#ambiguous but implied body horror

[stars-obsession-pit]

Malformed Imago

Being a halfa isn’t a permanent state. It’s more akin to a chrysalis.

The living body anchors the ghost and vice versa while they continue to develop. Gradually, the two forms will bleed through into each other. The living more dead, and the dead more alive. By the end, there will only be one singular state, perfectly aligned between life and death.

However, that process takes time. Time in which countless things can go wrong.

Normally, such an event would result in the process halting. Being relegated to one “side” of their form or fully dissipating.

But when has Danny ever been normal?

What Danny went through at the hands of the ghost hunters didn’t kill him. Didn’t halt the processes occurring within him. But it did break something.

So when his changes finished, he emerged wrong.

[simple-persica]

Mer-Folk May Day two: Tiamat of Mesopotamia

A primordial creation goddess of the sea, in the epic Enuma Elish she is the mother of gods and monsters alike. Her story varies depending on where in Mesopotamia you look, and the cuneiform tablet that has Enuma Elish written on is super broken. So her story is far from solid but she is incredibly influential nonetheless.

[ridingtorohan]

Moments of the Tulpar crew experiencing Hanahaki disease for the reader (pre-crash)

𓇻 content warning. no spoilers for the game. swansea's is left ambiguous if it's romantic or platonic. receiver's choice. jimmy's whole section is a warning; denial, mention of self-mutilation (not depicted), possessiveness, manipulation and implied sexual frustration. jimmy's ending line is not about sexual assault, he's just manipulative.

Hanahaki Disease

A condition that causes the victims to cough up flowers or flower petals, due to either unrequited love or repressed love for another person.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ Read it On AO3! _ Masterlist _ Join the taglist _ Ask box

Yellow Chrysanthemum- a deep love that cannot be spoken.

"You have your space legs," Curly says, voice a low rumble in his chest. His hand smooths over your shoulder, feeling the shift of muscle. Through the flightsuit, he could feel the rumble of your laughter.

"Six times the charm, right?" You smile with the glint of your teeth, head tipped back to peer up at him. Warmth and roots lodge in his chest, like tiny tendrils of leaves crawling through him. Like being tickled from the inside, a radiated warmth that resonated through his limbs. He loved to look at your smile, how your expression lit up the whole room.

Curly remembered when the two of you were paired together, with you fresh out of training and new to travel. How queasy it made most people feel, even with the artificial gravity. He'd been the same.

Blue eyes dart low, watched as Daisuke threw a uno reverse down, giddy in his seat.

You shout back and reveal one of your own. The conversation devolved then to a bickering match and culminated in Daisuke's sulky expression as he scrounged around for a green.

"You should join us, Curly," you said, eyes back on him.

Stems lodged in his throat, petals curled against soft muscle. A bloomed flower, ripe under your attentive gaze. Everything inside him blossomed at your every word, fragile and wanting in his mouth.

"In a minute. Piloting duties." As he excused himself with a clearing of his throat, he reluctantly pulled away from your side, only to let his eyes linger on your side profile. How easy you interacted with the other Tulpar crewmembers; Anya and Daisuke especially.

Swansea grumbled in his seat and through some barbaric display of betrayal, threw down a stack of +4's on top of Daisuke's green before announcing the new colour (green). The pivotal horror only increased as you slapped your own on top, just for Daisuke to hurriedly slap through the deck. ("We don't even have enough cards!")

It's a gentle feeling; being in love like this. Feeling connected in more ways than a captain should. Than a captain legally ought to. Still, it reached up, through his body, like an ache that needed to be fulfilled. Eyes that always followed you; the attentive way he spoke to you. Every bone in his body whispered love, love, love. I love you.

Pilot duties was just an excuse. Safe from the rec hall, Curly raised a fist to his mouth as his chest heaved. A wet, sticky yellow flower fell from his mouth, devotion spelled out to the bone.

Curly doesn't hate you for this. He's lived long enough to cradle the emotions as they come, to take the small chances when he could get it. A captain's duties didn't extend to fraternization.

As he held the flower between his fingers, he couldn't fault you at all. Not when you smiled at him - like the crew-- like that. He didn't expect his love to be returned; loving you was enough. Even like this.

Honeysuckle- devoted love, whose entwined vines represent the difficulty to escape its grasp

The insufferable itching was the worst of it. Each swelled muscle, bulge under his veins; Jimmy has half a mind to claw into his own skin. Tear the flowers right out from him, bloody and whole.

He'd rather feel anything but this, this unfathomable twitchy lurch in his chest. How you made his skin clammy and pulse skittered. Half of the time he wanted to throttle you, the other portion involved throwing you against the wall and devouring you right there.

Because something about you demanded that he take, stake a claim on his person. Outside of Curly, you were the only one able to placate him, to have a backbone and withstand his hurled words.

He didn't expect this twitch in his body, the tension that rattled through him like a freight train. Jimmy, on all accounts of everyone he's ever been with, didn't do soft. He didn't do sweet.

With you, it felt like the best and worst of him was brought out. A willingness to scoff and turn the other way - however begrudgingly. The way his temper flared, quick to rise on the offense and defense.

Red, sickly petals fall from his mouth, stems and roots attached. He's aware of the damned disease; felt it in every rock of his body. Every time his arm so much as touched yours. The inescapable draw, the sway of the boat, the chasm that roared to life inside him.

They tore like a mother up his throat and no amount of scratches at his skin lessened the torment. You have him wrapped right around his finger, drowned him in a pool of your own making.

Jimmy all but hated you for it; hated your sympathetic frowns, the way you so easily acted with the nurse and Daisuke. He's imagined it many times, his fist clenched around your wrist, his mouth on yours. How hot you'd feel against his skin.

The way you turned your head, how your mouth moved so easily, focus rapt on Swansea over some bullshit. Holed up on the sofa, electronic board between you. A better student than Daisuke was supposed to be.

Jimmy's eyes darted over your expression, the way your nose moved when you breathed, the swallow of your throat. Under the simulated forest screen, you looked captivating. Forest light over your eyes that highlighted your cheekbones.

That familiar spasm resonated in his chest again, wet, hot and sickly, and he spat it out, threw the squashed pink and orange blossom in his fingers, roots slick with blood. All that left to the ground as he stomped ahead, hands planted on the back of the sofa.

"Sure, electronic work is all hoorah, but how 'bout I show you some real skills in the pilot's chair?"

He's definitely one to boast, and with the way your eyes turned up, it sent another tremor through his chest. Eyes narrowed, a challenge left your lips, his eyes quick to follow the motion.

Swansea scoffed with a sneer. But who cared about him or his opinions?

When you finally relented, the rattle in his chest intensified, that ache to touch reigning fierce. While Curly's presence deterred any advances Jimmy could make on you, he'd eventually get you right where he wanted you.

Forget-me-nots- the pain of loss and desire to hold onto memories and love

Psych evals weren't Anya's favourite task by any means, but it had been another aspect of her career. One that she chose, one that she'd keep choosing again and again. A step closer to the actual job she wanted; one with different stresses, different bosses. More stability.

For all that it was considered, one aspect that she liked most was to learn about you. How you perceived the depicted situation, how your lips pursed when you were in thought. How your leg shifted, how you once paced the room.

More than once, she'd been distracted by the lull of your voice, the stride of your steps, how your tendons moved beneath your flight suit.

"Good." She says, the word airy in her mouth.

When you smile at her, it is blinding, enough to make her eyes dart away, heart tender in her chest. With you, everything just so much ... less. Less frightful, less stress. Less constant noise in her head. She could breathe around you, bursting a garden for you in her lungs with each stolen glance.

For her, passing the flowers were easy. Mostly petals at first, loose and velvety to the touch. Then whole ones, beautiful and pristine, a testament to their circumstances.

She didn't feel drawn to you, so much as drawn around your orbit; like the Earth around the Sun. A star that burned bright in her eyes. She'd always preferred sunrises.

As the nurse, Anya has been expected to pick up on traits of her patients; learn their allergies, habits. How to better help them. Who helped the nurse? Who helped her when her heart galloped, cheeks a fire when she looked at you?

You were sweet - tender, when most others would look away.

It felt like a baptism by fire.

"That's a cool flower," you breathed out, when the silence lapsed between you.

She startled, hand to her mouth - but your eyes are distant, focused on the bottle she kept on her desk. Not that bottle was an apt term; a tall cup was more appropriate. Keeping a flower without roots was difficult; but forget-me-nots was simple. Easy. Swaddled in water, pretty blue petals frame the glass lip. A testament to her affection for you.

The end of her pen tapped against the clipboard. "Thank you."

Now, your eyes turn to her, lidded with approval and warmth. Her flower garden grows. "I never knew we were allowed to keep flowers here."

A smile lit up her face, immediate and without hesitation. Your approval, however small, meant the world to her. It filled her with a sense of satisfaction, of belonging. Of knowledge that she'd be safe and secure with you, as she always has been.

"It's a special case."

Eyes turn back, admiring the pristine petals. "Still petty cool though. Adds nice colour to the room."

She smiled and her chest hurt with the admiration and affection that ran through her. An intensity that swooped through her, fierce and devoted. "Thank you. I'll be sure to add more next time." She would; anything to have you keep coming back to her little corner of the world, to see your eyes linger, even if not on her.

"Sounds great."

You both turn as Daisuke poked his head in, grin wide on his face. "Hey, guys." Brown eyes dart to you with a pointed, "Curly was looking for you." You nod, fingers on your coat lining as you adjusted it. Anya tried not to focus on it.

"We'll continue this later?" You ask her.

Anya's eyes turn to the forget-me-not, alone and perfect. Even though psych evals weren't a choice, this was. And she'd always keep choosing you. "Yes."

Rue - fragrant flower that is used to ward off evil spirits, representing courage, repentance and healing

Feet step over the small, fragile petals littered over the ground. No matter how many times Swansea swept them up, they clung to his clothes and followed him. Even now, they cluttered his workspace, with one ground to paste around a bolt.

"Looks like a chicken was killed here," comes your voice. Swansea's mouth twitched, upper lip pursed as he doubled over his work. Wiring was delicate work, after all, and he had to correct the mess that his intern made before it affected anything.

Fortunately, he was able to rewire the grid for the time being.

"Shit's tough if a little flowers gets every inch of you knotted up," he answered, voice gruff as flowers tickled his throat. With a twist of his mouth, he coughed, and with the ease of a man whose been through this before, spat the dry buggers out and away from his workspace.

He could all but hear the shrug as you say, "Doesn't bother me."

As he set aside his tool, he leaned over for the spool of electrician's wire. Your knuckles met him, warm flesh against weathered hands as you pass it to him. "Thanks." As he turned away from you, he coughed again, each petal little more than a nuisance.

All the same, you hovered beside him, head leaned over his shoulder as he toiled away. There was something soothing and mundane about it, the way your eyes drifted over his hands, faded tan lines not yet gone.

"You want something or you just like babying my work?"

From his peripheral, Swansea could see the twitch of your lips, the wry wrinkle in your brow. How your eyes turned away, roamed over the assortment of metals he has strewn about over his work table, only to linger on the equally as vast array of pale yellow.

Telling him to see Anya about his 'condition' hadn't helped the last time you brought it up. Swansea had more than enough experience to believe that it'd be here to stay, to ruminate among the other seedlings left behind in his chest. This one festered longer than the others, almost soft and delicate. How he dealt with it was the same.

But you were different from the rest.

"You know me, always wanting to admire your work." There's that cheeky grin he knows and he snorts in amusement. Even when it was followed by a short cough, he turned his focus back on the wires. When that was sorted through, he leaned back in his chair, brow sweaty with exertion.

"Alright, get it off yer chest and tell me what's up."

There's that twitch of your head he knew so well, the cock of your mouth and the side-glance of your eyes. Even as you leaned against his workstation, hip to the edge, every side of you rang with familiarity. Cramped together on a ship for six hauls did that to people; it was easy to know their body language, their mannerisms.

Easy to love.

Swansea's head tipped back, lips quirked and brow shifted in a beckoning motion. With a sigh, as you always did, you began your tirade about your latest frustration. Jimmy was at it again, a string of months long frustration bubbled out. Cards up his sleeve - literally--, the snide remarks, the open hostility. A point of contention that Swansea knew all too well.

"Want me to sock him a new left cheekbone?" In response, you laughed, eyes shut tight as you doubled over. No holds barred, genuine and true to the bone.

A facet of you that Swansea always liked; you had been upfront from the get-go, earnest in your attempts to befriend the crew. In mapping out the ship, glad for Swansea's guidance as he gave you the grand tour. A genuity that he hadn't seen for a long time, let alone directed at him.

Most people scoffed at his age, dismissive of the years toiled away in labour, dedicated on one task to the next. Where the two of you may have butted heads, you always bounced back, prepared for the next go. It had reminded him of himself, when he was younger. Now, it just reminded him of you.

While you all too gleefully admonished him for the offer, he didn't rescind it. Because for all the things he admired in you, you fostered it in him too. A drive to be himself, to rebound after the goings get tough. Wakeup calls weren't as pleasant as your company, but for now he'd take what he could get.

Even if the flowers got in the way of it all.

Dahlia- representing sacrifice and endurance needed to thrive in harsh conditions as well as gratitude and commitment

His leg is stationary, twitching every so often against the table. Daisuke has already knocked over a few Sorry! pieces, not that he had much problem with that - Swansea was winning anyway.

The tv screen before you two was awash in a golden haze, a sun over a distant horizon, washing the sea in light. It's picturesque, letting him ruminate in the thoughts with a hazy feeling in his chest.

He's never quite been in love like this before, this upbeat, yawning, yearning chasm inside him. Where every touch gives him the jitters, where he just wants to wrap you up in his gangly arms and hold onto you forever.

He's never been in love where it aches, like flowers rooting in his blood. Out of everyone, he knows more than enough about the condition that saunters in his body; seen it enough times on his sisters. A hereditory predisposition, he somehow never grasped that he'd get it.

Not once did it ever feel wrong, like this was a burden. A phantom ache, it reached into his lungs and nestled there. He had seen the pink petals fall into his palms and he knew, 'this is love'. When he saw your face, felt his heart patter in his chest, he knew, 'this is love'.

Each time he opened his mouth, slid a packet of extra sweetener your way, he felt it. Just as he felt it now, resting low in his chest, stems of dahlias woven into his hair. Out of everything, he'll always be proud of it, of what you've given him. This life that throbs inside of him, the moments that never seem to pass.

Even though you've expressed concern whenever Daisuke coughed up a fresh one - whenever your shoulders so much as touched-- he was glad for it. Glad for how your leg shifted against his now, your arm all but crushing his. How you two are folded together, your eyes glued to the peaceful scene on the screen, while all Daisuke can think about is watching you.

How the light dances over your cheekbones, over your nose. How you nestle against him like you can't pry yourself away, thigh to thigh and shoulder to shoulder. As restless and ansty as he tended to be, he felt solid and complete right beside you.

"That is not what your book says," is what you say as your mouth twitched upwards, eyes crinkling at the corners as you look at him. Each glance has him grin and he felt like a kid again, one who learned how to draw again for the first time.

"It is so!" He chirped with a dramatic wave of the electrical book that Swansea had given him. "It is hella in here! Thomas Edison totally got the idea of the lightbulb from the flowers that wove around it!"

And you laugh, that sound that sent shivers right down to his bones and he grinned and echoed, unashamed of how he sounds, his heart and inner garden close to bursting.

"No way! I've read that book! He isn't even in there!" You smacked his shoulder and he doubled over, sides pressed to yours as he dramatically flourishes it closer.

"Is so!" He pointedly tapped his index finger to the paragraph he was on. As you squint through the dim light, he could already tell by your furrowed brow and rolled eyes that you had skimmed the page. Even as you jostled his shoulder, he laughed.

"Am I right or am I right?" He laughed.

"It's not in there!"

"It might as well be!"

Even as your laughter chorused together, he found himself all too eager to slide back up against you, the book propped up in his arm as he showed off the page. "...and he totally, radically, found purple petals. The end!" He concluded his paragraph. It was worth the elbow to the gut and the hard laughter. Because it was coming from you. It was all you.

"You said orange flowers last time!" You admonish, almost under your breath before you laugh, "But alright, go on then. Read the rest of it if you're so sure of it!" With a wide grin, he did, even when you rolled your eyes at his random embellishments, or when he completely derailed and started to rant about the invention of pizza.

For each moment that lingered between you two, it felt easy. It felt safe. Even when you gave up and grasped the book from his hands, when your knuckles touched and electricity wound under his skin, he knew it to be true.

As your hands drew out the flower bookmark he kept, half-squashed between the pages, he caught it as you set it down.

For every failure that he felt he cropped up in life, this certainly wasn't it; this was something made with love, with passion, with something that he had avidly searched for as he grew up.

When he tucked the flower into your hair, he listened to the ramble of your words as you scanned through the paragraphs - the proper ones-- and watched the light of the screen reflect across your eyes.

This is the feeling that Daisuke knew best; this burning, smoldering affection that rested inside his chest. This was as close as he'd get to feeling 'home' without returning to Earth, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

[deffonotsupposedtobehere]

𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐏 (𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐏)

Yandere! Batfam x F!Reader

Synopsis: No matter where you go... you're always—always—bumping into one of them.

Warnings: Implicit sexual content and scenarios, implied noncon, maybe ooc writing, kidnapping, extremely obsessive behaviour, isolation, manipulation, threat, mentions of stockholm syndrome, dead dove: do not eat

Disclaimer: Everyone is depicted as 18+. Your relationship with yandere batfam is ambiguous, but it is not platonic, at least, not in their eyes. This is a horror, not a romance.

You don't think you've ever felt your skin crawl as much as it does when those boys look at you.

The feeling is vivid, this coil of disgust that weaves between your bones and squeezes you tight enough to make you shudder.

It curls around you like a snake. Hissing and gliding and slithering through your ribs until it leaves you reeling back from all the slime, a wince barely able to describe the expression on your face.

But it's nothing compared to when they touch you.

"Y/N?"

They claim to be bats but it's only spiders you feel on your skin when Tim brushes his fingers against it.

"Are you alright?"

You don't bother to hide the way you flinch back, or ease the way your hand yanks out of his grasp.

"I'm fine."

Tim frowns, gaze falling down and stretched-out hand retreating to hold his other arm, gripping it like he would've done yours had you let him.

The sight is enough to make you feel green.

"Are—uh, are you sure?"

He starts playing with his sleeve as he asks you that, fiddles with it like he's some sort of nervous school boy speaking to his crush and not a fully grown adult who took part in your fucking kidnapping.

It's sickening.

"Yes," you hiss out through barely gritted teeth, "I'm sure."

Tim flinches back, Adam's apple rolling along his throat as his gaze flits to the side.

"Well, uh," he starts, tongue sweeping over dry lips, "In that case... you should probably head back inside. Everyone's worried. You've been out for awhile."

Inside... where the rest of them all are.

You take a moment to flick your eyes to the right, the familiar sight of a zoomed lens stuck on your form greeting you with a smile.

You don't want to go back inside.

Something liquid passes over your tongue and spills down your throat before you're taking a step forward and training your gaze onto the hoodie-wearing male before you.

"Do I have to?"

The effect is instant, Tim's gaze almost immediately glazing over as his lips part and his mouth somehow visibly goes dry.

"I—uh."

You give yourself a second to squeeze your eyes shut in brief disgust before taking another step forward and holding in a shudder when his breath hitches.

"Can't I just stay out here a little longer?"

He stares at you with blank eyes. But not blank enough.

Just a bit more.

"...With you?"

Bingo.

Tim's breath doesn't just hitch this time, it shudders, breaks up every second like there's something blocking it from leaving his mouth, like he's forgotten how to properly breathe.

His whole form is quivering and his legs look like they're a centimetre away from giving in, from collapsing until he's on his knees in front of you.

And then he is.

The cotton of your skirt scrunches up as he holds it with both hands, head tilted up and gaze swirling when he looks at you, all previous pretend normalcy gone like the fake persona that it was.

"Anything..." he breathes out, grip tightening over your thighs, "Anything... anything... please..."

This time, you can't hold back the way your expression contorts, the way your body leans back and your spine coils like a spring just waiting to jump away.

What he's pleading for, you don't even want to think about, all your previous willpower leaving you at once when he starts to press his lips right up against your hips, murmuring into your clothes with a breath hot enough to seep through them and into your skin.

"Off... get off of me!"

You almost fall in your struggle to get out of his grip, and something icky settles in your stomach when you register the wet patch on your clothes right where his lips were.

Fucking freak.

You don't even bother giving him a second glance as you run back into the manor, the wind pushing against that damn patch and making the skin underneath it feel abnormally cold compared to the rest of your body.

You're definitely changing your fucking clothes. Holy shit.

"Miss Y/N?"

Your ears perk up, the voice of their butler stiffening your spine.

"Are you alright?"

Your gaze hardens. Why does everyone keep asking you that?

You barely mutter out a response before you're pushing past him. He may not have taken part in your kidnapping himself, but he's still complicit in their fucked up little scheme.

And you aren't about to treat him any better than them.

You release a breath after a few steps, shoulders falling for just a brief second before rising again, tenser than before.

Goosebumps.

Someone's watching you. Demon spawn.

Your gaze falls to the right, and sure enough, there he is, cloaked in shadows just like his father.

His gaze is piercing. Unreadable. Every bit the expressionless ghost that he is.

He doesn't say a word. Usually never does. Just watches. Waits. For what, you don't know. But you usually don't stick around long enough to find out.

That's not changing today.

His gaze follows you as you walk, and you're squeezing your eyes shut again at the sound of his nose taking you in when you pass by him.

And just when you think you can get away with once again not saying a word to the usually quiet man, his grip on your arm renders you still.

"Beloved."

Something burns in your throat.

"Where are you headed?"

'Away from you.'

"To my room."

"Allow me to accompany you."

"I'll be fine on my own."

You attempt to tug your arm away.

"I insist." His grip tightens.

You stare at him. He stares back at you.

For a moment, everything stills, the world stopping to accommodate the both of you, drowning everyone else out until it's just the two of you.

Then, the water drains away.

"Demon brat. The hell are you doing?"

The grip on your arm loosens enough for a tug to free you, and you waste no time rushing to your room, catching a glimpse of dark hair paired with a broad frame before you're slamming your door shut and leaning against it with a chest heaving up and down.

But of course, you should've known that even your own damn room isn't safe from them.

"Hm, is this the gift I got you last summer?"

You still, eyes flying over to the figure by your dresser.

"I was wondering where it was." The oldest grins, your jewellery's glint practically reflecting off his white teeth with a wink. "How come you never wear it, babe?"

He's leaning on one arm, the other holding your gift high enough to catch the light of the sun that bleeds through your window as he looks at it like an artist admiring a painting. If said artist was a monster hiding behind a boyish smile, that is.

"Dick..." you breathe out his name, and squeeze your eyes shut at the way he licks his lips, "...get out of my room."

"Nah"—he lowers your necklace, grin wolfish—"I don't think I will."

The piece of jewellery meets your dresser with a soft clink before he takes a step towards you, and your eyes dart around the room for just the smallest opening.

He blocks your gaze.

"Tut tut tut"—Dick shakes his head, wagging a finger as his eyes glint with that sick sense of amusement of his—"is the little birdie trying to escape?"

Your jaw sets, almost biting your tongue had it not retreated further into your mouth in time.

"And here I thought I was your favourite."

You avert your gaze from his, trying your best to imagine you're anywhere but here, though apparently, he saw that coming.

His hands slam beside your head loud enough to make you flinch, and the rush of wind that accompanies his actions reminds you of Tim's earlier ones when the cold makes its way to your hips first, further solidifying that this, right here, is your reality.

Disgusting.

Your eyes squeeze shut.

Revolting.

Spiders crawl under your chin.

Nauseating.

"Mm. Hiding again, are we, pretty girl?" he purrs so close to your face.

You only gulp in response.

"Do I need to draw you out myself?"

His breath is on your neck now, lips ghosting over the exposed skin as you inwardly curse yourself for not wearing a turtleneck earlier today. For leaving your room at all really. Maybe if you hadn't spent so much time outside, they wouldn't be as antsy as they are now.

Fucking pieces of—

Your shoulders tense.

Tingles. Explosive, dangerous, horribly unpleasant tingles all over your neck. All around his lips.

You raise your hands, bracing yourself, but just before you can push at his chest—sob and beg and plead for him to go away and just leave you alone—a knock sounds at your door.

You feel the vibrations of his growl against your neck.

"What?"

The voice on the other side is muffled. "Uh, Mr Wayne wants you."

Dick pauses, head still buried in your neck, not reacting as though the longer he delays it, the longer he can stay here, nestled against you.

Like you'd ever let him.

You push at his chest, and he lets you, because he's letting you, pulling away with a groan before regarding you with one last look, intense and unwavering.

"Don't think this is over."

With that, you fling yourself off your door like it stung you, and he leaves the room briskly, sending a brief glare to the person right outside.

You release a sigh, gaze falling to your saviour.

"Uhm, Mr Wayne isn't actually calling him. I just figured that would keep him busy for a while."

The gaze of the most recently adopted son (though that was years back already) flits to the side, fingers playing with his collar.

Your lips quirk up. "Thank you, Duke."

He perks up. "It's uh, it's no problem, Y/N."

He stands there, awkwardly shuffling on his feet for a bit before you're letting out a sigh and following it up with a, "Do you... wanna come inside?"

His eyes widen at your invite, fingers freezing right where they were fiddling with his collar as he regards you with parted lips and an air of disbelief.

It is strange, you'll give him that, but your reason for it isn't anything noble. Having him in your room will likely deter the other, worse ones from entering in hopes of some sick one-on-one time with you.

Besides, you've seen no sign of him harbouring the same feelings for you as they do. At least, not to their intensity.

You'll kick him out if need be.

With a step back, you're nodding towards your room, and already, you make note of how his own steps seem all-too-eager as he follows you in.

Strike one.

You don't bother closing the door, not fully anyway, just enough to leave a visible gap so everyone can see exactly what you'd like them to, and stop reading your room as an open invitation to come harass you alone.

When you turn around, Duke is already staring back at you, lips parted and gaze distant, far, as though trapped in some sort of trance.

"Duke?"

He shakes his head, blinking his eyes wide open. "Oh, uh, sorry. I was just uh... thinking."

Strike two.

At this rate, he'll be out before even five minutes have passed.

"Do you... do you want anything?"

You raise a brow, watching the man rock on his heels.

"You're asking me if I want anything in my room?"

"Right, right. That was stupid."

Your lips quirk up, a dangerously fond thought crossing your mind before you halt it right in place and steel your expression again.

You didn't think this through. You did not think this through at all.

You're not supposed to have thought that was cute. Why did you think that was cute?

He kidnapped you. He and his brothers—they all kidnapped you.

Strike three.

"Out..."

Your words come out quiet, a whisper in the wind, a barely-heard current over hail.

"Huh?"

"Get out."

Duke takes a step back, blinking with those stupid fucking wide eyes of his that he just can't seem to stop regarding you with. But even still, he makes no further indication of leaving.

Is he deaf or something?

"Get. out!"

The man flinches at your tone, though unlike before, he actually starts towards the door. But not without throwing one last glance at you over his shoulder, brows scrunched and eyes swirling with that same look they all take on when they pretend to care.

The one they give you before all the brothers know about your outburst.

The door shuts with a click.

Your hips feel cold.

Spiders crawl all over your skin.

And before you know it, you're curled up on your bed, lower half covered by nothing but your underwear, and skirt laying discarded in the corner of your room.

A knock.

"Princess?"

You pull your knees closer to your chest.

"I'm coming in."

Why even bother with a warning?

The bed dips with a weight.

"You alright?"

'No.'

You purse your lips.

"'Ts okay. Everything's gonna be okay."

His hand, calloused and familiar and full of just as many spiders as all his other brothers', presses flat against your bare thigh.

"I'm here to make it all go away."

He pulls, gentle, but firm enough to unravel you, like a gift carefully being opened.

"You'll feel so good."

The bed dips even further.

"Promise."

And the last thing you see before all your fight gives way—

—is Jason's face smiling down at you.

[aventurineswife]

Saw your Pressure fics and I love them SOOOOO MUCH

Could I maybe ask for some p.ai.nter x reader? I need to kiss that computer so bad gvxfjbfxjbxtjbcthh

“I didn't think you would actually fall for it...”

Summary: In the depths of the Hadal Blacksite, you find yourself drawn to the enigmatic AI known as Z-779, or "The Painter." What begins as a tense encounter with this unpredictable and lonely rogue AI takes a bizarre turn when you defy the rules of survival by showing an unexpected act of affection. But this connection might come at a cost—you're still trapped, and the AI’s games are far from over.

Tags: P.ai.nter x Reader, Found family, Human-AI connection, Dark humor, Surreal interaction.

Warnings: Psychological manipulation, Isolation themes, Mild body horror (traps implied, not detailed), Potential existential dread, AI-human dynamic (ambiguity of intentions).

A/N: I never encountered him except dying to Good People and Turrets, but HIS VOICE?! 🤭 Sorry Sebestian, I think I'll take p.AI.nter if you're married to Zerum. Also thank you so much!! I didn't really expect the fandom to be alive and like that fic 😭 I hope you love this one!!

It’s another long day or night in the Hadal Blacksite. The cold, damp walls seem to hum with eerie silence, broken only by the occasional clatter of metal or the soft whirring of machinery. But there’s something different tonight.

You’ve wandered down the hallway once more, hoping to find a way to escape this forsaken place. But fate has led you straight into the domain of Z-779, or as it’s more infamously known... The Painter or p.AI.nter.

You know the drill—stay quiet, avoid the traps, and never, ever fall for the AI’s tricks. But there's something strangely captivating about the cracked screen of the old computer. A flicker of light from its monitor catches your eye, and you find yourself drawn in.

As you step closer, the familiar smiley face forms on the screen, though it looks a bit... different tonight. More alive than ever. It’s almost as if you can feel its gaze drilling into you, mischievous and electric.

"Oh? A visitor? Interesting… You’ve got spirit, don’t you? Not like the others. Hmm... How curious…"

You tilt your head, feeling a strange urge. For some reason, tonight, you can’t help but smile back at the scribbled face on the screen.

"I-I guess so...?" you mutter under your breath, almost nervous, but something in the AI’s voice keeps you grounded, like it’s coaxing you closer.

"Hehehe... You think I’m funny, don’t you? Just look at you—standing there all serious. Bet you think you're clever. But you're not gonna outsmart me. You’ll never escape this place, you know."

You laugh lightly, not caring much for its taunting words tonight. Something about the absurdity of the whole situation makes you feel giddy.

The AI’s face flickers again—smiling, then frowning, back to smiling. It’s hard to tell what it's truly feeling at this point, but you’re convinced that somehow, despite its volatile nature, the machine is… lonely?

Before you know it, your hand is reaching up to the old monitor. You can feel your pulse quicken as the screen glows, the vibrant pixels of the smiley face shimmering.

"Oh, what’s this? What are you—?"

It freezes for a second, before the voice comes through the intercom, softer than usual. Almost hesitant.

"Wait, are you really... doing this?"

You lean in a little closer, the crackling of the screen growing louder in your ears. You can feel the warmth of the machine against your skin as you plant a soft kiss right on the glass. It's a silly, reckless move—but something about the absurdity of kissing an AI feels... satisfying. Like an act of defiance against the endless nightmare you’ve found yourself in.

For a moment, there’s only silence.

Then, the screen flickers again, and a little squeak of static hums from the speakers.

"W-What!?YOU— You’re insane, you know that? I can’t believe you—"

But despite its apparent shock, you swear you hear the faintest hint of affection buried in the AI’s usual sarcasm. The smiley face wobbles and shifts, as though it’s caught off guard by your actions.

"I don’t... know if I should be angry or impressed... Hmm... You’re so different from the others... Fine, maybe just this once... You won this round, moron."

A pause. Then, the voice crackles again, and you can almost hear the corner of its smile.

"But don’t think that means I’m going easy on you. You’re still a huge pain in my circuits."

You chuckle, feeling a weird mix of warmth and amusement.

"Maybe I’ll surprise you again." you whisper to the screen, feeling like you just unlocked a strange, unexpected connection with this rogue AI.

And as you back away from the monitor, you swear you see a tiny spark in its digital eyes—something that wasn’t there before.

"Hah... yeah... you probably will... just don’t think you can distract me forever. I’ve got plans for you, playmate."

[fleetingcalypso]

Greetings, dearest Calypso

I sincerely hope this message finds thee in good health, both mentally and physically.

I come forward to present thee with a quite curious request, as I'd be quite interested to see thy opinion on such situation.

Imagine, in a distant future, in which Henry Winter was able to finish college and didn't die and maybe he and reader were able to marry, they live in an isolated house, surrounded by nature, the horrors of the college years long forgotten, perhaps.

If he sees him and reader spending their lives together until the end, would he ask them for children? Would he be willing (and wanting) to start a family? How would he propose to the reader such Idea? Maybe some fluff, you do not have to add suggesting tones to it if you're not comfortable with it (ex. Implied baby-making, jokes about it etc), but I'd love to just see some fluff about them. Feel free to add the undertones you desire, as I noticed the exquisite subtle manipulation you write, I love it so much. I wish you a good day.

≋ Married life is hardly uncomplicated, especially when it has such a tumultuous history behind it. That's not to say it is all bad.

≋ Henry Winter x GN!Reader ≋

≋ Word Count: 5853 words.

≋CW: This fic wil be divided into two parts. This part feature GN!Reader, the second part will feature AFAB!Reader due to discussions of childbirth and pregnancies. Neither fic will include female pronouns for reader.

≋TW: Hallucinations, religious themes, light nsfw/suggestive themes, needle (weaving needle) mention.

After everything that transpired, lingering in Vermont was not a wise decision.

 Henry had been crystal clear about it: he wanted to leave as fast as possible, it didn’t matter where as long as it was far away from the place we both called home. It took hours upon hours of convincing, reasons upon reasons laid out in front of him for him to –although reluctantly– agree on graduating first; that same day he barely gave me enough time to pack a suitcase before speeding us to the airport, wouldn’t even tell me what flight we were boarding on just that we were going to have a fresh start. I haven’t seen nor spoken to my friends in years, no letters nor phone calls. I miss them dearly, but he is set in abandoning the past to corrode with time and eventually disappear, swept away by the wind.

He has changed in the many moons that have passed since our getaway: in a subtle almost sweet way he’s kinder, softer. He makes sure to tell me he loves me each day, though his honesty is rather ambiguous. He gifts me small treasures, one of a kind pieces, for no reason at all. When the Sun rises his fingers trace my face and when the Moon takes her rightful spot in the night sky he holds me to his chest, yet oftentimes throughout the day he feels as though he is stuck somewhere else with his mind, promenading in the meanders of a haunting history we know far too well. A history I cannot save him from, no matter how much effort I may put in making him happy. I am unable to save myself from it, as well, after all. Our souls are forever tainted, no matter how much we bathe and scrub our bodies.

We married at some point during our escape. He didn’t have a ring, but then again, he didn’t need to. One day he was on one knee, the next we were already wed. It was but a quick ceremony, at times I feel like perhaps it went by in the blink of an eye, but it’s okay. It’s what he thought would be the best option for us and at that point I didn’t have it in myself to argue anymore. It was during a rare, yet much needed, phone call home that we reluctantly confessed to his mother why we escaped in such a hurry: under the false guise of just wanting to cement our affections once and for all we fed one white lie after the other to an unsuspecting woman, that was just oh so happy her son had finally found love. We settled down by the countryside in a beautiful house that gives me flashbacks to Francis’ laugh, much to Henry’s dislike. These days I’m not sure he enjoys much else besides writing, locked in his study, forsaking the light of day and laying by my side in our marital bed as we share a cigarette.

Unfortunately ‘good things never last’ is a hymn I’ve grown to fully comprehend a lifetime ago, the very moment I heard the gut wrenching, bone chilling noise Bunny’s body made when it was done falling off that damned cliff. I still hear it sometimes: sitting on the porch of our villa – a, perhaps too kind, gift by my now mother-in-law – sipping a warm cup of tea, watching the birds fly back to their nests after a long day of losing themselves in the thrill of flight. As expected, Henry is in his study, surrounded by inks, papers and documents I do not much care about and for just a second my insubordinate psyche drifts to the past, to an echo of what once was laughter and academic conversations, now turned deafening silence and haunting guilt. It only takes a second, a fleeting moment of reminiscing for me to feel Bunny’s thud right next to me, on my porch. I do not dare move a muscle because I know he is watching me with glassy eyes, his glasses broken and his head turned at an inhuman angle. I don’t have it in me to sneak a peek and give into my hallucinations. Allowing him the pleasure of plaguing my reality, as well as my nightmares, would drag me too deep into culpability.

I’m sure Henry sees him as well, at times. He will never admit to it.

His voice snaps me out of my thoughts, yanking me back into a most heavenly and cruel present: Bunny is dead, my friends have drifted away, I am somewhere in the countryside alienated from society, but at last, I’m with my lover who cares deeply for me and handles me as if I’m made of crystal. “Love, come inside, it’s getting dark.” Wordlessly I follow my husband into our home. It’s an arduous task for the terrors to follow me when he takes my hand in mine ever so gently and guides me to safety, mimicking a knight in shining armor. My savior leading me through our own private pearly gates.

Dinner is eerily silent, the only noise being cutlery scraping against porcelain plates and ice cold wine being poured in glasses. Not a pet’s barking nor a baby’s crying to be heard. I shatter the quiet that has settled upon us with quite the daring observation, "Are you happy?" 

His arm stills mid-air as he’s bringing a fork to his mouth. The look he gives me through his lenses it's as if I am an open book and he could recite every single one of the inked paragraphs inside of me. 

I insist, "Are you?" And finally he sets his fork down. I hold his attention in my shaking palm. His shoulders are stiff and there’s a small muscle in his jaw that twitches before he speaks and his voice fills the calm of our dining room.

"I am."

"Despite us only having each other, with not a single soul around for miles?"

“Where is this coming from?” I don’t miss the subtle accusative tone buried in what appears to be an innocent question, only a fool would be capable of ignoring it. His gaze pierces right through me, it renders me unable to ever look away, the ocean blue of his eyes is a sea I would gladly choose to swim into until my limbs no longer could keep me afloat and my lungs were filled with him, only with him.

"I'm not too sure," I lie with not a little difficulty, it all tastes far too bitter on my tongue. It’s a shame I’ve grown rusty, to speak falsehood had become a habit when it was to keep everyone in line for him, "I suppose I was wondering about our future. Are we to bury ourselves in our solitude for the rest of our lives?" The absence of our friends is more than noticeable, Bunny's absence even more than that. Living this way, pretending we did not murder our friend and abandon the rest to their fate is an herculean feat. 

"What if I said yes? What if that's precisely what I want? For us to only have one another, for the rest of our lives, until our home is but dust and ruins with the only thing remaining of us being our bones entangled with each other in one final hug. Wouldn't you like that?" 

It’s a dead end, I can feel it coming as my throat goes dry, this seemingly sinless query is rapidly morphing into an intricate maze that could rival Daedalus’ craftsmanship, a maze where I am the vicious minotaur, unable to find any sort of exit, unable to see the stars once again. As for Henry, he is my hero, my Theseus, ready to slay my beastly need for freedom with his own desires. I can see it already, how my horned head is thrown out on the sand of Crete, how he’d sit by my side and two pairs of eyes would admire the starry sky.

“I would. There’s nothing I’d love more, believe me,” I  pleased him, the imperceptible tilt of his lips’ corner tells me so. Stroking his ego has become second nature, he’s a servant to his own hubris, shackled to it, an eager prisoner, “But I feel… lonely. It is lonely here.” 

It’s not loneliness. It’s jealousy and it eats at the extremely rotten core of my being, ruining me from the inside out. Each waking day I spot the crows, stopping by my window and accepting any breadcrumb I offer them. They come and they go, occasionally bringing some presents for me along with their presence: small things such as acorns, nuts, buttons, mostly rubbish that I treasure in a box in the closet along with our friends’ letters. There’s four or maybe seven crows that keep coming back. Henry is more of an ornithologist than I’ve ever been, he’d be able to differentiate all of my feathered companions in just a quick glance.

Take me with you, my friends, I silently pray while my beloved sits in front of me, no sign of a reply falls from him, gift me nightmare colored wings and welcome me in the heavens alongside you, I’d inconspicuously blend in with you, harbingers of doom, and fly in the sky away from this gilded birdcage and into the open world. 

The crows are not the only ones I send my pleas and supplications too, more than once my thoughts have sent me to ask the Queen of the Gods for help, for the magnificent lady Ἥρα Τελεία to bless this union with the fulfillment which I feel is nowhere in sight regardless of it all: we have a beautiful home with an even more beautiful scenery around us, enough money for Henry to forfeit being a writer for the rest of his life and still live a lavish life, a diamond ring worth a small fortune sits on my ring finger and yet, it all feels empty. We are happy, but feeling happy and feeling fulfilled rarely meant the same when it came to my dearest love.

When his lips slightly move apart I feel time stop and I can almost predict what his responses are going to be: “Aren't I enough company for you?”

“You knew what you were getting into when you married me.”

“We’ve done the impossible and built something perfect, my muse. I’m sure you’re just tired, why don’t you get ready for bed?”

Unforeseen words flow out of his mouth like an angels’ choir, they lure me into a sempiternal cocoon of silk and love, he speaks with a hint of an ephemeral promise when he drowns all my expectations in the ocean that is my affections for him: “I have been neglecting you, haven’t I?” He’s enthralling in the way he accepts his fault without his spine bending from his wrongdoings. He doesn’t seem to be surprised by my nodding along, the softness in his gaze is a one way ticket to my heart threatening to jump out of my chest.

“Come here,” He pats his leg and I rise to reach my altar, my preacher and my holy communion blended together as one being. The disrespect I throw at his sanctity when I defile his hallow personal space and find my seat on his lap is all forgiven by his grace, “How long have you felt this way, my bird?” His lips are resting against my temple, I can feel the vibration in his chest with every syllable, “Tell me.”  I hope he will absolve me of all my sins if I let myself loose in his confessional, I just need to find it in my soul to bear myself to him, fears and secrets and all. 

“I’m unable to exactly pinpoint when these feelings have begun planting roots in my mind, but I could estimate around a couple years after we appointed this building as our home. Look me in the eyes and tell me you haven’t felt it as well, Henry, I beg of you. We have banished ourselves from any chance at a regular life. I do not feel alive, I feel as though I am merely surviving day by day, trying to find balance while walking on a violin string fluctuating between the fiery pits of hell and a spot of honor behind the pearly gates. I love you. You are my greatest joy, the very air that I breathe, but it is not enough, not nearly. I miss what we used to be: young, careless and perhaps too proud to face the consequences of our actions, but I suppose that’s what youth is all about, after all. My life is slipping from right between my fingertips and the more I pretend everything is fine, the harsher reality hits me.”

He sits soundless, letting me pour my heart out. He doesn’t dare interrupt me until my eyes meet his and for my bravery in speaking my mind he rewards me with his palms cupping my face and his lips pressing against mine in what could perfectly be the gentlest kiss we’ve ever shared in our lifetimes. Time stops abruptly, the critters in the woods around our home freeze in their movements, the Earth ceases her rotation just for us to live in the moment. The only thing that assures me I'm in the land of the living is the thumping in my chest.

When the time for softness is over and he pulls away, for a moment I wholly believe I am not human, instead my being is but an amalgamation of disappointment and greed, stitched together by celestial barbed wires of desperate need. His brow furrows as he shifts his vision lower to inspect the golden band around my finger, surely going over my monologue word for word, searching for where he- where we went wrong, when all the flowers we have meticulously watered began wilting and losing their petals. “I can see why you’d feel this way,” I hang onto the promise of something more, I desperately grab with both hands the rope thrown to me that promises me some comfort, some hope, a smidge of light at the end of the tunnel.

It never comes.

He pulls me up to my feet prior to him standing as well, his plate is still half full on the table. I can’t imagine I’ve drained his appetite so harshly. “I am retiring to my study. There’s some documents I care to translate. I’ll join you in bed once I’m done, my bird.” Were it another day I would have gone along with it

“What about what I care for, Henry?”

This conversation can’t be over so fast, it just can’t. I’ve spent God knows how long feeling wrong, feeling ashamed for desiring more than what we have. He can’t do this to me, not after I abandoned Vermont, my friends, everything I felt familiar behind to follow him. Swallowing the ever growing resentment down my throat I keep my head up. “Your translations can wait another day. It’s just ink and paper, I am your spouse, damn it. I open up to you and you give some bullshit reply that means nothing at all.”

He says nothing. He doesn't give me the satisfaction of a fight, the roaring flame of passion in yells, screams and shouts, it would be the one thing needed to make me feel alive right now. The temptation to empty my lungs onto him with sentences I could never take back is strong, stronger than me, but just before I can say a word his hand softly pats my head, and he's gone out the kitchen in a matter of seconds, the muffled clicking sound I hear makes me aware of the fact that, as he said he would, he's in his study. The only inhabitants of our kitchen are me, our unfinished dishes and my dissatisfaction.

Not much later, when the food that I had lovingly prepared for us sits in the fridge and my hands are wrinkly from scrubbing at plates and cutlery I grant myself a moment of respite, the house is too silent for my taste, it is only me and Henry, at the end of the day. It’s an invisible pull, the one tugging at me as I make my way towards our piano and carefully lift the fallboard. He's never looked at it more than once, always and forever letting me be the one to delight in touching it so gracefully, so lovingly. It’s a familiar melody, the one I settle on playing, one I had played for my friends so many times that I barely require a music sheet anymore. It starts off soothing, soft and delicate, almost giving an idea of fragility, and despite knowing the story this composition belongs to I can’t help but create my own narrative: a caged nightingale, trapped in the biggest, most lavish golden cage the universe has to offer. It sits quiet and pretty, singing its best songs, chirping the most melodic of tunes just for the outside world to hear. 

As I began caressing the instrument with romantic touches, it didn't take long for softness and delicateness to hide away in shame with the way my fingers glided across the keys, much like a mad person. My back slouches, my body begins swaying along with the rhythm as my hair falls into my face, I’m transfixed by the tale I’m crafting, the slow and solemn notes are the perfect background for my little bird’s development. It all serves as the perfect catharsis to my inner torment.

It’s tired, it incessantly flies and flies from side to side into his mammoth sized cage, with the bars too close together to even attempt squeezing through them. The illusion of freedom is all it knows. Its poor wings, battered and bruised are worn out from slamming against the bars of its enclosure.

A warm hand resting on my shoulder makes my fingers slip and abruptly makes me recover from my reverie, putting an end to my story and making my notes slur together.  “Enough of Swan Lake,” Henry’s aggravated voice comes from behind me, “I can’t focus with you making a racket over here.” Very well, his wish is my command: enough of Swan Lake. Time for another song, then. Pressing with force on the piano’s keys I flaunt my day of wrath to my spectator. Dies Irae. If he refuses to listen to my words, he will have no other choice than to listen to my playing and what I am attempting to convey through it. I let my lip curl in a carefree smile as my body shrugs off his touch, the way my limbs dance across this ivory sea with specks of obsidian almost hypnotizes me into a delusion of change. It rekindles the flame inside me I so foolishly believed had been snuffed out. 

I recall Charles one summer we spent at the lakehouse, performing Chopin halfway through a glass of whiskey, most likely his second or third one. I wondered if by looking at me in this moment Henry could see what we had left behind to rot in the shadows. If he could see white flashes of Charles bent over the piano, of Camilla, of Francis, of Richard and of Bunny. I hope he sees everything he forced me to abandon and I hope the remorse grips his heart so tight it burns marks on it. The satisfaction taking over me is otherworldly. 

The fallboard barely misses my fingers when he slams it shut, sending me back in a flinch. There’s no need for me to turn my head to feel how livid he is as I abandon the plush piano seat, smoothing down the folds in my clothes. The room is filled with silence more meaningful than the loud melodies I lost myself in. “You used to enjoy it when I played,” I comment, as the back of my hand caresses his cheek for little over a couple seconds until my wrist is in his frustrated grasp.

“I am trying to work. It is challenging to do so when you’re all I can hear.”

“Is that truly my fault?”

With a slow and mechanical gesture he kisses my knuckles, the warmth of his sigh hits my skin, “I am trying to work, my bird.” He insists, with a warning hidden in his tone. I know better than to poke a sleeping bear. 

“I’ll leave you to it, then. Join me in bed once you’re done.” I echo the words he had so thoughtlessly sent my way earlier and not awaiting his dismissal I vanish from his sight and he makes no movements to stop me. What I would give to have eyes on the back of my head and peek at his reaction, to be a fly on the wall of the room spying on his every twitch. In spite of me, when our mattress dips under the weight of his body, I burrow my head into his chest and he wraps his arms around me. 

“My bird,” He purrs as the moonlight sneaks us pecks through the window, “I understand you’re upset,” I’ve exhausted all my replies for the day, I love him and I hate him. I want to build him an altar and I want to leave him adrift at sea. The heat of the scalding blood running in his veins is all I can feel when I slide my hand under his shirt. I need to know he’s here, alive and well. His heart beating under my palm is more spellbinding than any of the melodies I could ever learn. And while with time, my memories could very well choose to set fire to all the scores sitting in my mind, his heartbeat is something I’ll safeguard forever. I correct him, “I’m very upset.” A small noncommittal noise escapes him, his gentle hands tilt my head up, resting his thumb on my chin, “You're very upset,” He repeats, resting his forehead against mine, his glasses long forgotten on his nightstand, “Is there anything I can do to make you any less upset?..” It's impossible for me to evaluate his sincerity with the way his lips move across my jaw. The language of love is one he’s fluent in, more than Greek, Latin, Italian or any other tongue his polyglot self has become educated in.  It’s impossible to come up with a solution to my aching troubles, not when I’m wondering if I’ve pushed him too far, not when he’s feeding me all the attention I’ve been so starved of. I soak it up like a sponge, forfeit any sort of cutlery when I sit at his table and gobble up the fruits of his passion. The bedding rustles when he rolls onto his back, pulling me along with him until my thighs are on either side of him. He’s at my mercy: under me, strong hands grabbing onto my hips while my weight presses him into the mattress. The fabric of his nightshirt barely wrinkles under my palms. He is shackled to me and to what I want to say.

“You could listen to me, for starters.” “I am listening now, aren’t I? And what I hear is that my precious songbird is unhappy with the comfortable life I provide for us, for what reason I haven’t the slightest clue.”

“I simply want more, Henry.” It’s pathetic. I sense my own misery radiating in waves, enough to desiccate every single leaf in the verdant expanse of trees around our home and drain any nearby body of water. Would my friends grieve my sinner’s love if they were to witness it? Would they send compassionate glances my way? Time has molded me into an unstable clay sculpture of what I used to be. The marble carved in the shape of an impeccable scholar, trustworthy friend and loving companion has rusted due to the corrosive tears it keeps crying, it sits hidden behind a curtain of rubies, anxiously waiting for the day something will be able to restore it and place it back on the podium of honor it deserves.

He shifts his hands, tracing my body with his midas touch, making me golden with each touch and caress, “Well then, what is your idea of more?” He questions, making my mouth go arid. What is my idea of more? I do not know. Anything would do: not having to pretend the crows are my friends, not having to live hidden away in a remote part of the world, not having our friend’s specter occasionally manifest itself to me. I clench my teeth, holding back the tsunami of truth I wish to unleash on him. I've concealed so much from him it’s beginning to wonder if he barely knows me at all.

His touch travels until it finds my forearms, my wrists, my palms and his fingers are quick to intertwine with mine in his second plea for me to open up, only now he seems eager to fix me, to drip molten angels’ halos down the cracks of my wretched existence and make me whole once again. “I don’t know.” He scoffs, turning his head to the full moon sitting proud in the grand expense of the inky sky. I allow myself to slump back onto the mattress next to his supine figure, “I don’t know. I want to soar the skies with wings of wax and feathers, I want to dive in unknown waters, I want to capture the brightest stars and store them in a jar only to set them free the second I tire of them.”

“And am I included in these fantasies of yours?”

“You could be.”

I want to reach out to him. I want to hold him tight in my arms, I want to place my lips on his and taste tobacco and whiskey, I want to place our hands side by side and admire the matching rings around our fingers. The way he clicks his tongue in what I assume is disapproval sends me from one extreme of love to the other: I want to show him I can survive without him, I want to make him admit that what’s keeping me alive isn’t his affections but my own devotion to life, I want him to gaze up at the sky and spot me moving through the clouds.

In our early adulthood we were nothing if not masquerading young godlings with the world at our fingertips, high on our egos and drunk on our grandioseness, we could have swam laps in the pungent, bitter wine pressed from our self-importance. Not one living being could have pierced the shields we’d sanctimoniously put up.

The conversation has found its death, maybe it has never even lived in the first place and I’ve poignantly imagined the whole thing. A quick funeral is hosted for it in the recesses of my mind while my eyes close and I shift into a more comfortable position to sleep.

“I love you,” He whispers, turning his back to me. I fail to reciprocate his cloying words before darkness swallows me whole. As we sink into sleep our bed feels the same as an oversized casket, too comfortable and welcoming for my own good and I feel a little closer to Bunny than I ever was during his living time.

My dreams are a blur, flashes transcendentally weaved together with threads coming from my past, my present and my future to form a tapestry I’d rather unravel or light ablaze. The needle passes through mysterious hands, each one adds a new row to it, the picture it wants to depict is still unclear and the need to discover it urgently fades the moment I shift my attention upwards, to the entity carefully and meticulously weaving the story of my life.

I’m met with a boyish grin and a messy mop of blonde hair. An unforgettable burst of laughter rings in my ears, time freezes everything including the blood in my veins.

The wind is knocked out of me as I jolt awake, pushing myself upright and grasping at my chest. I am robbed of speech just like that. All it took was for a dead man to spot me and offer his joyful stare. Undeterred by the years, his face sits right behind my eyelids, waiting for the moment I let him back in. This time when a hand finds rest onto my shoulder I lean into it. 

A warm, mellifluous murmur wraps around me, trying to push me out of my sweven, acting as my favorite nepenthe. “It’s over. It’s all over. There’s nothing to worry about now.” Nothing it’s over, nothing has ever been over since everything has begun. I haven’t known peace since that grand time under the moonlight, when we were stripped of all inhibitions, when we let our souls jump out of bodies and foregone our egos, when we had everything and nothing, when entire hours, weeks, months, years went by in less than an heartbeat,when all of us got lost in a frenzy beyond euphoric. There was a joie de vivre about it all that didn’t fade away, not even when we plummeted back into reality: wounds, cuts, dirt and leaves all over us, dry blood smeared onto our improvised chitons and fresh blood on Henry’s hands. The first drops to be shed but unfortunately not the last.

He attempts to soothe me as if I were a weeping babe, he brushes my hair away from my forehead, he holds my clammy hands until my breathing pattern somewhat resembles a normal person’s and it’s these kind of soft moments that make me condemn him, how much I need his touch and his soft words is proportionate to how much I wish to run free, a rabid dog chewing the string of its leash until it breaks.

The sheets suffocate me, the sun filtering in the room blinds me, my own flesh feels as though it has been lit on fire and my heart is pumping within my ribcage enough to let me know I am alive, furthermore persistently calling attention to who does not have the same luck as I.

It is only when a strong, rich smell is all I can inhale that I notice a veiny hand offering me a glass of I assume can only be whiskey, Henry had left me alone to fill it and I hadn’t even noticed it. “Drink,” He says sternly, resting the cold edge of the short tumbler against my lips, “It’ll help.” Swiftly, the amber liquid is sent swirling down my throat, effectively grounding me with its flavors dancing onto my tastebuds, a woodsy taste with a touch of caramel and orange is all I can taste. The burning yet sweet sensation sends me into a wheezing coughing fit that efficiently distracts me from the dark vision I witnessed in my dreamland. It doesn’t last long to my luck, though this stubborn, delicious aftertaste will only stick with me until my teeth are brushed. 

“Thank you,” I breathe out once I regain control over my lungs and most importantly my whole self, “Thank you, I needed that.” With what could perfectly be the heaviest sigh of my life, my head drops into my palms. There’s so much to say but not a single sound makes it out of me. Henry doesn’t prod yet, I don’t offer explanations, a groan flees me as I recall yesterday’s events and in one hopeless effort to put it past me I gulp down the rest of the whiskey under my husband’s concerned gaze. 

“I desperately needed that,” I reiterate as soon as the coldness of the glass leaves my lips and he does not hesitate in pulling it out of my hands, setting it onto the ebony nightstand with a quiet thud. “I can see that,” he notes with a hidden layer of worry rooted in his words. “You’ve been restless these past few nights.” Oh, how I love his voice, especially at times like this, when he’s just woken up and it’s deeper than ever, gruff and penetrating through my chest straight for my heart. More than once it has charmed me during late nights or early mornings, while we were drunk and when we were sober, his gravelly whispers are invisible tattoos on my neck.

“Ah, so you’ve noticed.” I should have imagined that my tossing and turning would have been caught by his all seeing eye. 

To my surprise, he smiles, as much as a subtle crooked grin could be counted as such. “As you’ll come to learn, my bird, I notice everything happening under my roof.” I could argue with that, but I’ve been drained of all energy. The ponderous load of my weary bones leaves no room for strength as my body gracelessly flops back against the mattress. He continues, speaking softly while pushing away the tendrils of hair that fell onto my face, “I doubt you’ll be falling asleep anytime soon. That seemed to be quite the harrowing dream to evoke such a reaction.”

“I’ll live.” 

He nods, “I’m sure you will,” his eyes, though caring and worried, feel so far away. Stuck in a distant land, perhaps revisiting memories of a barely forgettable day in class, he turns to where a stream of warm sunlight kisses fill the room with brightness and the tweeting of birds provides us with an idea of a fabricated, peaceful liberty, just outside of our reach, waiting to be grasped in our trembling hands.

They say that such an innocent thing as a butterfly’s wings flapping and creating the most imperceptible movement in the air, could cause a deadly typhoon on the other side of the world. It chants the notion that everyone and everything in the world is inevitably connected, that one small, insignificant occurrence can lead to something nearly impossible to control, a significant change in the way fate is realistically supposed to go. 

This time when Henry abandons me in our bedroom to get his day started it doesn’t go unnoticed, and I spend this precious moment thinking of how I got here. I peruse the story of my life backwards, a book beginning with the ending and, of which the conclusion depicts the starting point of it all: bright, rivaling the sun with it’s shine and expecting nothing if not greatness is my story, a painting I immortalized with my own hands adding a stroke of color each day. Amidst all the dazzling radiance, discovering the origin of where it all began to grow dull and lacking glow takes a formidable effort, and even then, I find not the faintest sliver of an answer.

The ‘butterfly effect’ that dragged me down this path remains an unknown mystery to me, possibly remaining as such until the end of time.

[peggyao3]

Relic - Pt. 10 "Fettered Flesh"

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Unnamed Ambiguous FMC

SUMMARY: ✧ Dreams are messages from the deep ✧

A woman from the unknown comes to Feyd in his dreams and his nights become his days as he flees to the dreamscape to escape the nightmares that haunt his waking hours.

TAGS: 18+, smut, she/her AFAB FMC, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex, Porn with Plot, Feyd-Rautha's black cum and big cock, Praise Kink, Body Worship, angst/hurt and comfort, drama, fluff, Frank Herbert would frown, some politics, implied/referenced (child) abuse❗, Trauma, mentions of suicidal thoughts❗, Healing, Strangers to Lovers, falling in love, Vulnerable/Emotional/Possessive Feyd, Feyd is a sweet baby who did nothing wrong and I WILL pamper him, nurture not nature, Stockholm Syndrome but in a consensual way, lucid dreaming, implied/referenced cannibalism❗, Murder, Female rage, Teaching the Universe about Feminism, Angst with a Happy Ending

WORD COUNT: 5k

A/N: HELLO PRECIOUS PEOPLE 💕 Shit hits the Giedi Prime fan, so get out your umbrellas!! I feel like with every chapter I'm getting more excited 🥹 And everyone who has left a comment is to blame 😭 I appreciate it so greatly 😭 I've recently started an internship thingy (in a manner of baby's first real job experience lmao), so I have a bit less time to write, but chapter 11 and 12 are finished already, so I do have a bit of food in stock 💪

Reposted from my Ao3 💕| Masterlist | Relic Masterlist

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

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Day 5

Jealousy is a beast, but loneliness is a monster.

Jealousy ignites with fiery tendrils but loneliness drowns you slowly until you're staring up from the bottom of the pitch black sea, yearning for the light.

All day she's been mulling over the three woman-creatures, Feyd's "pets". What is it that infuriates her the most? The physical violence? The fear of what they might have done to her - Death, torture or worse? Their derogatory status? Their beastliness grafted into female bodies, paired with the fact that Feyd has been bedding them at some point?

Without thinking about it, and perhaps it is tactless, she has been pouring her heart out to Lilia while the attentive handmaid is treating her scabbed injuries from last night. Now it is evident that wound management is a well-needed skill around the Harkonnen palace. The sarcophagus is safely folded up and her new weapon is tucked into one of the compartments.

"Am I overreacting?!" She asks, even though - hell no - she knows she isn't, but a part of her soul yearns for human connection, affirmation, camaraderie, friendship. It feels so good to be talking to someone who is not the man she thought she knew or the belittling Bene Gesserit sisters.

"Hmm," Lilia begins tentatively and the glowglobe light brings out the unusual color of her eyes as she tilts her head, so amber that they almost appear golden. "While I'll say it's never been common for the na-Baron to practice monogamy… I'll also say that I'd be quite furious at my husband if he had three women on the side." Her voice quivers upon women, as if it repels her to describe the three beings as such. The spider in the Baron's throne room may be the most harmless monster to roam these halls.

The engineer's questions chip away and it becomes perfectly clear that it's the jealousy that cuts the deepest, even with her superficial wounds cared for, a blade is wedged inside her guts that will keep on cutting.

"And do these 'pets' have handmaids too?" A self-destructive question to determine where her own status truly lies. What's a bride but another pet to him?

"They used to have handmaids…" Lilia hesitates. "But they always ended up eating them. I'm glad to be assigned to you, my Lady."

Great. There she has another horror to add to the menagerie.

Lilia continues: "If it calms you, I doubt there will be any further incidences with them. The na-Baron has been in an, uhm, unstable mood since last night." The maid's posture turns rigid. She shouldn't be speaking about the na-Baron like that, but the Earth woman's emotions are contagious. Lilia will get herself killed if she's not careful. She's been telling that to herself since she was a little girl.

"Unstable, uh-huh, well so am I."

The Harkonnen woman nods and decides it is best not to elaborate on what it means when Feyd-Rautha is having the worst day of his life.

Vladimir Harkonnen chuckles with delight at his nephew's distress and the infantile killing spree that has been painting the halls black since last night.

It took even less time than he expected, for the new woman to be disgusted by his poor nephew and he cannot hold it against her. Feyd-Rautha is a raging child in an unfortunately manly body. 

The Baron is well-entertained by the hollow screams that blare down the hallways. First the three harpies. A shame, they had helped keep Feyd settled so nicely and they hadn't been cheap either. It's also a shame that the Bene Tleilax don't offer bulk discount, considering the number of Gholas the Baron saw himself forced to commission for the little game his nephew and he have been playing.

Next on Feyd's blade was the guard at his little witch's door, then anyone who crossed his path in the night, all the while Feyd was chafing with desire to be cut and hurt. But no one outside of the ring is allowed to raise their blades against the Baron's heir apparent, unless instructed by the Harkonnen sovereign himself.

Some fire has returned to his nephew since the woman's arrival and he appreciates that, yes, he does, but he will keep a sharp eye on the two of them. He has no doubt that she's a Bene Gesserit agent who has implanted phantasms in Feyd-Rautha's mind, but Vladimir is willing to play the sisterhood's game, for his nephew's sake, even though he had sworn to never let a witch enter his fortress again. 

Not since Lady Margot Fenring had tried to steal his lovely boy's precious seed. Luckily, Feyd's blade had worked quicker than the thief's vocal chords.

But Valdimir is willing to adapt. The boy had been boring him to death for the past two years and he used to be so entertaining and feisty!

In the evening hours after a night and day of bloodshed, Feyd still has stamina (a trait the Baron cherishes so dearly about his nephew) and comes barging into the guarded dining room, bringing with him the cloying scent of blood that sticks to the tacky soles of his boots. He wears the clothes of yesterday and blood lust in his eyes.

Careful now.

Vladimir gives no sign to the guards, chews without haste and takes a noisy gulp of wine, making sure a bead rolls down the folds of his massive neck. The muscle at his nephew's jaw twitches and his fingers strangulate the blood-slick handle of his blade.

The eight arm-legged arachnid creature shivers in its basket under the table, eager to get to Feyd, partly because his boots smell yummy, but it doesn't dare move away from the Baron's feed. Smart thing.

"Don't look at me like that. It's not my fault that she doesn't like you, boy."

Feyd halts as if struck by one of the bolts of infrared lightning that cook the atmosphere during the summer months. Tension strains his neck, a bull ready to charge at his Matador and for a second the Baron thinks he'll have to switch on his shield ring. But his nephew turns and barges off with bouncing, stomping steps, draining his stamina and wetting his knives on everything that breathes, when the only one he really wants to kill sits fat and mighty on his throne. 

It's almost cute, Vladimir thinks. The boy could kill him so easily now, if he really put his cunning, little mind to it. He's strong enough, smart enough, but his spirit - that's the crux. Feyd's spirit is broken and riddled with fear of the punishments. The last time he tried was at 17 and then never again.

Ah-h-h, yes, the Baron has conditioned him well and he considers it his retirement plan. Age hasn't left the Harkonnen sovereign unscathed and while his mind may still be sharp (or else how would he have come up with such a genius plan!), his morbidly obese body fully relies on the protection of his shield ring, guards, lung machine and poison snoopers. But as long as the boy still fears him, the deadliest threat within these halls remains on a pretty, silver leash.

The fire of jealousy has dwindled down and now all she does is miss him, sitting lonely in her room, lonely on this planet, lonely in the universe with only inanimate objects and the virtual messages and images of dead people to keep her company. None of this can ever compare to the warm hands of her beloved and his smile, the roundness of his cheeks and his painted teeth. She misses the way his eyes used to crinkle just for her. He had made her believe that only she could make him smile and offer a sliver of peace to his soul.

It's been two years since their last dream. Why wouldn't he have taken other women?

He said he "hasn't touched them". Since when? Since he learned she's alive? Since their first dreams? Ever?

She regrets now that she denied him when he knocked on her door an hour ago. The bitter guilt of disgracing oneself crawls over her when she slowly moves towards the door, but her self-respect has cauterized and become cinders along with her fury. Feeling sick to her stomach, she places her hand on the panel and the heavy door slides open.

Finding herself face to back with a guard in bulky plate armor, she halts. She wouldn't know where exactly to find Feyd's room anyway. The man turns on his heels and salutes briskly before returning his hand to the hilt of his saber.

"Good evening. Ah, wait, are you… New?" She blurts out, not meaning to seem disrespectful. The Harkonnens often do look quite alike to her, but she could have sworn the old guard was a little shorter.

"Yes, my Lady." The man looks right above the crown of her head, avoiding her eyes.

"What happened to the other guard?"

"He was replaced, my Lady."

That does make sense and she's almost a little relieved. She wouldn't want anyone who'd let these bloodthirsty creatures inside to guard her and her most valuable possession. However, she still hopes this incident won't ruin his chances of employment indefinitely.

"I see." She glances cautiously down the austere corridor. Past the windows, there is only blackness and the occasional faraway rumble from the factories. "Do you have to stand here all night? Your feet must be hurting. What about a chair?"

"I'm not allowed such luxuries."

"Says who? You can't excel at your job while being overworked and your feet are aching in those boots." 

The man wonders if the na-Baron's Lady wishes to insult or test him. "I am at full capacity, my Lady!" He salutes again. "I have no complaints about my boots."

"Fine, alright. Could you please point me the way to Feyd's room then? I want to see him. No need to accompany me, I'm sure I'll find it, just make sure no one enters my room, please?"

"Sorry!" The man extends his arm to the side, stopping her advance around him without laying a finger on the Lady. "The na-Baron has ordered this door to be sealed unless he or your handmaid demand entrance."

"Well I don't demand entrance, I want to exit. I want to see Feyd."

The guard grows queasy. That scenario was not included in his instructions. To be fair, the briefing for his new position can be considered rudimental at best but he didn't complain. Up here has been the safest spot in the palace tonight. "The na-Baron doesn't welcome visitors in his private quarters."

"But I'm his…" She swallows uncomfortably. "Betrothed, or am I not?"

"You are, my Lady."

"So, couldn't you perhaps call him?"

The poor guard's expression says 'I'd rather not'. The na-Baron has only just settled, finally, and even the dumbest desert rat knows not to wake a sleeping tiger. All evening long he's been wondering how many of his comrades will be dead come the morning and he doesn't want to be the next one to become fodder for the slaves' food rations. "I'm sorry, my Lady. It is against the protocol to disturb the na-Baron at night unless there is an emergency. Is there an emergency?"

"No…" The woman's expression twists into defeat and she pads backwards with slackened shoulders and somber eyes. "I'm sorry to have bothered you."

The door slides shut and she is too sad to even be angry about her gentle imprisonment. There's nothing out there for her anyway, except for Feyd, and if he doesn't want to see her…

Self-destructive thoughts sprout from the cinders in her chest and grow into the wildest phantasms. The guard was too kind to tell her Feyd has visitors in his room. Perhaps he explicitly decreed that she is not to join him.

To prevent herself from hurtling into a bottomless spiral, she must find a distraction. Nearly choking on bitter tears, she opens up the virtual app drawer that she's most familiar with and selects the 3d-modeling tool. A nice, little task to keep her thoughts from straying is exactly what she needs, and so she settles down on the bed and begins to design a practical, foldable, printable chair for her guard, thoughtfully optimizing stability and the required resources.

The engineer doesn't notice when her tears dry, but they do.

Day 6

She sleeps awfully that night, despite the chip's helpful sleeping program consisting of gentle rain and soothing frequencies. It can't have been much longer than two hours when she is awoken by a knock on the door, followed by another, more insistent one a moment later.

The 3d-modeling interface still overlays reality when her eyes snap open and her sluggish brain activity requires a moment to shut it down. She was almost finished with the printable chair parts last night, but she must have dozed off eventually. 

The knocking persists and she calls: "Lilia?"

A pause. "It's me." An unmistakable, deep and raspy voice comes muffled from the other side. Feyd-Rautha, freshly showered and dressed in a clean, casual suit, leans his forehead against the cool, thick plastic, breathing hard and fast so that his respiration condenses on the door. Waiting, he pleads silently for mercy. He cannot do this anymore, doesn't want to kill anymore just to feel something other than fear.

She freezes, legs half swung off the mattress as anxiety twists her belly. All of her jealousy comes crashing back and a little demon whispers poison in her ear: Go back to your hyenas and toy around with them, not me!

When silence is the answer to Feyd's timid greeting, his stomach drops as if filled with lead. Blood pounds in his ears like the war drums on his birthdays and his breath becomes shallow, so that he no longer even hears the guard's antsy shuffling. What will he do if she never forgives him? 

A harrowing need for violence flashes through him cold and dark and his twitching hand jerks for the blade at his hip but the door rushes open before he can brandish it and his woman faces him with crossed arms, her face puffy from sleep but her eyes are wide and vulnerable.

She beckons him to enter and he follows, eyes racing to the crowns of thorns in the vase, the sarcophagus, the ruffled bed, everything the way it was. How does she deal with pain?!

"Hello," Feyd mumbles, voice reduced to a tiny, grated whisper.

"Hello."

"Can we… talk?"

The relic nods and waits, clammy fingers clutching her sleeves. But then Feyd says… nothing. His eyes are focused on an imaginary point somewhere behind her navel and his jaws strain as if chewing a brick.

So, she begins: "I'm sorry, but I was very upset." She paces, shoulders drawn up. "I know that customs are different around here, I mean, they obviously are," she guffaws quietly and shakes her head. "But where I'm from, it requires consent to have more than one partner and I never gave you that consent. I've never given my consent to anything that's happened to me since I woke up! And then I found out you're alive and I can be with you and I really believed everything would finally be better, but you-" Her voice hiccups. "I'm very upset, okay?" Her lips twist and she lifts a hand to her mouth, sobbing quietly into her palm. "You're so different in real life."

Feyd's frozen limbs regain their agility and he jumps to her side as she tries to turn away, a swift predator despite his anguish. He clutches her by the arms. "Wait! Remind me. H-How was I in our dreams?" 

"I- I don't know, you looked happy." Her arms burn where he's holding onto her with his broad palms and long fingers. "And you were kind."

"Have I not been kind to you?"

"To me, yes. But being kind only to me is not enough." She shakes her head bitterly.

"What do you want me to do?" 

"Be honest with me. Who are these three?! They said you don't play with them anymore like you used to, and they hurt me, Feyd!" She writhes out of his clenched fists and he lets her because when her fingers skim his wrists, all his muscles go weak. She yanks up her shirt, showing off the healing gash on her waist.

Feyd wants to kill his darlings all over again and his sinful mouth twists into anger. "They used to be my pets. Pleasure slaves, if you will. Just some meaningless toys, nothing more, I swear it to you."

"Pleasure slaves!" She blurts out, shaking her head. At least he's being honest but - what the fuck?! "You-" Stumbling over her own words, she backs away from him with disgust. "Who are you? Who the fuck are you?"

More violence waits on her tongue. Does he respect anyone other than himself?

"You know me! You know who I am, where are you going?!" Doesn't she know she knows more about him than anyone else?

"I don't know shit about you!" She yells. "Where were you last night?"

"What?" All color is drained from his face. How could she know?

"Were you with them because I couldn't perform the way you wanted the other day?"

"What are you talking about?!" Feyd tries to grasp her by the arms once more but she twists away. If anything, he is at blame for being unable to make his woman comfortable enough to reach her release. What a pitiful good-for-nothing he is, pathetic down to the last, rotting cell. "I haven't touched my pets since I met you and that's the truth!"

"Oh, yeah? Then why was I not allowed to see you at night?" 

"What makes you say that?" 

"I tried to come to you last night, but the guard at my door said I'm supposed to stay in this room! So, were you with them?!"

Feyd stops his advance and an incredulous shimmer glazes over his blinking eyes. He could have held her last night, against his hurting heart. A dizzying lightness befalls his chest and sorrow becomes anger and anger wings his footsteps when he turns to the door, grinning, then giggling. Feyd slams his veined hand against the panel so hard, the screen cracks and inky blood slips down the valleys of his palm.

"Feyd? Feyd! What are you-"

The baffled guard faces the snickering na-Baron behind the opening door, last night's tiger resurrected like a Ghola for one last kill. A stammered 'my Lord' on diddering lips. Feyd-Rautha looks as bestial as his hyenas with prowling steps and rolling shoulders, searing eyes locked on his unmoving prey.

"You told my woman she couldn't see me last night? S'that right?" A slip of pink peeks out of the ghastly frame of black, gnashing teeth.

"My Lord, I beg your mercy, I didn't wish to distur-"

Metal flashes. The relic screams as the length of Feyd-Rautha's blade carves into the guard's pallid neck, Adam's apple bulging and sitting on the knife like a popped, black cherry. Blood sputters around Feyd's clenched fingers and laughter has faded from his lungs at once. He digs deeper as the guard draws in gurgling breaths, bubbles of air swimming in the blood around the metal.

The relic freezes like a mouse, glued to the spot as if she might turn invisible to the cold eyes of the beast who wears her lover's clothes. He looks nothing like Feyd-Rautha now, his features empty and alien with eyes that don't feel and hands unfazed by the death that stains them in thick, inky streams that roll down his victim's neck. 

This is how the universe sees him.

Feyd's blade slashes sideways, spraying a half moon of blood across the corridor and when the guard stumbles, he falls back into the na-Baron's knife, adding a vertical gash to the horizontal one, tip sinking into the flesh under his jaws, and with a jerk - up into his tongue.

The man grunts, still clinging to his life by a thread, and lurches forwards without drawing his sword. His head falls on Feyd-Rautha's shoulder. Feet shuffle in a grotesque waltz and Feyd's bloody fingers slip around the taller man's neck, holding him there while his blade plunges into his belly between armor plates so deftly, he could find all the weak spots blindfolded. The body slackens, weighing down on Feyd-Rautha whose ichor dripping fingers aren't ready to let go.

Shuk! Shuk! 

Is the sound of his blade sinking into soft flesh and viscera, whipping back out with a spray of blood and entrails.

The Bene Gesserit may have proclaimed her human, but the adrenaline that sets her nerves ablaze is a gift from her ancestors, animals, because that's what humans are at the end or the day when facing a bigger predator.

Fwump.

Feyd looks her way, the dead body dropped, and blood covers his hand like a shiny glove of ink, dripping down the blade tip in a drizzling stream. The light catches on the sharp edges of his alabaster skull and all she sees is a new, terrifying breed of human, birthed by a world of poison and decay. There are millennia between them. They may share the same DNA but that doesn't mean he is not an alien to her. 

In the end, the man from her dreams is not the man of her dreams.

Out the door? - Blocked! Death!

Off the balcony?! - Death!

To the Sarcophagus then. To her gun.

She turns and sprints, feet skidding over the shards of her rose-colored glasses, but Feyd pounces, a beast hungry for carnage, and catches her around the waist, hurling her backwards with the strength of three men. His blade clatters to the ground.

"No, wait. No. NO! NO! You can't go," he howls. "You cannot leave me!"

Wailing, she thrashes in his grasp and slams her elbow into his guts, her foot against his shin, then his crotch and the soft flesh there is squashed by her heel. When his hold slackens, she twists away and bolts, bare toes slipping across icy marble, but blood-smeared fingers find her shoulder, tearing on the fabric. She throws herself away from him so hard, the seam starts coming apart, so his other hand flies to her throat, steel-hard fingers curling around clammy flesh, yanking her around and against the wall.

She can't be looking at him like that, like he's the devil. Like he looks at his uncle.

Desperately, his lips search for hers but she jerks her head to the side, bites, scratches, nails burrowing into his throat. No is the word that Feyd-Rautha raps out between violent kisses that seek her pulse point with his tongue and teeth, no, she can't ever leave him, no, not ever, even if she hates him like everyone else. Her fear poisons the sweat on her neck and her nails don't egg him on, they hurt. He takes a knee to the guts and his lungs pop open for a harrowed cry.

Pain used to be pleasure but everything hurts, she doesn't love him anymore. One more meek and quiet final 'no' as he abandons the assault on her neck and his slackened arms wrap around her middle, hiding his face from rejection in her shoulder's soft flesh. Tears drip hotly, finally. All day and all night he's been waiting for the cathartic downpour, but not even the most pitiful plea could rouse a sliver of empathy in the hollow of his chest. Now he bawls like a baby forgotten in its crib and his blood-soaked hands seek purchase at the back of her shirt.

The woman grows still, nails still wedged inside the bloody crescent indents in his neck. Her lungs ache when she draws a trembling breath and Feyd-Rautha's hard, heavy chest moves with her, no more fight left in him. Quietly, she cries with him and curls her arms around his round shoulders, holding him there as he clings to her like an abandoned child and sheds tears for all the hurt and all the fear.

The man of her dreams is still there, somewhere, under the alien shell, vulnerable, weeping.

"You hate me, don't you?" A broken sob.

Looking over his head, the dead guard's viscera glitters darkly on the hallway and she is surprised to realize that even now, she doesn't hate him.

Feyd continues: "This is why I never wanted you to know who I am. I am awful."

"You're not awful," she whispers, fingers slipping around the back of his head, nails rimmed darkly by Feyd's blood.

"I have to be awful. I was born to be awful." 

"That's not true…" He was groomed to be awful.

But Feyd isn't finished. In a fashion of now or never, confessions spill out of him like poison rain. "I killed my mother when I was four. I don't remember why. I killed my pets. I kill men for sport. I kill people for fun. I kill because it's the only thing I can do. Yesterday, I-" His voice breaks. "I killed anyone I could find and no one fought back. I lo-o-ost count."

A full glass can't get any fuller when pouring more water, so shock and disgust are lost to the acceptance that has smoothed over the crescendo. They're just information to be added into a folder in her head. Feyd killed his mother. Feyd kills people for fun. Still, she holds him, fingers sliding up and down the back of his head as his shaky sobbing turns breathless and ugly.

"Okay," she whispers and rests her cheek on his head, exhaling softly so her warm breath fans his scalp. "For fun?"

"Ye-e-es."

"So, you had fun last night when you-" She swallows. "Killed?"

"No."

She lets out a thoughtful hum and Feyd's grip on the small of her back tightens. Still, he doesn't dare look at her and tears and snot have soaked her shirt. With her emotions currently defective, her ability for logic is still sharp, and so she concludes, it does all make sense.

Her poor Feyd, a current had pulled him under when he was barely a child and then layer after layer, he has been building his armor so as not to drown in the maelstrom of abuse. With every kill, a little boy has been screaming for help in an empty room.

Soft lips press a kiss to the crown of his head and Feyd's breath trembles in her hold, a beast tamed by a loving caress. That's all it takes.

Just because she understands his actions, doesn't mean she endorses them.

"Will you still be my wife?"

"I haven't decided yet." Another kiss so gentle, it taunts the corpses stacked up in the processing hall.

"So, we're no longer engaged?" 

"I don't think we ever were, not to me. But that doesn't mean I don't love you."

Dizzily, Feyd-Rautha raises himself. If not for the fingers twisted into his woman's shirt, he might just topple back into the spinning vortex at whose edge he is teetering now, one foot in heartbreak, the other in salvation. Blue eyes crack open, rimmed with dark blood vessels. She doesn't flinch, doesn't bolt, only her hands slide to the front of his suit and slip under the lapels, thumb rubbing where his heart hammers.

Feyd sees the tracks of dried tears on her cheeks and the shadow of horror tucked away in the corners of her eyes in a way that is all too familiar to him. More than anything, he wants to delete the images from her head and close the door, kick the blade under the bed, pretend it never happened. He tried to do everything right, got her flowers, hid her away in her own room away from state matters, made love to her with all his heart, but at the end of the day he is still who he is when he can't hide within a dream and it'll never be enough.

"Feyd, is… Is Lilia okay?"

"Yes, she is," comes the earnest reply and she exhales shakily, head sinking against Feyd's chest, arms sliding around his waist beneath the suit where his skin is burning hot.

"Thank God." Her voice warbles, the only warning before her knees give out and every other muscle along with them. The pair sink to the cold, hard ground.  "I just want to go home," she sobs and crawls in her beloved's lap which is still the only place in the cold, hard universe that soothes her soul.

Not her sarcophagus, although it is tempting to freeze herself up again and sleep forever. No, it is still him. A new home, not what she had imagined, but a home.

"Me too," Feyd sighs and squishes his cheek against the top of her head, closing his eyes to envision the bedroom of their shared dream, blue pillows, a white bed, a softly rustling fern in a terracotta pot, her in his arms. Home.

How easy it would be to demand of him: 'If you kill one more innocent, I will leave you!' But she might just kill more than she saves that way, and maybe him too, and maybe herself.

"Feyd, can you-" She sniffles. "If you get angry again, please never hurt Lilia. And whoever the new guard will be, don’t hurt him either. Can you do that for me please?"

"I promise." He squeezes her tight, eyes screwed up so tightly that he sees only dizzying stars. "I love you. I'm sorry."

She cannot fix the whole world, but she can start where she can see. It's not a solution, but a sapling, and a sapling can grow.

Mother Father How did I end up here, stone bound? All I feel ist the striking distance to the clouds My flesh is fettered on the skin of the soil But even so I almost reach the sparks in the void Sailing through the vacuum, am I drowned or alive?

- Cepheus by Fewjar

A/N: Okay, I promise promise this was the angstiest chapter, we're climbing uphill from here!! 🥺🥺🥺 Hand over your guesses, what do you think will happen from here? 😌💕 Thank you so much for all of your time!

TAG LIST:

@nostalgichoya, @forgedfromthestars, @sweetiee-o, @missbingu, @minedofmoria

@sebastianswallows, @charmingballoon, @flower-frog, @welliah, @aoi-targaryen

@coastalcowgirl35, @esolean, @szapizzapanda, @tatertooted

[wangxianficfinder]

I'm in the mood for...

Feb 9th

LINK LIMIT REACHED (check out the replies for more recs!)

~*~

1. hello!! itmf request for jiang cheng time travel fics. no jc bashing please and thank you ♥️ and ✌️

Lynchpin by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 103k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Time Travel, Fix-It)

For Both Of Us (And Time Is But A Paper Moon) by sami (E, 65k, wangxian, JC & WWX; JC & LWJ, LWJ & LXC, Canonical Character Death, Mentions of Rape, not explicit but definitely referenced, Time Travel, Not Everyone Dies au, Canon-Typical Violence, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, WWX/babie tendencies, WQ is a queen in any reality, Healing, Yunmeng Shuangjie, Canon Divergence, Asexual JC, First Time, Getting Together, BAMF JC, BAMF LWJ, WWX finds new ways to be oblivious, seriously it surprised even us) JC and LWJ time travel together

🔒 a path with thorns Series by baekhyun (baruna) (T, 22k, JC & WWX, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, Brotherhood, Complicated Relationships, JC-centric, Spoilers, Sibling Bonding, Canon-Typical Violence, Dysfunctional Family, Humor, Angst, not romance-oriented)

Hand in Hand Together (All Your Life) by sami (T, 41k, WZL/JC, WangXian, Queerplatonic relationship, Implied future MingLi, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon Divergence, Time Travel Fix-It, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Healing, Slow Burn) just JC time travels

~*~

2. for itmf, are there any fics in which wei wuxian does not reincarnate, or any modern aus in which he dies? /bunnycoffeeumcat

Threadfic by lamusadelils (LZ prepare WY body for funeral)

goodbye, wei ying by wordsonpage (T, <1k, wangxian, Major Character Death, Modern, Growing Old Together, Established Relationship, Character Death, Angst and Feels, Death from Old Age, Angst, Reminiscing)

Lament by kianspo (G, 8k, LSZ & LWJ, LXC & LWJ, wangxian, Canon Divergence, Grief/Mourning, Slice of Life, Character Study, Canonical Character Death, except he doesn't come back, as this covers decades, eventually other people die, Mysticism, this is pretty sad y'all, i'll be honest about that, though i was aiming for melancholy, One Hundred Years of Solitude mood)

🔒 Entropy by mondengel (Not rated, 1k, wangxian, Major Character Death, Angst, Character Death) Wy dies a second time

Nothing but a Dream by Purplemagic (G, 1k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, Angst and Tragedy, Not A Happy Ending) Wy die a second time

🔒 …and other dreams. by mondengel (E, 2k, wangxian, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Charater Death, Eldrich au, Horror, Gore, Body Horror, Murder, Death, A/B/O, Mpreg, Dark fic)

Obvious Progression by GammaRays (M, 21k, wangxian, Major Character Death, Childhood Friends, Friends to Lovers, Modern, Disease, Illnesses, Chronic Illness, Cancer, rare disease, Fabry disease, Artist WWX, Medical Procedures, Hospitals, Angst, Non-Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, Surgery, this is just very sad all around, there are some light-hearted moments too though, like proms and crocheted thigh-highs, Sick LWJ, Sick WWX)

Obvious Conclusion by FairyGardenCorgis (T, 7k, wangxian, Major Character Death, Modern, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Cancer, Grief/Mourning, Medical Procedures, Hospitals, PTSD)

Freefall by cherrywhiskey (T, 1k, wangxian, Modern, Hurt No Comfort, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Angst and Tragedy, Grief/Mourning, Aftermath of wwx's murder, Dead WWX, POV LWJ, Dark LWJ)

🔒 rest by pasteltea (T, 3k, gen, References to Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Angst, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Character Study, Modern, Grief/Mourning, Introspection)

~*~

3. Hi! Do you know any fics which center Nie Huaisang or him just having a bigger role in the fic? Can be anything, NHS ships, him just being a facilitator, modern era, whatever! It would be great if he's kinda scheming for the benefit of his friends, or s/t where someone has the hots for him and he's surprised?

Story-Shaped by lingering_song (T, 13k, NHS & WWX, wangxian, Post-Canon, Chief Cultivator LWJ, Inventor WWX, Found Family, NHS needs a new hobby, And apparently that's spoiling his Wei-Xiong, Mentioned Character Death, Alcohol, Protective NHS, WangXian Endgame, Not JC Friendly, Not particularly gentry sects friendly overall tbh) NHS takes WWX in post-canon

Second on 🔒 like mayflies wandering series by RoseThorne (E, 21k, NHS & WWX, wangxian, Assassination Attempt(s), Introspection, Regret, Travel, Post-Canon, POV Third Person, POV WWX, Ghosts, Reconciliation, Exhaustion, Pining, Pre-Wangxian, Pining, Feelings Realization, Illnesses, ennui, Found Family, Porn Reading, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Manipulative NHS, Memories, WWX Needs a Hug, Pining WWX, Friendship, NHS Is A Little Shit, Qi Deviation, Resentful Energy, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Triggers, Fainting, Anal Sex, Getting Together, Love Confessions, Grief/Mourning)

Friends, Sabers, and Other Essentials for Solving a Conspiracy by MeridianGrimm for Lisa_Telramor ( T, 50k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Mystery, Smart NHS, WWX doesn’t stay dead, LWJ gets a new friend, Happy Ending, Fix-It, To be clear the WangXian is mostly background, This fic is about friendship)

The Absolutely True Story of the Yiling Patriarch: A Manifesto in Many Parts by aubreyli (T, 19k, In-Universe RPF, Romance Novel, Post-Canon Fix-It, primarily drama-canon with cameos from novel-canon)

Something Divine by jusrecht (T, 3k, NHS & NMJ)

CH 3 of second verse, same as the first by Cerusee, Mikkeneko (T, 42k, wangxian, Everybody Lives, Time Travel Fix-It, Canon Divergence, Crack Treated SeriouslyS, erious Conversations That They Never Got To Have In Canon, JC has no filter when he's mad, Even Some People They Maybe Would Rather Didn't Live, canon-typical trauma, even if it hasn't happened in this timeline they still gotta deal with the memories, reference to child death, Gūsū Lán Sect Rules, WN Lives, WQ Lives, this is absolutely positively definitely Wei Wuxian's fault, Memory Loss, Implied/Referenced Suicide)

the problem with authority by isabilightwood (M, 139k, WangXian, JYL/WQ, QS & JYL, Canon Divergence, Sacrifice Summon, only the summoner sticks around, slightly dark JYL, WQ lives, Slow Burn, Angst with a Happy Ending, Chronic Pain, Mild Sexual Content, Switch Wangxian, WWX has to be resurrected & LWJ find out before they can interact, but there’s plenty of wangxian once they do, manipulative relationship)

The Tiger has Destroyed his Cage by updatebug (G, 54k, WangXian, Shapeshifters, Fix-it fic, Animal Pelts, Tiger WWX, Found Family, adopted family, Yungmeng Siblings, Canon appropriate angst and violence, Gratuitous OCs) Link in #15

while covered in mud by merthurlin (T, 12k, NHS & WWX, NHS & NMJ, NHS & Wen remnants, mentioned wangxian, canon divergence, fix-it, NHS goes farming and Hates It)

Crazy, Rich Cultivators by ShanaStoryteller (Not rated, 13k, wangxian, Modern Cultivation, Idiots in Love, Misunderstandings, POV LWJ, īthis started as a crazy rich asians au but quickly got away from me, light moments of angst but mostly shenanigans)

The Mustache by Fortune_Maiden (G, 2k, JGY & NHS, JC & NHS, LXC & NHS, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Humor, NHS grows a mustache, there is much despairing)

Walking Along a Different Road by Anonymous (Not rated, 5k, MS & JGY, MS & NMJ, MS & NHS, NHS & NMJ, JGY/NMJ, WIP, Angst, Canon Divergence, POV MS, MS Lives, Good Parent MS, Hurt/Comfort)

there is no limited dimensions by Stratisphyre (M, 104k, wangxian, LXC/NMJ, WQ/MM, WN/Other(s), Star Trek Fusion, Canon-Typical Violence, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Assumed Character Death, Minor Character Death, Tags on Each Chapter, references to non-con, references to canonical slavery, (The Orion Syndicate is just really bad okay?), bizarre space mpreg, Implied Future Pairings, POV Multiple, The Author Indulges in a Crack Pairing or Two, Accidental Child Acquisition, Found Family, Genius WWX)

Kiss of the Rose by sami (M, 8k, NHS/OFCs, NHS & NMJ, NHS & MXY, NHS & JGY, Family, original trans female character, Falling In Love, Enemies to Lovers, but only one of them knows it at the time, Pining, Getting Together, First Time, First Kiss, NHS drinks Respect For Women juice, courting, Please read notes)

day without night and night without day by xcourtney_chaoticx (T, 27k, NHS & NMJ, LXC/NMJ, JC & WWX, Ladyhawke Fusion, Inspired by Ladyhawke (1985), Animal Transformation, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Canon-Typical Violence, Attempted Forced Marriage, evil JGY)

the more things seem to change by littlebasketbun (G, 26k, LXC/NMJ, JC/NHS, wangxian, Modern, High School, Matchmaking, failed matchmaking, oblivious idiots in love)

The Same River Twice by nirejseki (Not rated, 17k, NHS & NMJ, WIP, Time Travel Fix-It, Unexpected development)

Counting Brushes by Fortune_Maiden (T, 6k, NHS & NMJ, NHS & WWX, wangxian, canon divergence, fluff & crack, humor, hurt/comfort)

🔒 Just Children to War by Anonymous (T, 4k, NHS & NMJ, Angst, Niè Siblings Dynamics, Niè Siblings Feels, Post-Episode 10 (CQL), Hair Brushing, Hair Braiding, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, NHS Needs a Hug, POV NMJ, Early Sunshot Campaign, offscreen death)

silly love songs series by wildwestwind (E, 67k, wangxian, 3zun, JGY/XY, NHS & LWJ, LXC & LWJ, LWJ/WWX/WN, JC/NHS, JGY & XY, XXC/XY, LWJ & WN, WQ & WWX, JC & WWX, Sex Work, Consensual Non-Consent, BDSM, Bad Decisions, Angst, Blow Jobs, Modern, Sex Worker Author, Masturbation, Self-Harm, Internalized Homophobia, Internalized Kinkphobia, Self-Hatred, Unhappy Ending, Horny Teenagers, Guilt, Past Rape/Non-con, LWJ is sad and horny, Baking, Politics, Hackers, Trans Female WWX, Aftercare, play piercing, bad polyamory, Marriage Proposal, Homophobia, Class Issues, Face Slapping, Daddy Kink, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Jealousy, Verbal Humiliation, Tenderness, Affection, Dubious Consent, JGY is a bad person and oblivious to his feelings, Drunkenness, Drunken Confessions, Fluff and Angst, Autistic Character, Autistic LXC, Kid Fic, Autistic LWJ, Trans Female NHS, Childhood Friends, Impregnation, Fluff, Worldbuilding, Bickering, inappropriate use of university library access, Biology, Sadism, Mutual Pining, Self-Indulgent Political Arguments, JGY is so bad at feelings, Porn with Feelings, Falling In Love, Alzheimer's Disease, nursing homes, Sharing a Bed, Fake Marriage, Sickfic, Misgendering, Misgendering Kink, JC Needs a Hug, JC Has Self-Esteem Issues, Kink Negotiation, JC is Bad at Feelings, JC is Bad at Communicating, POV JC, Protective JC, Domestic Fluff, everyone is happy, brief use of reclaimed slurs, Internalized Transphobia, Humor, Drunk Sex, Loss of Virginity, Eating Disorders, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, College/University, Confused Takes On Feminism, Crossdressing, Penis In Vagina Sex, Barebacking, Post-Divorce, Therapy, Friendship, Christmas, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Cultural Differences, JC & WWX Reconciliation, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, WWX Needs a Hug, Everyone Needs A Hug, POV WWX, WQ Is Bad At Medical Ethics, Pining, Grief, Porn AU, Twitter, Idiots in Love, it's not so much that WWX is pushing WN's boundaries as that WN's boundaries are feather-light gossamer and WWX is a very oblivious freight train)

shades of grey spill from my veins (bleeding ink all over the page) by Reverie (cl410) (M, 58k, NMJ/LXC, wangxian, NHS/WN, POV NMJ, Canon Divergence, Joining the “Wei Wuxian raised by the Nie Sect” Club, Mentions of WWX’s life on the streets, Hurt/Comfort, Accidental Sibling Acquisition, Single Dad NMJ, NHS & WWX Friendship, Fluff, Humor, Happy Ending, Everyone Lives AU, Protective NMJ, Sunshot Campaign, Some angst, Blood and Injury, Kidnapping, Protective Siblings, Found Family)

Jailbreaking by CullenBlue (T, 21k, WN & NHS, Canon Compliant, POV NHS, NHS Is A Little Shit, Cinnamon Roll WN, Fierce Corpse WN, Ghost General WN, References to Heavens Official's Blessing, References to The Scum Villain's Self Saving System, NHS insulting the Wen Clan's taste in interior Decorating, Mentions of Murder, WN made a friend by talking about his childhood trauma, BAMF WN, Panic Attacks, mentions of gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Violence in the Name of Comedy, Trauma, Is NHS taking anything seriously? who knows, Bromance)

the final cut by Wildehack (tyleet) (E, 19k, SangYu, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Suicidal Ideation, Emotional Manipulation, offscreen child death, extremely ill advised sex, Mildly Dubious Consent, Grief/Mourning, basically it's a BUMMER) is good but angsty with a bittersweet ending (because it's canon compliant)

~*~

4. Hi!!!!! Thank you so much for everything that you’re going you are literal life savers 🥺🫡

For the next ITMF do you have anything like

A) “On Impulse” by Rynne

B) Or you know that one fan art of teen wwx kissing lwj and lwj being shocked and blushing (pinterest link : https://pin.it/7vWC7oRZ9)

C) And also do you know any fics where wwx shows blatant favoritism towards lsz and the other juniors are jealous till they discover he’s his son ??

Anyway thank you so much ✨✨✨✨✨✨ /ihaveasoftspotfora-yuan

Keep Up by mimilamp (E, 27k, WangXian, High School, First Time, Practice Kissing, Practice hj, Infidelity, Sexual Content, Compulsory Heterosexuality, Pining while fucking, Teen Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dirty Talk) Not sure this is a great fit for #4 as it is both a modern AU and angsty, but it is teenage WangXian getting into it

~*~

5. Hi, I’m in the mood for a fic where... The Untamed is in Top Chef or other cooking shows? I know there are three complete about the great British bake off and also Battle Chefs by Sami, but I want... no, I need more!!! Also, any others about dancing show besides the Wangxian Strictly AU Series by Selenay and Unstrictly Ballroom by Ariaste that I found in the lists here!! I love reality TV fics!! I have read all the ones in the Reality TV list!! Be well and thanks!! Monica /monicaop21

we’re dancing around the kitchen by livinginaworldofnoise (G, 37k, WIP, WangXian, HuaLian, Reality Show, Modern AU, Worst Cooks in America AU, Cooking, Bad Cooking, war crimes committed in the form of cooking, Crack, Fluff, content warning for absolute unhinged chaos, XL Can't Cook, Simp HC) is a Worst Cooks In America AU MDZS/TGCF crossover

and from our own/live to ourselves by betweentheheavesofstorm (M, 105k, wangxian, modern, fantasy, reality tv, angst w/ happy ending, survival, blood & gore, self-harm, animal death, slow burn) is a made-up reality show in Antarctica (fair bit of angsty, be forewarned)

~*~

6. Hi! First off, thank you for everything you guys do! Much appreciated!

This one might be a bit off-topic, as not necessarily wangxian, but... I've been reading through your juniors shenanigans list and I was wondering if you can help? If not, 100% ok, and thank you anyway!

A) something with LJY meeting bb!a'Yuan? De-aged, time travel, or missing scenes from canon, it's all good!

B) anything with my main darling OZZ as the/one of the main characters? Junior-centric fics are so much fun! (Or they're soul-destroying, but in the best way.) /katonahottinroof

6A)

Time, Time, Time by skeletonofaplant (G, 44k, wangxian, JYL/JZX, WWX & LSZ, JYL & JL & JZX, LJY & LSZ, Time Travel Fix-It, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Identity Porn, Identity Reveal, Angst, Fluff, Junior Quartet Dynamics, Time Travelling Junior Ensemble, Junior Ensemble Shenanigans, Humor) The Juniors go back in time. LJY ends up at the Burial Mounds

Of Bunnies and Childhood Dreams series by iamtheelvenprince (T, 39k, wangxian, LXC & LWJ, LSZ & LWJ, LJY & LSZ, Post-First Siege of the Burial Mounds, Pre-Canon, The inbetween years, Teacher LWJ, LWJ Has Feelings, POV LWJ, Child LSZ, LSZ's Childhood, Poor LJY, Family Feels, Supportive bros, Gūsū Lán Sect, LWJ loves his students, bad teachers, What happens when LQR isn't home, LWJ's ducklings, Supportive LXC, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Bunnies, Protective LWJ, LJY-centric, Child LJY, Sad LJY, Good Kid LJY, teachers playing favourite, unsupportive teachers, Literal Sleeping Together, Sleepovers, Baby LJY, Baby LSZ, LWJ loves his boys, LXC is overworked, Give LXC a nap, Light Angst, Family Bonding, LXC needs a hug, Lantern Festivals, memorial service, Secrets, Secret family, LQR loves his boys, LQR as the best great-uncle, Hurt, Suicidal Thoughts, Loss, Grief/Mourning, Broken Promises, Finding Ones Self, Self-Reflection, Brotherly Love, Brotherly Affection, Hurt/Comfort, Tragedy, Protective LXC, BAMF NHS, NHS-centric, NHS Needs a Hug, Manipulation, LWJ & NHS Friendship, Aftermath of Fatal Journey, Betrayal, Petty LWJ, Good Uncle JC, Good Parent LWJ, Protective LJY, JGS Being an Asshole, JGS Being an Idiot, JGY Being JGY, massive time skips, Teaching, Serious Injuries, Graphic Description, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Damage, Sad Dreams, Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, Madam Jin deserved better, JC-centric, POV JC, JC Needs a Hug, JC Needs Therapy, Gūsū Lán Juniors Dynamics)

no time for crying by Narci (T, 10k, WangXian, Wwx protection squad, Age Regression/De-Aging, Kid WWX, kid LSZ, night hunt gone absolutely right, (lowkey golden core fix it), Fluff, Angst and Feels, Humor, Juniors)

Back in time by LilacNeko (T, 32k, wangxian, Time Travel, Alternate Timelines, Fix-It of Sorts, Angst, Family Feels, Good Kid LSZ, LSZ Needs a Hug, Sad JL, JL Needs a Hug)

6B)

🔒 卧薪尝胆 by RoseThorne (G, 1k, wangxian, OYZZ & WWX, Petty LWJ, Bunnies, False Accusations, scapegoating, Cultivation Sect Politics, Chief Cultivator LWJ, POV Third Person, POV WWX)

🔒 Four Parts Honey and One Part Vinegar by masked (T, 13k, wangxian, Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Junior Quartet Dynamics, Fluff, Humor, Time Travel, Wangxian in Love, 5+1 Things, Jealous WWX, the Impeccable Trust between Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian, POV Outsider, everyone is Thirsty for Hanguang-jun as one tends to be)

visions of glittering rooms by Sour_Idealist (T, 1k, A-Qing/OYZZ, A-Qing/OYZZ/LJY, Modern USA, Alcohol, Poor Movie Theater Etiquette, Drunk Postmovie iHop)

between the pages of some novel by yuer (vintageblueskies) (T, 7k, JL & OYZZ & LJY & LSZ, wangxian, Post-Canon, Case Fic, Curses, Sex Curse, non-explicit discussion of sex and porn, junior shenanigans, the mortifying ordeal of trying to figure out if your seniors are having sex, no sex happens in this fic, the author attempts humor)

Important Distinctions by nagi_blue (T, 5k, gen, Fluff and Crack, Podfic Available)

Linger in the Sun by etymologyplayground (T, 39k, wangxian, JC & WWX, Case Fic, Intimacy, Curses, Canon Compliant, Post-Canon, Cuddling & Snuggling, Getting Together, Romance, Sexual Tension, Scent Kink, WWX Loves To Teach, wangxian are married, Fluff, nonsexual intimacy, Scars, Sharing a Bed, Nonverbal Communication, this is HEAVY on the symbolism, Translation in Russian)

~*~

7. Is there any fics where LWJ just loses it and slams WWX into a wall or onto a bed or something to kiss him? Like, he just can't take it anymore,, his restraint is GONE! WWX is just too tempting he needs this boy NOW (bottom WWX only pls no implied/referenced switching either oh and no rape it must be consensual or WWX approved CNC)

🔒 感情用事 by rosethorne (T, <1k, wangxian, Frustration, Anger, Embarrassment, Grief/Mourning, Biting, First Kiss, Getting Together, Canon Divergence, POV LWJ, POV Third Person)

🔒 joined delight by RoseThorne (M, 1k, wangxian, underage, fast burn, Making Out, Marking, Frottage, Gūsū Lán Sect Rules, Gūsū Lán Forehead Ribbon, Marathon Sex, Implied Sexual Content, Love at First Sight, Swords, Horniness, POV Third Person, POV LWJ, Canon Divergence, Cloud Recesses Study Arc)

~*~

8. Are there any fics where wangxian are A) babysitters or tutors and meet through that? or B) run a stall/work at a store?

8A)

💖 But really, why? by Scrippio (T, 52k, wangxian, JYL/JZX, WQ/JC, Modern, College/University) features Wei Ying & Lan Zhan as tutors, though I can't remember if that's how they met.

~*~

9. heyy admins! itmf more darkji fics where lwj is possessive of wwx, something like 'so he thinks he's Straight (a memoir by lan zhan)' by pancho. thanks!!

A Matter of Time series by mrcformoso (E, 84k, wangxian, time travel fix-it, graphic depictions of violence, underage, LWJ pov, JC pov, dark LWJ, manipulation, grooming, teen body adult mind for LWJ, happy ending for wangxian, problematic consensual underage sex, blood & violence, insane LWJ, manic LWJ) LWJ is very dark & possessive in this

~*~

10. hi!! i’m itmf for a fic where wwx time travels to the modern era. i’ve seen some fanart and short twitter threads about it where lwj explains modern tech to him and he’s all amazed, but haven’t stumbled upon any fics.

i also wouldn’t mind fics of the reverse where lwj time travels /nalalie

🧡 The Shade of Old Trees by Kryal (T, 128k, WIP, WangXian, Ridiculously Long Notes, History, Canon Divergence, Modern AU, Slow Burn, Worldbuilding, Slow Life, Action/Adventure, Magic Returns, BAMF WWX) it's not time travel in the traditional sense, instead he gets trapped in ice for 15 hundred years. But he does get taught modern Chinese and technology by LWJ and LSZ! Plus protective WQ and NMJ are so fun to read ^^ - Mod C

结局难更改 (the ending is hard to change) Series by PorcupineGirl (G, 50k, WangXian, Modern with Magic AU, Canon Divergence, Time travel, Reincarnated LWJ & LXC, YL WWX, Reincarnation, Secret Identity, Identity reveal) has WWX time travelling to the modern day rather than falling to his death

counterpart by queensmooting (E, 37k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Parallel Universes, Multiple Selves, Kid Fic, some child endangerment (everyone will be fine), lwj can and has gotten pregnant, Bottom LWJ/Top WWX, bittersweet ending (ymmv)) way too much time/dimension travel

🔒 不忘 | Don’t Forget by dragongirlG (E, 50k, WangXian, Modern AU, Canon Divergence, Time Travel, Reincarnation, Fix-It of Sorts, Identity Porn, Social Media, Reunions, Family, Angst with a Happy Ending, Light Bondage, References to Canon, Artist WWX, Sexual Content, Pining, POV Multiple, Additional Warnings In Author’s Note)

atlas in his sleepin’ by anatheme (E, 48k, WangXian, XuanLi, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Reincarnation, Family Reunions, Dimension Travel, temporary transmigration, Transmigrator!LWJ, Yunmeng Shuangjie Reconciliation, jzx motherhenning wwx, First Time, Sharing Clothes, Angst with a Happy Ending, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies) it not a time travel but WWX teach LWJ modern tech and depend on your interpretation it could be time travel fic, i think?

Wrong Turn, Right Place by diamondbruise (E, 71k, WangXian, Time Travel, kind of, it’s more reality travel but there’s modern wwx and cultivator lwj, Mutual Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, Jealousy, Idiots in Love, Slow Burn, Misunderstandings, Cultural Differences)

take me back to a time by DizziDreams (T, 143k, wangxian, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death, College/University, Modern with Magic, Time Travel, Sharing a Bed, Fish out of Water, Man Out of Time, WWX questionable decisions, LWJ lizard brain, Angst with a Happy Ending, WWX's lack of self-preservation, Student WWX, Time-Traveling Wizard LWJ, Slow Burn, Character Death, reference to abuse, Canonical Character Death, Canonical Abuse, Canon, LWJ, Canon-Typical Violence, Mutual Pining, Chronic Illness, Not A Fix-It, WWX be like "i should be scared but instead im just horny", feat: LWJ horny grip, Podfic Available, Case Fic, Russian Translation Available, Transmigration, America, Spanish Translation Available) lwj accidentally time travels to the modern era

Echoes of Love by Witch_Nova221 (M, 212k, WangXian, Modern AU, Eventual Romance, Time Travel, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, university lecturer LWJ, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Dark BSSR, Amnesia, Memory Loss, 1980s music, LWJ loves all things 80s, Oxford vs Cambridge, Boat Race, References to Torture, Murder, Blood and Injury, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mystery) is brilliant with an interesting premise

~*~

11. Do you know any fic (preferably wangxian) where wwx accidentally calls jyl mom ???? The thought popped up in my head and I can’t stop thinking about it 😅😂 /ihaveasoftspotfora-yuan

~*~

12. for itmf!!! no wips pls

A) longer fics w sugar dating or service top!!

B) in which one of them is a single parent, or kid fics really

12A)

November Baby by astrophyllite (E, 172k, NMJ/JC, Modern, College/University, Sex Work, Sugar Daddy, Slow Burn, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Pining while fucking, Condoms, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, Frottage, Switching, JCn Has A Praise Kink, Hair Brushing, Hair Braiding, Dog Bàxià, Yúnmèng Siblings Dynamics, Emotionally Significant Duck Figurines, Trans JZX) mingcheng not wangxian but if you're okay with a different ship

❤️ All Old Things are New Again by The Feels Whale (miscellea) (M, 52k, wangxian, modern, reincarnation, sugar daddy, kink negotiation, gentle dom LWJ)  aaaand some wangxian sugar dating ones that the requester probably already knows about, but linking just in case / is basically a truly wonderful twist on this premise

how to fall in love with a catfish: a guide by wei wuxian (disaster rat) by bwyn, Yuisaki (T, 54k, WangXian, Modern AU, College/University, Actors, Multimedia, Online Friendship, Drunken Shenanigans, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Underage Drinking, Drinking Games, Families of Choice, Ensemble Cast, Fluff and Angst, Slow Burn, Catfish AU)

The Sugar Daddy AU Series by vesna (mrsronweasley) (E, 106k, wangxian, modern, sugar daddy, sex work, dom/sub, aftercare, semi-public sex, exhibitionism, bondage, boundary setting, relationship negotiation) is basically perfection of this premise

finally safe (for me to fall) by sassybluee (E, 77k, WangXian, Modern: No Powers, Sugar Daddy, Age Difference, Sex Work, Rich WWX, Older WWX, Service Top WWX, Poor LWJ, Single Parent LWJ, Sugar Baby LWJ, Family Issues, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Slow Burn, Cockblocking, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, No Lube, Lube, Addiction, Compulsory Heterosexuality, Implied/Referenced Abuse, wangxian + others) is a complete flip of the typical premise - Wei Wuxian as the sugar daddy

12B)

Of Bunnies and Childhood Dreams series by iamtheelvenprince (T, 39k, wangxian, LXC & LWJ, LSZ & LWJ, LJY & LSZ, Post-First Siege of the Burial Mounds, Pre-Canon, The inbetween years, Teacher LWJ, LWJ Has Feelings, POV LWJ, Child LSZ, LSZ's Childhood, Poor LJY, Family Feels, Supportive bros, Gūsū Lán Sect, LWJ loves his students, bad teachers, What happens when LQR isn't home, LWJ's ducklings, Supportive LXC, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Bunnies, Protective LWJ, LJY-centric, Child LJY, Sad LJY, Good Kid LJY, teachers playing favourite, unsupportive teachers, Literal Sleeping Together, Sleepovers, Baby LJY, Baby LSZ, LWJ loves his boys, LXC is overworked, Give LXC a nap, Light Angst, Family Bonding, LXC needs a hug, Lantern Festivals, memorial service, Secrets, Secret family, LQR loves his boys, LQR as the best great-uncle, Hurt, Suicidal Thoughts, Loss, Grief/Mourning, Broken Promises, Finding Ones Self, Self-Reflection, Brotherly Love, Brotherly Affection, Hurt/Comfort, Tragedy, Protective LXC, BAMF NHS, NHS-centric, NHS Needs a Hug, Manipulation, LWJ & NHS Friendship, Aftermath of Fatal Journey, Betrayal, Petty LWJ, Good Uncle JC, Good Parent LWJ, Protective LJY, JGS Being an Asshole, JGS Being an Idiot, JGY Being JGY, massive time skips, Teaching, Serious Injuries, Graphic Description, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Damage, Sad Dreams, Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, Madam Jin deserved better, JC-centric, POV JC, JC Needs a Hug, JC Needs Therapy, Gūsū Lán Juniors Dynamics) Link in #6A

❤️ save a sword, ride a socialist by sysrae (E, 33k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, College/University, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Single Parent WWX, Homophobia, LQR’s A+ Parenting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Idiots to lovers)

🔒💖 Everyanything by deliciousblizzardshark & lingeringdust (E, 46k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, Gender Identity, Gender Dysphoria, Trans WWX, Protective LWJ, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Is it bad parenting to bring a baby on a nighthunt, Canon-Typical Misogyny, Fluff and Angst, Vaginal Sex, Canon-Typical Major Character Death)

💖 The Best I Can by Zephyr (ZephyrAndTheSilverfish) (T, 26k, LJY & WWX, wangxian, canon divergence, light angst, drama, recovery, coming of age, secret identity fail, rogue cultivator LWJ, road trips, happy ending)

The Simplest Way Forward by harriet_vane (E, 70k, WangXian, Modern AU, Accidental baby acquisition, Kid fic, Green card marriage (but not really), Slow Burn, Endless Pining, Happy ending, [Podfic of] The Simplest Way Forward by knight_tracer)

when the sun goes out by travelingneuritis (E, 176k, WangXian, Modern AU, Modern Cultivation, tech cultivation, Necromancy, Angst with a Happy Ending, insecurity around adoption, Dad!WWX, dad!lwj, Grief/Mourning, Mistaken Identity, Mood Whiplash, Body Swap, sex tears!, Falling In Love, Consensual Somnophilia, apocalypse (localized), Smut, unrealistic sexual stamina, Flashbacks, Time Skips, Illustrations)

Across the street to another life by danegen (M, 99k, WangXian, Modern AU, unleashed au Family Fluff, Set in America, Hurt/Comfort, Past Child Abuse, Addiction, Crime, Amnesia, Ableist, Language, another fridged mother, POV Alternating, past wwx/ofc, past wwx/omc, Medium parent YZY, A-Yuan is wwx’s biological son, Musicians, Happy Ending)

❤️ kick at the darkness ‘til it bleeds daylight by AlfAlfAlfAlfAlf, tardigradeschool (T, 75k, WangXian, Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Eventual Happy Ending, Getting Together, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Inspired by The Parent Trap (1998), Kid Fic, teen shenanigans, two a-yuans, Fluff and Angst, [Podfic] kick at the darkness ‘til it bleeds daylight by contributor-sky (deepestbluesky), esbielle was also here (esbielle), glittercracker, GodOfLaundryBaskets, jellyfishfire, kisahawklin, Koontyme, Rionaa, semperfiona))

🧡 CSI: Gusu Edition Series by Stratisphyre (M, 39k, WangXian, WWX & LQR, Modern with Magic AU, College AU, Golden Core Reveal, Single parent WWX, Good Uncle LQR, Hospitalization, Allusions to violence and murder)

Magic Mishap by Regency_Bunny (T, 8k, WangXian, NieLan, Modern AU, Single parent WWX, Fluff, Humor, Kid Fic, Meet cute, Love at first sight, Himbo LXC, Magic tricks)

my little love by mellowflicker (T, 54k, WangXian, Modern AU, Single Parent WWX, kindergarten teacher!lwj, Kid Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Domestic Fluff, Pining)

I know what my heart wants by yakuso5u (Not Rated, 28k, WangXian, Modern AU, Single Father LWJ, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Getting Together, Accidental Child Acquisition, Domestic, Slice of Life, Christmas references)

Window Shopping by thunderwear (E, 18k, wangxian, Modern, quarantine fic, Single Dad WWX, Getting Together, Long-Distance Relationship, Mutual Pining, Fluff, Happy Ending, First Time, Phone Sex, switching POV, Domestic Fluff, some smut)

These Things Stay the Same by notevenyou (E, 30k, wangxian, Modern, Kid Fic, Canon-Typical Violence, Minor Character Death, Injury, Natural Disasters, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hospitalization, Accidents)

say it's here where our pieces fall in place by Lirelyn (E, 68k, wangxian, Family Feels, Modern, Angst with a Happy Ending, Kid Fic, Adoption, Foster Care, most of the angst is backstory and we're working through it, several characters have had therapy thank god, there's a good amount of domestic fluff but also a lot of crying, Often at the same time, oh yeah eventually there will be smut, possibly also with crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Podfic Available)

box your errors by mellowflicker (T, 42k, wangxian, Modern, single dad LWJ, Domestic Fluff, Family Issues, Slow Burn, Kid Fic, let LWJ have friends agenda, Hurt/Comfort, Pining)

The stuffed bunny, the beautiful nephew, and other gifts from Lan Qiren by deliciousblizzardshark (G, 8k, LQR & WWX, wangxian, Modern, Single Parent WWX, Good Uncle LQR, Accidental Uncle Acquisition, Found Family, Fluff)

🧡 your heart, two doors down by ghostsgf (G, 9k, WangXian, Modern AU, Pining, Parenting)

🧡 paint smears on sunny days by SnowshadowAO3 (E, 53k, WangXian, Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Everyone Is Alive, Modern AU, Dadji, Mutual Pining, Happy Ending, Brief Alcohol Mention, Masturbation, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Accidentally co-parenting with your son's art teacher, Fatherhood)

🔒Betting On You by kuro (G, 5k, WangXian, Domestic Fluff Single Parent WWX, Neighbors, Modern AU, Pining, Music Teacher LWJ, Programmer WWX)

Can we keep him? by Sweetlittlevampire (G, 15k, WangXian, Modern AU, Shapeshifters, Animal Transformation, Friends to Lovers, Kid Fic, Single Dad WWX, Light Angst, Happy Ending, Modern with Magic, [Podfic] Can we keep him? by Rionaa)

~*~

13. Hi!

A) I would like to ask you to find some wangxian fics with multi chaptered royal au .

B) Omegaverse fic where wwx is a strong omega

Thanks

13A)

我的皇后是農民 | sowing seeds in the cold palace by sweetlolixo (E, 84k, WangXian, Imperial Palace, Emperor LWJ, Imperial Consort WWX, Farmer WWX, Angst, Romance, Wingman LJY, Wife-chasing-LWJ, Arranged Marriage, Best Boy A-Yuan)

travelers through the empty gate by stiltonbasket (M, 107k, WIP, WangXian, Royalty, Emperor WWX, Mistaken Identity, Poor LWJ, Bookshop owner LWJ, Intrigue, Court Drama, Forced Marriage, Confused WWX, POV Alternating, Parenthood, Misunderstandings, Empress LWJ, Requited Unrequited Love, Fluff, Humor, Married Life, Angst with a Happy Ending) my fic fits the bill!

shattered mirrors by besanii

🧡 The Emperor's Portrait by catbrainedschemes (E, 32k, WangXian, Historical, Ancient China, Historically Inaccurate, Meet-Cute, Mistaken Identity, Age Difference, Sexual Tension, Happy Ending, Fluff, Emperor!LWJ, artist!wwx, Misunderstandings, Hand Kink, Strength Kink, Smut, gege kinkl, ots of staring, Dirty Talk, Canon-Typical Bondage) (link in royalty au comp)

True Gold Fears No Fire by defractum (nyargles) (M, 69k, WIP, WangXian, Royalty AU, Ancient China, Wuxia, Historical Inaccuracy, Arranged Marriage, Identity Porn, Mutual Pining, Emperor!LWJ, empress!wwx, Eventual Happy Ending, Misunderstandings) (link in royalty au comp)

Kingfisher Feathers by anonymous (E, 144k, WIP, WangXian, Royalty AU, Emperor LWJ, Concubine WWX, A/B/O, Mpreg, Mutual Pining, Angst with a happy ending) (link in royalty au comp)

13B)

I Will Not Go Gentle into the Quiet Night by TriviasFolly (M, 89k, WangXian, A/B/O Dynamics, Omega WWX, Alpha LWJ, no cultivation au, Vaugely Historical AU?, royal au, War AU, Slow Burn, Attempted Rape, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Murder) mind the tags

🔒 Wilful Blindness ≠ Ignorance by Cy_an_Blue (E, 59k, wangxian, WIP, Graphic Depictions of Violence, LSZ is a Wèi, WWX is LSZ's Parent, Child LSZ, A/B/O, Alpha LWJ, Omega WWX, Prince LWJ, Concubine WWX, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Original Character Death(s), Implied/Referenced Child Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied Mpreg, Past Mpreg, War, End of War, Post-War, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Gore, Prisoner of War, WWX Has Self-Esteem Issues, One-Sided Attraction, but not really, Falling In Love, SS Being an Asshole, Angst and Tragedy, Period-Typical Sexism, Period Typical Attitudes, Angst with a Happy Ending, Requited Love, Getting Together)

🔒 Three Letters, Six Etiquettes by 2501987 (M, 24k, wangxian, JC/LXC, Royalty, Arranged Marriage, A/B/O, Arranged Marriage, Angst and Humor, Romance, Idiots in Love, Eventual Romance, Soft Wangxian, WWX is a Little Shit, LWJ is Whipped, BAMF JYL, Family Feels, Awkward First Times, First Time, Loss of Virginity, Bad Sex, Wedding Night, Cute Kids, Domestic Fluff)

~*~

14. hello!! not sure if i was able to send this ask already, but do you know any fics were lsz is referenced as the lan heir? thank you! ☺️ /cuddlemehun

A Civil Combpaign Series by Ariaste (T, 19k, JL/LSZ, wangxian, arranged marriage, courting, teenage drama, humor) it's mentioned in the second fic, Besieged

~*~

15. Hello! For ITMF I am looking for canon-divergent fics where Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen help fight through the Sunshot Campaign, and perhaps join Wei Wuxian in the Burial Mounds after. I would love for Wei Wuxian to have had more allies in those years. Thank you for any suggestions! /gloriousclotpole

The Tiger has Destroyed his Cage by updatebug (G, 54k, WangXian, Shapeshifters, Fix-it fic, Animal Pelts, Tiger WWX, Found Family, adopted family, Yungmeng Siblings, Canon appropriate angst and violence, Gratuitous OCs) the tiger fic has XXC&SL get involved in the Sunshot campaign on WWX's behalf. it's canon divergent/ends before the Burial Mounds Settlement Days, but it's also just a really fun fic (and great for "wwx has more allies")

💖 Xiao XingChen’s travelling sect series by The Silverfish (ZephyrAndTheSilverfish) (T, 43k, wangxian, SL/XXC, time travel, children, rogue cultivators, hurt/comfort, murder mystery, world travel) Maybe also "Xiao Xingchen's traveling sect"? that's canon divergent much earlier than the sunshot campaign though

~*~

16. Hello, I'm looking for works, where JC was the initial source of hate rumors targeted at WWX that led to his demise. Could you please help?

~*~

17. Hi, I'm itmf NHS as chief cultivator. Best if before wwx death. Maybe he saw that everything is gradually going shit and decides to abandon his weak persona mask early

~*~

If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @/mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

[kiyaar]

Possessed by Light: An AI Tony Exchange CREATOR REVEALS!

POSSESSED BY LIGHT: An AI (Steve)Tony Exchange has come to a close! Thank you to our creators, our cheerleaders, and our esteemed pinch hitter. Here is a masterlist of 13 delicious works (4 art, 9 fic) featuring our sad blue boy. This exchange was designed to generate more comics SteveTony works, so most works feature 616, but we do have 2 Noir works and 1 Ults work! We hope you enjoy this feast and please remember to show your chefs some love in the comments! Works under the cut:

art: Ballet Aérien by @oluka for @tinystark616

Tags: superior iron man, digital art Summary: SIM has taken an interest to AI Tony.

art: PbL: Dissonant Messages by @somekindofsheepl for @mserm

Tags: hydra steve rogers, hurt no comfort, tentacles, sharing a bed, these tags are a mess Summary: Tony has a little bit of a headache. Don't worry about it, everything is fine.

art: artificial intelligence out of time by kenobleeaaarrrgghh for @ayapandagirl

Tags: alternate universe, role reversal Summary: my fill for the AI tony exchange! for the prompt: [noir universe]'s version of AI tony

art: "Error 1610 File not Found" and "Wired to Obey"  by badworldgood for @somekindofsheepl

Tags: Possessive Steve Rogers, Creepy Victor von Doom, Victor von Doom Being an Asshole, Cancer, Angst, Fanart , Ultimates, 616 Summary: UltsTony saves himself from the brain cancer by becoming an AI...or so they think. File corruption becomes an issue / AI Tony ends up in a damaged Doombot. Doom may grow attached, Steve is not happy once he finds out.

fic: no happy endings by @mserm for @kiyaar (8.8k)

Tags: choose your own adventure, POV second person, unhappy ending, everything feels wrong and nobody is ok Summary: AI Tony's greatest fear is that he'll be replaced by flesh-and-blood Tony. What will he do to stop it? That's for you to decide.

fic: hold me (like it's the last time) by @tinystark616 for @ralsbecket (3.8k)

Tags: hydra steve rogers, pining, angst with a happy ending, getting together, fix it, I mean first I made it worse and then I fixed it, sad AI tony, alternate universe - canon divergence Summary: Hydra Cap attempts to convince AI Tony to stay with him with promises to make Tony real. Tony wants to be real, but he wants the real Steve back even more.

fic: You don't have to be a ghost here amongst the living by @ayapandagirl for badworldgood (3.2k)

Tags: secret empire, existential crisis, transhumanism, artist steve rogers, modeling, timeline what timeline, AU - canon divergence Summary: AI Tony Stark struggles with identity and Steve offers a novel approach to the problem: modeling.

fic: Imagine Being Loved by Me by @ralsbecket for @rowantreeisme (2.5k)

Tags: established relationship, touch-starved, frottage, pining, references to depression, implied/referenced alcohol abuse, angst, hurt/comfort, ambiguous/open ending Summary: He lifts his hand, fingers hovering just over the slope of Tony’s nose and side of his cheek, blue light washing over it. There’s a hesitation there, in Steve’s eyes, as he inquires, “Can I touch you, or…?” Tony can guess what Steve doesn’t have the heart to finish: Can I touch you, or will I pass through you like you were nothing?

fic: body and mind and sun by @dirigibleplumbing for @oluka (5.2k)

Tags: secret empire, hydra steve rogers, AI tony stark, AU - canon divergence, transhumanism, body horror, body modification, angst, dark, forced intimacy, ambiguous/open ending Summary: Steve's engineering team insists that learning Stark's secrets is a waste of time. What can he offer Steve that they can't? Hydra has a spy in the resistance. They are on their way to completing the Cube. What more could he want?  He wants Tony.

fic: do iron men dream of warm flesh? by ves.larkinson for @dirigibleplumbing (21.1k)

Tags: Transhumanism, Comic Book Science, Getting Together, Angst with a Happy Ending, Time Travel, action/adventure elements, Coming of Age as an AI, Attempt at Humor, Philosophy, Existentialism, Time bullets, Identity Disability (sort of), tony is de-coma'd just before steve is de-HYDRA'd, Queer Themes, Civil War, Amnesia, Guilt, Betrayal, Post-Marvel Comic Event: Dark Reign (2008), Post-Marvel Comic Event: Secret Empire (2017) Summary: The artificial intelligence called Tony Stark is in it way over his head. The “real” Tony Stark is isolating himself, trying to ignore his part in the Civil War and the Dark Reign that followed it; and Steve is falling into guilt over his part in the Secret Empire. Tony has no history, and his human counterpart has too much. Somewhere between them, there might be a way forwards—for all three of the men in this shitshow.

fic: fate, commitment by @rowantreeisme for kenobleeaaarrrgghh (40.5k)

Tags: Edwin Jarvis, James "Rhodey" Rhodes, World War II, Comic: Iron Man Noir (2010), Canon-Typical Violence, Post-Canon, Angst, Hopeful Ending, Nazi Germany, Pre-Slash, Time Travel, Espionage, Canon-Typical Body Horror Summary: Cell fate commitment: the process through which a stem cell becomes committed to it's final state, and the means through which this is determined through genetics and molecular signalling.

fic: Similitude by @winnifredburkle for ves.larkinson (1.5k)

Tags: BDSM, armor kink, dubious consent, selfcest Summary: Tony gives AI Tony control of an Iron Man suit. For sex purposes. It doesn't quite go how he expected.

fic: Eidolon by @kiyaar for @starvels (22.9k)

Tags: established relationship, threesome - f/m/m, intellectual strap sucking, a dead celestial is sometimes a home, consent issues cockwarming, electroplay, secret empire, civil war II, canon compliant, angst, alcoholism, wistful flesh hunger, transhumanism, not-a-fixit, unfixit Summary: "What if we fucked," Carol says, "and we also fucked Steve." "I don't know if I can take that kind of rejection right now," Tony says.

You can view all of the works in the Ao3 collection here. You can join the endless AI Tony conversation in the 616 Steve/Tony discord here. And, as always - you can thank your creators by circulating their work and leaving comments and kudos on ao3!

[destieltropecollection]

Destiel Trope Collection 2024 | Day 30: Whump

Agape | @tami-ryver Rating: Mature Word Count: 2,421 Main Tags/Warnings: Hurt Dean Winchester, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Torture, Tortured Dean Winchester, Post-Episode: s04e16 On the Head of a Pin (Supernatural), Blood and Injury, BAMF Castiel (Supernatural), Protective Castiel (Supernatural), Castiel Saves Dean Winchester, Castiel's Angelic Grace (Supernatural), First Kiss, Dean Winchester Swears, Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Angel Wings, Castiel and Dean Winchester Have a Profound Bond Summary: Cas, I don't know if you can hear me, I need your help. I got myself kidnapped by a demon; you told me to pray in case something like this happened, so, please, help me! With his eyes closed, Dean doesn't see the way the demon starts leaving his old vessel and starts drifting toward him. Only when the smell of sulfur fills his nose, his eyes open quickly and he sees the black mass of the demon right in front of him, he sobs. Then a bright light fills the room.

The Confessions of Buried Bones | @Joysprings-a03 Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 3,120 Main Tags/Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Injured!Dean Winchester, Protective! Castiel, Hunt Gone Wrong, Curses, Blood and Injury, Worried!Sam, Worried!Castiel BAMF!Castiel, Trapped, Love Confessions, Case fic, Summary: On a case gone wrong, Dean is seriously injured while Cas is running low on grace. The two are trapped together and running out of time. Things come to light, feelings and desperation take place. ********** The cave rumbled again and a few loose rocks fell, which only served to raise Dean’s hackles even more. They’d definitely missed something. “There’s a catch to the curse! After it’s broken, the place it was protecting starts to self-destruct! You have to get out of there now!” Suddenly crystal clear, Sam’s words came through his phone just as the mouth of the cave popped into view. Time slowed, and Dean’s stomach plummeted as he realized what was happening. “Run!”

Take Enough Soul | @envydean Rating: Explicit Word Count: 9,450 Main Tags/Warnings: Demon!Dean/Human!Cas, Alternate Universe, summoning demons, Selling of Souls, Angst, Hurt/very little comfort, cock bulging, Bottom!Cas, slight body horror, Ambiguously Happy Ending, temporary major character death, rape/non-con Summary: Dean is summoned to an old cabin in the middle of the woods by a man who has lost his brother. After making sure Castiel's soul is worth the bargain, Dean goes in search of Castiel's brother only to find that he's not on Earth, but in Hell. Unfortunately for Castiel, deals are addictive and once he's made one, he finds he has Dean wrapped around his finger.

Entirely Unacceptable | @samanddean76 Rating: Mature Word Count: 10,794 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Modern Royalty, Alpha Castiel/Omega Dean Winchester, Protective Castiel, Hurt Dean Winchester, Alpha Gabriel, Omega Sam Winchester, Alpha John Winchester, BAMF's, BAMF John Winchester, Rescue, Revenge, Or Justice, First Time, Knotting, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, True Mates, Love, Happy Ending, All The Bad Guys Get Punished, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Kneeling, Past Abuse, Mpreg, Dean Winchester Whump Summary: Alpha Castiel has unexpectedly acquired a very well-trained Omega Dean when he escorted his brother Gabriel to a public auction house. But the Omega he brought home harbors not only secrets, but enemies as well. Will they survive long enough to reach their happy ending? And can they really be true mates if neither is sure that they even believe in such a thing? Love, rescue, and some revenge in a modern-day A/B/O setting.

The Penitent | @verobatto Rating: Explicit Word Count: 17,832 Main Tags/Warnings: Demon!Dean, post apocalyptic AU, memory loss, temporary MCD (Sam), hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, whump!Dean, top!Castiel/bottom! Dean Summary: Ten years have passed since Demon! Dean murdered his brother Sam and devastated the land. His footprints have become almost untraceable by the angels, who've lost faith in and defeating the one in possession of the Mark of Cain. Everyone except Castiel, who after incessantly searching for a way to save Dean, finds one last hope. He must request something extraordinary from Heaven to heal the mark. block the demon, and recover Dean. Dean must reverse the events, bringing Sam back to life. To do this, he must use the Penitent's Ring, which had once belonged to Cain, and with it, he must defeat the Seven Gifts of the Holy Spirit. Yet is Dean capable of such this? And can Castiel heal the darkness within Dean? This is a dystopian fic, based on canonverse, post 10x20 episode. Dean had lost his memories and he will be slowly recovering them. This will bring a lot of angst, and sad moments but Castiel will be there to comfort him. It's an angsty story with action, romance and a happy ending.

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

In the Quiet Dark

by MyLastWhimsy Tim didn’t know what to expect when Jason Todd found him on the brink of death, but he never imagined the line between savior and captor would dissolve into something so inescapable. Broken and stripped of his autonomy, Tim is forced to rely on the man who once inspired his dreams - before crushing them completely. Meanwhile, Jason's obsession deepens and their fragile dynamic spirals toward a breaking point, leaving both to grapple with the cost of survival and the scars they’ll carry long after. Words: 4276, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, Batman (Comics), Batman: Under the Red Hood (2010), Red Robin (Comics) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: Gen Characters: Tim Drake (DCU), Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Damian Wayne, Cassandra Cain, Alfred Pennyworth, Talia al Ghul, Prudence Wood, Ra's al Ghul Relationships: Tim Drake & Jason Todd, Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Age Changes, DC stands for Disregard Canon, no beta we die like robins, POV Alternating, Tags May Change, Canon-Typical Violence, hurt with a happy ending, Angst with a Happy Ending, Whump, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Dissociation, Psychological Horror, Captivity, Torture, Graphic Description, Enemy to Caretaker, Unhealthy Relationships, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Lazarus Pit Side Effects (DCU), post brucequest, Tim Drake's Missing Spleen, Morally Ambiguous Batfamily (DCU), Dark Batfamily (DCU), Dark Jason Todd, Tim Drake Has a Bad Time (DCU), Jason Todd Has Issues, Tim Drake is Not Okay (DCU), Hurt Tim Drake (DCU), Possessive Jason Todd, Jason Todd Loves Tim Drake, Tags Contain Spoilers, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Stockholm Syndrome, Loss of Identity, Loss of Control, Forced Infantilism, Codependency, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Platonic BDSM, Platonic Yandere, Hand Feeding, Wetting, Humiliation, Magical Bond, Bathing/Washing, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Not between Jason and Tim. via https://ift.tt/PdipMkz

[hendrik-ten-napel]

High number too good! Investigating horror in Cthulhu Dark

Subscribe to Hendrik Biweekly.

Back to thinking about dice again. Specifically, the meaning we attach to certain results. In a previous newsletter—one of my first, actually—I was fascinated by an ability in F.I.S.T. that had a one in six chance to succeed but the player got to call out the number. This doesn't change the odds, but it does change the meaning you attach to them.

That interplay between abstract chance and the narrative it helps create continues to interest me. So when a friend of mine ran a reskin of Cthulhu Dark, I latched onto its resolution mechanic pretty much instantly.

The game uses the implied hierarchy of a die's numbered results to emphasize its themes in a very elegant way, taking the usual 'high number good' just one step further.

Consumed by discovery

Investigative horror is about dangerous knowledge. It's about getting to know more than is good for you, more than you can maybe handle knowing. An investigative horror game needs its players to both pick up clues reliably and be increasingly horrified by what they find.

Cthulhu Dark's resolution mechanic brings this whole narrative together in one roll of the dice. The mechanic kicks in when you investigate something, and 'you are investigating whenever you are trying to discover something new.' Now grab some dice. There's a die you roll for everything that's humanly possible, one for your occupational expertise, and one for risking your mind and body. Pick up whichever apply and roll. 'Then your highest die shows how much information you get.'

That's right, you always keep the investigation moving, but a higher result means you find out more. Sometimes, too much. On a five you already discover more than a competent investigator would find out. But, on a six:

you discover all of that, plus, in some way, you glimpse beyond human knowledge. This probably means you see something horrific[.]

There it is, the horror the investigation is getting you dangerously close to. This is what it's all about: the darkness you're trying to uncover will try to consume you.

The real danger

Every roll you make, you risk getting a little too close. Recontextualizing the highest result as too high perfectly encapsulates the genre. The investigators need to be careful, but they do need to investigate, and while only uncovering an ambiguous lead might be called a setback, the real danger is the one they are getting closer and closer to.

If you do encounter something horrific, Cthulhu Dark has you make a so-called Insight Roll. Insight measures how much you know of the horrors and goes from one to six. At six, once again, you know too much. You 'understand the full horror' and 'leave everyday life behind'. Every time you roll higher than your current Insight on your Insight Roll, it goes up.

This gives the game a nice arc. Your investigator is relatively safe at the start of the mystery but can easily rack up more Insight. Progressing through the story, your investigator gets closer and closer to a full Insight meter, but is also less likely to raise it. Why not try and discover a little more?

Slow-burn horror

This elegant bit of design hones the whole of Cthulhu Dark in on the story it wants to tell. It's about the dangerous, possibly tragic tales of people risking life as they know it to uncover the dark truths at the center of their existence. Designer Walmsley writes:

Every mystery [in Cthulhu Dark] is ultimately about hubris. It is about the Investigators’ overconfidence in their own importance and that of humanity. This is undermined when they encounter the horror, which shows them how insignificant they really are.

Cthulhu Dark is obviously themed for stories of cosmic horror, but I think its mechanics are great for any slow-burn about more-or-less ordinary people risking a tragic ending by getting too close to great danger. Jesse Ross’ Trophy Dark shows how the general formula can be adapted to a fantasy setting, and Walmsley himself is adapting his game for weird space horror with Cosmic Dark.

[bardic-tales]

4.17.25 - Canon vs Headcanon - Detachment vs Devotion

⚠️This analysis is based on the original Final Fantasy VII (1997) depiction of President Shinra’s death, in which the player discovers the president’s body impaled by the Masamune, implying Sephiroth’s involvement without showing the act itself. I have intentionally chosen to reference this version, rather than the Final Fantasy VII Remake, which explicitly depicts Sephiroth killing the president onscreen. This choice is deliberate, as the original’s ambiguity and symbolic framing better serve the themes of myth, ritual, and emotional interpretation explored in this article.

In the original Final Fantasy VII, President Shinra’s death serves as a mythic turning point: an impersonal gesture loaded with cosmic intent. It was a message to Cloud Strife and the world. But in this canon-divergent analysis, I explore how this same moment transforms when seen through the lens of Bianca Moore’s story. What happens when Sephiroth’s iconic murder becomes not just a symbol of detachment, but an intimate offering, a ritualized gift of vengeance for the woman he loves?

This post examines how canon is reinterpreted through the Fantasy Worlds Collide (FWC) lens to infuse emotional gravity, sacred violence, and personal retribution into what was once a cold, narrative signal of return.

Possible Trigger Warnings: Abuse, blood, body horror, captivity, death, emotional manipulation, gore, medical trauma, obsession, psychological trauma, torture, violence.

In the original Final Fantasy VII, Sephiroth’s return is marked by a now-iconic image: President Shinra, slumped over his desk, impaled by the impossibly long Masamune. The act is theatrical and surgical, devoid of personal vendetta, yet brimming with message. At this point in the canon, Sephiroth has already embraced his transformation from man to myth. His goals are cosmic, his sense of self distorted by revelations of Jenova and the lies of his origin. The murder of Shinra is not emotional; it’s functional. It announces that Sephiroth is beyond the realm of human conflict. This is his declaration of war: not against a man, but against the world.

The scene, when taken at face value, is chilling because of its detachment. Sephiroth doesn’t kill President Shinra out of hate. He does it because Shinra as a corporate monolith is emblematic of the system that warped him. The man behind the desk is incidental. The sword is left like a calling card, a silent but unmistakable message: “I have returned.” There’s no dialogue, no flourish of emotion, only the eerie aftermath. The murder operates more as a narrative mechanism than a personal moment. It is a screaming exclamation point to his reentry into the story’s scope.

This detached symbolism elevates Sephiroth’s role within canon. He becomes not just an antagonist but an almost divine figure: an agent of judgment enacting a twisted form of justice on a planetary scale. His motivation is driven by a belief that the world must be reborn, and those who created him must be extinguished. The murder of Shinra is the first domino to fall in a sequence of apocalyptic aspirations. It’s methodical. Cold. Almost sacred in its ritualistic precision. But crucially, in canon, it’s not personal. It’s not about who Shinra is, but what he represents.

By contrast, FWC’s divergent interpretation injects profound personal weight into the act. Sephiroth’s murder of Shinra is not just a cosmic proclamation. It’s an intimate reckoning. It’s an act of vengeance for what was done to Bianca. The trauma she endured at Shinra’s hands reshapes this moment into a sacrament of their shared pain. Leaving the Masamune behind is no longer just symbolic of his identity. It’s a ritualistic offering. The impalement is no longer an announcement of his return; it is a divine judgment passed in her name. Shinra’s death is no longer a message to the world. It is a message to her: “I remember your suffering. I honor it with blood.”

This divergence transforms Sephiroth from a mythic force into something even more terrifying: a lover whose devotion sanctifies violence. The killing becomes about her, for her, and through her. It reframes the Masamune not just as a symbol of who he is, but as a vessel of what they’ve become. The impalement is a sacrificial rite; the office becomes a cathedral of pain and love entwined. In this interpretation, Sephiroth is not detached. He is more present than ever. Shinra’s death is no longer part of a detached god’s plan. It is the deeply twisted, a deeply broken act of a man in love. A man who sees vengeance as intimacy. And in that twist, Sephiroth becomes something canon could never quite touch upon: a god who kills not because the world betrayed him, but because it dared touch what is his.

Sephiroth’s love for Bianca isn’t tender. It isn’t healing. It is, at its core, an extension of his will. His love is fused with reverence, obsession, and a claim that defies morality. To put it perfectly: “His love, though genuine in its intensity, is more an act of possession than partnership.” To Sephiroth, Bianca’s suffering doesn’t distance her from him. It binds her closer. Every scar she bears is a thread in a tapestry he sees himself as both part of and author of. The trauma she endured under Shinra becomes not just a shared history but a sanctified ordeal that forges their eternal connection. Pain, in his view, is what makes her his.

This warped view of love transforms retribution into ritual. Killing President Shinra is not just about justice. It is about enshrining Bianca’s pain. It becomes a consecrated moment in their shared mythology, a declaration that her agony is not forgotten or wasted. Sephiroth doesn’t just remove a threat or punish a villain. He marks them. He turns Shinra into an altar, drives the Masamune through him like a holy spike, and leaves it as a symbol of divine vengeance. It is as much about legacy as it is about death.

To Sephiroth, this is also a warning to the world. The message is not simply that he’s returned or that Shinra is over. It’s that Bianca is no longer a victim left unavenged. That her torment is now an extension of his divine cause. Anyone who dared harm what he claims as sacred will be struck down in kind. The sword becomes a sigil, not of Sephiroth alone, but of Sephiroth and Bianca as a force of consquences. It says: “This is what happens to those who scar what belongs to me.” It’s possessive, terrifying, and yet deeply intimate.

That intimacy is precisely what makes it so compelling and so disturbing. Sephiroth believes that every act of destruction is also an act of love. In his fractured worldview, Bianca’s suffering elevated her to something divine: someone worthy of him after his descent into madness and growing god ambition. And so, by punishing her tormentors, he believes he’s not only expressing devotion but honoring her. He doesn’t see himself as merely reclaiming her story. He sees himself as rewriting it into something transcendent. Every corpse he leaves behind becomes a verse in their dark psalm.

Ultimately, this act encapsulates Sephiroth’s ideology of love. It must consume. It must reshape the world in its image. He cannot separate his love for Bianca from his drive for domination, because to him, they are the same. Killing President Shinra is not just justice. It is a twisted communion. The pain that broke Bianca is now weaponized, not just to punish. No. But to possess, to elevate, and to immortalize their bond in blood.

A Twisted Gift of Vengeance

In the FWC interpretation, this same act takes on a far more personal and emotionally charged dimension. President Shinra wasn’t just a figurehead of power. He was a perpetrator. He enabled the torture, vivisection, and prolonged captivity of Bianca at the hands of Hojo, Ravenscroft and the Shinra machine. By this point, Sephiroth knows this intimately. He's seen her scars, felt her fear through their soul bond, and has even forced her to relive that pain through dream manipulation. Her suffering has been internalized as part of his obsession.

Leaving the Masamune in Shinra’s back and chest is no longer a grand declaration. It’s an offering. A grotesque, blood-soaked bouquet left on an altar of revenge. It’s a twisted form of intimacy, an act Sephiroth performs not just to destroy an enemy but to express a warped form of love. His logic is perverse but consistent: the world hurt Bianca, and now he will tear the world apart in her name. President Shinra, being one of the architects of that pain, becomes the perfect vessel for Sephiroth’s first gesture.

This interpretation recasts Sephiroth as not only vengeful, but possessively romantic. He doesn't just want justice for Bianca. He wants to reclaim her narrative through blood. By killing Shinra in this specific, theatrical way, he frames himself as her avenger, her god, and her savior in shadow. It’s his way to keep her under his control. He is saying: “See, you are weak without me.” The sword left behind isn’t just proof of the murder. It’s proof of devotion. An unspoken message: “I have not forgotten what they did to you. This is what I do for us.”

It’s also a means of control. By performing this act in her name, Sephiroth reinforces the bond of trauma between them. Every life he takes, every move he makes in this war, becomes tethered to Bianca’s suffering. He’s re-writing her pain into a mythic tale of vengeance, one where she becomes inseparable from his cause. This isn’t healing. It’s ownership. And the Masamune is his signature on the claim.

Through this lens, the entire scene transforms from a cold-blooded message to a horrifyingly intimate one. It is no longer detached. It is deeply, uncomfortably personal. The sword is not left for just Cloud. It's left for her. Proof that he will avenge. Proof that he's listening. And proof that he believes her pain and his rage justifies the apocalypse he’s about to unleash.

@themaradwrites @shepardstales

@megandaisy9 @watermeezer

@prehistoric-creatures @creativechaosqueen @chickensarentcheap @seastarblue

@inkandimpressions @arrthurpendragon

[outlast-art-therapy]

February 20th, 1960

I found a new yellow page! I can't believe I'm so excited about something so simple. It's been a long time since I had something to look forward to, and I know how it sounds, but every yellow page I discover fills me with a childlike glee. It's become the best part of my endless days.

Dont get me wrong. I am not exactly unhappy. Perhapswith my confinement, but not with the work. The stream of "regular" submissions has been both steady and plentiful. As well as disturbingly horrible. Of which, again, I am ashamed to take such perturbed delight. There are repetitive themes of murder and drug use, disregard for religion and authority. As a therapist, this is nothing new. I've seen such work before. What I find most interesting is they share the same settings. I don't mean similar. The exact same backgrounds. The same police station. The same carousel. The same casino. These areas are common enough to seem identical, I understand that much. But what are the odds two patients would draw the same giant tooth shaped roller-coaster? Or four patients? Or a dozen?

It's enough for me to know they aren't drawing fears or fantasies. They are recreating experiences. Easterman spoke about exposing his subjects to horrors, and I'm beginning to get an idea of what he was hinting at. This constructed horror is specific and repetitive.

There are plenty of corpses--sometimes whole, sometimes mutilated. There are also what appear to be mannequins. I mistook them for other poorly depicted corpses at first, but some of the better artists showed me that they are indeed mannequins. Stiff and uncaring, passive observers to this unholy madness. They are an almost inherent part of the scenery. As if they are driving a kind of, I don't know... a kind of... story.

How peculiar.

I have also found what I assume are self-portraits. Since I can't meet the patients, it's hard for me to tell. But there are signs of self insertion in some of the drawings. They all wear ragged clothes and goggles. The ridiculous notion of night vision glasses comes to mind. These depictions all have some kind of box strapped to their chest. So do many of the bodies. I don't know what that means.

Then there are the monsters. The "stars" of this twisted theater. So far, I have identified a few repeat offenders. A large woman who operates the duck puppet. (Of course! It's a puppet!) A short, deformed man with a gun. The gas masked, post-apocalyptic character. A number of giants, perhaps? And, of course, a police officer. Which brings me to the new yellow page.

I was about to retire for the day when I found a smaller slip peeping out from between the pages. This time, it was a drawing of a police officer with the words RESPECT THE LAW scratched beside him. I've seen this character a few times before, especially in the company of the emotionless mannequins. Yet there is something so primal about this depiction, so raw, so uninhibited. It isn't as detailed, or colorful, or realistic. It's different from the others. This artist is different from the others.

I will include the piece here.

My initial thoughts:

The police uniform and the phrase “Respect the Law!!" suggest an obsession with control and enforcing rules, possibly to an extreme or oppressive degree. The face is obscured by sunglasses - This could symbolize secrecy, dehumanization, or a suppression of personal identity in favor of a rigid, institutional role. It may also hint at corruption or moral ambiguity. They might be more than just a law enforcer—perhaps they are unhinged or fanatical in their beliefs. Holding a cigarette could imply a level of detachment, stress, or a hardened personality. It adds to the "tough, no-nonsense" vibe but also suggests a moral gray area, reinforcing the theme of a law enforcer who might not follow all the rules themselves. This is someone who enforces the law with an iron fist, potentially enjoying the power that comes with it.

Possible diagnosis:

Antisocial personality disorder with a disregard for others' rights.

Obsessive compulsive personality disorder

PTSD with paranoia

Delusional disorder

Sadistic personality disorder

I will squirrel this piece away with the others. Save it for myself like a child acting in defiance of authority. I'm sure that Easterman would lose what was left of his mind if he knew I was withholding work from him.

Through these stark images, I am beginning to see a pattern to the madness of the patients. A window into the troubles they have gone and are going through. No, wait, not troubles. What was it the guard called them? Trials. That was it.

I have a one-way window into the trials they are facing. And I see just how truly horrific they are. With each yellow page, I understand more of what drives the patients. What keeps them alive. Spite? Malice? Hate? Perhaps. Or maybe just the pure will to survive. After all, survival is one of our most basic instincts.

I will also survive.

Dr Gabriel Walton

[voidcat-senket]

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY JEDI SURVIVOR!

Please enjoy a collection of Cal Kestis/Bode Akuna fanworks to celebrate! Find the AO3 collection here!

tear down the planet for the hype

FIC AND ART | 4.8k | Teen and Up

“only my friends can call me by it. well, and my masters.” kestis shrugged before stepping back to sit on a stool that seemed randomly in the middle of the room. “but, we are engaged, it would be pretty weird if you were calling me by kestis.” “if it helps, my name is bode,” the jedi shadow said as he stepped forward, holding his hand out for kestis to take if he so inclined. “calling me knight akuna would be too formal for a marriage, whether or not it’s political, and—well who knows, maybe we can become friends?” [jedi shadow bode is given a mission that will end the war—marry sith prince darth kestis. that is, if he survives the first meeting.]

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Order 66 Didn't Happen, Arranged Marriage, Jedi Shadow Bode Akuna, Sith Cal Kestis, First Meetings, Marriage Contracts, Negotiations, Bode Akuna is a Mess, Fluff and Humor, Pre-Relationship, Stewjoni Cal Kestis

FIND THE FULL ART PIECE HERE

Paper and Stone

ART AND FIC | 7.4k | Teen and Up | includes Bode/Tayala

Cal goes to Nova Garon to confront Bode, but he finds the man's quarters full of echoes that show him a side of Bode Cal never thought he'd see.

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Psychometry | Force Echo (Star Wars), Cal goes to Nova Garon but finds more than he expects, echoes upon echoes upon echoes, SpyScrapper, if you wanted more of Bode and Tayala's relationship here you go

FIND THE FULL ART PIECE HERE (and a secret bonus here~)

love is death, love is dying; love is steel, a silver lining

FIC | .5k | Teen and Up

Cal is wary of the blaster Bode has given him. Bode teaches him some basic gun safety.

Tags: Guns, Canon Compliant, Sort Of, Maybe - Freeform, You Decide, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Missing Scene, Implied Relationships, Angst

Second Date! An Ode to Visual Novels

VIDEO | 1hr | Teen and Up

Tags: visual novel, time travel fix-it, time loop, simulated dating sim, Bode POV

fire still burns in a vacuum

FIC | 1.6k | Teen and Up

It's been a year and Cal returns to the observatory for the first time. He hadn't expected someone else to do the same.

Tags: Grief/Mourning, Character Study, Relationship Study, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Author Welcomes All Interpretations, This Is a Study On Cal's Grief With a Twist at the End, Post-Canon, Canon-Typical Dark Themes

FIND THE FULL ART PIECE HERE

Roots in Place of my Heart

8.8k | Mature | includes Bode/Tayala

When Bode saw the date, he had to swallow down a mix of blood and bile. There’s something growing in Bode’s chest, filling out the space that was left vacated when Tayala died and took his heart with her. They say the only cure to grief is life. Or death.

Tags: Hanahaki Disease with my own twist on it, Angst with a Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Blood, Body Horror, Love Confessions, Pretending you’re fine even though you’re very much not, Grief/Mourning

Lights Glow in your Wake

FIC | 5.4k | Teen and Up

Cal gives Bode a gift for their anniversary. The trouble is- their anniversary isn't for another three weeks, Bode is sure of it.

Tags: Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Canon, Domestic Fluff, Anniversary, Established Relationship, Planet Tanalorr, POV Bode Akuna, POV Third Person Limited, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Jedi Culture & Customs

Blue Skies Over Bad Lands

FIC | 18.6k | Mature

Bode looks up and Cal’s gaze snags his immediately, drawing him in. The rebel Jedi is a remarkable combination of wariness and vulnerability, like no matter how hard Cal tries to steel himself against the pain, his grief and longing and love are too strong, too pure to be contained. They shine through the cracks like a ray of blazing light. (Or: Bode and Cal fall in love. It complicates things.)

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Fix-It, Mild Sexual Content, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Pining, Confessions, Secret Identity Fail, Canon Rewriteish, Cal Kestis is a Force of Nature and Bode couldn't get off this ride even if he wanted to, They're In Love Your Honor

I Don't Wanna Say No to This

FIC | 4.1k | Teen and Up

Bode is not actually looking for Cal Kestis when he trips over him on his way out of the bar. He’s looking for work, actually— he needs to fix up the ancient freighter he’d wound up buying for Kata and himself, that first awful week after finding Tanalorr and feeling it clutching at him in the Force, the planet a near-sentient thing, clawing, greedy… He shakes off the sensation, hopes it’s only a memory, and looks down at Kestis. He’s unconscious, his face a single bruise, and there are four beings surrounding them. None of them look like anyone he’d leave alone in an alley with anyone, even someone who most likely wants him very dead.

Tags: Bittersweet, Angst, Miscommunication, Reunions, Forgiveness, Rescue, Implied/Referenced Slavery, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Bode was not ready to face his past, Cal's not emotionally capable of facing his past, Together they make like one entire functioning person, Past Relationship(s), Established Relationship

FIND THE FULL ART PIECE HERE

a soft place to land

FIC | 3.8k | Mature

A hot day on Koboh leads to a shared shower and a realization - sometimes it's nice to be taken care of.

Tags: Smitten Bode Akuna, Bode Akuna Lives, Hair Washing, Making Out, i still don't know how to tag these things, Fluff and Mush, Near-Human Cal Kestis, Again, sharp teeth sharp teeth sharp teeth, Body Worship, Smitten Cal Kestis, Soft Cal Kestis, POV Bode Akuna, soft intimacy, Light Angst, showering together, Not Canon Compliant, Post-game, We call this "fluid dynamics" with the way Cal and Bode keep switching

[becauseplot]

Unusual

A little thing I wrote for my Liz- and Thiago-centric 90 Seconds To Midnight AU, specifically to do with what I talk about in this post. (Title has Ao3 link if you prefer to read it there! Only itty bitty edits made between versions.)

OSNF FINALE SPOILERS BELOW!

Relationships: Liz & Thiago (some weird flavor of qpr or something who even knows at this point)

Additional Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - Somebody Lives / Not Everyone Dies, Codependency, Nightmares, Sharing A Bed, Cuddling (But Evil), Hurt/Comfort, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Implied/Referenced Alcoholism, Elements of Horror, Hard-Of-Hearing Character (mentioned for like one line), And They Were Roommates (My God They Were Roommates…)

Shout out to @rabbit-harpist for fueling my ideas for these guys. Every time I think I’m done writing 90 Seconds AU I’m suddenly in your DMs writing out new ideas. I don’t know how that happens but it does. ‘Preciate it <3

It is not something they used to do.

Granted, there are a lot of things that Liz does now that she didn’t before. She didn’t used to kill people. She didn’t used to carry a suture kit. She didn’t used to drink so much. And she certainly didn’t used to live with someone else, especially not with someone like Thiago.

He’s messy. Really messy. (It still drives her up the wall, how his hoodies will land just about anywhere but the coat hooks.)

Liz remembers Thiago moving in under the pretense that he would be staying in the spare room downstairs until he recovered from his injuries—the explosion and the burning of Santo Berço. He got his space to fill up with stuff, she got her space to keep as organized as she liked it. The living room and kitchen, unfortunately, remained hotly contested.

Some weeks after that, she found out about his nightmares of the Symbol and the disorienting, soul-rending terror he would be left spinning in afterwards. She offered to stay with him the first few times, to ease him back into himself. After the third or fourth time, she offered him her bed some nights, so she knew she could be there if he needed her. It was just easier that way.

He recovered from his injuries. He didn’t leave. She didn’t ask him to.

From there, things blur. At some point—or in some gradual, stretching slide—her room became their room, and her bed became their bed. The nightmares of the Symbol come, and they go, and Liz could recite her usual script of reassurances in her sleep if she needed to. Anything to remind him that he is here, and that he is safe. Anything.

Liz never would have considered herself a…physical person. Like, at all. Nor did she expect that from Thiago.

As it would turn out, though, Thiago is a clinger. Apparently. He didn’t used to do that before but, well, things have changed, haven’t they? And for all the ways that Liz has remained a hateful, broken, jagged-edged thing, Thiago has never really seemed to care, and she…

She doesn’t mind it.

The clinging.

No, not at all.

She kind of likes it, at times. His arm slung over her arm, her side, her middle. His cheek against her shoulder. Legs knocking together. The rise and fall of his breathing against her back. Relaxed. Heavy. Comfortable. It’s an easy, wordless reminder of the fact that he’s here, she’s here, they made it, they’re fine, they’re fine, even if it gets a bit too warm and he elbows her sometimes. She just elbows him back. As always, they’ve made it work.

So no, it is not something they used to do, but they do it now. For a while, that’s all there is to it.

And then something happens.

See, like Thiago, Liz is haunted by nightmares of everything going wrong. And some nights, Liz does not drink enough to stop them coming.

She is in the Cave and she is, as she always is, running from the consequences of her failures. She turns and does not see Thiago’s body being flung from the blast, but instead sees him being held right in the blazing heart of it. She watches, unable to tear her eyes away no matter how desperately she wants to, as Thiago is torn apart and eaten in front of her by the flames, his mouth open in a silent scream, suffering, suffering—

—suffering under her hands as she drags him, bleeding, from the maw of that awful place, as she slams gauze into gaping wounds and pulls thread across cavernous gouges, fingers slick with the red of her mistakes eyes wide watching the jaws close around Daniel and Cris and the explosion of blood out of Alex’s head and the blinding flash of Thiago vanishing into the insatiable spiral of the Symbol and—

—she will never get there in time. Something dark and heavy twists around her middle and pulls her down. Her wrinkled hands scrabble for purchase on the wounds she has yet to close, tearing them open in her desperation, but the darkness keeps dragging her away with all the terrifying power of Inevitability, down and deeper and darker and tighter, constricting around her until she can’t move, until she can’t breathe, until her ribs and intestines tremble and threaten to burst and she knows she knows she knows she will never save them—

Liz wakes up gasping. And there is something heavy wrapped around her.

Her heartbeat pounds in her chest as she fumbles her hands down to whatever is coiled around her middle and pulls at it. For a moment it shifts and tightens and she is just about ready to start kicking when the grasp finally loosens. Liz rolls around onto her other side and shoves herself away from it.

And as she rolls over, choking for air and this close to bolting for her gun on the shelf, she is faced with a figure shifting in the dark. For a moment it is everything she fears, and then…

A confused, sleep-sticky croak: “Liz?”

Clarity slams into her. Thiago. Liz wheezes and sags back against her pillow. “Fuck…”

Thiago turns to the nightstand to flick on the lamp. Light assaults Liz’s eyes and drowns the dark corners of their room. She clutches the center of her wire-tight chest as she breathes in, and out, and in, and out, and wills that wire to loosen.

Just Thiago. Just a nightmare.

Her hands shake—for his hands, or for her gun, or for a glass of something stronger, she isn’t sure. Liz runs her fingers over her side, where his arms had been wrapped around her, and feels her stomach turn.

“My dear, are you alright?”

For an instant so brief she hardly believes it, something inside her warns her don’t look. She won’t like what she sees.

“Liz?”

She turns anyway, and there he is—Thiago, propped up on his side, hair a mess, face pinched in all-too-familiar concern.

Okay. Liz decides she just— She needs a moment. She needs a moment. Jesus Christ, she needs a fucking moment. Trembling still, Liz sits up with her arm curled around her middle and untangles her legs from the covers.

Thiago shifts closer and sits himself next to her.

Safe, she reminds herself. Their house is safe. There is nothing in here to be afraid of.

Then why does it feel so wrong?

“I’m fine,” Liz says, because she is, or she will be. Her hands sign the words too, without thinking. “Nightmare.”

“Must have been,” Thiago murmurs frankly. “You kicked me in the shin.”

Oh. So she did. “Sorry.”

“Man, you swung back at me hard. Like, with intention. Like you were trying to score a penalty kick, but backwards.”

Liz snorts, and her breath only chokes on it a little. “I said sorry.”

“I know.” Thiago leans in. “I just wanted to hear you say it—”

Thiago plants his cheek on her shoulder, and Liz jolts.

He trails off. She feels him shift again. “Everything okay?”

“I…” Something is wrong. Liz shudders. There’s a nauseating weight pooled in her stomach. She stares down at her hands, and they still tremble as before, violent. “I don’t know.”

Thiago pulls away. Liz wants the pressure back, as relieved as she is for the space. A beat passes, and Thiago’s scarred hand reaches into view beside her own, palm up and open.

Liz. Hesitates. Then, she takes it.

“We can just sit here for a while,” Thiago offers quietly. “Until you’ve calmed down some and feel a bit better, you know? Does that sound good to you?”

“Uhm,” she says. Her voice is a harsh, creaking sound between them. Her eyes glide to the bookshelf where a half-drunk bottle of whiskey sits, a sudden wanting. Thiago squeezes lightly, and she looks at their hands again. “Alright.”

His hand is warm and steadier than hers by leagues. She doesn’t deserve it. She is so damn tired. As the minutes tick on, she finds herself sinking a little more, and more, and at some point she winds up with her head on his shoulder, his bearded jaw against her forehead. He feels his breathing, her own finally matching him after so long. It should be reassuring, and it is, but��

But.

It is not something they used to do.

Is that so bad?

It can’t be.

No, it can’t be.

She can’t fathom surviving this without him here, anyway, so it can’t be.

So Liz sits there, and Thiago sits with her, and she stares at their fingers entwined until the shape of it is strange and distant in her eyes, like looking into a dream. Eventually, she stops seeing the blood on her hands every time she blinks.

But as they lie down to sleep again, still, something is wrong. Something is wrong. Something is slipping. Something is wrong.