#Fill in space I don't want archived

[moonbeammist]

The Peasant's Secret (Part 2)

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Dune characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them. taglist from Part 1: @aoi-targaryen

I don't give permission for any of my fanfiction to be posted, this is also cross posted on my account w/ Archive of our own :)

PAIRINGS: Feyd Rautha x Fem!Fighter!Reader

AUTHORS NOTE: Hey! l'm excited that I continued this. Honestly, couldn't get it out of my head until I did. I really hope you enjoy it, feedback is most welcome. New readers, read Part 1 for context and character, if not, this can be read as a solo fic too 💖

WARNINGS: (Adults only 18+) DARK! profanity, extreme violence, torture, gore, sadism, masochism, dubious consent, erotic undertones, heavy petting, reader is a fighter who get's extremly hurt, bigotry against the poor, very immersive, intimacy, touching, feyd-rautha is his sick self, public humiliation, light smut

Feyd is at his most sadistic - please mind the warnings. I really wanted to explore that in writing because I feel it's such a big part of his character. Honestly Dune Part Two inspired the hell out of me, and looks like I'm not the only one judging by some of the brilliant writers on this site. Thank you for inspiring me too.. I poured everything into this.

SUMMARY: As a rice-harvester hailing from Planet Caladan, you knew these things to be true. You and your people were "peasant scum". And as far as you can tell, peasant scum deserved a shot at the vast unknown as much as any noble folk did. Even if the only thing protecting you is a flawed battle-tactic and the falsehoods that you tell yourself. Even if it has you riding a wave into the wicked evils that lie.

WORD COUNT: 10.3k words (yes it's long, but enjoy the ride, take breaks, ect.) ❤️

PART 1 PART 2

It’s scalding, the black ebb of the sun in Giedi Prime. But you are well hydrated and fed.

Previously, when you were aboard the ship with Count Fenring in the depths of space, he made sure you and the small group of rice labourers that stayed behind were treated. Various platters of eclectic fruits, aged cheeses, proteins, and beverages were presented before you on a wooden table, the Count encouraging the hesitant Caladan rice cultivators with a wave of his hand. Almost in unison, they dived for the food at his proclamation, knives and forks clashing. You couldn’t tell what animal you were gnawing on as you slobbered it down, only fixated on filling the hole of anxiety that grew, every so slowly, deep in your belly. You volunteered to be here on the basis of... being Harkonnen entertainment, mixed with a blind, selfish jump into the illogical.

And for what?

So you don’t deserve to feel this uncertainty. You did it to your damn self. Wanting to prove... something, anything. What that was exactly you couldn’t pinpoint, except a growing need to see yourself capable of a different path than the comfortable life you grew to know. Your mother’s words came to you again, flying through the vastness of the galaxy.

“You should go.” A pause. “Live for us.”

Her words spread through you like a viper, a sliver of hope returning to you.

You’re covered by the dark canopy of the nestled burrow underneath the stands of the large dome-like arena, filled to the brim with Harkonnen porcelain heads. You can see a partial view from here—a small peek, but enough for multiple stark heads to pop through. The hard, black metal doors were closed all the way, save for that small crack. Their starving, needy chants are ear splitting to you; you can hear them all around you in these walls beside your fellow fighters. Here you are, like a feast for them—ripe, hot-blooded, and ready for the taking. 

You keep your hair cropped short just under your cheekbones for battle, falling messily over your face in a choppy cut. The length made sense under these circumstances.

Last night, after filling yourself with food and beverage and thanking the Count on the ship, you pushed your way past the other passengers to the ship’s restrooms with slight impatience, a mulled over idea that has been eating at you finally coming to the forefront. Seeing your hollow, adrenalized eyes in the mirror, your hand reached to your thigh, brandishing the emerald handle of the small blade you were given as a courtesy. Unlatching it from its leather harness with a click, your arm juts out to swipe your tresses away, the ends falling like a blanket on the floor. You did not need to make yourself a target on the hairless planet, that is for certain. Not like this, not so obviously. 

They can already see what you are, you know.

Your conscious crows at you, and your teeth come out to play with your bottom lip, chewing it. That’s not why. When you were shoving food down at the table with your fellow people during mealtime, you received a more in-depth, private discussion about Giedi Prime and House Harkonnen’s culture and traditions, along with a long spiel on the opponent you and your fellow peasant fighters would be privy to facing. 

The Count’s voice was almost a warning to all, and you could’ve sworn his eyes rested on you too many times for it to be a coincidence. Obviously, being the opposite sex in the Harkonnen arena is going to come with a target on your back. In Giedi Prime, usually, they had a target on your back no matter what, but they usually fell into four prime categories: pleasure slave, handmaiden, visiting Bene Gesserit, or noblewoman. And obviously, they’re going to make out by your form, that you’re not a big, burly slave-gladiator. But some type of amateur, dodging, slave-gladiator nonetheless.

The issue is that you don’t want the nephew, that psychopathic nephew of the Baron—Feyd-fucking-Rautha grabbing a long mop of hair and whipping it around the arena like a toy, a rag doll. And you don’t want something as silly as hair being used as fodder against you, like a joke. You had gathered the length of hair in the disposable bin, cleaning up the mess on the marbled floor in finality.

You glance up to catch yourself in the mirror, and your pulse quickens. You run your fingers through your short locks, the pieces framing your face. You feel renewed, refreshed.

You feel more like yourself than ever before.

The guttural melody seemed to increase in speed across the walls underneath the arena, bouncing off the ground. You could feel the voices, deep in the earth, the soles of your feet vibrating against your boot. You peered into the backs of the heads of your crew. You knew that your time was getting closer. Uneasiness, but also a slight giddiness that shouldn’t belong, bubbled up within you. 

Why?

The small group of men that you came with from Caladan were also branding themselves as inexperienced rice labourers. As men, it was common for them to get in spats or tussles about gods-knows-what. They had experience in that sense. For the fairer sex, all you had was your mother’s encouragement to take an interest in the art of dodging, the defensive battle strategy known as "The Peasant’s Secret." There weren't many ladies, as far as you could tell, who were following suit. They had more important things to register, like feeding their children, you mused. The peasant men were taught it too, as they weren’t permitted weapons, armour, and the like. But it didn’t seem like they held it in high regard as often as you did. They practiced being on the offensive with their knuckles for light fun, with a masculated zeal. You questioned why they were here, as it would seem they dared not want anything else than an honest day’s work, being able to daze upon the fields with a wife warming their bed. But you wondered if the few that came grew bored of their mundane life and little free time, and were willing to put themselves on the line of fire today like you. 

Stupid, silly peasants you all were. Couldn’t just be happy with what was given to you. Couldn’t just lay your head down on rice grain forever. 

Just wanted a small hit of dopamine to the psyche, it would seem.

Without notice, a speaker made himself known above you—and it must have been from the very top, the very perch of the arena. The Baron of House Harkonnen’s rough voice pummelling into the pits below. “Citizens of Giedi Prime, and most welcome visitors,” he began. “We have quite the show for you today, most definitely... Count Hasimir Fenring has brought with him mere-" he pauses to chuckle as it reverberates through your mind, and you make a note of his happiness. It already confirmed what you knew to be true.

He continues. “Rice harvesters from Caladan who would like to join in on today’s festivities. Mind you, they volunteered their time here as well, so we shall see what they have to offer.”

A more ominous-sounding laugh is heard.

“How exciting, dear nephew, for you to enjoy this treat. Some low-born entertainment as a warm-up. We shall commence shortly.”

The audience chanted their sick appreciation at this news, their cheers echoing across the skies.

You gulped your saliva down. A warm-up, yes, of course. That makes sense.

It’s here. You’re here. Pacing, jumping up and down, in your murky, brown cloth. Amping yourself up.

Tight, tattered dark brown shorts adorned your knees, with strings tying the garment in place at your hips. To counter that, a long, light brown quarter-sleeve tunic swamps your form, belted at the waist with a large buckle securing it. Under the belt, the bottom of it is cut into two sections, split right down the middle, revealing your shorts in a fashion with athleticism and movement in mind. It’s lightweight and loose, allowing your bindings and skin to breathe in the hot weather.

In just a moment, the doors to the arena pits would open, and you would face the deviant that awaits. But you would not be alone. At least in the beginning. 

You turn to glance beside you at the men accompanying you. The men stood beside, in front, and behind you, their large frames slightly swarming you. You briefly imagined them emerging into the arena like some low-born three-course meal for the Na-Baron. You wordlessly prayed that you would not be considered a part of the appetizer.

“Come,” a man you knew by the name of Rexen, threw his arms around your shoulders and jostled you out of your ponderings. His hair was a deep black, matching his unkempt brows and scraggly beard. His face was warm and friendly, and his stare was earnest. “Join us for a moment.”

You walk with him a mere two steps before he gently pushes your body forward, and your eyes take in the slight change of everyone’s chest now visible to you. Your home planet’s men’s faces rapt with attention on each other. They are now huddled in the formation of a small circle. Rexen leans forward, and you follow suit, huddling even closer into the group, shoulders touching.

A glow of comfort envelops you, a piece of home.

“We are not a skilled people,” Rexen graciously offers, his head dipping low as he mutters this. His eyebrows raise as he anchors his head against yours and the men surrounding. “Most of our people did not want to be here. But for those that remain, we need not concern ourselves with why we are here. Just that we’re here to put on a show, for the holier than thou fucks.” He grins at his quip, his teeth slightly yellow in colour, stained from poor hygiene. Laughter emits from his chest, and the men barrel with much-too-energetic laughter for the situation.

You feel bizarre. You definitely came with the... what would you call those with no regard for their own self-preservation? 

Lunatics? 

But chillingly, you find yourself chuckling along with them, joining them in their message. Joining their showmanship. You’re here after all. That makes you one of them. You grin ear-to-ear as you laugh along with the men.

Something breaks you out of your glorified stupor. You hear a muffled chant just outside the doors. A pause. They were speaking in syllables. 

“Feyd-Rauth-Ah!” Again. “Feyd-Rauth-Ah!” And again. “Feyd-Rauth-Ah!”

Before any of you have a chance to compose yourself, the doors behind you slowly split open, and you eye the entrance to the arena with a spike of endorphins settling like butterflies in your stomach.

It unfolds, unlatches, and stretches out.

Until you’re cast in a perfect halo of light, the bleak colour seemingly burns your eyes for a moment.

There. It’s adjusting.

Your eyes adjust to the toxic atmosphere once again. You now have a more personalized viewpoint of what is to come; your perspective now shows a closer point of view of the arena as you break away from your fellow fighters and shakily take one step forward to the substantial crowd. The energy in the crowd shifted considerably to a higher plane, and you can literally feel the noise cover you in a blanket of sound, and you’re vibrating. You don’t turn to pay attention to your peers as they slowly spill out of the doorway.

The guttural native tongue of the Harkonnen boomed through the air, the announcer’s voice telling a story with his words. It all became white noise next to your thrumming heart.

At the opposite end of the arena, it’s... him.

His bleached, ghostly white silhouette sauntered several yards away with a slow swagger. The distance dwarfs his form slightly. Black on black. Everything he’s wearing is black, jutting out from his body to clearly signify a plate of armour atop his chest, ribs, shoulders, and legs. A combat suit absolutely made for battle.

The good news was that his skull and neck, seemingly attached by his bulging shoulder plates, was exposed. The sight of his hands clutching two considerably large Crysknives on either side of him made you pause. His wrists jumbled up and down, playing with blades.

Moving in an angular motion, you make a beeline for a darker area along the arena wall. You now notice your companions are already scattered all over the arena, the restlessness in their scurried steps now known to the sole Harkonnen. You’re sure he can smell them from where he is, and you want to perhaps blend in with the wall for a bit while you plan your next move.

He hasn’t noticed you yet as he charges forward, the speed in his steps like lightning.

You quicken your pace to the side of him, against the wall, out of sight as he spots a single peasant man squaring up to challenge him.

Your gaze is transfixed on them as you continue to walk backwards to the wall.

Feyd-Rautha is closer now, towards the centre of the Arena. The way he moves is like a freight train, all at once, and not a single part of him is apologetic for it. Your friend, your... companion, who had his head pressed to you moments earlier, had you clenching your teeth in anticipation at his first swivel around Feyd-Rautha’s Crysknife. The man ducked, barely grazing Feyd-Rautha’s blade as it sliced through the air. You hear a deep, grovelling chuckle, the sound making you freeze. It’s alien.. It’s so, so deep.

He doesn’t even sound real.

You glance at him while side-stepping, grateful his attentions are on the burly man’s arms flying at him like a circular typhoon. The man was already so tired; he was slowing down.

Feyd-Rautha exhales, curving the Crysknife in an upward motion, pushing it to the hilt, the squish of the male being impaled hauntingly audible. “That’s the spot.”

Like a caricature of doom, the voice of the man had a guttural, raspy quality to it. So low but with an unusual lilt at the end of his words.

Feyd-Rautha grabs the man by his shoulders and flings his heaving body to the ground, removing his painted red Crysknife from the man’s gut.

He barrels onward, heading further away from you, his eyes lit aflame.

You cannot deny that you’re in shock at the raw energy, but you take several breaths to calm yourself down, reminding yourself you just haven't ever been in an arena before. This is how it goes. Randomly, your back collides with something warm as you're breathing in and out. 

Jostled, your breath hitches as you whip around at the feeling. 

A clicking sound speeds up at your collision, erupting from a black, horned... genetically modified something.

God knows what that is, but you knew by its circling movements it was there to service the arena as its handler, keeping a watchful eye. There seemed to be another one roaming where Feyd-Rautha was, to your far left.

You raise your hands up, hearing the clicking intensify in warning. “Apologies.” You nervously laugh, wondering if it even cared for your apologies at a time like this.

You hear yet another man falling to the ground behind you, your gaze darting to the sight of him rolling, trying to swerve the absolute onslaught of the animal standing above him.

All your planning and all your battle-tactic calculations were lost in the wind, it seemed. It didn’t matter anymore because you were so fucking nervous.

No, it’s okay.

A small voice inside you encouraged.

You need to utilize “The Peasant’s Secret” in front of this crowd of evil eggheads, even if it’s not perfect.

You feel cracked mentally to even be joking to yourself at a time like this, but the fleeting sentiment is all you need to feel better. It was time to give yourself some grace.

You glanced at the horned handler once more as it retreated, before facing the savagery you knew you needed to keep your eyes locked on... Rexen, the man who pulled you aside earlier, was moaning in agony, his eyes bloodshot. You felt a fluttering sensation in your stomach. Alone and gushing, flowing, a stream of blood spilled out from his sopping open wound into the arena pit.

You remember his joyous remark that he was going to put on a show as you watched the life drain from his face.

You feel a prickling sensation at the back of your neck, like something in the air has shifted.

A BANG snaps you out of your reverie.

Isolating the noise, you lock in on it. There, now dangerously close, a looming presence carefully studying you. Feyd-Rautha’s hard, deep stare. He was standing a few feet away from you on the right side of the arena wall, his leg kicking at the wall animatedly. 

BANG

He hit it again, and as he finished, his armour-clad legs seemed to click together. His pale face was plastered with a delighted expression that met the depths of depravity. As your gaze flickered over him, you noticed an open mouth, a row of black teeth, the shade of the darkest midnight, smiling in glee, seeming to be proud of his announcement.

“Just a few more of the rodents,” he sneered, his eyes gleaming with giddiness.

You hold your breath in fear, stopping all at once. You know making a move right now would be foolish at his proximity.

“Did you perceive yourself to be out of harm's way?” His rasp quipped. 

You consider him, swallowing a jump in your belly. Unnerved by his misplaced enthusiasm. 

You brace yourself, standing at attention, before lowering yourself into a bent stance. The choppy pieces of your short hair fall into your line of vision as your head dips to the ground, trying not to let his overbearing nature shake you.

He doesn’t seem to move from his place as his gaze flickers over your movements.

Those black teeth. You were strangely fascinated by the ghoulish sight of them.

You’ve heard rumours of it being akin to a status symbol, perhaps even a fashion statement in Harkonnen culture. A custom of extreme wealth, beauty, and high influence.

Aristocratic customs are among this absolute cruel and humiliating gore fest. The irony of that was enough to make you thankful for being low-born and poor, minding your business. For all that you represent, at least you weren’t delusional in your value.

“Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha,” You greet, nodding solemnly, bowing your head from your battle-ready stance. “A pleasure to meet you, my lord.” Perhaps paying your respects to him before the battle would lessen his aggressiveness, if only a little. If you didn’t mindlessly yell and charge at him without thought, like the others.

He cocks his ghostly bald head, black mouth agape, seemingly taking you in. You briefly wondered if he was flashing that blackened mouth at you like some sort of superiority complex.

“How curious,” he murmurs. “The peasant wishes to exchange kind words before I run them through my blade?” His eyes glitter with something primal.

His sick jab makes you scoff inwardly, but you ignore it.

“On the contrary,” you begin. “I’m merely doing the honourable thing. Are we not battlemates, despite where I come from?” I pause, letting the words settle. “Like those of higher status you have fought before?”

I taste the words on my tongue, knowing full well the act may be futile.

Feyd-Rautha’s black teeth open wide with jest. “Mmm, that is what it would seem...” He nods at you. “The honour suits you.” 

You pause, realizing that he was paying a compliment.

His eyes darken like decay at once. “But you are a plaything, peasant. A pathetic thing for me to slice open and drain.” He tuts and slowly strolls towards you. 

You can’t help the shock that appears in your face at his grotesque words.

“But don’t worry, maybe I'll go a little longer with you.” He emphasizes the last word, a dark promise. His voice was laced with subtle mockery.

He’s put some sort of magnetic spell on you as you stand there, dumbfounded. His face no longer looks friendly as he advances on you, a demonic expression gracing his features. 

Fuck.

You jump back, reeling. You’re already failing, and you’ve got to get away, away, away fast. 

You shake your head at yourself for letting more than a few moments of speaking pass between you two. That was indeed useless. If anything, it seemed to make him crazier.

He charges at you with ferocity and a face devoid of emotion. 

This time I will move.

You let your secret instinct envelop you naturally, closing your eyes.

Dodge. Bob. Weave.

Just in time, and he’s snarling. “Rah!”

His black teeth lurch towards you.

You suddenly swirl your body slightly to evade the attack, his Crysknife missing you by mere inches. You jump backwards, not by a lot.

“Run first.. If they are fast enough, begin your dance.”

Your mother's words about the steps of your teachings sneak into your senses. That’s going to come off cowardly to someone like him. Weak. You don’t care. He didn’t know the hidden ways of the ‘lesser’ people of Planet Caladan.

You bolt, legs pumping with renewed investment in your life. The sand seems to give your shoes just the right amount of grip to propel you. You don’t bear to look behind you, afraid of what you may see, but know he’s at least giving chase.

You zip by yet another man, his neck whipping to watch you run. He feels like another stranger among the men who died, like he’s already sealed his fate.

But you presumed. You did not give the man grace. Like you now give yourself.

The man is living now, unchained. In his most honest form.

You crank your head back momentarily as your feet are hitting the sand. You instantly regret it, your breath catching in your throat. Feyd-Rautha is hot on your heels; his snow-white face is terrifying. His nostrils are flared, and his deep blue irises are lit with enthusiastic vigour. Your eyes widened as his blackened mouth was clenched in malice.

There is still a sizeable gap between the two of you. In a sudden move, you see the flash of the man before, in a blur���he’s purposely throwing his body towards Feyd-Rautha—and Feyd is so intently fixated on you he can’t stop the audible grunt that escapes him when your fellow peasant barrels into him with the strength of a bull.

The movement is so out of place that you falter slightly, side-stepping mid-run, your eyes glued to the man who decided to make use of his body as an obstacle. They hit the ground with a hard slam, the sound cracking through the thick atmosphere of the planet.

What is seen before you resembles a dogpile—the man’s large body attempting to restrain Feyd-Rautha’s snarling form, the man’s back gyrating like a hunter holding down a rabid howling elk.

You softly gasp at the mere seconds that went by before Feyd’s blade ground upward deep into the man’s guts—you could hear the sound of insides sloshing, emitting a horrifying, piercing scream from the man. The lack of care was evident as the man was thrown to the side like common trash.

Feyd-Rautha sits up, crimson staining his face like a splatter of paint, his face contorting, mood soured.

You silently thank the man for his sacrifice. It dawned on you that he didn’t do that for himself, but for you. A way to slow down your enemy’s predatory chase. 

Thank you. Your deed today will not go unnoticed, my good man. I shall make a shrine in your honour when I’m through with this animal.

Your eyebrows draw together, and trepidation rings through you as you put a bandage on your reality, cushioning your frantic thoughts with comfort.

You make quick work to paddle your legs from side to side, transfixed on the Na-Baron’s body, using the horrific situation as leverage. You started to do slow, measured side-skips around the man, smart to not use all of your well-preserved energy right away. You couldn’t risk disabling yourself to be slow, but you could be at a good, neutral pace right now.

While he was down. Which wouldn’t be for long.

Feyd-Rautha exhaled hastily as his neck craned towards you. Something akin to a cool, unfazed demeanour washed over his previous frantic behaviour as he allowed himself to engage in a moment's respite. 

“Let’s see you now, you pompous little rodent. Your street-gutter ally was desperate to save you... Caladanians, hm?”

The message was clear now.

You bit your tongue, not lowering yourself enough to respond brashly to his mean-spirited words. Oh, the man was loathsome. But you will engage him. It will allow you to learn more about him.

You already know enough. He’s a deviant, a sadist. What else do you need?

You need to concentrate. You won’t respond brashly, but you will plant seeds of doubt in his mind, if you can.

“Caladan has brought me many things, Harkonnen.” You begin, slightly slowing your skips around the arena as you speak. “It is a vessel of life that your planet seems to be drained of, quite frankly.”

His pupils expand at that.

“Harkonnen?” He stands then, rolling his neck, and you hear a pop as he adjusts his broad torso, his blackened mouth suddenly upturned in amusement as he studies you. “What happened to Na-Baron? Is it not to your taste anymore? Is it because I hurt your heart?” 

He motions towards the crowd of bodies littering the ground. “Did I hurt your gutter tribe?” His rough voice taunts like a menace, as his eyes sparkle with a sort of dark mischief as he laughs at that.

You swallow, biting back enragement.

“You did, Harkonnen.” You agree solemnly. “But what does it matter? Don’t you treat every untrained, unprecedented fighter the same here?” You pause, seeing his deep blue eyes flicker with interest. “Unskilled fodder to fuel your own ego?”

The air was tense, and his calculating eyes seemed to consume you during the silence. He cuts it then, with a breathy, deep cackle.

“Oh, so she has a mouth,” he sneers. He shocks you by darting towards you, his black armoured frame like a thick smog, coming to ingest you. 

He inches closer and closer, and you make the decision to roll out of the way, your body tumbling to the side of him.

“Smart, for street filth. It will be quite a shame when you’re crying under me as I bloody you that you’ll be fodder for my ego.” He mocks chillingly, his cruel words eliciting a spike of nerves within you, but you’re too focused on evading him to let it show. You see him use his Crysknives in short, brutal swifts as you roll quickly.

His Crysknife whips down, but it stabs the ground, Feyd-Rautha not accounting for your multiple movements of barrel-rolling.

He barks a laugh at that, and you hate the sound of it. He pulls out the Crysknife with a rough grunt, and you stumble to your feet.

You’re fast, and you can see that his eyes are trained on you, and he’s smiling. Oh god, that mouth of blackened tar is smiling.

Running away from him again felt more freeing this time, like you were in control. You knew that you could actually keep up with his antics. You were prepared this time around; you two were alone now. Your fellow peasants' bodies are disrespectfully littered at your feet, and it makes you angry.

“Why is she running?” He called, his guttural voice reaching you as you reached the end of the arena. He was talking to you in a strange way, like you were somewhere else, not present in front of him, like a mere object.

You ignored him, and you briefly remember your small blade, strapped under your brown shorts, the strappy harness hidden. You needed to tire him out. That’s your first mission. Tire him out to the point of exhaustion.

Although hesitantly, you knew he was fit and athletic. A powerful, driven force. How exactly you were going to do this remains a sight to be seen.

He growls and chases you like a huntsman, around and around and around. Every time he managed to get in proximity with those two sharp, deadly blades—

Your body moved, just out of reach—like a python. 

You feel pride flow through you when, half-way through another lap around the arena, Feyd-Rautha stops, catching his breath. You’ve managed to get the Harkonnen to audibly pant, and what’s more, he’s crouched over, hands on his knees.

So you decide to waste even more of his energy.

As you begin to run backwards, facing him, you cup your hands around your mouth, sucking in air as you prepare to yell. You call to him, drawing his attention to you.

“Tired, Feyd?” You drop the second half of his name, and it feels more personal.

He huffed, springing up in an instant at the sound of his name spoken so comfortably from your lips.

You couldn't bear to look at his mocking, ghoulish face transfixed on you from several feet away. It sent a deep wave of uncertainty and thrill through your very being.

His ebony mouth gaped at you. “Such gall, from someone who’s been fleeing this entire time. Is that what you came here to do?” 

You swallow hard. Mind reeling.

“I came here to—” you began.

Feyd-Rautha cut you off, an outpouring of snideness laced in his voice. “It matters not. How long do you think this is going to last you, peasant?” 

Your confidence is slightly faltered, but you speak without thought. “It lasted me this long...” and your voice trailed off.

He chuckled darkly. From this proximity, you can see his eyes swirling with a foreign emotion you couldn’t place.

Yes. Your body moved like a python until it didn’t.

He lunged at you, jumping with a prowess that was so quick you barely managed to get out of the way. But you did, feeling his blade slice through your tunic, your abdomen. You let out a hiss, and you’re jumping backwards, regaining your momentum, away from him, and you’re flying mid-air.

But he somehow matches your stride, leaping forward. He snatches the fabric of your shorts, using that to grip you as you are smashed into the battlegrounds by your leg.

The wind is knocked out of you as you land on your stomach, and a sound emits from you that you’ve never heard. Adrenaline flowing through you, you attempt to get up but the heel of his boot digs into your back, pushing you back down, your form collapsing and you sputter, breathing hard - You hear his body drop into the pits behind you, the dust flying into the air in front of you.

Feyd-Rautha pins his entire chest on the small of your back. The weight of the man has your mouth tasting the bitter, dry pallet of the sand. Your face prickles as the sharp grains sting your eyes, crushing your nose and mouth; the pain is excruciating. 

Fuck, if he doesn't get off me, he's going to break my nose.

You let out a feral cry as you tried to move underneath him. His arms hold you deeply into his chest, the plates of his armour digging into the ebbs of your spine.

In defence, you attempt to curl your body into a turtle stance, protecting your front, which is where you are most covered in bruises from your fall. You can feel him all around you, his chest heaving up and down. His breaths are deep and disgruntled; sometimes they don't sound human.

His heavy arms start to slowly pry your arms open from cocooning yourself. He could do anything he wants at this moment if you don’t get him off.

It's no doubt he's much bigger than you, and although you were countering him in speed a while ago, his masculine strength keeps a steady hold on you. 

You start to shake as you flex every bit of muscle you have, your body vibrating in tremors as he continues to pry your arms away from your body. You continue to try holding onto the fabrics of your tunic, still convusling as you fight his hands, trying to pry away your self-made cocoon.

In patience and in your countering movements. You find your strength in your resilience. You remind yourself that you feel powerful in that, at least.

I still have my grit.

"Tough," He jeers, and you’re aware of his chin now digging into the little nook of your left shoulder; you don't even have to look back to know he's grinning from ear to ear. His thick armoured legs tighten around your smaller frame.

In one quick movement, he wrenches your struggling arms, your nails digging into the wartorn fabric that covers your body. You are still holding on, but barely.

Your voice comes out in a passionate screech, ripping from your throat when he shoves your arms behind you so that your elbows are touching, his pale fingers clasped around them.

His muscled, battle-born thighs tighten around your hips.

You thrash against him. "No! NO!" Your scream falls out of you in a high hilt. The pain is searing, like your arms are going to pop out of their sockets. You didn’t want to protest this loudly to him of all people, but he’s forced you to. You’re at his mercy if he manages to dislocate them.

"Yes," he grunts, and you don’t know if he’s responding to you or himself. "Who knew these little arms could hold such force?" The questioning lilt in his rasp went up several levels.

Since your elbows are in his grasp, he has your torso tilted towards the sky of the arena, the black sun baking into your tanned Caladanian skin. 

You hear the deep chanting of the crowd, pulsing through you like a hymn. A smear of colourless shapes moving up and down. All you see is white spreading into your eyelids—your vision is pure, crystal white. Your head lulls back as it rolls back onto his wide shoulder.

And what he utters next is truly alien.

"Let me see those eyes, Caladanian." Feyd-Rautha croaked. It was a gruff, choked sentence, like it slipped out of him by accident.

What?

A weird feeling settles in the pit of your stomach, flip-flopping at his words.

For fuck sakes, the sick fuck is getting turned on by this. Harkonnens..

A silent weight hangs in the air. And for a moment you both don't move.

A flood of emotions wells in you, like an electric charge.

Albeit in pain, you take advantage of the changed atmosphere.

Your knees are trapped, stuck together like a sweaty mass between his thighs. Your head that was stagnantly leaning on Feyd-Rautha's shoulder now aggressively dips down and slams up into his face, head-butting him and taking him slightly off guard.

Feyd makes an animalistic noise, and something changes in his face.

He smashes your skull into the sand, and you desperately claw at the air, gyrating your body like a sandworm. The impact stuns you, and your vision runs fuzzy. Your brain feels like it's splitting. You see green, blue and pink hues. Strong hands are felt touching you, shaking you out of your reverie.

With feverish disgust, you realize that the Na-Baron is kneeling at your back, hovering over your form.

You feel his palm pat. Once. Twice. Thrice. On your mid-back. He rubs your heaving back in a mock-soothing gesture as you gasp inwardly, sucking in the polluted Geidi Prime air like it was your last time breathing, feeling the air barely satisfy you, feeling like you didn't have enough.

"That has to hurt," he purrs. His hand is warm on your back, rubbing. Your eyes widen with horror.

You cough, hacking now. Taking long, deep breaths. If you could just...

He continues rubbing, and you're glued to the ground.

Your chest betrays you and continues to huff and puff audibly, he must hear everything. It’s screechy, your lungs are burning. His hand movements somehow relax you, which may be considerably fucked up. He hums, satisfied, deep in his chest, the sound making you stare at the ground in confusion.

He stills his caring hand on your heaving back and glides it to the base of your neck, plunging your head into the sand, again and again, not giving you any leniency now.

Well, that didn’t last long.

Your head is concussed, sending short, stabbing pains like a tidal wave to your brain.

You flail wildly, kicking back and upwards, your shoes colliding with his body.

He scoops your short locks in one fluid motion, your scalp searing at the sensation. He removes the grip on your hair to fully cradle your face, whipping you around to face him. Your body is limp, nearly falling to the ground, save for your face firmly held in place by Feyd-Rautha.

"Up we go, no sleeping now." he remarks darkly as his gaze settles on you.

Your throat is bone dry, your lips so swollen and puffy from the gushing blood flowing out of your nose. It's definitely broken this time. But you're numbing out now, slowly, and every so often you see those beautiful, vibrant colours again, shimmering despite the bleached atmosphere. It's such a miraculous sight that it makes you smile dumbly... you're finally happy.

A stinging SMACK knocks your face to the side, and you falter in his grip, eyes widening.

Your shock quickly transforms to frustration as hot, angry tears spill from your eyes.

"Fuck you!" And you violently shove your thumbs into his eye sockets, filled with rage. You dig in with all your might.

Your intrusion makes him stumble, and you both messily fall over. Your body falls into his broad chest, the armour knocking against your worn clothes. By now, the rags have slits all along it, from your near misses with Feyd's blade.

You knock him over onto his back so that you're straddling him, your hands sinking into his eye sockets.

His eyes are fucking gleaming now with delight.

"Yes. Take my vision. End me now." He heartily begs, and his mocking face is seemingly drinking you in, in admiration, despite your thumbs digging into eyes. It’s like he can see past them, and you shiver involuntarily.

His hands and Crysknives lay at his sides, in a strange display of submission. You can see the black teeth behind his lips, widened with glee.

His enthusiasm under these circumstances made you pay far too much attention to his face and miss his ulterior motives.

As you’re about to increase the pressure even more, a Crysknife appears in your vision, like a figment of your imagination—before it’s buried to the hilt in your upper thigh.

You cry out, shrieking, throwing your head back in agony.

The sudden onslaught makes you fall backwards in pain. His blade is still buried to the hilt, tendons throbbing. Only the handle is sticking out, like a thorn in your tendons.

Pulling the blade out right now would be a risk to cause further damage to your blood vessels and nerves. This would lead to rapid blood loss. You couldn’t do that right now.

Immediately, you move. You start to drag yourself—by instinct, fight-or-flight, you don’t know. 

You grit your teeth as you manage to find the strength to reach inside your thigh for your hidden blade, letting your hand grasp on the emerald green handle, pretending to cradle your injured thigh.

You keep it there as you continue to drag yourself.

"You've impressed me a great deal," Feyd-Rautha rasps. The unusual deep raspy tone reverberates through your eardrums somewhere above you.

Something inside you quivers at the revelation.

You know it’s best not to believe any of the drivel that spews from his mouth.

Curiously, he’s standing there, the white of his eyes veiny and visibly red from the press of your thumbs a moment ago.

Playing with his now singular Crysknife, tapping his fingers along the stretch of the blade—making no move to attack you. 

Then a thought occurs to you. Feyd-Rautha wanted you to survive. Butchered and bloody, still barely hanging on. He wanted to see you at your emotional breaking point. Writhing and begging for his mercy, begging for your life. The sick fuck derives pleasure from it.

So you say the complete opposite of what he's expecting.

"I want to die," the level of your drawl is barely heard over the crowds chants and shouts booming through the stadium. And you wonder if he can hear you at all.

You drag your aching body towards him, the hidden knife in your hand still clenched thoroughly, stapled to your inner thigh. Your eyes feel raw, chaffed with sand, burning. They flutter as they try to remain open. But you use your eye muscles to slowly turn your face upwards from the ground, eyes searching for his.

"I want you to hurt like I hurt," you carefully fabricate your trembling voice, peering up at him behind your full lashes. Testing him, you spit vehemently on his black boots, emphasizing your point.

The sheen of it glistened in the black and white atmosphere, slightly outlined in a pinkish hue. You're determined to feast your eyes on him, to look as enticing as ever. You use your tongue to push the blood out from inside your mouth, in efforts to trigger his bloodlust. Blood dribbles down your chin onto the murky pits, stained from you.

The world shifts as you take your chance.

His black mouth opens wide in a gleaming smile. His interest is piqued.

"Oh," he coos. His pale hand suddenly darts out to grasp your dribbling face. "What a magnificent sight."

His thumbs trace along your bloodied chin. The fresh blood stains his fingertips, and you couldn't place the emotion that was there. Wide, perplexed eyes settle on you. His mouth was not upturned, but in a hard line. His orbs were staring right through you. 

The seriousness of his mouth with the stimulated look in his eyes unsettled you. "Look at the blood of this fighter." He croons.

You pretend to struggle with rapid head movements to dislodge your head from his grasp. He only holds it there tighter. Now you show off your crimson stained lips, pouting in dismay.

Guard down.

He leans down, looming over you as he studies you. As you initially remembered, his ebony armour suit covered his body in an efficient way, everywhere except his ever-exposed face and neck.

His thumb moves from your chin to your full, battered lips.

You make your eyes as pathetic as possible, pleading. He tilts his head in fascination, and you beg.

“Please..”

You feel his thumb stutter on your bloodied lips at the sound, and his eyes blacken at once.

Bingo.

His enraptured pale face is the closest thing to you, and you don’t waste a minute before plunging the blade into the skin of his cheek, tearing through the flesh.

He roars, and you think the blade nicked his teeth as you hear a click.

There it is again: the change. His smirking, bemused face is wiped clean and replaced with a demonic, empty expression. 

You’re suddenly gathered in his arms, and he slams you against the nearest arena wall. You struggle against him, shouting your protests. His forehead presses to yours—your heartbeat pounds. His magnetic probing eyes are otherworldly as they obliterate the world around you, and it’s claustrophobic. 

You writhe and shake in fear, doing everything in your power to throw him off you. You punch him in the nose with a crunch. You punch him again in the face, sending it reeling. Your other hand chops aggressively at his cheek, downward, your palm bruised by the handle of the blade, wanting it to rupture. But all he does is laugh cruelly at you, his eyes glinting.

He withdraws the blade out of his cheek, tensing as he does it. You hear it hit the ground with a clang. He then grasps the handle jutting out of your thigh, wrenching it out.

Your muscles scream. But your voice doesn’t, in shock. He whips the blade away, throwing it to the side.

His tar-like mouth is drooling saliva and blood, panting into your shell-shocked face. Drool hits your chin as devious gaze envelops you, forehead digging into yours.

Your eyes glaze over and your belly flutters at that, mind completely wiped.

Blood begins to trickle—no, outpour from your wound.

You struggle to hold your balance, barely propping up your form.

He falls to his knees then, using his hands to steady you, snaking his arms down your calf. He stops on your ankle, wrapping his pale fingers around it, his other hand clutching the heel of your shoe.

Your blood runs ice cold. You whimper.

“Hush," he coos. "This is what happens when you volunteer to get slaughtered, rodent." 

He grasps your ankle, and turns it sharply, the movement emitting a sickening snap, the pain is ice hot, the guttural scream ripping through your chest emits such a frequency...

That the crowd goes silent.

"Oh," his bulbous eyes are wide as saucers, his evil coming off in waves as he mockingly consoles you. “Such a delectable sound, so beautiful.”

The colour is drained from your face.

“Not much longer, I swear...”  he moans, about to grab your ankle again.

And now it's your hands that are on his face, clasping his jaw in desperation as you tilt his chin upwards.

"You don't get to fucking do this." You hold his head in your hands as you stumble with your words.

You don't miss the amused expression on his blackened teeth, and, ever so slowly, his hands come to rest on your hands that are cradling his face. His eyes are on fire. Your hands are on fire at his touch.

He tilts his head curiously. "My, my..."

He keeps your grip there. And the eye contact is too much.

He slowly takes your hands down, trying to pin them to your sides, but you aren't going without a fight again. Your worn muscle strains to keep them planted on his jaw, and you’re the one who’s grinning like a maniac now, thumbs digging into the corner of his mouth, stretching that god awful black mouth open.

He chuckles knowingly, his stretched smile guttural, sounding as if Satan himself had spawned. 

"You are special, aren't you?" He pauses to consider your gushing, bloody mess of a face. The deep baritone husk of his voice is sickly sweet. "Even with everything beaten out of you,"

You can't believe how vile and how utterly deranged and twisted this man was to be toying with your anguish and consuming it like a life force. Like it makes him stronger, all the better off to treat your broken soul as a means to an end. 

You tell him this. You tell him exactly now you feel, past the point of caring. You are out-of-body; you are not even attached anymore, shattered beyond repair. 

“Fucking piece of shit," Your voice is hoarse from your screaming, dryer than the desert wastes. You want to see his face as it contorts, need to see him receive your insult as harsh as it was intended. 

His face doesn't seem to register what you said. His pale head merely drops out of your hands to be level with your ankle again as it twitches in his scratchy and cut-up, war-torn palms, your soft skin supple in comparison.

Your ankle is yanked in one swift, fluid motion, and you know he heard you. The pain is making you see starry, glittery speckles as your eyelids flutter close. 

Death is near.

The crowd says it. That's them. That must be them. All of their voices sound like a chorus—a church choir—as you float in and out of consciousness. 

You don't know how long you've been yanked forward; you swear you've been to the end of the arena, doing laps around Feyd-Rautha. 

Running in a diagonal line, weaving through him. Mother would be proud.

But no, something is heavy, rooting you to the ground and sitting on your chest, weighing you down like a cinder block.

The flaps on his black armoured legs are covering your face in the struggle; his knees are pressed into your cheeks as he gathers your arms, both of them against his chest, holding them to him like floppy string beans.

You push against him, “Fucking Harkonnen scum!" Your anger rips out of your throat; your hatred is not reserved anymore; it’s open, bearing witness for the crowd to see.

“You forget yourself,” Feyd-Rautha sneers down at you as he collects your flailing limbs in his palms. “Your beauty is the only thing saving you at this point.” 

His words strike right at your heart, your chest tightening in dread.

Beauty?

But there’s something else there, amongst the terror. Something you don’t want to acknowledge, and in the desecration of your soul, you feel yourself, your whole body, flush. 

You panic at your sickened thoughts, and you dip your head up to see your jello-like arms captured by Feyd-Rautha. Your broken ankle lies horribly twisted. Your anguished, throbbing limbs and fresh wounds are seeping with agony. And your bones—your bones ought to be mush by now. 

Exhaustion has caught up to you. You've ignored it for so long... so long.

Trying to prove yourself.

Your eyes flutter close.

“Closing your eyes isn’t going to make this go away,” the rough, taunting voice of Feyd-Rautha sends a jolt through your body.

You tighten your eyes harder. 

Let me rest. Let me take a rest from you.

“I said-” His voice was malevolent, husky. “I need to see those eyes again.”

Your eyes fly open, just in time to see his blackened mouth now hovering over yours, his proximity making your body go rigid. His chest is weighing you down, his body caging you.

His dark, gleeful expression seems to ruin you as your nose grazes his. Your heart sings. 

No. This is wrong.

“What are you doing?” You don’t believe your own protest as it spills out of you. Your heart is hammering out of your chest.

The palm of his hand slid over your tattered shorts, over the skin of your hip bone. Goosebumps rise at his touch, and he smiles at that, his wet tongue swiping over his black teeth in perverse fascination.

“How utterly brave,” he whispers, his eyes lit aflame as they locked on yours. He drags a finger down your temple, cheek, and finally lets it rest on your jaw, his touch burning like a brand. “A hero amongst them. One that isn’t afraid to be broken. One that welcomes it.”

“Harkonnen-” your protest dies in your throat when you suddenly feel his tongue dart out to lick the blood gathering at the corner of your mouth. 

You freeze. Your eyes widen as he licks it clean. The black pit of his mouth draws closer, and you’re sinking. Your stomach flips upside down. His tongue slithers into your mouth, an overflow of warmth flowing in your belly. You can’t think... You can’t feel. His lips are surprisingly soft as they obliterate you.

He tastes metallic, with a hint of black liquorice. 

Your body shakes like a leaf in his arms—the nerves overflowing. He deeply chuckles, the sound reverberating in your mouth, as his tongue punches yours, darting around and around. Your thoughts are so muddied you sigh and you’re kissing him back with feverish passion. He groans at that.

His hand is splayed over your abdomen, and you feel the cool sensation of his rings. Something snaps inside you. You break the kiss.

No, what am I doing, what am I doing, what the fuck am I-

"Wait-”

His hand trails lower and lower, settling on your pubic bone.

“I-” 

You're stuttering, scarlet red and flushed with humiliation.

“Shhhh..” His shushes are guttural, and a shiver runs up your spine.

Someone has to stop this, right? Th-They'll stop the battle right, once they realize this isn't a battle anymore.

You watch as his arms slide up and underneath your tunic, deep shame swirling in your belly as excitement and thrill courses through your veins from his attention.

They'll stop it, They can stop, I won't be made a fool of- no I won't-

His other hand's rings caress your ribcage, your skin pin-pricking with want. He traces carefully over every rib bone before pressing. Hard.

You yelp as you snap out of your reverie and dig your nails into his wrist, bucking wildly against him in an effort to get him off of you.

Why would they stop it? You're in the arena with a treasured and respected sociopath—their precious Na-Baron.

His hand slides down your shoulder, down the apex of your arm, goosebumps continuing to rise despite your flailing frame.

Your eyes encapsulated your undoing under Feyd-Rautha’s hard stare. He didn’t believe you for a second as he watched you flail about. His sickly eyes were large and expanding at your blatant but silent need.

"N-Na-Baron, you don't need to trouble yourself. I'm a peasant, worthless all around. Surely you wouldn't dishonour yourself...disrespect yourself..." Your ramble came in short gasps.

It sounded pitiful and sad to even your own ears.

Something flashes over his eyes in amusement as he considers you.

“Oh,” his rough voice muses. “But I do respect you, pet.” 

And at that, his ringed fingers cupped you, sliding over your nub.

Your face came alive, then. Like he had never seen. Your eyes swirl, cheeks flushed, pink mouth open—tormented by your enjoyment.

“So lovely,” he encouraged. You shuddered inwardly, your insides like a million shards of glass as his ink-stained teeth smiled down at you.

You’re unable to keep up with his ministrations. A sob wracks through you, the pleasure travelling the whole length of your skeleton down to your toes.

His hot mouth is moving over your collarbone as you struggle to punch him.

He hovers over you, brushing your resisting face with his fingers. He covers your angry fist and snatches it to his chest, holding it steadfast.

"Give in now, you poor thing."

Instantly, your eyes are sucked into his deep blue ones, as he quickens his pace. Flicking back and forth.

You cry out, arching into his chest.

His mouth opens in a mocking, seductive gleam, clearly loving your reactions.

“Can’t-” you think you go to another dimension, a cosmic shift as you try to make sense of what is happening to you.

“Can’t what?” He grovels, low and heavy. His hunger is apparent. His tongue makes a home in your ear, as your eyes roll back into your head.

Faster and faster, he demolishes your entire being, breaking you from the inside out.

You think you go to Caladan for a moment, maybe to Arrakis—your body flying as the pressure builds.

Somehow, in the midst of adrenaline, your battle instinct takes over, and you're able to roll on top of him, bringing his forearm that has disappeared in your trousers with you. 

You sit up straight—on top of him, shakily wrapping your hands around his throat.

A sinister laugh erupts from under you. Feyd-Rautha angles his flicking wrist so that it never leaves you, his free hand seizing the cleft of your hip completely still. Your body sputters in shock.

Your glassy orbs flicker over his angular, pale face like a hawk, stuttering with vulnerability, and he senses it.

He hoarsely speaks below you, his desire thick. “I need it, give it to me, I want it, I need you,”

His words hit you like dynamite as the pleasure amounted within you, tears in your eyes at the intensity of the moment. His bulbous eyes never left you, his black mouth opening at the sight of you in utter devotion. Your hands release from his throat.

Your defeated eyes are engulfed by his as you collapse onto his chest. You felt the throes of submission envelop you - needing, wanting to be under his scrutiny, his gaze. His armoured arms fastened you in his grip, anchoring your shaking form in his arms, holding you close.

His pale head went rest on your shoulder blade for a moment, then pulled you back to leer at you. 

This intimacy with.. him.

It could not be replicated through space and time.

Feyd-Rautha hauls your crumpled form to him, his white hand digging into your hip as he tosses one of your arms around his shoulders. He's doing most of the heavy lifting as you lean against him, depleted and brutalized. He’s walking you towards the stands.

Your face was caked with dirt and blood, swollen. You were numb - to his violence earlier, to his.. attention.   

A bellow is heard above. 

"Exquisite, nephew." The Baron nodded at the both of you, his enormous form like a boulder in the stands. “You lest come across a treat among the gutter like that in your lifetime.”

You turn away, your brow furrowing in disdain.

You feel a harsh slap to your cheek, the bite of it temporarily distracting you from your seething anger, but fuelling it nonetheless. “Look at my uncle when he’s addressing you.”

“Just kill me,” you gritted your teeth as you whisper at him, feeling debased, undignified.

His eye contact was immobilizing.

"Oh now you beg, treasure?" Feyd-Rautha says deeply, in awe. "When you've stopped fighting?"

You barely process the term of endearment as it shuts you up.

Feyd-Rautha holds your upper torso, forcing you to stand against him, squeezing your cheeks together as he inclines your face to his uncle.

Plump lips encase the shell of your ear, his hot saliva sending waves of.. something down your spine.

“You should be proud." Feyd grunted out. "I don't service those in the arena often, but when I do...”

He plays with your ribs, his fingers cold underneath your tatted and holey shirt.

“I make sure they are worthy of it, to add to the display,”

You know exactly what he means by serviced, and you feel mortified of the memory, knowing - The Baron, noble ladies and the noble men all have seen it. They must know that nothing is off limits for a sadist - you could imagine he tortured and serviced men and women alike - you doubt it mattered to him.

It was the Harkonnen Arena, everything for the ease of entertainment. 

Your protest was instant. “Go fuck yours-”

"Shut your mouth, pet, before I send you away to be a slave, the only worth you'll ever live." He threatened. "If you're to behave, you'll be here, training with me, for battle regularly.”

“I don’t blame you, nephew,” The Baron jeered from the stands. “How did you learn to move like that, girl?”

Feyd-Rautha’s mouth was open again—a tunnel of black tar. “Answer him.”

“A peasant never reveals their secret, my lord.” you bluntly say, not caring for the repercussions.

You hear Feyd growl in a warning before the Baron interrupts him, erupting in jolly, sick laughter. “Oh, what fun you’ll have with this one, nephew.”

“Indeed, uncle.” Feyd’s deep blue irises drink you in as he snatches you roughly.

Feyd-Rautha steps around the arena, presenting you to the people like a spectacle. He allows you your respect, holding you with your arms stretched like a splayed out starfish. The flat of his palm is pushing the centre of your spine.

You do feel like you’ve gone through hell as you hear the crowd roar in applause. You do feel like you’ve earned something. But you didn’t. You failed. Tears roll down your face.

Did I mother? Did I do it?

A flash of your mother’s caring eyes envelopes you. She nods, her angelic presence swarming around you.

“You did well, daughter.” A whisper. “I couldn’t have asked for better.”

She cradles your head in your hands, tilting your head to meet her warmth.

You grin, happiness enveloping you, grasping at her shoulders. You want to hold her, but you can’t. “Really, mother?”

“Yes, Caladanian." Her warm smile is pitch black. Her praise is false, a lie.

With a sick feeling, it’s his voice now whispering in your ears again, breaking you from your dreamy experience. 

Feyd-Rautha's chest is pressing into your bruised back as he holds you to him.. Can he.. let you keep speaking with your mother, just for a moment? Would he, if you followed orders, if you made no trouble?

“The honour you deserve, pet..” His thumbs wipe at your tears as they dribble down your sunken cheeks, but his face is devious. “I shall wash and clean you myself, and then you’re going to rest in my arms tonight,” His whispers aren’t of comfort, like hers—his voice is too brazen, too guttural.

His eyes are a bottomless pit as his hand travels to the base of your neck.

“I think you might be my favourite..” He squeezes, briefly cutting off your air supply and you sputter and cough.

You feel faint. A stream of water is forced down your lips, and you drink it, still coughing.

Your vision is hazy, and you decide it’s time to sleep. It’s like he’s rocking you back and forth, the length of your body dragging along the sand, back and forth and back and forth and-

Shushing you, soothing you, like a baby. 

Still hearing the crowd congratulate you, the deafening cries of the Harkonnen people clear in your eardrum, still feeling him grip you -

In your weakened state, a surge of lightning flows through your veins. From the gods, perhaps?

They’ve seen what you did; they’ve seen what you’ve endured.

There’s colour now in this bleak, desolate oasis. You’re the colour.

The black sun seemingly speaks as it encases your entirety. 

You have won, dear one. You have survived.

PART 1 PART 2

[omegalomania]

so im sure everyones fully well aware of the magic 8 ball site fob is using to promote a contest to win some tickets to see them in nashville. the little 8ball widget theyve got in browser is also modeled on the physical 8ball that they had in the vip merch packages for tourdust's first leg, which is cool! but of particular note is the way that, to fill out the contest form, you have to pick your favorite fall out boy songs. and the sheer breadth of what is allowed is...interesting? it's not cohesive by any means, but it is really wild the selection of songs they have here because not all of them are fob songs. in fact, quite a few of them aren't.

i went directly to the source code and got a full list of all possible songs that you could input (which you can check for yourself by right-clicking and selecting "view source"). i'm going to list them here for archival purposes, with a few notes/explanations cause some of these are WILD.

there are 187 songs total listed.

bolded songs indicate songs that are demos or never received an official release

italicized songs are songs by other bands

underlined songs indicate songs that are covers

songs with an asterisk beside them (*) indicate they are from patrick's solo catalogue. two asterisks (**) are for pete's.

additional commentary by me will be [in brackets]

20 Dollar Nose Bleed 27 7 Minutes in Heaven (Atavan Halen) 7-9 Legendary A Little Less Sixteen Candles, a Little More "Touch Me" A Nice Myth [one of the earliest fall out boy demos, found on their first ep, and only the casette version at that] Allie* Alone Together Alpha Dog America's Suitehearts American Beauty/American Psycho (song) American Made Art of Keeping Up Disappearances As Long as I Know I'm Getting Paid* Austin, We Have a Problem Baby Annihilation Bad Side of 25* Bang the Doldrums Beat It Big Hype* Bishops Knife Trick Bob Dylan Bounce [this is a song that came out on then-Decaydance labelmates The Cab's debut record, Whisper War, which patrick produced. he has writing credit and also is credited with background vocals (and also shows up in the music video)] Caffeine Cold Calm Before the Storm Centuries Champagne for My Real Friends, Real Pain for My Sham Friends Champion Check Your Phone** Chicago is So Two Years Ago Church City in a Garden Coast (It's Gonna Get Better)* Coffee's for Closers Cryptozoology* Cute Girls* Cyanide** [this is a nothing,nowhere song that pete did some spoken word parts and backing vocals on] Dance Miserable* Dance, Dance Dead on Arrival Dear Future Self (Hands Up) Death Valley Deep Blue Love* [song patrick did for the indie short film "spell"] Demigods Disloyal Order of Water Buffaloes Don't You Know Who I Think I Am? Electric Touch [the (in?)famous taylor swift song patrick featured on] Eternal Summer Everybody Wants Somebody* Explode* Fake Out Fame Less than Infamy Favorite Record Fellowship of the Nerd [this is an alternate title for world's not waiting, as far as i can tell] Flu Game Flu Game [yes flu game is listed twice for some reason] Footprints in the Snow [demo from the Llamania ep] Fourth of July From Now on We Are Enemies G.I.N.A.S.F.S. Get Busy Living or Get Busy Dying (Do Your Part to Save the Scene and Stop Going to Shows) Ghostbusters (I'm Not Afraid) Golden Grand Theft Autumn/Where Is Your Boy Greed* Grenade Jumper Grow Up and Be Kids [this song is on The Cab's sophomore album Symphony Soldier, which release after they left decaydance. nonetheless, pete does have some writing credits on it. give it a listen and you'll hear for yourself in the first 10 seconds or so] Growing Up Hand Crushed by a Mallet [this is a remix of the 100gecs song of the same name; patrick did some vocals for it] Hand of God Have I Got a Gift for You* [song patrick did for the horror movie black friday] Headfirst Slide into Cooperstown on a Bad Bet Heartbreak Feels So Good Heaven's Gate Heaven, Iowa Hold Me Like a Grudge Hold Me Tight or Don't Homesick at Space Camp Honorable Mention Hot to the Touch, Cold on the Inside Hum Hallelujah I Am My Own Muse I Don't Care

I Got Nothing, But You Got Something [this is the one that really perplexes me. there's no evidence of this song actually existing, other than an unverified genius post and an article on a single fandom wiki. it is inexplicably listed here despite its very existence being questionable at best.]

I Slept with Someone in Fall Out Boy and All I Got Was This Stupid Song Written About Me I Wanna Dance with Somebody (Who Loves Me) I'm Like a Lawyer with the Way I'm Always Trying to Get You Off (Me & You) I've Been Waiting [this is technically a lil peep song with fall out boy as a feature] I've Got a Dark Alley and a Bad Idea That Says You Should Shut Your Mouth (Summer Song) I've Got All This Ringing in My Ears and None on My Fingers Immortals Irresistible It's Hard to Say 'I Do', When I Don't It's Not a Side Effect of the Cocaine, I Am Thinking It Must Be Love Jet Pack Blues Just One Yesterday Lake Effect Kid (song) Lake Shore Drive [this is a song patrick covered on the piano at wrigley, first night of tourdust] Love from the Other Side Love Will Tear Us Apart Love, Selfish Love* Love, Sex, Death Lullabye Mad at Nothing* Miss Missing You Moving Pictures My Heart Is the Worst Kind of Weapon My Songs Know What You Did in the Dark (Light Em Up) New Dreams [this is a bonus track on pax am days, a naked rayguns cover] Nobody Puts Baby in the Corner Novocaine Of All the Gin Joints in All the World One of Those Nights [another song from the cab's whisper war. this one has patrick doing vocals very prominently] Open Happiness [this was a huge collaborative piece done for a coca cola commercial. patrick was on it along with big names like cee lo green, janelle monae, and labelmates travie mccoy and brendon urie] Our Lawyer Made Us Change the Name of This Song So We Wouldn't Get Sued Parker Lewis Can't Lose (But I'm Gonna Give It My Best Shot) Past Life [llamania ep] Pavlove People Never Done a Good Thing* Porcelain* Pretty in Punk Rat a Tat Reinventing the Wheel to Run Myself Over Roxanne Run Dry (X Heart X Fingers)* San Diego [this is a blink-182 song that patrick did some writing for] Saturday Saturday Night Again* Save Rock and Roll (song) Sending Postcards from a Plane Crash (Wish You Were Here) She's My Winona Short, Fast, and Loud Snitches and Talkers Get Stitches and Walkers So Good Right Now So Much (For) Stardust (song) So Sick [this is a song patrick has exclusively covered live, so it's a fascinating inclusion] Sober [another blink-182 song patrick did some writing for] Sophomore Slump or Comeback of the Year Star 67 Stay Frosty Royal Milk Tea Sugar, We're Goin Down Summer Days (song) [this is a martin garrix song patrick lent some vocals to] Sunshine Riptide Super Fade Switchblades and Infidelity Tell That Mick He Just Made My List of Things to Do Today The "I" In Lie* The (After) Life of the Party The (Shipped) Gold Standard The Carpal Tunnel of Love The Kids Aren't Alright The Kintsugi Kid (Ten Years) The Last of the Real Ones The Mighty Fall The Music or the Misery The Patron Saint of Liars and Fakes The Phoenix The Pink Seashell The Pros and Cons of Breathing The Take Over, the Breaks Over The World's Not Waiting (For Five Tired Boys in a Broken Down Van) This Ain't a Scene, It's an Arms Race This City* Thnks fr th Mmrs (song) [for some reason the site specifies song here, despite that not being necessary. the only other times this distinction is relevant is when songs share a title with their albums, i.e. save rock and roll] Thriller Tiffany Blews Twin Skeleton's (Hotel in NYC) Uma Thurman Untitled 1 (Colorado Song) Untitled 2 (Jakus Song) [both of these are recently released tttyg era demos] W.A.M.S. We Didn't Start the Fire We Don’t Take Hits, We Write Them [this is a song that famously was only ever performed live. we don't have a studio recording or even a demo, as only live versions exist] We Were Doomed from the Start (The King is Dead) West Coast Smoker What a Catch, Donnie What a Time To Be Alive What's This? When I Made You Cry* Where Did the Party Go Wilson (Expensive Mistakes) Wrong Side of Paradise [llamania ep] XO You're Crashing, But You're No Wave Young and Menace Young Volcanoes Yule Shoot Your Eye Out

in conclusion i have no idea who compiled this list. it doesn't include every song patrick and pete have ever touched (notice the lack of gym class heroes, cobra starship, and hush sound discography) but it has a really weird selection of songs. i mean, blink songs patrick wrote on?? its bizarre.

anyway do you think if we mass request swing me by the rafters they'll have to do it

[queenie-avenue]

Charming Demon Belle!

—> he expresses interest in you.

⤻ reader is female, reader's race/animal theme is not specified, reader is a bit insecure, alastor is a semi-sweetheart in this one, fluff, no canon-typical violence, dancing but it's not jazz *gasp*

notes: this fic was honestly a bit rushed, but i do really love alastor as a character and really wanted to write a fic for him but i currently do not have the time to invest in one idea i have for a longform fic so here's something small. feel free to post asks for alastor, or any other hazbin character, i would love to write your ideas!

💌 ⤻ archives.

You had been at the Hotel for a few months now, working on those trust exercises that Charlie persuaded — forced — you to join in. You loved the girl, but you found her methods to be a bit too idealistic at times. Especially since during your time as a human, you saw just how cruel life could actually be.

Still, you joined in because you came to love the girl. You came to love the rest of the staff and visitors too.

Whenever you came back to the Hotel after a long day of doing whatever, there Husker was with your favourite cocktail or Angel would be there to crack his stupid jokes and innuendos that would always make you huff out a laugh no matter how tired you were. Vaggie was a fun person to be around. There was quite a bit of anger in her, but you couldn't help but like how assertive she could be. You honestly admired her for being such a strong woman, something you thought you could never be. Charlie was just a ray of sunshine and though Nifty was weird, you found her almost endearing, just like Sir Pentious and his nerdy displays.

There was one person you could never calm yourself around though and it was the host of the Hotel.

Alastor, the Radio Demon.

Perhaps it was his reputation that made you feel so uncomfortable around him, but you refrained from speaking to him as much as you could. Those eyes and that never-ending smile seemed to follow you wherever you went, though, and you found that wherever you went, he was there just waiting.

✧ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ✧

The Hotel was practically empty by the time afternoon hit. Husk was out getting more things for the bar alongside Nifty, who needed to buy more materials for cleaning. Angel Dust was at work. Charlie and Vaggie seemed to be on a date, of some sorts, encouraged by you as they seemed to be rather stressed these few days because of the upcoming Extermination.

As for Alastor... probably up in his radio tower.

And for you? You were lounging on the couch in the lobby of the hotel, scrolling through various television channels and hoping to find one that would entertain you for long enough.

"Hello, my dear!" The static-filled voice almost made you fall off the couch as you looked up to see the Radio Demon standing over you. "What are you doing?" Alastor inquired, looking at you before his gaze shifted to the TV in front of you, his eyes narrowing in what appeared to be annoyance. "Oh, you're watching a picture box, how quaint." He attempted to remain cordial in his speech, but it was clear he wanted to wreck that television.

He reached for the remote and pressed a few buttons. "What are you doing?" This time, it was your turn to question him.

"Turning off this pesky little thing, dear! You know, too much of this," he pointed his cane at the TV, "rots your brain!" He chuckled as he finally pressed the correct button to turn it off.

"You should get off the couch and get some exercise. Today is far too nice of a day to be wasted on such idle activities." He grinned wider as he his clawed hands grabbed yours and dragged you up.

"H-hey!" You yelled, shocked by the sudden touch. Despite the fact Alastor hated someone invading his personal space, he seemed to love to invade others.

"I know you don't like to exercise, so I have come up with a rather fun activity for us to partake in." Your eyes widened at his words. What in Hell's name did he mean by that? You had seen what Alastor viewed as 'fun' and you were now worried. He snapped his fingers as he dragged you to the middle of the lobby, a radio materialising on the bar desk as it began to loudly play some jazz music. "Some dancing ought to do the trick." He smiled.

"Um, Alastor." You peeped, "I'm glad you want to do an... activity with me. But I don't know how to dance. Let alone dance for some jazz music." You grinned awkwardly up at him as he looked down at you and tutted his lips.

"Ah, no worries." He grinned as he snapped his fingers again, causing the music on the radio to shift from jazz to classical. "We can start slow, of course. I could never force a lady to do something she didn't like." Well, that was ironic, considering what he was doing now.

"Hold on." He grinned as he grabbed your waist, using his other hand to guide yours to his shoulders. Without being able to respond, he dragged you across the floor.

"One, and a two. One and a two." He demonstrated how his feet moved about the floor, forcing you to follow against his steps as he swirled you about the hall. "See, you're already getting a hang of it." You couldn't help but smile at his words.

"Heh, yeah I guess I am." You grew more relaxed as you looked up at Alastor and his toothy grin and ash face.

He grinned wider. "I'm so glad that you are starting to feel comfortable around me, my darling." He expressed as he spun you around. "I was simply so hurt when I saw you interacting with the others but not me." He pulled you closer to his chest, "Might I ask why?" Alastor asked, the static filter on his voice disappearing slightly to reveal his human voice.

"I guess we just have personality clashes?" You tried to lie, not wanting to admit that you were intimidated and scared witless thanks to this demon, especially with the way he stalked you in the shadows at times.

"Haha!" He laughed comically. "My, what an intriguing assumption, my dear Belle!" He exclaimed as he spun you around and dipped you down. "I think we have more in common than you think."

"Like what?" You gasped out as he held you down, your hair brushing against the floor as you gazed up at him.

"Well, we're both sinners."

You deadpanned at his explanation. "That's it?"

"Well, there's certainly more, but why not leave it up for us to discover?" He suggested with a grin before pulling you up, slamming your face into his chest. Alastor gripped your chin in his sharp hands, his smile growing more sinister.

"I would certainly love to know more about you." His smile grew brighter, his eyes glimmering with a hint of intrigue and desire.

Shit, somehow that was the only thought running through your mind.

[theblackfemininesociety]

✨This is your sign to declutter you life:

Start with your socials: Unsubscribe / unfollow the uninspiring, redundant, low frequency content that isn’t adding value to you or a reflection of who you are become. Also, delete or archive any photos that don’t align with the woman you want to become.

Empty out your inbox: there’s no reason why you have 1,000 unread emails or spam text on your phone. Unsubscribe and delete the unnecessary messages and emails! Only subscribe to things that align with the woman you are becoming! And for my shopaholic besties, unsubscribe those tempting stores that is declining your saving account ! Remember there’s nothing soft about being an aesthetically cute but broke woman. 😉

Take a social media break: this is for my extroverted and social media thirsty besties, it’s time to disconnect. Just a week. Cut it off and if it’s too much to bear, Limit your time on social media for a week! This also includes a people detox, put your phone on DND. Fall back for a bit and indulge in self care. The tea you love to indulge in can wait and your loved ones will reach out on their own if needed but please have some me time 💆🏾‍♀️

Clean your space: dedicate a day or days to completely clean your apartment/ room. I am talking about that closet that you’ve been avoiding and that cabinet that hasn’t been opened because it’s out of reach. After that, treat yourself, light a candle order some food, or take a long hot spa like shower. You will feel so much better in a clean space. Clean decluttered environment!

If you don't use it, Throw it away: I don’t know what it is exactly but I know there’s items in your space right now that simply take up space! And when you clean you probably move it around or organize it better. If you don’t use it, throw it away! If it’s worn down throw it away! If you have time to donate it, do so. Lately as for me., If I don’t donate it right away it’ll stay there until “I have the time” so lately I’ve been practicing the “do it now” method. Which is exactly how it sounds. If you have time do it now if not in this case of decluttering and cleaning, throw it out.

Journal: Take some time to reflect and write out your thoughts and feelings. Nothing beats putting a pin to paper (or stylus pen to iPad) and writing down all that’s in your mind.

Mediate & Pray: In our fast-paced world filled with constant distractions and never-ending to-do lists, it is imperative to find moments of stillness and connection. One powerful way to achieve this is through the practice of meditation and prayer. to quiet the mind, find inner peace, and connect with our own spiritual essence. Both prayer and meditation are powerful practices that can bring numerous benefits to our lives. They provide us with a sense of belonging and purpose, reminding us of what really important.

Need more motivation & support? Follow us on INSTAGRAM!

[vixen-tech]

if you want to -- maybe AUTO with a botanist reader? i just think it'd be so interesting how it would play out !! u dont have to, so only do it if u want to!!

🩹 anon

To be Loved, To Maybe be Changed (Auto x Botanist!Reader)

Oh that certainly is a concept!! It's a great one for Auto to, this put an entire storyline in my head that I think justifies breaking out the oneshot format rather than headcanons. Which works out great because I think out of all the Ai's I've written for, he would need the most 'set up' from how not-sentient he's protrayed in Wall-E. Anyways grab a snack floks this is a long one

It had been many generations since the Axium returned home to earth. Humans, robots, and the all important plant finding themselves back on soil, populating the deserted planet once more.

Things have changed since then. The human body began readapting to earth's gravity, the majority of buildings around the landing site have been fixed up and inhabited, and most importantly: the city is covered in plants. Grasses sprout between broken walkways, invy weaves its way up repurposed skyscrapers, gardens spill out of every available alleyway, a gaint tree stands where that first plant took root all those centuries ago. Each year it seems the sky gets a little more blue.

The ever diversifying flora had captivated you ever since you first had the words to describe it. As soon as you had a say so, you began studying it. Dispite the flourishing growth, any sort of plant husbandry was still something of a lost art. You lived off of the ancient manuals and beginners guides that eventually made their way out of the Axium's archives.

Yet even those could only do so much for you when most of the crops that had evolved from that first seedling had taken forms a far cry from their original pre space-age forefathers. It became your life's mission to learn how to best take care of these new cultivars and of course, spread the knowledge (and hopefully passion) for botany that you had gained throughout your life.

That was what fueled your visits to the Axium. Still parked at the foot of that monumental tree, it had been transformed into something of a community center. With most of its facilities still running and new services offered everyday. You often came to drop off your experimental findings, teach classes, and check to see if other botanists had done the same. Why you began exploring the depths of the halls that one fateful day, you still don't know.

The spaceship was massive, clearly a crowning jewel of its time. To this day many rooms remained unused and largely blocked off. The bustle and warmth of public spaces giving way to dust and insect nests as you roam through areas no longer needed. Bathrooms too far from the people to warrant upkeep, storage rooms that were once filled with replacement parts for the robots that now walked side by side with humans. And at the end of your journey, the captain's quarters.

The door was practically sealed shut with age, and the room behind it was hardly any better. The air attacked you with a cloud of dust once you finally managed to shove open the door, and no matter how much you rubbed your eyes there still appeared to be an almost foggy looking quality to the room.

That's when you found Auto.

He was still dangling from the ceiling above a control panel you doubt still worked. You had seen and befriended many robots before, they were just as common as humans in the city nowadays with remarkably little tension between them. Recognizing that the innert steering wheel in front of you was once one, your heart ached. You were no mechanic, but surely you had to at least try to get him up and running again. What can you say, you were always a bit of a bleeding heart.

After carefully detaching him from the ceiling you carried what was essentially an inanimate hunk of metal all the way back home with you. People stared, sure, but they kept any questions or judgments to themselves as you made your way home.

Your residence was rustic, to say the least. A fairly rundown shack renovated into a makeshift greenhouse. Produce and flowering plants alike overflowed from their neat rows of pots on benches. Some were for you, more were to sell, all were part of research in one way or another.

You loved walking through your own little botanical garden to get to your living quarters. The moment you pass through the front doors you're always hit with a wave of earthy freshness. The smell of petrichor and pollen greeted you (and your new... friend?) just as it always did. Never once failing to make you feel at home.

Your living quarters themselves were similarly homey. Not drastically bigger than a hotel room, it's a modest living area with a kitchen tucked in the corner and two doors along the wall. One leading to a compact bathroom, the other your bedroom. Some may call it cramped, but to you it's cozy. You spent most of your time in the greenhouse anyway.

That might have been the only day you mourned your lack of space. As if he were a friend you had to drag home after a night of drinking, you placed Auto on the couch. Promising to yourself that you'd do your best to fix him up. You'd probably have to give him some wheels to, since you ripped him from the ship. Well, your life could always use some more excitement.

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

Your knowledge of machinery had definitely improved over the past few weeks. On all accounts you were extraordinarily lucky that he was in such good shape. Age had rendered most of his circuits unusable, but isolation kept them from becoming unrecognizable. Night after night you would come home with a new part and with surgical delicacy, swap it out for its damaged counterpart.

You had heard stories from the time of the Axium. You knew of the 'evil autopilot program that tried to trap humanity in space'. You knew that you were probably trying to fix said evil autopilot program. It may have been the weeks of one sided bonding, but you didn't buy it. Surely at worst he was just following orders. And who knows, maybe with some free will he might be able to turn over a new leaf.

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

"What happened?" His voice was striking, deep and inhumanly regular in a way that was still seen a trademark of artificial speech. He was upright on the wheeled body you attached him to, the red eye (camera?) at the center of his face seemed to scan you up and down before doing the same to the room around him.

The cocktail of pride and anxiety had yet to leave your chest. You attempted to explain, "Well I fixed you-"

"Before that." He interrupted. Slowly wheeling himself to the living room window, still unsure of the new addition you had made to his body. "Where are we?" He added.

You should have been prepared for that one. "We're on earth, in my house." You watched with apprehension as he stared out the window. The steering wheel that made his outer body clicked back and forth as if he were swaying in thought.

"Earth is habitable." His voice lacked strong inflection, you were unsure if he was asking you a question or stating the fact to himself.

"It has been for a long time." You said as gently as you possibly could. "You were... on that ship for centuries, a lot has changed since then."

If he was listening to you, he made no effort to show it. Instead continuing to look outside as if he were zoning out in thought. "There are plants", he observed.

The view out that window wasn't remarkable by any means. Just some grass and a few odd trees before the city's skyscrapers blocked your line of sight. But the mere mention of plants was always enough to get you excited. "Oh if you're interested in plants you should see this." Gesturing for him to follow you as you opened the door to your greenhouse.

He paused for a moment before trailing behind you.

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

Auto made for a strange guest. With no astro-cruise to run he spent a considerable amount of time staring at you while you worked. It was only as you were measuring the pH of your plants' soil that you began narrating your work to him. It started as a way for you to simply diffuse the tension and explain why you were so invested in the vegetation.

He made for a good wall to rant to. You didn't have many close friends and certainly none as into botany as you, most other botanists spent as much time with their garden as you do. But thankfully, no matter how much you asked if you were being annoying, he would repeat that "The information is important, please continue." All while focused on whatever orchid you made the subject of your newest lecture. You did make it clear that he was free to leave at any time.

He never did.

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

Your first trip to the Axium since Auto's reactivation was an awkward one, at least on your part. When you announced that you needed to go to drop off your latest batch of research he requested to could come with, one of the first things he asked of you since waking up.

Perhaps you shouldn't have been surprised, Auto had barely took a step outside your home. Relying instead on you and whatever books or documentaries you had to fill him in on what the world had become. Who were you to deny him some fresh air?

Although you had grown much more comfortable around him you were still anxious to hear what he thought of everything. And as always his judgment came in the form of definite reports. It was all "Humanity is stable." Or "Plant life is flourishing." If he had any semblance of opinion, he didn't tell you about it.

He didn't behave much differently on the Axium, continuing to trail you like a lost duckling and thoroughly scan the surroundings. It wasn't until you met up with a fellow herbalist that he spoke a word.

They asked you about a specific project you were working on, a new crossbreed of a medicinal herb of particular interest to them. However, as it wasn't the purpose of your trip you didn't have any of its records on you. You were about to apologize and tell them so until Auto informed them, "The crossbreed has shown accelerated growth but a greater sensitivity to sunlight." The herbalist thanked both of you and walked off.

Even though you shouldn't have been shocked to learn that he was actually storing the information you spat at him, it was still nice to know that he cared to some degree.

"Thank you, Auto."

"You're welcome."

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

The days have gone on much the same since then. You had never sought out an adventurous life. Often you go out the greenhouse in the morning and find Auto observing the various moths and flies that had evolved as pollinators alongside the new flora. "Morning Auto!" You would cheerfully greet.

You never fully understood why he stayed, but it didn't matter to you at this point. He was here and he made no effort to go. You had more than enough room in your life for him anyway.

"Good morning."

And so another day starts.

[eirenical]

Like Father, Unlike Son (3168 words) by eirenical

Written for the @mysteriouslotuscasebookweek prompts "Role Reversal" (Day 2) and "Grief" (Day 4).

Rating: Explicit

Summary: In the wake of Shan Gudao's return, Li Lianhua is left broken and listless, nothing like his usual self. Fang Duobing is willing to do anything to bring him back, even if it means pretending, just for one night, to be someone he's not... someone he hopes he'll never become.

The yard was silent, the kind of silence that descends in the wake of a storm. Fang Duobing would have filled that space with noise, laughter, anything but this quiet stillness that Shan Gudao had left in his wake. But Li Lianhua stood barely two steps away, holding himself so very carefully, as though too large a breath might break every bone in his rib cage.

~Li Xiangyi is, indeed, a joke.~

Fang Duobing's first instinct had been to defend, to deny, to wipe those words from existence the moment Li Lianhua had spoken them. But Li Lianhua had been standing oh so carefully then, too, as though some part of him had already broken beyond repair, and a harsh word could wipe him from existence along with his words. Fang Duobing wondered, for the first time, if he was finally, truly, seeing Li Xiangyi before him—or what little was left of him after first his shixiong's death and then the battle at the Eastern Sea had taken everything from him. For the first time, he began to see what might have driven him to put himself away so thoroughly and become Li Lianhua. Faced with what he'd been faced with, Fang Duobing might have done the same.

Gently, he said, "He's gone. Why don't we go inside?"

Li Lianhua didn't answer, simply turned back the way they'd come from and took one shuffling step after another. At the threshold, he stumbled, foot catching on the raised doorway when he didn't lift it high enough. Fang Duobing caught him, gripping his arm above the elbow and pulling him close to keep him upright.

His body was shaking, a fine tremor that Fang Duobing hadn't been able to see but could feel now that they were pressed so close. "Li Lianhua?"

Continue Reading on AO3

Tags, detailed warnings, and notes below the cut.

November 4, 2024: At this point, I think I just need to accept the fact that my niche in this fandom is "fucked up and ill-advised sex that probably at least hints at Daohua somewhere in the background." 😅 Anyway, ever since I saw the scene where Shan Gudao reveals himself to Fang Duobing and Li Lianhua, I've wanted to write a fic where Li Lianhua turns to Fang Duobing for some very ill-advised comfort after that and lets himself pretend, just this once, that Fang Duobing is actually Shan Gudao. Brain decided today was the day? Enjoy? 😁👍👍

Fic Warnings: This is a little bit of a YMMV situation. The sex that happens in this fic is 100% consensual on both sides, but Fang Duobing is essentially role playing as his father and there is ZERO negotiation before that happens and, knowing Li Lianhua, they're not going to discuss it afterwards, either. Fang Duobing does have a little bit of a frantic moment where he's basically thinking "…this is kind of fucked up, isn't it? Maybe we should talk about it first? OK, never mind, lower brain just took over and made the decision for me." But he's still very much on board with what's going on and they both enjoy it in the end. But this is some VERY tangled relationship shit going on and if that squicks you, you might want to give this one a miss.

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 莲花楼 | Mysterious Lotus Casebook (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Fang Duobing/Li Lianhua | Li Xiangyi, Minor or Background Relationship(s) Characters: Fang Duobing, Li Lianhua | Li Xiangyi

Additional Tags: mentions of - Freeform, Di Feisheng/Li Lianhua | Li Xiangyi - Freeform, Di Feisheng/Fang Duobing/Li Lianhua | Li Xiangyi - Freeform, Past, Li Lianhua | Li Xiangyi/Shan Gudao - Freeform, Under-negotiated Kink, Light BDSM, Sexual Roleplay, Unrequited Love, Established Relationship, Episode Related, episode 32, Missing Scene, Trauma, Dealing with Trauma in Less Than Healthy Ways, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, ill-advised sex, Healing Sex, (...yes it's the same sex; make of that what you will XD), Mysterious Lotus Casebook Week 2024

[siriuslychessi]

Hello!

For those of you that filled this poll officially we have an exchange! For those of you who didn't vote, don't worry you are still invited to join ☺️

The Potterverse Gift Exchange is a yearly thing, and it is done to end the year with something nice and fun to be look forward to. We welcome everyone from the fandom, if you are thinking of participating please reblog to spread the word with the tag: #PotterverseGiftExchange2024

You can sign up here.

Please read the FAQ and rules under the cut before signing in.

Who can participate? Everyone from the Potterverse fandom. Because it keeps growing. Anyone with an AO3 account, because this year we are trying to do something a little different (that hopefully saves my sanity).

Can you participate if you don't do fics but other media? Of course! AO3 allows different media to be uploaded so you can add it there.

I want to be involved but I don't have the time? Reblog to spread the word! And comment on the works once they are posted! New works and fun for everyone!

RULES

- You must be at least 18 to participate, some people might request NSFW prompts. - You must tag properly, the tags are to archive and find the right side of fandom, not to reach any algorithm. - This is a fun event, for everyone involved. - Respect each other. This is a hard rule, if you start bashing anyone for their preferences you will be taken out from the list. It is important to know that we have differences but that doesn’t mean we need to spread hate around our fun groups. - Ship and let ship. There is a space for everyone, and we will try to make it so, even if we all agree to disagree. - Communicate. If you have any issues whatsoever with the timeframes, the prompts, etc, please communicate. We want everyone to have a gift by the end of the year. If you can not make it, or need more time, or whatever it is, we will understand, we have backup creators in case something happens. - All creations should be posted by December 29th. Extensions can be granted if informed. - Most important of all: HAVE FUN!!!

Other things: - Only the non sensitive information will be shared (prompts), everything else is deleted after the works have been submitted for privacy reason. - You can submit things to other platforms, but it can not be before the deadline, so we can all be surprised by the same date.

[richeeduvie]

What if Baby started acting just as needy as Roman as a bit ?

Imagine one morning she’s just clinging to him making overly sexual jokes about pussytrapping him or something so he doesn’t go to a business meeting.

How do u think Roman would react to Roman-behavior coming from his wife?

Btw this is just Baby ovulating or something

NSFW - We've dabbled in Baby being the one to be needy. When? Idk, I'd have to go through the tedious archive. But we have! I know we have.

"I'll just do a perpetual kegel around your cock and that way, you can't leave the bed."

Roman's on your chest, cheek smushed in your skin. You don't want him to go anywhere. You want him to fuck you again, or make love to you - with every overtly sexual insult comes your way, you'll wear on your grin.

He's so pretty like this. You wouldn't mind if he knocked you up now. Like he says he's going to, or has been saying since the both of you were in college.

You can't stop smiling when you kiss his head. Roman tries to pull away, hands pushing against your stomach and chest. But you wrap him, arms scratching up and down his back.

You couldn't know that Roman's heart is beating through his chest, it feels that way. But when you feel it too, all you can think of is what a beautiful sound it is, how you revel is his squished and squinting face. Pure embarrassment, but also...it's your voice in his blood. And his cock. And his heart.

He's confused as fuck and also...he can't fucking breathe.

You, you, you. What are you doing?

"Pissing inside you sounds like something your filthy pussy would enjoy but I feel like that'd create a new form of AIDS so...please - let me go. Let me go! Fuck."

"You always want me, you feel asleep inside of me last night and now you have to pee the minute I wanna cuddle?"

You nuzzle in and pull him back to your chest.

"Please just give me this. I'm ovulating. I think. Maybe you can pop one inside me. I'll give to you. Just-"

Let me hold you and be inside me for a little while more.

Roman scoffs, maybe snorts. His heart and cock burns, one inside you - the aftermath of his cum and your hole, one along his chest - too quick with his lungs. You see his brows furrow, lips pout humorously. But you know Roman, you know it's nothing of the sort.

"The only time you mimic how badly I always want to stuff myself in your hole is when your biology tells you too?" He tries pushing back, but it's weak. You don't know if it's purposeful. "I could just put another fuck with a cock in here and then you'd be ruined and used with another baby?"

You blink. Then, you smile.

This is why you love him too much.

"Oh, pretty boy."

You kiss him all over - it's not even because of the routine pressed down into your muscles, what you've learned over your lifetime - you do it because you want to, his skin makes you feel good. It rolls down your spine and stomach and makes you clench around him.

"Don't be stupid. Just don't go. Weirdo."

"...Fine."

He fills you up a little more, right up at the hilt as he moves up. His head fills in the space of your neck.

The warmth of Roman is perfect. The way he holds you so tightly after his complaint even better.

[mcytblrholidayexchange]

How To Sign Up To This Gift Exchange

This exchange does signups on Ao3, to help with matching! (Last year it took us 8 days to do it by hand and that's just not sustainable).

Once you are on Ao3, there are two sections, one for your requests (stuff you’re telling people (and the machine) would be a good gift for you), and one for your offers (stuff you’re telling the machine that you can make as a gift for other people). Here’s how you fill them out.

Requests

First you go to the collection that you want. The all-ages one is here, and if you are opting into NSFW (and are over 18), you can go to the 18+ collection! In the sidebar on the left-hand side of the page there is a button for sign-up form, you can press to be taken to the sign-up form.

That brings you to the first page, which looks like this.

Lots of buttons, but don't worry, it's pretty simple once you get the underlying logic!

Let's say I start with 3rd Life. I know I want to opt into pearl gifts, shadowrot, and platonic desert duo. What will that look like?

So I selected the fandom I wanted (3rd Life) and what types of gifts that I was open to. And then I selected the relationships that I'd like as a gift! I could match on any one of these, my gifter might have offered only one relationship in this fandom— but we match on one, so they know which relationship to focus on! And each of those tags is formatted a little differently— the desert duo one the names are connected with a & (so that means i'll get something platonic), the shadowrot one the names are connected with / (so that means I'll get something shippy if my gifter chooses to write that relationship), and the pearl tag is Solo, so that means I could get anything as long as pearl is still the focus! So I have to specify later if I'm okay with shipping or not, or any relationships I don't want.

Additional tags is telling people what kind of holidays I'm open to in my gift— not everybody celebrates the same holidays! For this one I don't want any holidays, so I selected no holidays. And then archive warnings is telling people if I'm okay with archive warnings in my gift— because it's 3rd life I'm okay with graphic depictions of violence, or I'm also okay with no archive warnings in my gift at all! Note that if you select archive warnings that just means you're opting into them as an option, not that your recipient HAS to give them to you. And then we get down to the free text box, where I give my gifter a little more idea of how to make a gift that I'd like. We start with my tumblr, because my gifter has to know how to give me my gift on tumblr eventually! And then a list of likes, stuff to give my gifter some ideas. Mods ask that you include at least a couple likes, and/or some prompts, or link a letter in that letter text box.

What's a letter? Ao3 has a text limit of 5 thousand characters in that box, and sometimes people exceed it because they have detailed prompts— especially if they're requesting lots of different ships as options! You also can't do any formatting unless you code it in HTML. So, if you are running out of space on Ao3, you can write the information for your gifter offsite, on Dreamwidth or Google Docs or a tumblr post! Here is an example from another exchange of what a letter can look like.

IMPORTANT NOTE: If you are linking a google doc letter, make sure that you are not using an account that has your real name in it. Make a fandom email for it, or host the letter somewhere like tumblr or dreamwidth, where your real identity will not be connected to your fandom identity. And if you link a tumblr, don't change your blog URL or the letter will disappear for people!

Anyways, I'm not doing a letter cause I'm just doing a quick and dirty signup, so I just did some likes and my DNW! You can also add specific prompts if you want (and it's nice for your gifter if you do) but it's not required!

What is a DNW? DNW stands for Do Not Want, and it's anything (anything) that would ruin a gift for you. You can DNW certain characters, crossovers, types of aus, types of content, specific ways of writing or art, quotes from specific people if you're requesting web weaves, specific music if you're okay with playlists, types of endings, specific sounds if you're requesting podfic— the list goes on. I did a short DNW there to make it all fit within the screen, but my normal one is quite long. There will be a thread in the discord where people can compare DNWs to see if there's anything you want to add to yours.

The rule is that as long as you are polite (nothing like "no kid fic because it's creepy to age down characters") and specific (nothing like "no kinks", because that is too broad and subjective of a category for people to try and navigate) and you don't box your gifter into a specific gift (nothing like "nothing that isn't canon compliant fic specifically about the fairy fort burning") then you're good to go! Because I selected a Solo tag I specifically have to tell my gifter if I'm okay with shipping and which ships, so there's a line there about that. You do need to either put down a DNW or say DNW: no restrictions, so that your recipient knows that everything is on the table.

Please make sure that your DNW and your letter link (if you're using a letter) is included on every fandom box. This is for two reasons. 1) we need to make sure your DNW is in a format that locks once it gets sent to your gifter, not somewhere you could still edit it, like tumblr. 2) There is an option to separate up requests by fandom for people who are looking for extra gifts to give, and that means someone might see only one fandom of your request before giving you something. You need to make sure that anyone who sees just one fandom of your request still has all the information necessary to make a gift.

Note: If you are signing up to the 18+ collections, it's a very good idea to include specific NSFW likes and NSFW DNW because people's tastes can vary wildly, and there's nothing worse than someone carefully making you a gift that's exactly the wrong type of thing for you because are into different things. Give your gifter something to work with and a direction to head in!

And then there's the optional tags box. This is for extra holidays! The additional tags are how you tell someone what holidays you're good to have in your gift, and it only allows you to select 20 at once. But if you wanted to select more holidays than that, you can put them down in the optional tags box! Or you can select any additional tags and just do every holiday at once.

And technically, that's three relationships, so I could call it done there! That's the minimum to request, I'm done. But what if I like other fandoms too? How do I add them? Well. There is a button for that.

In that case, I can hit this button, and it brings me up another request box, and I can do this all over again with another fandom! You can go up to 10 fandoms, with a maximum of 20 tags for each.

But what if you really really REALLY like rats smp and there are 30 tags in the tag set and you want them all?

Two options. One is that instead of putting in relationship tags one by one, you hit the any relationship button.

That will match you to any relationship in the tag set. That doesn't mean any tag on Ao3, but it does mean any tag that's been nominated into the tag set, and we keep the tag nominations open so people can get in their last-minute ships. If you select this one, keep an eye on the tag set to make sure that nobody nominates something that's a hard no for you.

Option two is that you hit the button for another request, and then you just do Rats SMP again, with different tags! You can request the same fandom more than once, with different tags— so you can do a request for your shippy tags and one for your platonic ones, or one for your family tags and one for your non-family ones, or one for desert duo and one for convex, or any other way you want to split it up! As long as you go over the minimum of three relationships requested, you've filled out a valid request! Request ten different fandoms or the same one ten times— it'll work.

Offers

And then we scroll down a little bit to the offers page. Let's take a look at it!

So this is telling the machine the type of gift you are open to making, and making sure you're matchable to someone else's request that will look like the one we just did. You've gotta give the machine the information in a way it'll understand so it can whirr away and give you a match to someone who requested the type of stuff you like to make. So how is this done? I did 3rd life again for the fandom, and the type of gift I can make is fic, so I selected fic for the gift type.

I only need a minimum of three relationships for the relationships, but there's more stuff that'll write than I wanted as a gift, so I have a bunch of relationships in there! I could match on any one of them, so I make sure to offer just relationships I'm confident I can write. Like with the requests, / means a romantic (or sexual, if you are in the 18+ collection) relationship, and & means platonic. Solo: means I can bring any relationships I want into the fic as long as the focus is on the person in the tag and my recipient hasn't DNWed those characters.

When it comes to holidays I COULD go down the list and select everything, but it's easier to just select any additional tag, and that'll make sure I'm matchable no matter what holidays someone selects! I figure that I can do my research on different holidays, and maybe ask for a beta reader to help out if I match on a holiday I'm not used to!

On archive warnings I select no archive warnings apply and graphic depictions of violence, and that means I'm matchable to people who selected either one of those.

And Optional tags is for overflow holidays, but I already selected any holidays, so I'm good to go! This is a complete signup! I can submit it now!

But what if I want to offer other fandoms too? There's rats SMP, there's Hermitcraft, I'm still a DSMP fan—

You can add up to ten fandoms, and same as with requests, you can go up to either 20 tags or "any tag (in the tag set)" for each fandom.

And then you scroll down to the bottom and hit submit, and that's it, you're officially signed up!

Editing and etc

You can go back and edit and tweak your signup any time you want until signups close— remove ships, add them, add prompts, edit your DNW— it's all editable until midnight EST on the 17th of November, when signups close and lock for us to run matching on.

The matching requires:

1 match on fandom

1 match on character (gift type)

1 match on relationship

1 match on additional tags (holidays)

1 match on warnings

So you will be assigned to someone where you have at least one tag in common in all of those categories— a fandom you selected, a gift type you can make, a relationship you said you can do, a holiday you opted into, and a level of archive warnings you said you were good with. The system tries to match you with more tags, but sometimes there are edge cases and you only match on one tag. No matter what is on your recipient's signup, you only have to make one gift, and you only have to make a gift with the tags you signed up with— if someone requested major character death and no warnings apply and you offered no warnings apply, you just can focus in on no warnings apply. Your requests are public, so that people can give bonus gifts if they want to and so that we can pinch-hit your requests if necessary (and so your recipient can see what you requested), but your offers are private (only the mods see them). Make sure you only request things which you are okay having public, or speak to the mods about setting up a sock account.

Signing up gives mods access to your Ao3 email (it's how we send you your assignment), so make sure the email attached to your AO3 account is one that a) you check regularly, and b) are comfortable with exchange mods seeing. You can verify your email here: archiveofourown.org/users/[your ao3 name here]/change_email If for some reason we can’t find a way to give you an assignment (say you only offered ships that nobody was requesting), mods will ask you to make more offers until we can give you an assignment. If we can't give you an assignment— there's nobody in the whole exchange you could make a gift for— you will not be able to continue in the exchange. If we can’t assign you to someone (either you are requesting things nobody offered or the matching just didn't work out to cover you), you will be an initial pinch hit, and someone will opt in to take you on as an extra assignment. Initial pinch hits are normal and expected in an exchange of this size, don't panic if you see yourself as one of them. If there is someone in the exchange that you don’t want to match with (for any reason ranging from "we have each other blocked on tumblr" to "we give each other gifts a lot and we want to give gifts to other people this time"), contact the mods through the ticket system and we’ll hand-adjust the matches. We can only do this before matches go out— if you match to someone you can't create for you'll have to drop your assignment and send it to pinch hits, which we would like to avoid happening if at all possible. Please make sure you send us any Do Not Match requests before signups close!

[trans-axolotl]

I went to the anarchist/abolitionist healthcare conference this weekend, and it was really a beautiful experience that I don't even have words for. Being able to share resources, knowledge, dreams, and joy together with other people invested in this work was so special, and I gained a ton of hope by seeing the many ways that other people are actively engaged in resisting these fucked up systems and building care into our communities. I gave a presentation about psych abolition, talked about resistance within the psych ward, and got a standing ovation from a room filled with 50 people, many of whom were mental health professionals looking to build solidarity. I legitimately almost cried because of being to have that experience with my mad comrades. I met so many beautiful crazy people who intimately understand what it means to survive as a mad person, and just gained so much knowledge from people actively putting their abolitionist values into practice. I want to share a few of my favorite resources that I became aware of at this conference, and I'll make another post later with some of my key takeaways.

Mutual Aid Self/Social Therapy: This is a support framework designed by one of my friends that provides an intentional structure for providing therapetuic support within communities, especially organizing communities where there's a lot of burnout. It offers so many resources for skills training to allow anyone, whether you have a background in emotional support or not, to set this up within your community. The framework is purposefully not hierarchial or transactional, and allows for actually addressing people's material conditions as well as providing space for emotional processing.

Of Unsound Mind: Incredible archive and research on psychiatric history. Mostly focused around America, but also has some info on other countries. The author of the website will be coming out with a book later this year, which I think is mostly going to be about the Trieste, Basaglia, and that history of psych resistance in Italy.

Power makes us Sick: Collective that focuses on autonomous healthcare and emotional support, especially in terms of autonomous trans healthcare. Has some fabulous zines and resources.

A Corpse among Corpses: Incredible documentary about asylum graveyards in the Midwest and the trade of graverobbing for experimentation in medical schools, and how this connects to settler colonialism, slavery, eugenics, and modern gentrification. Really do want to emphasize a trigger warning for genocide, eugenics, medical violence, self harm, antiblack racism, instituionalization, and lots of discussion of death. I talked a lot with the filmmakers, and really appreciated their care and intent in making this film as a way of bearing witness rather than exploiting atrocity in the name of art, but do want to be very clear that this film is incredibly heavy to watch and might be something worth doing with other people. It was deeply impactful for me, and made me tear up many times.

The Living Museum: Through transforming the old Creedmoor hospital grounds into a musuem and workspace for current patients to showcase their art, this space celebrates psychiatric resistance, transformation, struggle, and joy. I really want to go visit and share in that space, as it seems just so fucking cool. It seems like you might need to contact directly to schedule a visit.

Cahoots Crisis Response Model: This is one model for crisi intervention teams that respond instead of police. They are not perfect, still have some enagement with police, but are an interesting example of how to try to implement these types of programs. Since theyv'e been around for 25 years, they have a lot of knoweldeg and could be a good first group to reach out to if you're trying to create this in your community.

Overall this whole weekend was a beautiful example of how to put our values into practice, and really just wanted to share these projects with you all!

[foundtherightwords]

As the Sun Will Rise - Chapter 2

Pairing: Grunauer (Overlord) x OFC, Beauty & the Beast retelling

Summary: After losing most of his unit in a disastrous D-Day mission, Derwin Grunauer returns to his hometown near Miami, body riddled with scars and heart heavy with guilt, only to find his neighbors shunning him due to his German name. He retreats into his family mansion and remains there, unwilling to rejoin the living, until the day Alba Reyes turns up at his door with a basket full of warm bread. As the daughter of a Cuban immigrant, Alba knows something of being an outsider, and when she offers to work for Derwin as his housekeeper, it is not only to pay off her father's debt to the Grunauers, but also because she feels some connection to the reclusive young man. When that connection develops into something more, they must overcome both the town's prejudice and their own doubts to find happiness.

Chapter warnings: none

Chapter word count: 4.5k

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

"You went inside?" Beatriz asked as she flipped the sign in the bakery window from OPEN to CLOSED, before continuing sweeping the floor. In the back, Papi and Frank were setting out the dough for the next morning's loaves to rise. Alba surveyed the glass cases, making a mental note of what sold well and what didn't, and put the leftovers aside to be sold at cut rate the next day. Beatriz had been bursting with questions about the Grunauer place, but Alba had had no time to answer them—it was the lunch rush by the time she got back; she hadn't wanted to talk in front of Papi, and the afternoon had been quite busy as well. It was only now, at closing time, that she finally told Beatriz of what—and who—she'd found at the mansion deep in the swamp.

"Of course I went inside," she said. "I couldn't just leave the bread there!"

"Papi and Frank do."

"They have no respect for their own products."

"What's it like?" Beatriz said, eagerly. "Is it scary? Did you see any snakes or gators?"

"No, there's no snakes or gators. Just a big, friendly dog, and lots of empty rooms and a big staircase. I didn't see the second floor though." Alba couldn't find the words to describe to Beatriz how she'd really felt, walking down the corridor of the Grunauer place. The rooms she'd seen were filled with furniture, but they all had an air of disuse and neglect like the outside of the house. It had made her feel incredibly sad. The house was not a queen, as she'd first thought upon seeing it. It was a woman past her prime, alone and forgotten.

When she came into the kitchen, she'd felt even sadder. The stove looked like it never got lit, the pantry was empty, and so was the fridge—it contained only a pot of mustard and, inexplicably, a book.

She wondered how young Mr. Grunauer had managed to feed himself, and whether the bread and pastries they sent were his only sustenance.

"And what about Gruesome Grunauer?" continued Beatriz. "Is he really disfigured as people say?"

"Don't call him that. No, he's not. He does have a scar on his face, but it's not that bad." The moment they came face-to-face, all she could see were those bewilderingly familiar eyes. She had barely paid attention to the scar stretching across his left cheek like a spider web, and if she had, it was only to notice how it contrasted sadly with his boyish face, giving him a tragic look, like a cursed prince in a fairy tale. He had a scraggly beard too, though it was a pitiful attempt to cover up the scar or simply due to the neglect to shave, she didn't know. For some reason, the memory made her feel a little shy, so she didn't mention it to Beatriz.

Later that night, after Beatriz had gone to bed in their tiny bedroom in their tiny apartment above the bakery, Alba found her father sitting in his tattered armchair in the front space that doubled as the living room and dining room, smoking his pipe. She knew sometimes he would remain there all night, never making it to bed, just puffing on his pipe in silence and watching the smoke curl around the photos of her mother and Raf. Then, as the clock chimed four, he would get up with a little groan and go downstairs to start the ovens.

Seeing her linger at the door, he looked up. "Why aren't you in bed?" he asked.

Alba sat down on the armrest. "Papi, how much do we owe the Grunauers?" she asked.

Her father stopped puffing on the pipe. "You don't have to worry about that."

"Yes, I do. I'm twenty-four years old, Papi. I'm not a child anymore."

"I'm taking care of it."

Alba wrapped her arms around him, and put her head on his shoulder, as she'd often done when she was a little girl. "I want to help," she said. "How am I supposed to take over the bakery if you won't let me help?"

Papi sighed. "All right, we owe three thousand, if you must know. I borrowed seven thousand from Dr. Grunauer. Five years to pay it off, no interest. He was very kind for that. It was to buy the land, build the bakery, stock it. When the shop fell through, I only got four thousand back for everything." He ran a hand through his sparse, graying hair. "I was a fool. I should've held on to that land. If I sold it now to one of those returning GIs, we could've easily paid it off. But after Rafael—and your mother—I wasn't thinking straight."

"I know, Papi, I know." Alba pressed her lips to his temple, trying to kiss away the memory of that terrible time. They hadn't even been able to celebrate the end of the war. That had been the cruelest thing. When the whole world had been rejoicing, all they could think about was that the war had taken not only Raf but Ana as well. She'd collapsed upon seeing the two officers in their front room and never regained consciousness after that. She'd died just a week before VE-Day.

Three thousand dollars. The bakery earned about that much in a year, which meant they would have to forgo all expenses and not have any salary for a year, if they were to pay off the debt. Alba didn't mind—she'd never taken any pay for working at the bakery anyway—but it wouldn't be fair to Frank and Beatriz.

"We need a concrete plan to pay it off, Papi," she said. "The bakery can't turn a profit until we do, and we can't keep plying Mr. Grunauer with bread and pastries twice a week and hope the debt will magically go away. How many loaves of bread, how many boxes of pastries and croquettes is it going to take?"

"What do you have in mind?"

"I've been to their house today. It's a big place, and Mr. Grunauer's there all alone. He needs someone to take care of it, a housekeeper." The idea had formed in her mind while she stood looking around that forlorn, empty kitchen, where the only thing that qualified as foodstuff was a bag of dog biscuits. "I think I can—"

Papi sat up straight and took the pipe out of his mouth. "No daughter of mine is going to be a servant," he said sternly.

"I won't be a servant," said Alba. "I'm going to be a housekeeper. It's no different than working in a hotel. He can pay me, or I can just work off the debt."

"But what about the bakery?" Papi asked, as she knew he would. She had an answer ready.

"Frank and Beatriz can do without me," she said. "Really, Papi, Beatriz is much better at it than you give her credit for. The customers are always happier and buy more when she's at the till."

Papi still looked skeptical, but Alba knew she was starting to win him over. "May I have your permission to at least talk to Mr. Grunauer about it?" she asked.

"What if the boy refuses?"

"Then we'll think of something else," she said stoutly.

Papi tapped the pipe into the ashtray, looking thoughtful. Finally, he nodded. "Yes, I suppose you can talk to Dr. Grunauer's son about it. The worst he can do is to turn us down."

Alba jumped up. "Thank you, Papi!"

"But I hate for you to bear this burden alone, daughter."

"It's not a burden, Papi," she said and gave him another kiss on the temple. "This is our bakery. I'm only doing my bit."

"Yes. Now get to bed, we have an early start tomorrow," he said, as if they didn't have an early start every single day, and patted her cheek affectionately.

***

The next morning, Alba got ready before Grant Gastin had a chance to show up. She packed some more pasteles, filled with guava and coconut, two loaves of fresh bread, some sliced ham and cheese, and a jar of pickles. Remembering the empty fridge with its lonely pot of mustard, she went back to the fridge and cut a big pat of butter as well. She was wrapping it in a square of wax paper when Frank came up to her.

"Mr. Reyes asked me to drive you over to the Grunauer place," he said. Despite having known them for seven years and repeated requests from Papi to call him by his first name, Frank still couldn't manage it. They treated him as family though. He'd started working at the bakery at fifteen, trained by Ana herself. He'd enlisted at the same time as Rafael, and they had prayed for his safe return as fervently as they'd prayed for Raf. At least with Frank, their prayer had been heard. After the war, he'd come back to the bakery, for which they were grateful. Being half-Seminole, Frank didn't exactly benefit from the GI Bill.

"Thank you, Frank, but I can manage," Alba said. "Why don't you help Beatriz at the front?"

A flush crept over Frank's open, honest face. Alba knew he'd been carrying a torch for her sister for years now, though Beatriz had never given him much thought. "Are you sure?" he asked.

"Oh, yes. Go on, spend some time with her, or she'll waste it all on the likes of Grant Gastin." She gave him a friendly shove and went around the back for her bike.

The day was warm, and despite the coolness of the swamp, Alba was drenched in sweat and her hair was frizzing like crazy by the time she arrived at the Grunauer place. She knocked on the front door. When there was no answer as usual, she tried the handle. It was locked.

Her heart sank. Could it be that young Mr. Grunauer was annoyed by her last visit and wanted to prevent another? Surely, she hadn't been that pushy, had she? Or—her stomach dropped with a horrible possibility—could something have happened to him? She banged on the door again.  

"Mr. Grunauer? Hello? It's Alba, from the bakery. I brought you some things—hello?"

A dark shape reared up behind the glass, making her jump back in shock. Then she saw that it was the dog, his mouth wide open, tongue lolling in a cheerful smile. "Hola," Alba said, waving at him. "Can you get your master for me? Or can you open the door?"

The dog disappeared from the front door. Pressing her nose against the glass pane, Alba saw that he was pacing into the depths of the house and kept looking back, as if beckoning for her to follow. She picked up the basket and went around the back of the house. The porch here was covered with mosquito netting, forming a sunroom that looked out on an overgrown garden and the dark swamp beyond. A fan hung from the ceiling, its blade rotating lazily in the warm air.

The dog came out from inside the house. He stood on his hind legs and pushed at the latch of the door, lifting it. Alba laughed, delighted at his maneuver. The moment the door was open, the dog bounced through and started licking her hand, his tail rotating in greeting.

"What a clever sausage you are," she said, rubbing his ears while lingering at the door. Wouldn't Mr. Grunauer see this as trespassing?

Seeing her hesitate, the dog tugged at her wrist and pulled her deeper into the house. She hurried after him, barely having time to drop her basket in the kitchen. The dog led her down the corridor, into a library or study of sorts. It was gloomy and cluttered as the rest of the house, but this clutter was the result of living, rather than neglect—books were piled on tables and on the floor alongside dirty dishes, clothes were strewn haphazardly on the backs and arms of chairs, blankets and pillows heaped on the couch. It appeared Mr. Grunauer had been camping in this room and abandoned the rest of the house.

As Alba stepped further into the room, her eyes slowly adjusted to the dimness and landed on a figure lying prone on the rug by the window.

"¡Dios mío!" She rushed over to turn him on his back. "Mr. Grunauer! Are you all right?"

To her surprise, he wriggled out of her grasp and propped himself up on his elbow. "I am, as soon as you stop manhandling me!" he said, blinking up at her with what she was coming to recognize as his default expression—a scowl. "What are you doing here? How did you get in?"

Alba became acutely aware of her sweaty face and disheveled hair. Self-consciously, she yanked her headscarf off and wiped it across her forehead.

"Your dog let me in," she said.

"My dog?" he repeated, incredulous. He glared at the dog, who was looking quite pleased with himself. "Some guard dog you are," he muttered. The dog, either used to his master's dark moods or simply not noticing it, wagged his tail happily and began nosing about the dirty dishes on the floor, searching for crumbs. There was not much there, save for a few remnants of days-old crackers, eggshells, and orange peels. Not an actual meal, just an assortment of food.

"Please don't yell at him," she said, fighting the urge to clean up those plates. "It's my fault, really. I asked him to get the door for me."

Grunauer shook his head, looking amused. "Yell at Otto? I spoke too loudly to him once and he sulked for two days. I don't think you have to worry about me yelling at him, Miss—"

"Reyes. Alba Reyes."

"Ah, yes. From the bakery." So he did remember. He got to his feet, with some difficulty, and vaguely tried to tidy up some papers but quickly put them down again. "What can I do for you?"

"Actually, it's more about what I can do for you, Mr. Grunauer." Alba launched into her prepared speech. "Perhaps you already knew, my father owes your father quite a bit of money. Three thousand dollars, to be exact. He's supposed to pay it off by the end of next year." Grunauer's slight frown suggested that this was news to him, and Alba wondered if she'd made a blunder in mentioning the debt. But he would learn of it sooner or later, and she didn't want to deceive him. "Now, we can't pay it all at once, but perhaps we can work out some sort of payment plan..."

He nodded slowly, still looking a bit confused. Alba plunged on. "This is a big place. You need help. I can come here and work for you as a housekeeper, and, in exchange, you can deduct the payment from my salary."

Understanding dawned on his face, quickly followed by something else—embarrassment? Discomfort? Anger? Perhaps he thought they were trying to scam him.

"You will decide my salary, of course," she said quickly. "Perhaps I can try, for a week or so, and you can figure out how much to pay me? We can have a lawyer draw up a promissory note, everything will be perfectly aboveboard—"

"Miss Reyes," he interrupted. "I don't need help."

She deflated. But a Reyes never gave up that easily, so she put on a display that combined her most competent face with an approximation of Beatriz's charm. "Sure you do," she said, trying to smile. "I can cook, clean, do the shopping for you, take care of Otto..." At the sound of his name, the dog looked up and gave his tail a wag.

Grunauer shook his head, cutting her off. "I can't pay you."

"You don't have to pay me, that's the point," Alba said patiently. "Let's say we agree that my work is worth thirty dollars a week"—big hotels in Miami Beach were paying housekeepers forty and fifty dollars a week, so she figured thirty would be a reasonable start—"so every week, you'll deduct thirty dollars from our debt." At that rate, it would take two years for her to pay off three thousand dollars, but the bakery and its earnings would be safe. And it would make her feel like she was doing something, which Alba vastly preferred to just sitting and waiting for the debt collector to show up.

When Grunauer made no reply, she tried another tactic. "This is a fine house, Mr. Grunauer. Don't you want it cleaned and put to order, so you can use all the rooms instead of holing up in here?"

"I'm perfectly fine as I am, thank you very much," he said stiffly.

Alba let out an exasperated sigh. "Mr. Grunauer, no offense, but I've met you twice, and both times I found you on the floor."

It was the wrong thing to say. Grunauer's face twisted, the gouges of the scar deepening on his cheek. "I'm not a cripple!" he shouted.

"I'm sorry, that's not what I meant—" began Alba, but it was too late. He grabbed her arm, not hard, but not gently either, and hauled her out of the room.

"Thank you for your concern, Miss Reyes, but I cannot afford a housekeeper at the moment," he said.

"But—Mr. Grunauer—" Alba started to protest, without knowing what she was going to say.

Something on her face must have made him take pity on her, for he added, in a softer voice, "As for your debt, I'll see if we can come up with a reasonable payment plan. I'll let you know." He all but shoved her into the corridor and shut the door in her face.

Alba spluttered in frustration. She had no choice but to leave. Coming back through the kitchen, she saw her basket still on the table and heaved a long sigh. Well, she might as well unpack the food. If she left it there, who knew what Grunauer would do? Eat it straight out of the basket, she supposed.

She put the perishables into the fridge. The book was still there, a book of poetry by someone named e.e. cummings—Alba briefly wondered what Mr. Cummings had against capitalization— but the guava pastries were gone. And then, as her eyes landed on the pot of mustard, an idea occurred to her. If she couldn't convince him with words, perhaps there was another way...

She took a loaf of bread out of the box, sliced it, slathered both halves with butter and mustard, and layered it with the ham, cheese, and pickles. There was no sandwich press, but she found a frying pan and a heavy cast-iron pot that would do the trick. The stove looked so rusty that she was afraid it wouldn't turn on at all, but turn on it did, and soon the enticing smells of melted butter and cheese were filling the kitchen. She cut the warm sandwich in half, put it on a plate, and marched down the corridor again.

"What are you still doing here?!" Grunauer snarled as he wrenched open the door in response to her knock. "Leave, or I'll have you arrested for—" He stopped short at the sight of the plate in her hand.

"Tell me, Mr. Grunauer, would you rather be eating something like this or subsist on crackers and day-old coffee? Because this is what you'd get with me, and more. Think about it. You know where to find me. Good day." She shoved the plate into his hand, turned on her heel, and left.

***

Long after Miss Reyes's dark curls had disappeared down the corridor, bobbing indignantly with each of her steps, Derwin still stood where he was, with the plate of sandwich in his hand. He wasn't quite sure what had just transpired. And then, because the smell was so tempting, and because Otto was eyeing the plate rather impatiently, Derwin ate the sandwich. It was very good. She'd toasted it on both sides, turning the bread crisp and melting the cheese. It reminded him of the grilled cheese sandwiches his father used to make when Derwin was little, only better. Poor old Dad. After Mom passed away, Dad had tried his best, but he could never quite manage the stove, and when Derwin was home from boarding school, they'd survived mostly on sandwiches and canned stuff. Grilled cheese and tomato soup was one of Dad's better attempts at cooking.

Once the plate was polished off—Otto got the last bite, of course—Derwin went to the bureau where his father's papers were kept and started digging through the drawers. Soon he found a promissory note for seven thousand dollars, made to a Mr. Mauricio Reyes, on March 1943, with a maturity date of five years and no interest. A very generous loan. But then again, his father had always been generous to a fault. Another note attached to this document stated that a payment of four thousand dollars had been made in November 1945. His father had passed away a month after that, while Derwin himself was still in Bay Pines.

Three thousand dollars. Enough for him to start over somewhere else, away from this place. He could go back to school, finish that degree he'd put on hold when he enlisted, get a job. Actually rejoin the living.

But deep down inside, Derwin knew there was nowhere for him to go. There was no place where he could stop seeing the screaming faces of his fellow soldiers whenever he closed his eyes, stop feeling the heat of that exploding C-47, stop smelling the stench of burning fuel and gunpowder and blood in that French village just off the coast of Normandy. During the day, he could forget those memories by losing himself in books, but at night, they always came back in full force. There was no place where he could escape them. No place where he could escape himself.

At least here, nobody would bother him. Nobody, except for a bewildering, maddening young woman.

So if he insisted on staying here, would it be so bad to have someone come here and take care of the house for him? He had to admit, he'd let things go. His leg didn't allow him to move around much, and after a while, he no longer cared. He'd been going upstairs only to sleep, and after his latest fall the day before, he'd set up camp in the study and decided it was good enough. But now, stung by Miss Reyes's words, Derwin looked around the room and noticed, for the first time, the clutter and squalor of the place. How did he let it come to this? He was sure he could see a cockroach shuffling amongst the plates on the floor.

But the idea of another person in the house, in his space, gave him pause. His parents had been a retiring sort, and when he was a boy, it had been just the three of them. He'd missed that precious solitude when his mother died and his father sent him to boarding school. In the army, and later, in the hospitals, there had always been other people around. He'd only gotten his solitary life back since he came home; he wasn't sure if he was ready to share that with anyone, no matter how good her sandwich was... or how pretty her eyes were.

Perhaps he could deal with the mess himself. He bent down awkwardly on one knee, picked up a few plates, and stacked them together. Then, balancing the stack in one hand and holding his cane in the other, he hobbled into the kitchen.

He almost made it. At the kitchen door, he picked up his cane to push the door open, and the plates slid out of his hand and fell to the floor, shattering into a thousand pieces. Furious, he threw his cane away. It clattered over the shards of broken china. He flung himself down next to it and put his head against the wall in despair. He couldn't even manage to clean up a few plates. Pathetic. Useless.

Otto came over and plopped down by his side. Derwin thought he could see some sympathy in the dog's eyes. "I guess I shouldn't have been so rude to Miss Reyes, right?" he said to the dog.

Otto answered with a soft woof, telling Derwin all he needed to know.

With a sigh, Derwin dragged himself up and went into the kitchen for a broom and dustpan. Miss Reyes had cleaned up—the stove had been scrubbed, and the pot and pan she used to toast the sandwich were drying on the rack. When he opened the fridge, however, he found e.e. cummings' Collected Poems still where he'd left it. Somehow, the sight of that book in the fridge solidified Derwin's decision. Miss Reyes would not upset his life. She would straighten things up wherever necessary and leave the rest untouched, and that was exactly what he needed.

But nobody turned up the next day or the day after that. Derwin thought about calling the bakery, and then he realized he didn't know their phone number. He could call the property manager and find out, but that was one phone call too many for him to handle.

It wasn't until Sunday that Derwin heard a knock on the front door.

"I'm coming!" he called out, limping to the door as fast as his leg and his cane allowed. "Wait!"

He pulled the door open. A young man, perhaps a couple of years younger than Derwin himself, with the deep-set eyes and straight black hair of a Seminole, was dropping a basket of bread onto the swing on the front porch.

"Who are you?" Derwin asked. "Where's Miss Reyes?"

"I'm Frank Howard," said the young man, looking startled. Clearly he hadn't expected anyone to answer the door. "I work at the bakery. Miss Reyes—Alba—asked me to bring you these. They're at church today."

"Oh." Derwin felt a strange sense of disappointment. Next to him, Otto looked crestfallen as well. "In that case, could you please let her know that I accept her offer, and that she can start on Monday?"

Frank looked confused but promised to deliver the message.

As he watched the bakery's truck rumble down the drive, Derwin let out a sigh. He'd been hoping to tell Miss Reyes herself. It was absurd, of course. It made no difference, giving the message to Frank. But that slight disappointment told Derwin that he'd made the right decision in accepting Miss Reyes's proposal. He'd never looked forward to anything as he did to seeing her again. Perhaps he could let her into his life after all.

Chapter 3

Taglist: @kitkat80 (as always, if you want to be tagged, just let me know!)

[cyber-phobia]

Hello! I need help looking for a fic, this is a long ask so sorry about that! I'm really desperate to find this fic so I wanna give out as many details as I can remember.

Even if it's deleted it would help a lot of any of you at least had a name or author, as I can try and search for an archive.

Here are some warnings just in case:

// Suicide mentions, child abandonment mentions

I don't exactly remember how the fic started, but I remember that Inko is neglectful in this fic. Hisashi goes to America bc of Izuku's quirklessness, and while he and Inko stay married, as they still love each other, he just wants nothing to do with Izuku. Inko stays but after a while Hisashi starts sending her care packages, with letters he wrote over the years, plushies all that stuff.

She eventually decides to move with Hisashi, but leaves Izuku behind bc "Izuku is old enough to take care of himself" (He's like 14-16?). She pays the apartment's rent and send money for food and such but Izuku stays alone and it affects him badly.

Inko and Hisashi live very happily in America and pretend they don't have a son, but one day Hisashi loses his job and they're forced to make budget cuts, which includes Izuku. They send less and less money to the point where Izuku has to get a job, and then eventually they cut him out.

Izuku due to the very limited money was not able to afford High School and instead started working at a grocery shop, but due to his depression, he ends up losing his job due to not showing up in a week I think?

He decides that he's just tired. Its just not worth it, he will be kicked out soon, so he commits suicide in the bathtub.

That's where the first part of the story ends

If it helps someone identify the fic, then part 2 is:

After finding out Izuku is dead, Inko and Hisashi decide to go back to Japan to make the processes needed. They get Izuku cremated and buy a cheap space in an urn cemetery thing. They don't even put up a photo, just a plaque and the urn.

They go to the Bakugo's to inform them what happened, as they will be going back to America right after. Hisashi is very pissed and doesn't care for Izuku, while Inko feels a little remorse and admits she was a bad mother (She specifically tells Mitsuki "We were bad parents), but otherwise is just ready to leave too.

The Bakugo's had thought Izuku had gone to America with his mom, so they never checked on him, and are obviously pissed about what happened. Inko and Hisashi leave and Katsuki is very upset.

He goes to the cemetery where they put Izuku and feels sad about how barren the whole thing is. Katsuki brings a photo to decorate it a little.

I don't remember what he does later but he shares Izuku's story somehow and it gets popular, with people leaving gifts for Izuku in his grave. It gets to the point that even All Might hears about it and in his small form, visits Izuku to pay his respects.

This part ends in a somewhat happy note talking about how Izuku's grave is filled with the hero merch he loved.

That's it as far as I'm aware. I would really really appreciate any details from this story please!! I can look for an archive myself if it's deleted, I just need a name and/or author.

Thank you so much and I'm sorry for the long post I'm just desperate.

.

[be-compromised]

Promptathon 2024 Masterlist

Promptathon 2024 has come to an end! With an impressive grand total of 35 fills, and 535 comments at last check. Thank you to everyone who prompted, created, beta read, commented, cheered, and took part. We hope you had fun! Watch this space for Secret Santa 2o24 sign ups coming VERY soon and maybe a little fun for Halloween…

A promptathon masterlist is now available below and on dreamwidth. If there’s any incorrect or missing information please let me know in a comment to the dreamwidth post and I'll make sure it gets updated. (Our Username Database is a handy way to keep us up to date with your online handles for crossposted masterlists.)

The main links for the masterlist go to the original dreamwidth promptathon comments for archiving, but I've tried my best to also include links to AO3 where I've spotted crossposting. Please feel free to post/share your fills elsewhere! If you're using AO3 we have a handy Be_Compromised Promptathon Collection and you can tag works as be_compromised promptathon and community: be_compromised.

If you still have prompt fills that you’re working on, or feel inspired by prompts now or in the future from any of our community events, please do keep creating. Now that promptathon is over they won’t be included as part of the event or masterlist, but they will always be appreciated :)

And on to the main event…

5 Times Clint and Natasha Cursed the Rain and 1 Time They Didn't | AO3 by @cassiesinsanity (PG; no warnings) Prompt: Tokyo wasn't their first time together in an alley in the rain

After The Threesome | AO3 by @inkvoices (Mature; sex) Prompt: After The Threesome They Both Take You Home by Sue Hyon Bae (poem here)

ain't that the worst thing you've ever heard? | AO3 by @quidnunc-life (Teen; no warnings apply) Prompt: Outsider POV or threesome: Woken up 3:45 by voices yelling outside my window. Turned out to be a couple in formal wear, literally standing in the road, who continued to yell back and forth at each other for quite some time, including [one] with, 'I love you!' and [the other] going back with, 'No, you don't!' Very sad that they can't make it work, but could they please have that conversation not outside our open windows at 4am?!

a masterpiece of a mess | AO3 by @cassiesinsanity (Mature; no warnings apply; Clint/Bucky with past Natasha/Clint and Natasha/Bucky) Prompt:Maybe if he was a little less fuckable we wouldn’t be in this mess.

a masterpiece of a mess (remix edition) | AO3 by @cassiesinsanity (Mature; no warnings apply; Clint/Darcy/Natasha) Prompt:Maybe if he was a little less fuckable we wouldn’t be in this mess.

Another String To Her Bow | AO3 by ultra_fic (G/K; no warnings apply) Prompt: Clint learns Natasha can shoot a bow.

Blank Slate | AO3 by @firlalaith (Teen; a little angsty but nothing bad) Prompt: One of them is de-aged. They can't be turned back, so they're going to have to grow up again the long way. (Your choice as to if they still have their memories or are completely de-aged as in they can’t remember any of their past.) The other has to choose whether to also be de-aged and grow up with them, be their friend (and maybe more if history repeats), or stay an adult and protect them (which might have to be from a distance?). Because they both know all too well how vulnerable children are, and had shitty childhoods, and want better for the person they love this time around.

Blindside | AO3 by @cloud--atlas (Teen; no warnings) Prompt: I'm so obsessed with your ex

Butterflies in Iowa | AO3 by @firlalaith (Teen; Character Death, Depiction of a Suicide, Vormir) Prompt: Lila sees Clint during the test run and the consequences

Daughter of Goose by @alphaflyer (G; no warnings apply) Prompt: In which Liho (or Lucky) turns out to be a Flerken.

desirable (and other adjectives) | AO3 by @cassiesinsanity (G; weight gain) Prompt: Clint refers to it as a bulk cycle. Natasha simply calls it getting fat.

Don't Touch Lola | AO3 by @firlalaith (Teen; no warnings apply) Prompt: Endgame AU/fix-it: when Clint and Natasha show up to fetch the Soul Stone it's not there, it turns out at this point in time that someone else already has it.

Every Hawkeye has a Widow | AO3 by @firlalaith (G) Prompt: (615): Your sister reminds me of me at her age. Stop her while you can.

Get by with a little from our friends by @quietlyimplode (Teen/PG13; no warnings apply) Prompt: I can do it with a broken heart

history be rhyming | AO3 by @firlalaith (Teen; no warnings apply) Prompt: “He’s dead. Again.”

Hope in the Rain | AO3 by @quietlyimplode (Teen/PG13; Angst(?)/ Canonical Violence?) Prompt: Tokyo wasn't their first time together in an alley in the rain

I Get By… | AO3 by ultra_fic (G/K; no warnings necessary) Prompt: Kate notices the Black Widow tattoo on Clint's arm

I must have turned bright red (I liked what I saw) | AO3 by @icantopenwaterbottlecaps (Teen; no warnings) Prompt:An adult Natasha signs up to work at a summer camp, as part of her own healing and to give back. Enter Clint Barton, who's been a volunteer there already for a while (or may have similarly been originally ordered to work there like Nat). Everyone knows him, everyone gets on with him, he trains kids in archery and teaches them how to swim and grow in confidence, and he’s just. too. damn. Nice.

In Our Professional Opinion | AO3 by @alphaflyer (Mature; no warnings apply) Prompt: Rating SHIELD safehouses

It Might Be Worth It | AO3 by ultra_fic (Teen; no warnings apply) Prompt: In a world of boys, he's a gentleman

lingering doubts | AO3 by fadedwings (Teen; swearing, nightmares, insomnia, and some angst with a side of cuddling) Prompt: Clint never actually broke entirely free from Loki's control / still had lingering issues until Loki died. Or until the stone that powered the tesseract was destroyed.

Not Another Moment to Waste | AO3 by ultra_fic (Teen; no warnings apply) Prompt: You took the words right out of my mouth (it must’ve been while you were kissing me).

not just another mission | AO3 by fadedwings (Teen; adult language) Prompt: You squeeze my hand three times in the back of the taxi

Out On the Moonlit Floor | AO3 by ultra_fic (G/K; no warnings necessary) Prompt: This is a love story. It must be; it's got kissing in it.

"Paradise Lost" | AO3 by chaed (T; no warnings) Prompt: Superior Iron Man enlists the services of nefarious assassin duo Black Widow and Hawkeye (dark!Clintasha).

Progress | AO3 by @inkvoices (Teen; a character having some anxiety in crowds and being the centre of attention) Prompt: our mutual friend has been talking us up to the other and when we finally meet, we have to tell them that we’ve been in a feud for the last six years

red light | AO3 by @quidnunc-life (Teen) Prompt: Sex work AU

(REMIX: Red Light / Little Red Lies | AO3 by @icantopenwaterbottlecaps  (Teen; no warnings) Prompt: Sex work AU

REMIX: red light / Little Red Lies / ran the red | AO3 by @asterarchers (G; no warnings) Prompt: Sex work AU

she’s gone by @quietlyimplode (Teen; angst) Prompt: When you hold me, it holds me together And you kiss me in a way that's gonna screw me up forever

The Ties That Bind by @alphaflyer (Teen; no warnings) Prompt: Clint and Natasha are having the most incredible, amazing first date - what could go wrong?

the words of another | AO3 by @quietlyimplode (Teen/PG13; discussion of mental states) Prompt: Early SHIELD. Natasha hacks into the system and reads what is in her evaluation (Psychologists, Fury, Clint, etc.)

Untitled Fill (100 Word Drabble) by @quietlyimplode  (Teen; angst) Prompt: Non sexual (physical) intimacy

what we do to each other by @poppypickle (T; beginningsofcomplicatedfeelings!fic) Prompt: Don't know what to call this situation, but I know I can't call you mine

you've been calling my bluff on all my usual tricks | AO3 by @asterarchers  (Teen and Up; no warnings apply) Prompt: Gentle Ways To Let Him Know You're Dating Each Other

[lowpolynpixelated]

So, you don't wanna play Nintendo games

As I'm sure a lot of you lovely folks out there have seen, Nintendo recently did its most recent act of evil by suing the dev team behind both the Citra and Yuzu emulators. While I won't get into how I feel about it as a fan of media archival work and a massively passionate fan of video game history, this is despicable to say the least. What I WILL do, is get straight to the point the title says! So, you don't wanna play Nintendo games? Well do I have some games for you! I've seen a few posts like this floating around, and I absolutely adored the concept of talking about niche/lesser known titles that get overshadowed in their genre by bigger names, such as Nintendo. As an avid player of weird and wonderful games throughout my life I think I've got some good ones that I've slotted into some neat categories below. I hope you enjoy this post! And I hope you take a new favourite away as well!

(Note: All of the games listed below are available to play on very easily accessible emulators.)

So, you like 3D platformers do ya?

-My first and foremost suggestion is always the woefully underappreciated game Taz Wanted.

This wacky platformer sees you in the role of the one and only Taz, or the Tazmanian Devil for long, from the Looney Toons property. The game revolves around you entering large colourful levels filled with goofy enemies and a lovely cell shaded art style to mimic that classic cartoon look. Within those levels your job is to find and destroy a certain number of wanted posters which can take the form of just about anything. From standing signs to blimps your goal is to solve various platforming challenges, puzzles, and minigames to destroy these posters and secure an item that will assist you in getting to the next hub world. With 4 worlds to explore and each world with 3 levels and a boss fight game at the end, I'm sure any fan of 3D platforming will have a blast.

-Next up is a package deal, the first of which is a 3D platformer predating Mario64! These games are none other than the Jumping Flash! games.

The two games play identically, and are both a seriously good time. Taking place entirely in first person you take up the mantle of intergalactic space hero robot Robbit tasked with collecting a certain number of items in large playground-like levels made with tons of verticality in mind. Why you may ask? Because much like the name suggests Robbit can JUMP. The game employs a fantastically implemented camera system which forces you to look down at Robbit's feet when you use your double/tripple jump, ensuring you can see where you're landing. On top of this, the game's level design feels like a never ending barrage of jungle gyms and challenging boss fights all set to a cartoonish story with bright poppy visuals, and not to mention a soundtrack of absolute bangers

Okay, but what about the Zelda fans?

-I assure you I haven't forgotten, and my first pick here is an all time favourite of mine ever since I played it when I was like, 8 years old. Sphinx and the cursed mummy is a 3D adventure action game where you play as both the titular Sphinx and the cursed pharaoh to be, Tutankhamen .

The game is heavily inspired by Egyptian mythology and sees you battling and puzzling your way through a world of mysteries and great evils lurking just beneath the surface. Exciting battles, puzzle platforming, monster collecting, and so so much more are all front and center in this game, and I really cannot recommend it enough to anyone who wants a different adventuring experience in their life.

-The second and last one in this category I PROMISE a lot of you have heard of but I really want to drive home just HOW GOOD it is. Okami stands tall as one of the best examples of non-Zelda 3D action adventuring.

Taking place in a GORGEOUSLY rendered fantasy rendition of classical Japan, the adventures of the sun goddess Amaterasu are yours to control. I really cannot stress HOW GOOD this game still looks today, even without the HD remasters its been given. The entire game is rendered in a cell-shaded art style reminiscent of classical Japanese paintings, giving the whole world a vibrant painted aesthetic that never EVER gets old. On top of this the game provides a truly unique combat and interaction system, seeing you use a paintbrush to paint your attacks and spells into reality. There isn't much I can say about this game that hasn't been said already, and it's certainly the least niche game on this list. Go give it a shot! You won't regret it.

So we did 3D platformers, but what about 2D?

-Fear not! I've got some solid suggestions for those too! Our first one here is another bundle of 2, those being the Klonoa games.

Klonoa: Door to Phantomile and its sequel, Klonoa 2: Lunatea's Veil, are two of the best 2D platformers I've ever played. Releasing on the PlayStation and PlayStation 2 respectively, these games utilize a 2.5D perspective to let you run back and forth through revolving dioramas of platforming goodness. With a cheery, almost circus-like soundtrack and an adorably charming artstyle to match, I have such fond memories of discovering these games for the first time. The 3D nature of the game's assets allow for some truly impressive setpieces and boss battles, along with the aforementioned circular scrolling you partake in. Bubbling and tossing enemies at each other never seems to get old, or using the same bubbled enemies to get just a little more height to reach a secret. Definitely give these ones a shot if you're a fan of fun 2D playgrounds.

-Here's a real weird one to cap this category off (and another two pack to boot!) Loco Roco 1 and 2 are a set of puzzle platformers with a bit of an unorthodox control scheme.

Coming out on the PSP these are some WILD experiences. In the games you control a horde of blobs that sing with childrens voices to some rather catchy tunes, and tilt the entire world around them with the left and right triggers to get them over under and anything in between, and then to the exit. Did I say you play as the blobs? I meant you play as THE PLANET the blobs are on! See what I mean? These games are absolutely a delightful time though. And with such poppy mid 2000s soundtracks I can't help but love them. The tilting gameplay is tough as nails to master, and getting through a level with all your little Rocos AND the collectibles is no easy task. Give these ones a look! Or at least listen to the soundtrack.

And at last we arrive at the one's I couldn't think of more for, or couldn't think of where to place.

The next two games are just rapid fire ones that are personal non-nintendo favourites of mine, covering a variety of genres.

Ribbit King is my favourite wacky sports game ever. You play Frolf instead of Golf, Frolf being Golf but with frogs, get it? Send your frog around the bright colourful stages to gather points and be the first one to sink your frog to get the full 1000 available from the hole. Alternatively go for a FROG-IN-ONE to get 1500,

Wipeout is a series of tough as nails futuristic hover-racing games a la F-Zero. The soundtracks boast an inumerable amount of Drum and Bass/Electronic jams and the gameplay is lightning fast and smooth as all hell. Not to mention the games are just SO stylish. I'd recommend Wipeout Pure on the PSP, but all of the PlayStation consoles before the PS3 have at least one Wipeout game. Highly recommend checking them out.

SO obviously I couldn't put EVERY game I'd recommend in one post. But I really do hope this list gives you something new to play. Gaming history is so monumentally important to me, and what happened to Citra and Yuzu is nothing short of a tragedy. Always remember folks, play new games! Play old games! Hack your old hardware! Pirate new software! EMULATION IS FREE, LEGAL, AND FOR EVERYONE!

[yellowcry]

We need a new foundation

For many years, Luisa was used for people acting like her physical strength was the only way she could be useful.

Abuela was the least person from whom she had expected a difference

@encantober-official prompt — Build

Luisa groans, rubbing her eyes. She reached for the steaming coffee pot. The family was slowly getting used to their lack of magic. It still hurt tho. Like an essential part of her was ripped out, leaving nothing but a gaping hole that Luisa didn't know how to fill.

The breakfast table was noisy. Even more so than before Casita's collapse. Adjusting was going slowly but surely. Even if an idea of taking a break (not even talking about a whole day off) still felt like a bizarre dream that Luisa would never have on reality. Because there was always something to do, no matter if it was a holiday or the weekend. There was always more work to pile up and carry on her shoulders. Like a dozen of brisks. Of course, now when family suddenly acknowledged Luisa didn't have to work all the time (that she wasn't completely worthless if she wasn't constantly serving others). It just... Didn't feel right. This idea was burned into her brain for the past fourteen years just to break away in just one night.

Seeing somebody else doing her job was strange. Luisa had to bury down her wish to go and help Papá and Tío Felix to carry the table outside. Even without her gift, Luisa still turned to be stronger than anyone else. It just didn't feel right.

She dropped into her chair, taking a big sip of her bitter dark coffee. Okay, sure, they would eat and Luisa is sailed at work. Cleaning the space and all this stuff. Collapse had left a huge mess. Well, sort of what you could expect from a giant house getting destroyed. 

Abuela lifted her skirt, stepping out of the house. She looked over the family, whoever was awake by now and ready to help. Honestly, if anyone's change felt so strange, it was her. Abuela still was strict, but the way she expressed love now was so much bigger. She acted so much more sweet with everyone. Doesn't mean Luisa had anything against it. She just needed some time to get used to the screen. And proper manners only added to Abuela’s gentleness.

"Good morning, how's today?" She asked, holding her wrinkled palms together. Luisa leaned on the back of her chair, sipping black drink "Do you plan on working today? I am going at meeting to plan new building." Her face turned to her granddaughter. "Luisa, do you want to come?"

Luisa blinked, her eye twitched. Did she hear it right? "What?" She re-asked, very confused. Why would Abuela even suggest her to help with planning and... well, mental tasks? 

"It's better to get together everyone who has more or less experience in building or construction." The old woman explained. "You have some buildings in your story, made singularly by you, if I’m not mistaken"

Luisa bit her lip. It was right, sure. Her endless list of chores included building hew places or the maintenance of old. It made sense, taking her immense strength that could compete with the whole town combined. But there still was enough rubbish to get rid off. And Luisa was the strongest in the town even without her gift, so she would be a huge help in her normal part of carrying heavy things. And the idea that Abuela, out of all people, asked to help her with something that wasn’t s form of hard exhausting job...  

"You don't have to agree." Her Papá got into the talk. "If you don't want to–"

"No, no." Luisa had cut him off roughly. "I just didn't expect this." Again, it was Luisa's job to do physical manual labour. Not mind tasking. She was the one to do things without questioning why she had to do them. And now, nobody else than her own grandmother wanted her to get with something other than that. "Are you sure, Abuela? I mean, there's still a lot of cleaning." 

Alma nodded. "If you want to help with taking old debris out, it's okay. I just feel like you have enough knowledge to help with blueprints. Especially as the one who both lived in Casita and knows about construction as well."

This felt strange. Even with all the talk that happened a while ago, with somebody telling Luisa she wasn't just her strength. The thought of being needed in other way... Just seemed abnormal. Especially when Luisa seemed to be the strongest person in the village even now, bounded by human limit. And she just assumed it made sense for her to keep helping with physical job she always did. But instead, Abuela suggested her to help with something that didn't requested her physical strength but rather Luisa's knowledge and experience. Abuela who no even a month ago would praise Luisa for her physical strength and how she was always ready to serve their community. Now was the one to get Luisa to do something that didn’t require her ability. Abuela was the one to make them serve community and help with their gifts so much. But now the one to try and seek beyond Luisa’s.

Luisa wasn't really used to he seen outside of brute power. But... she had to admit, it felt nice in a way. Being acknowledged as someone other than the one who can carry anything. Just unexpected. Luisa wondered for years if anyone could ever see her as anything other than a pack animal on whom they could throw every burden. And after now, once they started all this healing, Luisa wasn’t sure how long would it take for anyone to just think. Understand her. Perhaps that’s what’s happening when you put your self-worth at the fact of how useful you could be for years.

And she certainly didn’t mind helping again. Maybe get her chance to shine and tear the old threads a bit more. Maybe the fact that she still was stronger than anyone pushed her back into her role a bit. Unintentionally, but if Luisa thought about it, she still tended to work more than heeded. Doing her best to be helpful.

"I'm on it!" Luisa nodded, a little unsured. She took a deep breath, getting her composure. "When do we start?"

[blasphemous-lies-and-deceit]

How about a 21. this is a very long hug now sort of hug

"You look like shit," Gerry noted cheekily as Jon entered his office. His inherited assistant was lounging in his chair, feet up on the desk and arms crossed behind his head. He looked so completely at ease and comfortable in his presence, no trace of anger or distrust, that Jon almost didn't snap at him for being in his space.

"Feet off the desk," he ordered without much bite as he hung up his bag and coat. Gerry rolled his eyes but removed his feet anyway. "Why are you here so early?"

"Making sure you don't sneak off to the tunnels without me again." Jon tensed, but there was no accusation in Gerry's voice. "I told you, if someone's gonna be eaten by whatever's lurking down there, it's gonna be me."

"No one else is being eaten," Jon rebutted, stomach roiling and remorseful shame nearly pulling him down to the floor. He was already having a bad enough day, after being woken by nightmares and a splitting headache. His worm scars itched like mad, and he knew he couldn't scratch them, or the guilt would dig in deeper. He'd made it to the Archives, only to be met with stony silences from his other assistants. Which was hardly unusual, these days.

Sasha almost completely ignored him, focused on her research to find a way to break free of the Archives without killing him. Jon did appreciate that she was still trying to find an alternative solution to that. Tim's silences were laced with fury, obviously blaming him for all that had befallen them, and poor Martin. And Jon couldn't blame him for that. It was his fault, all of it, because he'd been too full of himself, too blind to reality until it was too late.

His recent paranoia regarding Gertrude's death certainly hadn't helped matters at all either.

He knew he deserved all of their rage and hatred towards him, but it was bothering him, even more than it usually did, the painful ache in his chest tight and unignorable. The atmosphere in the Archives had never been the greatest, thanks to all the stress and fear and, yes, his attitude hadn't helped much. But they had been his friends, once. Jon had been able to relax and chat with them on occasion, enjoy himself in their presence. There was none of that now, when he really could use it, but in no way did he deserve a kind word from them now. He didn't deserve any of their kindness or sympathy.

The only one he had now was Gerry, who was looking at him with an odd concern.

"You okay?" he asked. "I was- I was trying to make a joke, but...yeah, that was bad phrasing, sorry. I just meant I can take a hit better than you can. I have more experience with these things." He laughed awkwardly, shifting in the seat, and Jon wished he could tell him. That he didn't want anyone else be be hurt because of him, and especially not the person he was closest to. Gerry was the only one he could really trust, he told them all that he could, and he somehow didn't hate or blame Jon when he still didn't listen to him. That meant more than he could possibly say. So he didn't even try.

"I..." Jon trailed off, feeling the words drain right out of him. He couldn't even think of anything to say, whatever words he had that would explain, or make things right. Gerry tilted his head at him, then got up from Jon's chair, crossing the room to invade his space, stepping in very close to him.

"Here," he offered, opening his arms. Jon tensed up automatically, but they were gentle as they wrapped around him, a bit uncertain but so strong as his arms cinched tight and pulled him in. All of the tension flooded out of him as Jon went limp, slumping into Gerry's strong chest with a long sigh. Gerry smelled like the cigarettes they had shared, the long nights filled with explanations and stories. Safety and security.

"I- okay," Gerry conceded when he tried to loosen his hold, but Jon didn't budge. His own arms locked around Gerry's middle, holding him tight, so tight that he didn't feel like he was drowning anymore. Gerry put his arms back around him, patting his back and rubbing up and down his spine. "Okay, guess we're doing this now."

Jon hummed agreement, glad Gerry had gotten the point. He had no interest in letting go and facing reality again. It felt so good, even if Gerry seemed rather unsure of what to do with his hands. He probably hadn't had many occasions to hug other people before, Jon realized sadly. He recognized those awkward fumbles, so similar to how he felt sometimes. But his hands finally settled, and Gerry pressed into him as well, and they both relaxed into the embrace, taking a long moment to simply be together. Jon felt like he could stay there forever.

"Gerard, you in here?" Jon tried to bolt out of Gerry's arms, but they were still tight around him even as Gerry turned to face Tim in the doorway. He shoved his face into Gerry's chest, not wanting to look at Tim's face. He could imagine his expression perfectly well.

"Need something, Stoker?" Gerry asked, so casually, as if he wasn't currently giving his boss a bear hug.

"I...Jesus fucking Christ," Tim swore, sounding so defeated. "I'm not even...no." He didn't elaborate, and Jon heard his footsteps fade away as he left. Gerry groaned.

"I can't wait to hear it from him later," he grumbled. Jon wondered what he could mean, but Gerry finally let him go and stepped away, and he had to concede that the embrace was over. Gerry looked even more awkward, pulling into himself and looking away. "Was that...alright?" he asked softly. "You just...you looked like you needed a hug."

"Yes," Jon agreed, just as softly. "I...appreciated that. A lot."

"Good," Gerry whispered, his cheeks turning the slightest bit pink. "Good. I, um," he cleared his throat. "I'll go see what Tim wants."

Jon nodded, watching Gerry as he weaved around him and out of his office, closing the door behind him. He felt warm, and unbelievably comforted. He could almost believe that Gerry's hug alone could have given him the strength to make it through the day.