Erika Lake
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Jan 1, 2018
Sep 4, 2017
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Erika Lake

Human Trainwreck, Female

Erika Lake was last seen:
Jan 1, 2018
  • Quick Facts

    Erika Lake's Quick Facts

    Gender / Pronouns
    Current Location
    Trash Mountain, Digital World
    Ocean City, USA
    Class (Digivice)
    Arbitrator (Burst)
    Face Claim
    Hanako Ikezawa, Katawa Shoujo

    Kafka's Quick Facts

    Base Form
    Gender / Pronouns
    Face Claim

    Erika Lake's Freeform
    (Trigger Warning: This freestyle contains extreme sexual content, incest, surgical horror, creepy stalker-ness, an implied suicide attempt and general shamelessness. Like seriously I don't even remember originally writing this I did it half asleep and not fully cognizant.)

    Lucid dreaming has always been something I've excelled at. I always wanted to be anywhere but where I was, my dreams gave me that. Like right now, I'm miles away from my dirty room and sheetless bed, relaxing on the beach in the sun… and she's there with me.

    What can I even say about her that can do her justice? I'd say something poetic like she's my sun or my moon, but the sun and moon are just… things. A hunk of rock and a ball of gas, millions upon millions of miles away from you, unaware and uncaring of your presence. But she… no, she's more than that. So much more. And maybe… maybe in the real world we'll never be more than just friends. In the real world. But this isn't the real world, this is my dreams.

    And in my dreams… she wants me. Almost as much as I want her. She's crawling up to me, all smiles. She's stroking my hair as my hands brush against her thighs. She's undone my bikini, or maybe I was never wearing one, it doesn't matter. What matters is I've undone her's, and I get to see something that - in the real world - I've only caught glimpses of through windows, door cracks and mirrors.

    I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel bad about the times I've spied on her, the times I've breached her trust for my own… my own sick lust. The times I've watched her change, the times I've seen her shower, the times I've snuck her used panties into my pocket or suitcase like some kind of creep. I honestly do feel bad for the ways I've wronged her, but then… then I'm in moments like these, where I'm looking at her, naked and beautiful as she whispers my name… I'm not trying to say that the view justifies my behaviour, that I deserve to have perverted fantasies this accurate, but…

    Oh god, she touches me - or at least that's what I dream - and I can hear myself moan. I feel her breasts under my hands - I know they're just mine, I don't care - and she whimpers my name… she kisses me as I slowly cup my hand between her legs… she slowly, slowly licks at my burn scars as I slide my fingers inside of her - inside of me - and…

    Oh god…

    Oh god, yes.

    I can feel myself floating, higher and higher as I keep churning my fingers inside of her - inside of us. She loves me, in my dreams she loves me the same way I love her. She writhes in my lap, she pants and moans with me, calling out to me as we both soar higher and higher. I can feel myself on the edge… I'm teetering, just a little more and…

    She's gone.

    She's gone, and the girl in my arms has changed. Her voice isn't calling out to me anymore. Instead it's a voice I never thought I'd have to hear again. The girl in my arms is me, and yet… it's not. She's cleaner, better groomed, her body isn't burned, the surgical scar between her breasts is smaller, faded. It's my sister.

    I feel… angry, scared of myself, scared of what I'm doing. I'm losing control, the dream's going sideways, I want to stop now, before the nightmare can take over, before everything goes wrong.

    Instead, I keep going. My fingers stop, but the shock of the nightmare sends me over the edge. The orgasm rolls through me like a wave, and before I can stop myself I moan out not her name, but my sister's: Paige. I hate that name, I hate it as much as the girl my fingers are currently buried in, the girl that made me come instead of her.

    The nightmare doesn't care about my hate, or the shame burning inside me, eating away at me. It wants to keep going, I can't stop it. Paige is growing bigger and bigger, she's towering over me and I feel… I feel so small, so helpless, so useless. Someone's grabbing my hands, I'm being strapped down to a table. I know where this is going, I want to get out. I scream, I thrash, I beg the doctors to stop, they don't care. They got my consent from my parents, it doesn't matter what happens to me now, it doesn't matter how much I say no. They're going to cut me open, and there's nothing I can do about it. I can see the knife hovering over my chest, and I can feel myself losing strength in my limbs.

    It's happening again. They don't know that the painkillers aren't working. They don't know that I'm under, but not under enough. They don't know that I felt everything.

    And then time stops, and I know what comes next. The match is already in my hand. I hear it being lit, and I hear the roar of a gas explosion in the distance. It doesn't burn, not really. But thinking about it makes my scars feel hot and in faint, throbbing pain. Everything's burning around me, and finally, finally I feel like I'm back in control. I focus on her face, and I wake myself up.

    I'm cold. I'm still naked, and my bedsheets are anywhere but actually on my bed. The only thing covering me right now is a cold sweat. I look down at myself, down at the darkened scar tissue that covers the one side of my body, down at the raised scar that goes down my chest, down at my wet, scarred hand between my legs and the dark, wet splotch I made on my sheets. My room is a mess, full of empty boxes of take-out, posters of anime and video games, figurines I never would've been allowed to own before, and pictures of her.

    My family, my new family… they probably heard me. My foster brother knows better than to barge in here, but he's probably worried sick. They'll want to know if I'm okay tomorrow morning, they'll probably want me to clean up, go outside, hang out with my friends. They worry about me. Not as a sack of replacement organs, but as a daughter and sister. I can't think of what I did to deserve them, but I can't think of what I did to deserve my last family either.

    I think to put something on, or pull a blanket over myself, or to change my sheets… instead I slip my headset on. I'll just slip into Digital World and listen to music in my room until I pass out. There's some kind of head's up about maintenance... I ignore it. I don't want to hear anything about maintenance right now.

    I can start taking care of myself in the morning.

    Kafka's Freeform
    Lots of folks would consider being a cockroach to be a weakness or an insult. Round here, you see folks that only care about bein' the strongest. I ain't strong. I know I ain't strong. But I'm smart. Always had been. Folks 'round here don't think a Roachmon can do much, but that's fine. That's where the smarts come in, see. People can talk me down as much as they want, but I'm still here. I always saw myself as the survivin' type. That's what the cockroach do.

    I gotta wonder about the types of folks that think they're better than everyone else, or obsess about bein' the best. I've been content my whole life bein' the best me I can be, isn't that enough? If we keep survivin', we keep livin', that oughta be enough, right? Been stepped on and walked over all my life, but at the end of the day... I'm content and happy. Happier than the folks that step on my are, I reckon.

    Just wish there was somethin'... I dunno, more. Somethin' I could do to make everyone happy insteada just me.

    Kafka's Evolutions












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    Face Claim:
    Hanako Ikezawa, Katawa Shoujo
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