood over your fingers. It was so cold that at first you didn't realise the numbness in your hand was spreading. It crawled up your arm like a burning frost and locked your bones in place.
You couldn't drop his heart even if you tried.
The North Wind looked at you with an indulgent, amused smile. And when the ice reached your heart he leaned up and kissed you.
He kissed you and for once his lips felt warm, felt human. Dimly, you realised it wasn't him who was getting warmer, it was you who was freezing over. Becoming a thing of ice and hunger as he was.
"Now you need never fear I will abandon you." The North Wind ran his hands up your sides and warmth bloomed in his wake.
"Now you can control the wind as I do and ride it to the furthest reaches of the world. You can swim with the sea bears and dance with the witches."
You looked down and realised his heart was almost gone, melted into your bones and blood.
He kissed you again. "My love, you are as free as the wind."
It wasn't until then that you realised the cost of freedom. The cost of having the North Wind's heart. And when he drew you up in his arms and lead you to your wedding bed, you were too cold to turn him away.
The world is terrible and it both makes me want to do something about it, and also makes me want to bury myself so deeply in the fantasy world of a bimbo housewife so I never have to worry about any of this shit ever again. It’s also why I haven't been real active lately. Hard to feel good about fantasizing about being brainwashed into being a tradwife when innocent people are being shot in Minnesota and I live in a country with a government that is actively plotting how to force every woman back into the home and probably repeal the 19th amendment while they're at it. Scary times. And horniness can only take you so far as an outlet.
Sorry to get serious on my porn blog but I just didn't know where else to express this.
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