#diverged backstory

[ghostat7am]

"I want you to need me, but please understand that you'll never know me."

[wangxianficrecs]

sweet decadence by breathrou

sweet decadence

by breaththrou

M, WIP, 15k, Wangxian

Summary: Lan Xichen breathed in sharply, a crazed laugh escaping him. He lifted his gaze to meet his eyes, a look of despair etched onto the hard lines of his face. "My brother... my brother has always been our mother's child. For that, he could not live. He is gone. I could not find him, and I could not have brought him home. I can only hope now that Wangji is at rest," he said quietly, the wind whipping the greying locks of his hair around his face. Wei Wuxian stared at him, horrified. Lan Xichen looked away as fresh tears rolled down his cheeks. "I have only ever wished happiness for my brother, but I fear I have instead brought him death." Kay's comments: Oh, this story really has me on a tight hold and I can't wait to see what happens! It's starting out with Lan Wangji not returning to Gusu after he saved A-Yuan (and his sister, who also lived in the Burial Mounds!!) and instead seeking shelter at Luo Qingyang's place. We also got more of him being defiant and seeking out his mother more often back when she was still alive. The Lan Xichen POV to finding his brother gone in chapter two was also *chef's kiss* Excerpt: It was a normal day for Lan Xichen. Of course, as normal as a day can be when one’s brother gets whipped within an inch of his life and remains completely immobile. If normal could be defined as being consumed by your worries, then Lan Xichen’s day was absolutely normal. It was not as if Lan Xichen’s childhood was not defined by being a mediator between his brother and his uncle, between his brother and the elders. Surely, this push and pull would remain for the rest of their lives. Lan Xichen sighed. He sat himself on the side of his bed and nimbly pulled his hair out of his sleeping braid. The same braid he tied for his brother every morning. As Lan Xichen got dressed for the day, putting on all six pristine layers of his robes, he stopped at his desk. These days, he found himself almost crushed with the amount of work he had to do. Shufu, at the very least, decided to take on the work that Wangji could no longer do. Lan Xichen knew Shufu cared for and loved Wangji, but sometimes, even he himself found it hard to believe.

pov alternating, canon divergence, lan wangji leaves the gusu lan sect, rogue cultivator lan wangji, lan wangji is lan sizhui's parent, fatherhood, disability, madam lan backstory, wen qing lives, sentient burial mounds, wie wuxian in wei wuxian's body, families of choice, grief/mourning, lan wangji & luo qingyang friendship, angst

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

[shadowqueenjude]

Doomed to fall for sarcastic side characters with daddy issues.

[empty-dream]

It all started with a prayer. I prayed for the kind of world that only newborns and gods could believe in.

[bardic-tales]

I figured today I would focus on some facts about Bianca that I have been developing recently or over the last few months. They are going to range from romantic to the mundane. Also, there is mention of BDSM practices below.

While Bianca is a demisexual, I also label her as pansexual, too. Bianca does not care what anyone's orientation is. As long as a person developed an emotional bond with her, she could become attracted to them.

Bianca is also demiromantic. She made her living for six years as a romance author. I am a sucker for sticking an author / writer character into my stories.

Both Sephiroth and she are touch-starved, but to varying degrees. Sephiroth is not use to physical contact. When Bianca first hugged him, he was stiff and leaned away from her touch.

However, they do engage in BDSM practices. He is the dominant partner. Bianca would be considered an alpha submissive. She enjoys her bratty role.

Sephiroth will manifest his wing as a sign of dominance when she is too out of line with her brat persona. He has also used his telekinetic abilities to hold her down. This is never down in an abusive way. She consents every time. Sephiroth is the only being she trusts, which is ironic in its own way.

However, one of her 'rewards' is she gets to brush and style his hair. It's a bonding experience between the two. He also likes to brush and braid her hair, placing flower crowns on her head in their dreamscape. This keeps the Hades and Persephone theming of their relationship.

Bianca sees herself as an avenging angel, as well as the self-imposed title 'Priestess of Jenova' to honor Sephiroth and their plans. She harbors a hatred for humanity after everything that happened in her life.

Bianca prefers to wear Sephiroth's clothing when she can. He does NOT mind sharing his clothes, as he sees this as claiming her in a way. She loves to envelop herself in his scent, as she has heightened senses due to her demonic heritage. His scent provides her comfort on those days when her past is just a little too much for her. She boasts that she can smell him 100 miles away. This has lead to a nickname 'his bloodhound'.

Fun fact. I was going to make FWC an isekai in this newest rewrite. I found it funny that with Bianca's reality bending powers that she could have made 'One-Winged Angel' play on the Planet when Sephiroth fought Cloud. There are times when she does play music from her world, but seeing that they are on a different planet, Cloud, Sephiroth, and the rest do not understand the music.

Her favorite music is gothic rock and darkwave, industrial rock and metal, alternative rock, trip-hop, and symphonic metal. As she was teleported onto Gaia in '96, her musical tastes stay stuck in the 90s.

Bianca is 5 foot even. I often head canon Sephiroth to be 6'5". Since she is so much smaller than him, she will often levitate off of her feet to hug him or give him a kiss.

tagging some fellow mutuals: @themaradwrites @littleshopofchaos @serenofroses @megandaisy9 @watermeezer

@nightingaleflow @prehistoric-creatures @creativechaosqueen @chickensarentcheap @glbettwrites

@seastarblue

[andreafmn]

Bound | Chapter 1

Word Count: 3.3K Warnings: graphic depictions of death, implied/referenced SA

Summary: Rosalie always carried the resentment of not being able to fulfill the image of the perfect family she had in her head. But the universe had set out to grant her everything she could've hoped for in the most unconventional way and in the form of a witch. Can their love withstand the promise of forever or will Rosalie and (Y/N) succumb to the grapples of time?

A/N: tried my best to write the pain and turmoil Rosalie might have felt during such a horrendous moment. I feel like her backstory is so overlooked in the story and, for me, it's one of the most tragic. I hope I do her justice with this and the coming chapters. Also, I want to say to any and all survivors of SA that you are not alone and what happened to you is not your fault, it never will be. I hope you have healed or are healing. And if you ever just need an ear to listen, I am here. 🤍

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Rosalie Hale should have been protected. That much she knew to be true. She should have been able to revel in a perfect life. A perfect house, perfect children, a perfect husband, all complements to her being a perfect wife. 

Everything should have been perfect because she already was. 

But there was something about a perfect thing that she did not know until it was too late. Whenever it was scrutinized, the cracks started to appear. The paint that was used to make everything seamless was bulky and uneven. Nothing was perfect. Nothing could even come close. 

Still, it had been far too late to see all the flaws of what was supposed to be her perfect life. 

Everything had happened to her so quickly. Her courtship to Royce King the Second, to their engagement, to the date of the wedding. It was the thing of fairytales. Or at least, that was what she had thought –what she had been raised to believe. The perfect prince to the beautiful princess. 

His façade was impeccable. He did the right things, said the right things; he played the part well. Too well. It made it easy for Royce to hide his faults. Because they didn’t exist to the naked eye. His lingering eye was only witnessed by the women he would make uncomfortable, but they would never speak of it. His drunkenness was reserved for the late hours of the night, in the company of his closest friends. His blatant disregard for Rosalie was only spoken of in whispers, spilling into the ears of his most trusted confidantes. He did not have to worry about anyone else knowing just how execrable he actually was. 

The fact that he was marrying the Rosalie Hale was enough to allow his behavior. She was a testament to the fact that he could have anything he wanted without having to work too hard at it. All it took to reel her in were a few words and flowers, some public outings and he had her trapped in his spell. 

At that point, she didn’t know it. That the love he seemed to have for her was only his part to play. How could she? Royce King was her ticket to everything she had ever worked toward. He was the trophy for the part she had to play. It didn’t matter that she was not in love with him, she loved everything he could give her. She didn’t mind feeling like an empty shell of a human if it looked like she had everything. She knew it was vain and shallow, but it was what she had been molded to be. 

What she never thought was that the same person she believed would grant her every dream would be the very reason it was taken away. Ripped and taken from her without another thought. 

The day had started well enough for her. With her wedding only a week away, her head could only be preoccupied with the final details of the event and everything that would come after. Even as she spent the night with Vera, her best friend, watching as her husband loved her and her son grew beautifully, Rosalie could only think of when it would be her own child reaching their arms up to be carried. She would have the life she wanted because that was what she was promised. 

But the night was harsh and unforgiving. In hindsight, she would have taken that as a warning. The cold truth was slapping her in the face long before real hands had. When she was yelled at by Royce on the empty street, she should have turned around. She should have listened to the trembling in her limbs as he treated her as nothing more than a prize he had won. She should have ran and kept running. 

But his grasp around her was tight, bruising. He grabbed her like she was his possession, as though her body had never belonged to her. And he wanted to show her off because she did, she belonged to him. 

She remembered trying to fight. Whatever happened next, she could hold on to the fact that she had tried to fight. Even if it had been to no avail. No amount of strength could have been enough to protect her, at least not of any she knew. 

Then, she remembered how frozen she had felt. Not because of the cold in the weather, but because her limbs had gone stiff. Royce and his friend were drinking in her pain, rejoicing in her screams. She couldn’t give them that. So, she froze. Rosalie allowed them to take everything from her but the fact that she was in so much pain. 

They took her clothes, they took her will, they took her beauty, they took her body. They took and took until there was nothing left to give. They even believed they had taken her life. But something inside her was holding on. Something she cried would just let it all end. There was nothing left for her to hold on to, Rosalie just wanted the nightmare to end since her dream definitely had. 

Rosalie could have sworn that she had spent hours on that dimly lit street begging for death to take her in its arms and whisk her away. She didn’t want to be cold, she didn’t want to be in pain. She no longer wanted to be. All she could do was wait until it all stopped. 

Instead of the impending doom of death, she had been carried away by someone she couldn’t identify at first. At first, she believed it was the Angel of Death crossing her to the afterlife. The speed at which they were traveling felt as much. But soon she was being laid on a bed, where she was bitten on every inch of her body and it made her wish she was back to the pain from before. At least that was bearable until death came. This kind of ache ran across her entire body, freezing her veins and adjusting every fiber of her being. It was overwhelming enough that she could smell… sage? Maybe even moringa and rosemary. Possibly even a hint of ginger. 

Rosalie wanted to laugh at that realization, not that her body allowed her to. She wanted to chuckle at the mere fact that her brain had decided to trick her with the smells of herbs as she went through the worst agony of her life. But she had to admit, it had eased her slightly. And she wished she had perceived those very smells until the change happened. 

She also wished for the longest time that Carlisle had never saved her. What he did felt more like pity rather than a moment of salvation –she did not want to be saved. When he took her in his arms she wasn’t thankful, she was tired. If she’d had the ability to speak, she would have begged him to end it. Rosalie would have used every last breath she had to beacon death quicker than it was coming. 

Instead, he saved her in the worst way possible. He submitted her to a life where she would never have anything she desired. She would have her beauty, and she would have a sort of family, but she would never have something that was truly hers.  But nothing that was hers. Nothing that was just hers. 

At least there was one thing that the imposed immortality had brought her. She was strong. Stronger than all those men the night before. She could feel it. The solidness of her skin, the strain in her muscles, the itching in her limbs for speed. It was supernatural strength. An unlimited source of unimaginable power. 

A vampire. That was what they had told her she was now and she knew it was the truth. The burning in her throat yearned for only one thing and none of the people in the room she had woken in had it running through their veins. She craved the crimson liquid as though it was the sweetest nectar in the world and it was the only thing to satiate the deep void in her stomach. 

But that hunger was nothing compared to the appetite she had for revenge. For the craving she had developed to have the same men that had made her tremble in her sacred body to quiver in theirs. She wanted them to beg her for their lives, to know what it feels for their lives to be in the hands of someone that could not give two shits about them. She wanted them to plead until their voices were hoarse. Until they were so scared that she could hear their skeletons rattle inside their bodies. She wanted them to pray to their god for their lives and then she would take them with her own hands. Her eyes would watch as their souls left their bodies, a sickeningly sweet smile on her face. 

She could have answered Carlisle Cullen at that moment. When he had asked her if she wanted to join their family, she knew the answer was yes. Not because they were the perfect choice, but because it was the only one she had. Rosalie didn’t want to be alone and the Cullens were offering her companionship. She would say yes, eventually. First, she had something to do. So, she asked them for a couple of days to set her head in order.

Rosalie waited until the sun had set and dressed up for the occasion. She styled herself in perfect curls and demure makeup. She was dressed in tailored clothes and high heels. At the end of the day, she was still Rosalie Hale and those men would know exactly who it was that would take their lives. 

The first two were easy to find. Buck and Andre Hubert, brothers that still lived under the same roof. With her newfound strength and speed, she slipped into their house without making a single sound. One thing she knew was every party and social appearance the rich people of Rochester, New York had to attend. She knew who would be where and when. And it just so happened that Mr. and Mrs. Hubert would be out all night. 

She wanted to go play with their minds first. Start building that nest of fear deep in their chest as they had done to her. To laugh as they questioned if they were losing their minds. 

The brothers were in the drawing room. Maybe reading, maybe drinking. Definitely drinking. It made her smile. Her legs took her to the table in their foyer, slamming a vase she had admired for years against the wall. 

“Who goes there?” Buck called out from the room to be met with the crackling of the fireplace in response. “I’ll let you know that I have a gun.”  

Rosalie remained quiet, instead making noise by slamming a framed picture of the brothers to the floor. She stared as the frame splintered around her and the glass bounced off her impenetrable skin. Bring your gun, she wanted to say, there’s nothing you can do to hurt me now. 

But she kept her silence. She wanted to draw both of them out, not just their guns. Their bodies would be the first warming call to the other three men. So, she broke more things, until the room was filled with splintered wood, glass, and roses. How she detested roses now. 

“What the fuck is going on, Buck?” Andre said, his voice shaking slightly. “Who’s there?”  

“I don’t know, man,” he sighed in frustration. “I’ll go check.” 

No. It had to be both of them. She called out, “Why don’t you both come to check?” 

“No way,” she heard one of them whisper, not really caring which one. 

They walked out slowly, each sporting a rifle in their arms. They stood tall, their eyes trained on hers, trying to appear courageous. But she knew they weren’t. She could hear their hearts racing, she could see the beads of sweat forming on their forehead, she could smell their desperation. 

“Rosalie Hale,” Buck said. “What are you doing here?”  

“Surprised to see me, boys?” She smiled sweetly and she could see the way it made them shiver. “I just thought I would pay you a visit after last night. You left without so much as a goodbye.”  

 “No, but you… you were…” Andre stammered. He was so young and it showed. His brother towered over him and he was shaking in inexperience. 

“What’s wrong, Andre?” she feigned worry. She had also been so young and they had not cared. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”  

“You died last night,” Buck interjected in big brother fashion. “We left you on the street and you were dead.” 

“Correct!” Rosalie clapped in fake excitement. “You did leave me on the street, but I wasn’t dead. No. I suffered for hours waiting to die. But alas, death arrived in a different way.” 

She took steps toward them, closing the distance of the large entryway. Her movement made Buck fire his gun, the bullet flying right by her ear. It was so close she could hear the whistle of the shot as it passed her. 

“Careful, Buck,” she reprimanded. “You can’t kill something that’s already dead.”  

“W-what?” 

“I know, it’s practically unbelievable,” she chuckled. “Death becomes me, doesn’t it?”  

Rosalie was so close now that it would only take four steps for her to be nose-to-nose with them. Her appearance was illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the open front door, every feature now unmistakable to the men in front of her. 

As they looked into her eyes, they couldn’t help the scream that bubbled from their throats. It was at that moment that they knew their guns would be useless against the intruder. She was definitely not human anymore. 

Buck shot at her stomach, watching in astonishment as the bullets ricocheted against her rather than fly through her. On the other hand, Andre decided to take off in a run. Rosalie could only laugh. Her beautiful voice made their veins run cold, fear grasping them by the throats. 

The blonde took Buck’s gun in her hand, bending the barrel until no more bullets could move through, and grabbed him by his throat, walking toward Andre. She dragged the man's body with one hand, smiling as he tried to claw free, twisting and turning in her grasp. In a couple of seconds, she was behind the younger Hubert. With the damaged gun, she shattered his right leg, smiling as he yelled in pain. 

“Please, please,” Andre cried. Tears and snot mixed on his face, the mask of pure desperation sliding onto him. “Just let us go. We’re sorry, Rosalie. We were just having some fun. It should have never gotten to that point.” 

“Oh, then, please. Tell me when I was having fun?”  Rosalie said. She had dropped both brothers on the floor, one right next to the other, kneeling. “Was it when I begged you all to stop? Was it when my body had been assaulted to the point where I could not even move a finger? Or maybe it was when you were telling Royce he had to start looking for a new wife since I was dead? I would love to know what was fun about any of that.”  

“It wasn’t,” Buck blubbered. “We were wrong, Rosalie. What we did was despicable.”  

“It was, wasn’t it? It was the most vile thing you could ever do to a woman –to anyone,” she smiled. “But you still did it. And it cost me my life. Now, it’s gonna cost you yours.”  

The brothers let out strings of ‘no, please’s and ‘have mercy, Rosalie’s, and it made the fire inside her burn hotter. The vampire stared at Andre first, the youngest of the two. The one she had gone to school with. The one that was only a couple of months her junior. The boy that had acted like a man and taken everything from her. His cheeks were stained with tears, his eyes red and swollen from crying. 

“You could’ve made a woman very happy, Andre,” she smiled. “At least, the boy I knew in school would have. You, as you are now, don’t deserve the dirt on my shoes.” 

“I’m so sorry, Rosalie,” he sobbed. The attractive boy she had known had been battered to a sorry excuse for a human, and she reveled in it. “Please, just let me go. I promise I’ll never do it again.”  

“You’re right. You won’t do it again,” she said, wrapping her hands around his neck. “Save your sorry for your god, Andre.” 

And she snapped his neck, watching as his body slumped to the floor. 

Beside him, Buck let out a guttural scream. A completely broken and full of agony wail. Music to her ears. “Does it hurt, Buck?” she said. “To see the body of the little brother you had sworn to protect, lifeless and beaten? Does it hurt that there was absolutely nothing you could have done to save his life?”

When he kept quiet, only responding in whimpers and whines, she took his left arm and broke it under her grip. “Answer me,”  she seethed. “How bad does it hurt.” 

“It’s the worst pain imaginable,” he yelled out. “I should have saved him. Saved him from you!” 

“No, Buck,” she tsked. “You should have saved him from you. From the wickedness of your mind and your actions. Your brother? Your baby brother is dead because of you. And you can let him know when you join him.” 

Her pale hands wrapped around his throat once more, her eyes observing as the fight left his body. With his only hand, he tried to claw at her skin, to sink his nails into her in an attempt to free himself, but it was futile. He couldn’t even squeeze her. 

She stared into his eyes, the way they pleaded, and she committed them to memory. And she wondered. She wondered if they had looked into her eyes, would they have shown her mercy? Would they have at least let her live to see another day? The fact was that they hadn’t and she would not dwell on them. On these men that were barely human. 

Rosalie squeezed until Buck’s hand fell to his side and his heart stopped beating. She squeezed until there was nothing left in his eyes but the colored irises. She squeezed until she was satisfied. Once she was done, she let his body fall to the floor, slumping against his brother. They were a masterpiece before her. Dead without shedding a single drop of blood. 

She called the police after, claiming to be a neighbor that heard a ruckus in the Hubert house and she watched from the shadows as the scene unveiled before her. The Huber parents arrived before the police, though they weren’t far behind. Mrs. Hubert let out a heart wrenching wail, calling for her boys as she collapsed in her husband’s arms. And, instead of feeling guilty, she wondered how her own parents would have reacted to finding her body. 

Would her mother shriek? Would her father turn heaven and hell until he found the culprit? Would he yell at the policemen to do their job and find the bastard that did such a violent act as Mr. Hubert? Those were answers she would never get. There was no body for her parents to find, no crime to be reported. Not anymore. 

The girl remained at the scene for only a moment more, waiting until the front of the estate was flooded with neighbors and people from deep in the town surely woken from the commotion. She waited until everyone’s attention was on the Hubert brothers and none would be on the people farther away. Especially people staying at hotels in the town center.  

There were two men down on her list. Three more to go. And she would not give them even a second to escape. Their karma was coming for them in the shape of a beautiful vampire. 

Next ->

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[7clubs]

Fresh refs for the coming Artfight (my profile is here)!

Here are my new gay dog OCs.... who totally aren't like... spin-offs of a pair of videogame lawyers or anything.....

[ohboyhowdybuckaroo]

I finished the last chapter of Frame Pieces AKA the first part in the SatoSugu Soulmates AU, but it's like 10 PM, so I shall instead post it tomorrow once I have the time to skim through it and when it's a reasonable hour lmao.

In the meantime, have the summary for the next chapter before we get into the weeds on the next story:

[claudethecrabdemoness]

Ok so I think I found a way to fix Vox LOLLOLOL. 

And by fix him, I mean make him much, much worse.

🔌 📺😝🎩⚡️

So I was drabbling in my head w Claude and Vox and they got to deep talking about their previous lives and regrets and all sorts of existential meanderings, when Vox surprised me by saying “I was a Christian, ya know. A good one. Never even missed a Sunday- come late night or hangover or hellwater. *chuckle* Fat lot of good it did me, right?”

And then I was like oh. OHHHH. 

He should’ve been a televangelist. 

So now this is canon as far as I’m concerned, and can even make perfect use of the little priest getup from his song number. After all, that is essentially what he’s doing with the V’s: amassing a hell-wide cult through the power of his broadcast monopoly. And explains why Claude had never heard of him before- he’s not your average kind of celebrity. 

I picture he got his start on local access TV, in the early 40s, just right after Al would’ve had his heyday with radio. He was an East Coast boy, no doubt, and mastered the quick-talking pander of the telecasters at the time. He often ran small broadcasts for local churches- fundraisers, telethons, what have you- and the Christian community ate up his All-American boyish charm. Especially the ladies. He married one who went to his church and really believed his words had the power to change lives, urged him to start his own televised worship, and boy did he thrive. They quickly became a household name, and he basically kick-started the whole televangelist movement into high gear. Like the bastard he is. Soon he gained a country-wide following and had money pouring in from the faithful by the buckets, and of course it all went straight to his head. Hence why it’s a TV now as punishment. That’s when he began exploiting his pulpit, believing himself a prophet, staying with his wife only to maintain their image, buying houses and toys and cars all with parishioner’s money, staying awake for days on cocaine and coming back down with barbiturates, the whole nine yards. 

It eventually caught up to him when his followers tried to commit a mass murder/suicide in his name, and a lengthy court appeal didn’t really smooth over their new reputation as a dangerous cult. Which is so unfair. It wasn’t like he told them to go all Old Testament, buuut… it’s not like his message was that far off from it either. Idiots. From then on, he started overworking, overthinking, and overdoing the whole thing right into the ground. His wife left him, he lost a ton of money in legal fees, and he had to hire protection now to keep up with the death threats from angry loved ones of his devotees. All the stress and resentment drove him into religious fanaticism, and his sermons just got more and more ego-driven and manic, asking for larger tithes and claiming it would be help him work the Lord’s magic even faster. He eventually was killed by a hit put out on him by an up and coming newer cult- ironically a spinoff of his original one- proving that he was very much mortal, but his faithful followers still believed he was a messiah of some kind. 

And that’s because- in his haze of drugs and self-destruction- he believed he was one too. He was sure that what he was doing was for all the Right Reasons, even if the methods were unorthodox. But hey- even Jesus flipped tables and rebelled against the Romans, so who’s to say his path is any less holy? He was SURE that he’d still be getting a ticket to Heaven, despite some minor setbacks…

So you can imagine his rage when he very much woke up in Hell. 

All his hard work, all his devotion, all his MONEY- for what?? Damned to live with a TV instead of his beautiful face and nothing to show for his decades of faith??

What the fUCK??

It was then that he realized God was the biggest scam of all and immediately renounced his faith, spending the first few years of demonhood sinning and drinking as much as possible. He had no idea how to cope with it all, and saw no point to trying, really. What good is having a TV head when you can barely stand the thought of using it- just a constant reminder of the empire you left crumbing behind you. 

And that’s when he met Alastor. 

Now here was someone else cursed by his favorite medium and a deer form that boasted anything but the predator he saw himself as- only this man was anything but deterred by it. The Radio Demon’s broadcasts may have terrorized everyone else in Hell, but they invigorated something deep inside Vox. Something he hasn’t felt since his first televised sermon… something like worship. 

He had to seek him out. 

This then ties in perfectly with his one-sided crush/obsession with Al, their doomed stint at friendship, and the impending rejection he receives at the end. AGAIN. First God, now Alastor…? You’d think that second blow would reduce him into an even greater depression than before, but instead, it flips a switch inside him. That’s when Vox decides ENOUGH. He’s done pandering, he’s done negotiating, he’s done elevating anyone else above himself. And why should he?? If anything HE should be the one on that pedestal, HE should be the only one to get credit for all HIS deeds…

HE should be God. 

And dammit, if he can’t join the original up in Heaven, why not try to become one down in Hell?

The rest is canon as we know it, but I just really realllllly love the idea of ex-Christian Vox, and all the disillusionment religious trauma can bring. He went straight from communion to capitalism, and I like that in my hell-bound guys. I will def be using this as his canon backstory for my AU with Claude, bc I needed to bring even more conflicted suffering and RSD to this character before I can truly ship them together hahaa. 

And…. despite what his real backstory actually is…. this is the only one I subscribe to now. 😈

ALSO:

TELL ME THIS ISN’T HIM!!??!??? HELP. CREEPY HANDSOME IS THE ONLY WAY TO GO FOR THIS CURSED TV MAN I HAVE DECLARED IT SO PLS ADJUST YOUR FANART ACCORDINGLY. 

Anyway, thanks for coming to my TED talk I’m going to go rot in my hole now thinking of more hcs for this akskshagaga-

[autisticlancemcclain]

you know what i’m doing to do to get my autism working for me. i’m going to instigate a Schedule. i am going to post updates to existing fics every wednesday and call them Wip Wednesdays. just to get my ass in gear. and every tuesday i am going to do a poll to see which wip y’all want updated. send me asks/dms/comments rn with the wips you want updated so i get a good pool of options

[insomniphic]

Would you guys get upset if I start labeling/tagging my posts about Narry as an oc? ‘- ‘

Like— he’s still a Narrator in my heart but it slowly feels like he’s diverging into something more personal and separate…

(More ranting in the tags lol)

[ghostat7am]

NO, YOU CAN'T GET ENOUGH!

[CW: loud music. Glitching & flickering imagery, disturbing/possibly scary images. Eyestrain]

[wangxianficrecs]

heavenly questions by Lirazel

heavenly questions

by Lirazel

T, WIP, Series, 15k, Wangxian

Summary: “Please tell me if I have understood correctly.” An inclination of his head invites her to continue. “My sons, who currently visit me only once a month, will now be allowed to see me only once every other month. And then, after a cycle of this, it will be only once per season. And then after that, I presume, I will see them only once a year.” Or not at all. That is no doubt the ultimate aim. Not at all. Madam Lan lives long enough to take back some agency--and her sons. Kay's comments: This series is not yet completed, but the first two stories are finished and they can be read as standalones. I really love it when Mama Lan is given a) a name b) the chance to run away with her children. Women looking out for women was awesome in this story and Wangxian's first meeting during the Sunshot Campaign was great too! They are immediately so gone for each other. Excerpt: When A-Zhan arrives right after breakfast, she is as composed as she ever is. He doesn’t run up the steps anymore, not like he used to, the sound of his little drumming feet waking joy in her heart. They had put a stop to that when he was four years old, and for almost three years now, he has walked carefully up the stairs in steps as measured as his uncle’s. He works so hard, her sweet boy, to maintain the control they demand of him. She misses the enthusiasm of his toddlerhood, but even now, when the doors open, his eyes light up, brighter than sunlight, warmer than flame. She sees him knot his little hands into fists, the only evidence of how hard he is working to keep himself from running to her as he walks steadily across the floor. But when he reaches her, he falls into her arms with the same heartrending sigh, and he rubs his face against the silk of her clothes like he did as a baby. She pulls him close, buries her face in the silk and scent of his hair, and holds him until the clearing of a throat makes her loosen her arms. She is never allowed to be alone with her children; there’s always someone watching them. Today it’s the sour-faced lady with the streaks of grey in her hair standing just inside the door—it’s always her these days. In times past, it was sometimes a short, round old lady whose face was always blank but whose eyes were sad when they looked at her. But someone besides Jing Yufei must have noticed, for they don’t let that woman chaperone anymore. Now it is always one of the women whose expressions make it clear they see her as a murderer, not a mother. It dampens the joy her sons bring her, but she has learned to ignore it.

pov alternating, canon divergence, madam lan lives, madam lan deserves better, madam lan backstory, lan wangji leaves the gusu lan sect, lan xichen leaves the gusu lan sext, parent-child relationship, parenthood, implied/referenced sexual assault, sunshot campaign, no golden core transfer, different first meeting, love at first sight, pre-lan wangji/wei wuxian

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

[vvyvernicus]

OC Post:

B"Randi" Maxton

Fandom: The Count's Secret Maid (백작가의 비밀스런 시녀님)

Type of protagonist: Reluctant Hero/Transmigrated

Original cause of death: Alcohol poisoning

Randi, before her transmigration:

Randi lived most of her life in the city outskirts where she was raised by a single mother. Her mother had a habit of being promiscuous—especially when drunk—and conceived Randi from an accidental pregnancy. Her mother was poor and since abortion was not legal in her state, she had to carry her pregnancy to term. However, instead of doing the more responsible thing and giving Randi up for adoption, her mother decided to raise Randi herself, not wanting anyone to parent her daughter.

Unfortunately, Randi's mother did not change for the better to be a good mom for Randi.

For starters, Randi's name came to be from her mother craving her favorite liquor "Brandy" after giving birth to her. The nurse misunderstood this and simply thought she wanted to name her daughter "Brandi" instead and put it on her birth certificate. After growing older, Randi instead tells people to refer to her as her nickname, liking it better than her legal name.

Randi's mother had a plethora of issues—many that would unfortunately be passed onto her daughter both genetically and psychologically. This includes her alcoholism, depression as well as generalized anxiety. Randi's mother never sought to get treatment for these conditions for herself nor for her daughter when she started showing signs.

Her mother was both physically and verbally abusive to her. She'd have fits of hysteria and would rely on Randi to calm her back down. There were times where the situation seemed to be improving, but things always went back to where they were. When she was little, she wanted to "save" her mother.

While Randi did not have a lot of toys to play with, on good days, her mother would read to her. Mainly fairy tales with happy endings. She latched onto these ideals and started to envision herself as one of the princesses in the stories. This was also one of the only times that Randi could share a comforting physical closeness with her mother, aside from when she was blackout drunk.

School life was not much easier for young Randi. She did poorly in academics and struggled to make connections with the other children, even in elementary school. By middle school, she started to experience severe bullying to the point she'd start skipping days here and there. Not wanting to be at home with her mother, she'd wander the suburbs.

When she was a child, Randi found comfort in singing. It made her feel less alone and she enjoyed acting like she was singing as a certain character in a scene. However, bullying she received shot down her confidence, so she never tried out for school plays. When she became a teenager and started smoking, she found it increasingly harder to sing and stopped altogether because she hated that it made her have coughing fits.

As an adult, she found comfort in unhealthy habits: smoking and binge drinking. However she still managed to scrape by as a gas station attendant (even if she had to work double shifts). It was very slow during nights, so she used that time to scroll, watch videos and absorb lots of irrelevant information. She'd also read Manhwa's on occasion, but often got bored and dropped most after only a few chapters.

Before her transmigration, she had read only one chapter of the Manhwa comic she came to wake up in after her death. She has no clue about the world, other than the details surrounding the first chapter: she was now possessing a poor girl's body who had been abused her whole life, called ugly, then finally sold off by her abusive father to serve as a new maid at someone's mansion.

This young woman's name was Paula.

Paula originally was one of five siblings. She was the eldest, with her mother resenting giving birth to her and leaving the family after birthing the youngest. Three of her siblings were killed/sold off aside from her younger sister Alicia, who doesn't care that her siblings were treated horrendously. In addition to being mistreated horribly by her family, to the point of regular beatings, she was also harassed in her village because people saw her as ugly.

At the time she has transmigrated, she was already employed at the mansion, specifically a day afterwards. This means that the original Paula had already met with her employers and some other workers at the mansion. More importantly, she had already met the master she was supposed to serve, but the details behind the encounter were unknown because Randi didn't read past the first chapter.

It's a very awkward transition, and it takes her a bit to understand what's going on. Thankfully she transmigrates when alone in her new room. When she meets Isabella, the head maid and her boss, she convinces her that the other day was a blur and that she needs a refresher. Turns out, the original Paula got hit in the face with a vase and passed out, which made the situation believable. Isabella sighs before explaining her new position to her yet again before sending her off to attend to the master.

Let's talk about the Male Lead: Vincent Bellunita.

He was born a healthy, handsome boy and was very intelligent and skilled. Both of his parents had passed away when he was still young, but he managed to lead the household without much issue. At least until a year before the events of the story. He was assaulted at an assassin at an event hosted by the royal family, where a strange juice got into his eyes.

Within weeks, he became completely blind.

Now he refuses to leave his room and few people know of his condition. Due to the trauma of losing his vision, his behavior is irritable and he injures himself in fits of frustration. He also refuses to eat regular meals and has grown thin from lack of nourishment. His body has grown frail enough that occasionally he can't breathe properly and requires an respirator on occasion.

Vincent keeps his gun on him at all times. Mostly because he's afraid of future assassination attempts. He threatens to use this gun on Randi during their first "official" meeting. Since Randi is not afraid of death, she challenges him, daring to make a pun that being shot in the head would "open her mind" to new experiences.

Their relationship is an interesting one for sure. She "escapes" death by using puns and morbid humor, clearly unopposed to being killed and replaced by another maid. Vincent finds her behavior absurd and is unnerved by her. She tells him that she still has to fulfill her duties, but if she's killed, she'll just be replaced anyways. After a bit of back and forth, she eventually comes up with an idea. If he behaves well and allows her to do her work without fighting her, then she'll tell him a story or something "interesting".

Just like with the original Paula, he's not so keen on having her attempt to serve him and do her job. But since Randi had experience dealing with someone neurotic for several years, being screamed at and having objects thrown at her was something she was accustomed to. Initially, she just lets him get it out of his system before attempting to do her work. Sometimes she'll even make comments that he's being too noisy, since she's not a fan of loud noises.

Of course, he gets more used to her with time. Even if he acts like a "total brat" like she says some days, if he's not actively fighting her in some way before she takes her leave, she'll give him small tidbits of information. At first, they start off dark, but she eventually lightens up the topics.

While at the mansion, she wears typical maid attire. The only thing she does differently from the original Paula is tying her hair in double ponytails simply because "it's fun". In public, she wears a commoner dress along with a mask that obscures most of her face. Since Paula was ridiculed for an ugly face, Randi decided to wear a mask instead. Randi doesn't truly believe Paula to be ugly, but sees the villagers who had called her that to be corrupt (along with everyone else) since she views the world as Hell.

She views the transmigration as "Hell". Since she didn't live a fulfilling or particularly virtuous life in her past, she sees this new life as a punishment. Because of this, she also doesn't take it very seriously. So if it's her fate to get killed again, she is accepting of it.

Her past love of fairy tales has soured and she now prefers stories that end tragically. Her reasoning is that they are the most memorable. Despite this, she'll recount lots of media from her past life, both the happy stories and the more somber variety.

The types of content she'll bring up varies wildly. She favors dark humor initially, but is capable of bringing up wholesome topics, technological advancements and random game logic. Instead of being seen as a person from another world, she is considered to be eccentric. She never directly admits to transmigrating to anyone except for Vincent.

Due to her depression, Randi doesn't find pleasure in things like eating. Everything is tasteless to her and she has to force food down at times. In spite of her previous alcoholism, she no longer drinks (mainly because she does not have access to it as a maid). However she does drink lots of salted water out of habit, which is a great way of getting rid of hangovers and hydrating the body.

Also, since Paula's lungs had never inhaled cigarettes like Randi's old body, her lungs and throat are in much better condition. So Randi can now sing without having coughing fits if she is ever inclined to. She knows a lot of songs and will use them depending on the situations she finds herself in.

The altered plot is also loosely based on One Thousand and One Nights (The Arabian Nights). In this story, there is a king who marries and kills a new bride each day after being betrayed by his first wife. That is until he meets a peculiar woman, one who plans to extend her life by telling him engaging stories each night and always ending on a cliffhanger.

This is just a small teaser/preview for if I write the eventual fanfiction. I already have so many other projects, fan ones and original works, so this will likely be on the back burner indefinitely.

The original story is also currently in its early stages. While my rendition will take a completely different path, I'd like to have a bit more base material to work around before transforming the world.

Images of the official characters were screenshots from the Manhwa!

[zaldrizotl]

I’m thinking about writing Blood of a Coven fan-fiction…

( Blood of a Coven is by @moonphos1fan, READ IT!!!)

[bardic-tales]

Hello everyone. As I mentioned yesterday, I wanted to share a personal headcanon about Bianca that I've never revealed before. If you have been following Bia's journey, you know it's a tale about despair, resilience, and the transformative power of connection. This headcanon is no different.

content warning: Abuse, alienation, blood, body mutilation, body horror, death, depression, despair, exploitation, grief, identity crisis, isolation, loss, mental health struggles, PTSD, self-harm, severe emotional distress, suicidal thoughts, supernatural violence, trauma, violence.

In a moment of profound despair after two months of isolation in the North Crater, Bianca attempted to sever her wings with Noctemaris, a symbolic act of rejecting the dual nature that had brought her endless suffering. Her wings symbolize the intricate duality of her celestial heritage: a duality that I already established that Bianca views as both a gift, but, mostly, a curse. Every feather was a testament to the suffering inflicted upon her — by Professor Ravenscroft and Hojo’s experiments, by humanity’s betrayal, and by the torment of her father, Asmodeus.

However, her actions proved futile. No blade or force of will could sever her wings. They were as indestructible as the forces that shaped her. It was a cruel reminder that some aspects of identity are inescapable. This realization broke her further, leaving her bloodied and broken amidst the cold and snow of the crater. The only thing that echoed through the desolation was her despair.

It was in this state of devastation that Sephiroth found her, as he had felt this pain through their soul-bond. He had immediately taken control of SC-X, the Wutain Sephiroth Clone, and searched for her in the vast, desolate landscape, following the trail of bloody, black feathers dotting the snowy ground. He intervened not with force, but with understanding, stopping her self-destructive act with a quiet authority that only he had. As he knelt beside her, he saw beyond the physical scar to the deeper emotional wounds that drove her to such an extreme. He recognized himself in her.

To Sephiroth, her wings are not a curse, but they are a part of her strength: a symbol of resilience forged through suffering. After all, she had grown stronger through the pain placed upon her. With an almost reverent gentleness that he rarely showed, Sephiroth began to heal the deep gashes with his own power, the warmth of his touch contrasted sharply against the bitter cold around them. His actions were more than physical. They were a balm to the deep emotional wounds she carried: a silent promise that she was not alone in her torment.

To Sephiroth, her wings are not a curse, but they are a part of her strength: a symbol of resilience forged through suffering. After all, she had grown stronger through the pain placed upon her. With an almost reverent gentleness that he rarely showed, Sephiroth began to heal the deep gashes with his own power, the warmth of his touch contrasted sharply against the bitter cold around them. His actions were more than physical. They were a balm to the deep emotional wounds she carried: a silent promise that she was not alone in her torment.

Sephiroth’s care extended beyond healing. Once her wounds were closed, he began to preen her wings: an intimate gesture that spoke volumes. Since her wings emerged as bloody, gory appendages seven years and seven months before she had her breakdown, she had only let Mordecai Delacroix and Sephiroth touch her wings. Each touch was deliberate. His fingers smoothed out the bloody feathers with a tenderness that defied his typically cold demeanor as the One-Winged Angel. He explained that the wings were a testament to her endurance. They were not a curse, but a source of power and beauty that humanity couldn’t understand. In Sephiroth’s eyes, they symbolized strength and the indomitable spirit that had survived unimaginable horrors. His words began to shift her perspective, planting seeds of acceptance and cutting through the self-loathing.

That night, Sephiroth took her hand, spreading his own wing and guiding her to spread her own to take flight. Together, they soared above the North Crater. The vast expanse of stars seemed to stretch above endlessly. This flight was brief as Bianca is more susceptible to the cold and develops hypothermia quicker than a normal human. However, it was their first flight together, and the sensation of it was very transformation to Bianca. The weight of her wings, which had always felt like chains, now seemed to lift her past the pain. The cold wind against her skin and the silent vastness of the night sky offered a perspective she had never known: one of liberation but only briefly.

However, this transformation is not immediate or simplistic. Bianca’s wings remained a source of conflict for a very long time after this flight, as they represented the darker realities of her existence. To the world, they are seen as symbols of hope and divinity, yet to Bianca, they are stained with blood and suffering. The humans who once despised her for her ‘deformity’ when she thought she was human started to revere her only to turn to fear and violence when she failed to live up to their expectations, leading to her exploitation by Shinra in a dimension she wasn’t even from. The wings are a physical manifestation of the cosmic forces that have dictated her life, a constant reminder of the chaos and suffering that was inflicted upon her.

Despite Sephiroth’s influence, the journey towards acceptance is fraught with internal struggle. Her wings become a weapon — a tool she wields in her quest to bring about the destruction and rebirth of the omniverse, aligning with Sephiroth’s vision of a world free from humanity.

The symbolism of he wings extends beyond personal trauma. It reflects a broader existential conflict. As a hybrid of celestial and demonic origins, she occupies a liminal space, as she is rejected by both angel and demon. Her afterlife in the Celestial Realm is only offered to her, as it is to all hybrids, but she would have been meant with disdain by pure-blooded celestials. This duality is not a source of balance, but a catalyst for suffering. Her celestial heritage was meant to represent purity and divine grace, but it has been corrupted by alien and demonic influences, as well as human exploitation. Her wings, therefore, symbolize the inescapable burden of her identity: an identity imposed upon her by forces beyond her control. The internal conflict fuels her hatred for angels, demons, and humans, alike, leading her to reject the cosmic narrative altogether as she turned to face her destiny. Her ultimate goal of triggering a kilonova to destroy and recreate the omniverse is an extension of this reject — a desire to erase the pain of her past and forge a future on her own turns.

In the end, Bianca’s journey is one of defiance against societal pressures and embraces transformation and healing. Her wings, once symbols of suffering and loss, become tools of power and rebellion. Under Sephiroth’s influence and their nightly flights through the crater, Bianca begins to see them not just as a reminder of her past but as instruments of her future. They are no longer a ‘curse’ and something that needed to be removed from her body, but a testament to her resilience. They are a weapon to wield against the men and divine who sought to break her. This shift in perspective underscores the complex nature of her character. It highlights the tension between her desire for freedom and the inescapable nature of her identity. Her flights at night is not just just an escape now, but it is a reclamation of identity. It’s a promise that even in the darkest moments, there is a strength to be found in the things we once saw as our greatest weakness. It shows that we can rise above the pain that life has brought upon us.

tagging some fellow mutuals: @themaradwrites @littleshopofchaos @serenofroses @megandaisy9 @watermeezer

@nightingaleflow @prehistoric-creatures @creativechaosqueen @chickensarentcheap @glbettwrites

@seastarblue