#everyone has trauma from the word franks

[inkskinned]

okay if you're really cool about things, i can be honest with you. before you read further, decide if you're a girl's girl. if you're cool and actually cool or like not cool.

men don't talk in my book because i was fuckken tired of the way they're the center of every fucking story. i was tired of how every story takes a moment to let them talk. men can shut up for literally one fucking book.

unfortunately not everyone is cool. professionally what i usually say is i didn't want to add violence to the world. the only men in my book are abusers, so they don't get to talk. they don't get to take up space. they ruined my life, they don't get to have their words echo anymore.

because like, yeah! you find practically any story about a person surviving trauma and... there's a man at the center. men are often rescuing us from these things. a "good man" is always standing around, being a good man, proving to the victim that good men are the real men. that her experience was unique rather than universal.

the redacted text has not been taken well by all of my early readers. there is this weird, crouching growl that keeps occurring with men-of-a-certain-age. why don't we hear his side of the story?

when i sat down to write everything that happened to me, i couldn't look at the frank brutality of my abuser's words on a page and think to myself: i actually let him speak like that. i had to redact his words from the manuscript. i then left it redacted. no victim is going to read this book and hear the person who hurt them. it is a book for the victims to speak. abusers shut up challenge, forever. for eternity.

my father once told me, chuckling, i should just have a page of redaction where i let the man just finally talk. it is funny to joke about how we should make a whole page in my book about a man that hurt me. this was not the only time someone commented - it feels like you're hiding things. how do i know you're actually a victim if he doesn't get to speak?

there are books where women aren't even present. i even genuinely like some of those books. like, who doesn't like the hobbit?

i keep running into people defending this imaginary man. the default narrative is so true to some people that they will defend any man, just by virtue of the assumption - "if he's acting like that, you had to push him." certain people need definitive proof that you didn't accidentally make your partner into an abuser. they need to decide if you deserved it, because they want to be able to judge you.

which makes sense, i guess, from a hind brain perspective. if you can figure out "why" someone was cruel, you can protect yourself against it. if you defend the bully, the bully might side with you. i don't really know their explanation for feeling this about a character in a book. trust me, i wrote the guy. he is not going to protect you.

i guess i just - there was a time in my life where i desperately wanted anyone to defend me. where i could have really used someone saying holy shit are you okay instead of what did you say to make him act like that to you.

instead, over dinner, a friend-of-a-friend i just met is pouring herself wine. i heard you wrote a book, she says. she gives me the kind of chilly smile i associate with knives. i heard it's unfair to men.

[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

[storywriter007]

Thank you for answering my other two requests, I loved them!! I have two more if you are interested!

1) Can you do a Percy Jackson x reader (I'm imagining this occurring on the Argo II) that's basically an enemies to friends to lovers? Where maybe they both just don't really like each other based on the encounters they've had, but then end up going on a small quest off the ship just the two of them and some sort of trauma happens that makes them friends, and then you can decide how they get to lovers from there! Basically just want some angst!

2) This one has a little bit of a trigger warning with suicidal thoughts, so I understand if you don't want to write this one. Percy Jackson x reader (this one I'm also envisioning on the Argo II, but this one could also be just at camp when Percy is like 17) where they are good friends and the reader is struggling mentally but tries to smile for everyone else, but she is sitting alone in the woods at some point holding her knife to her wrist just kind of thinking about it but not sure about it, but then Percy appears to check on her and scares her so the accidentally slips and cuts herself there, and from there basically Percy comfort. Idk if that made sense but basically Percy angst and comfort.

You're amazing!!! 🩷

Friends? - Percy Jackson x Fem!Reader

author's note: this is request one. thank you for your request :) i kind of had to cut it short bc this was getting too long.

warnings: cursing, mentions of suicide, betrayal, mentions of death, battle scenes, kissing

genre: angst ending in fluff

word count: 1.8k

-> heroes of olympus masterlist

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send me requests here! (these are my guidelines)

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y/n took her seat at the table alongside seven other demi-gods. she noticed percy scowl at her and she rolled her eyes back at him. they'd never gotten along. and chances were, they never would.

her intense hate for the son of the sea god had begun a few summers back during capture the flag. they were on the blue team, and she was assigned to offense with annabeth and percy. suddenly, four members from the red charged at the trio, swords in hand. y/n and percy swung and slashed at two of them until they fled. one of them yanked off annabeth's invisibility cap and decided she was their next victim. the other one came for y/n, hitting her ankle hard. percy was quick to defend annabeth and run away with her.

but he left her. y/n was left to fight two members of the opposing team, who were merciless. they were violent, they were twice her size, and to y/n's dismay, her ankle didn't provide her any support to run away. it was a terrible and cruel beating. the two kept going even when they didn't need to. she could barely see by the end of it. y/n remembered that capture the flag game as "don't trust your teammates."

ever since then, y/n had made her distaste for percy clear. everyone admired his loyalty, until they were on the receiving end of his betrayal.

"we need to find a map." annabeth started.

"it's our key to finding out which way is the safest to go." jason explained. "it's somewhere in the woods, according to what hecate told hazel."

"we're going to have to split up." annabeth continued. "it's a huge forest, and we need to cover ground efficiently."

"i've split you guys up. i don't want to hear any whining." jason said, looking at the group, but his gaze lingered longer on percy and y/n. "annabeth, piper, and i are going eastwards towards the mountains. frank, leo, and hazel are going south to the rest of the woods. percy and y/n will head north, towards the shore."

"why is it 3-3-2?" hazel asked curiously.

"because we need a power balance." annabeth said politely. "it's matched with each person's strengths."

"strengths?" percy chuckled. "i'm the strength. she's going to slow me down."

douchebag, y/n thought.

"i don't want to go with you either, but i'm not bitching about it, am i?" she snapped back.

"you don't have to bitch because going with me does you a favor."

"i'd rather drown."

"lucky you, i can make that happen."

they stared at one-another in an intense fury.

"we'll meet here again in four hours." jason instructed. "and when we do, all eight of us better be here." he said, eyeing percy and y/n.

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it was already eight. and they had to search the stupid northside until midnight. she couldn't even run away if she wanted to.

they continued walking. the sun slowly set as the night sky arose. the woods looked scary at night. tall, thick trees hovered over the two demi-gods as strange creatures and noises came by. after what felt like a long time walking, y/n could hear the sea.

"do you hear it?" she asked him.

"i can feel it." he said, walking quickly.

she trailed behind him as they reached sandy terrain. the sea was dark and terrifying. y/n and percy searched the shore for what felt like another eternity.

suddenly, it got colder and y/n heard a voice. it was a sweet, soft voice.

look at me it whispered.

"do you hear that?" she asked percy.

"yeah." he said, shakily.

look at what you've done it demanded.

suddenly, y/n was watching something in front of her. it was a battle. she looked at the gory scene in front of her. it took her a minute to realize it was the battle of manhattan. she felt a lump in her throat as images of dead campers raced through her mind. silena, charlie, ethan, and luke.

this is your fault the voice said, but it wasn't sweet anymore. it was hoarse, raspy, and cruel.

look at what you've killed. look at what you've brought it continued.

the images flashed terrible battle scenes. it replayed deaths of each and every camper.

you did this the voice yelled.

"n-no, i didn't." y/n whispered, shaken by the images.

look at what you've done

"i didn't do it!" she pleaded.

you did! you did it all!

"i had no choice." she said, tears spilling from her eyes.

terrible, tortuous images kept playing. the deaths of the campers she'd grown up with, the reactions of their mothers and fathers, and the destruction that had been caused.

you deserve to die.

"i know." she whispered. "don't you think i know?"

do it the voice encouraged. do what you should've done years ago.

y/n tried to think through it. this voice, this voice wasn't human.

do it.

it was a siren. it was trying to get her to sacrifice her life.

"no." she said, standing her ground. "i did what i had to. i can't be blamed for it."

then who can you blame?

"kronos." she said, gripping her sword.

the siren showed it's demented face and y/n quickly slashed it. she snapped out of her trance, and the images faded and so did the voices. she turned to see percy holding his sword to his neck. she saw the twisted siren circling around him. she swiftly ran up to him and took his sword from his hand, before slashing the siren. percy too snapped out of his daze, and stumbled a little. y/n caught him, and looked up to meet his sea green eyes. they were teary, and he looked so disheartened.

"you saw it too." she confirmed.

he nodded.

"thank you." he said, his voice low and sincere. "i would've done-well you know what, if you hadn't saved me."

she nodded.

"we should probably get back to the ship." he said quietly.

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when percy and y/n got back, it was half-past midnight, and everyone was already there.

"we ran into sirens." y/n briefly explained.

they all nodded as the ship entered the air, sailing to its next location.

"we found the map." hazel informed. "goodnight guys."

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y/n tossed and turned in her bed. she couldn't get those images out. those dam sirens. she needed to talk to someone. someone who would understand. she sat up and opened her door. she trailed the hallway until the came across the door that read percy jackson. she lightly knocked before pushing the door open.

"couldn't sleep either?" he asked, laying down and staring at the ceiling.

"yeah." she said. "i can't get what the sirens showed me out of my head."

"c'mere." he said, patting the area next to him.

y/n laid down next to him.

"i know it's not our fault." he said quietly. "but it feels like it is."

"i know." she said softly. "it's like i should've done something. but there was nothing to be done."

"exactly." he said. "on one hand, i know i couldn't have saved them no matter what i did. but on the other, i feel like i should've figured it out."

"mhm." she agreed. "they were good people. that's what makes it hurt more."

"they didn't deserve death. and i don't deserve the hero title." he chuckled. "i let them die."

"you had no choice." she reminded.

"did i?" he questioned.

"percy, i saw and heard the same things you did. it just wanted to get in our heads." she explained. "and they did it through guilt. guilt that isn't ours to carry. it's kronos'."

"you're right." he agreed.

y/n had spent years hating him. but maybe, just maybe, he was alright. they had both seen the same things growing up. the same wars, deaths, and betrayals. in an odd way, she felt almost identical to him.

a few moments of silence passed by before y/n realized percy had fallen asleep. and after a few more minutes, she felt herself drift off as well.

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the next morning when y/n awoke, percy was already awake.

"morning." he smiled.

"oh dear god." she said, sitting up. "what time is it?"

"it's five-thirty. and i'm sorry." he said, sitting up as well.

"for what?"

"for how i treated you all these years." he exhaled, as if this was something he'd been meaning to get off his chest. "i'm sorry for leaving you in capture the flag."

"so you did know what you were doing, huh?" she retorted.

sure, the cuts and scars from that beating had been healed a long time ago. but, the betrayal never did.

"i didn't know you." he explained. "i didn't care about you. i just wanted to get annabeth to safety. that was wrong of me. you were on my team, i should've helped."

"'sorry' and 'i should've' doesn't fix anything. we're not best friends because we got along for a day." she said bitterly. "i know for a fact you would've left me in the woods the way you did all those years ago."

"that's not fair y/n." he frowned. "i would never do that to you."

"and you get to decide what's fair now?" she chuckled. "are you forgetting you continued tormenting me instead of swallowing your pride and apologizing?"

"i-"

"that's the thing about your loyalty, jackson. everyone admires it until they're on the receiving end of your betrayal." she said coldly, getting up.

"y/n, you might not trust me today, hell, you might not trust me for the rest of our short lives. but believe me when i say, from the bottom of my heart, i'm sorry."

"how do i know you're never going to do the same thing again?" she asked.

get got up and moved closer to her. he was practically towering over her. she felt her back hit the wall.

"you have my word." he promised, looking at her eyes.

she nodded in agreement, feeling herself breathe heavily being this close to him. she could feel him leaning in, and she did too. their lips pressed against one-anothers in a passionate kiss. his hands were placed on her waist, and her arms snaked around his neck. he tasted like salt and blue frosting. she felt herself get pushed backwards towards the wall as he continued to kiss her. it grew more passionate and ferocious until they both pulled away. she rested her head underneath his.

"friends?" he asked.

"we just made out. we are not friends." she laughed.

"i thought it was too bold to say lovers."

"lovers." she agreed.

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hope you liked it :) sorry for the wait!

[swan-of-sunrise]

Let It Out, and Let It In

Summary: Spiraling under the immeasurable weight of his trauma, Steve desperately seeks out the company of his girlfriend and, after experiencing a panic attack in her presence, unexpectedly finds himself opening up to her about his mental health.

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings/Disclaimers: Disclaimer for a detailed depiction of a panic attack and a frank discussion about Steve Rogers’ trauma

A/N: Hi guys! I've been an MCU/Steve Rogers fan for damn near a decade now, and it hasn't escaped my notice that Steve's trauma has a tendency of being overlooked and overshadowed. So today, we'll be getting a glimpse of his ongoing mental health struggles (I promise you it's not all angst!) Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy!

Let It Out, and Let It In September 2015 The Home of (Y/N) (Y/L/N) and Sam Wilson, Washington D.C. (Superhero Snapshots Masterlist)

“Should’ve called ahead, Rogers,” Steve chastised himself under his breath as he knocked three times on (Y/N)’s front door. He shoved the hood of his sweatshirt off his head and roughly combed his fingers through his hair, the poor attempt to straighten up his appearance for his girlfriend doing very little to distract from his spiraling mental state.

Like many, Steve didn’t exactly have fond memories of high school. While everyone around him seemed to struggle a little as they transitioned from awkward adolescence to mature adulthood, he always felt as though he was one massive step behind them without any hope of catching up. One aspect of high school he did appreciate, though – apart from his friendship with Bucky and his beloved art – were his English courses; he devoured each of the novels, plays and poems that they were assigned to read and thoroughly enjoyed writing themes that analyzed their deeper meanings. One of his favorite books had been The Great Gatsby and even eighty years later, he could still recall the telling exchange that Jay Gatsby shared with Nick Carraway towards the beginning of their friendship: ‘You see, I usually find myself among strangers because I drift here and there trying to forget the sad thing that happened to me.’

The brief line of Gatsby’s dialogue managed to stick with Steve long after he’d finished reading the book, initially because he couldn’t imagine how one’s life could become so lonely but eventually, because he’d come to understand Gatsby’s words all too well; he suffered the loss of his mother and Bucky, went into the ice in 1945 and woke up to find that nearly seventy years had passed him by, grappled with the losses of all his fellow Howling Commandos and helplessly watched as the last personified tie to his past slowly succumbed to dementia. Like Gatsby, Steve preferred the company of strangers; they made it easier for him to ignore the crippling loneliness because they never bothered to try and get to know the traumatized twenty-seven-year-old man behind the red, white and blue shield.

Things began to change for him not long after the Battle of New York. He befriended Natasha, one of his fellow Avengers, and she tried her best to acclimate him to his new life; maybe it was a result of all she’d suffered at the hands of the Red Room or because she was just incredibly adept at reading people, but Nat knew that he was struggling and in her own unique way, she did everything she could to be there for him. He met Sam and (Y/N), leaving his apartment for his usual morning run around the National Mall wearing a serious scowl but departing for his S.H.I.E.L.D. mission afterwards with a truly happy smile on his face; Sam soon became one of his best friends, the VA trauma counselor understanding his difficulties with adjusting to his new life but never treating him differently because of them, and he found himself falling in love with (Y/N), the historical-fiction novelist bursting into his life like sunshine on a cloudy day and making him feel truly seen for who he was instead of the larger-than-life mantle he carried. And with the help of (Y/N), Sam and Nat, he grew closer to his fellow Avengers, even finding himself beginning to view them as his family and accepting the fact that he wasn’t alone anymore.

But while Steve had slowly grown to love and appreciate his new life, there were still some days when the reality of his situation would weigh heavily on his mind and it was only a matter of time before he’d break down into a full-blown panic attack; he did his best to hide his struggles from his girlfriend and friends, not wanting to hurt their feelings or make them feel that they weren’t enough for him, but it was becoming harder and harder for him to pretend that everything was all right. It was one of those awful days that saw Steve impulsively asking Nat to land the Quinjet at Joint Base Andrews on their way home from a mission in Argentina; the assassin did as he asked without question, but he could feel her concerned gaze following him as he walked down the ramp and marched across the airstrip alone. Ignoring the mounting pressure in his chest, he elected to do what he’d often do before the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. and take a walk through the streets of D.C., following in Jay Gatsby’s footsteps and surrounding himself with strangers to avoid addressing the memories of his old life that were clawing their way to the forefront of his mind.

With the hood of his sweatshirt pulled low over his face and his hands shoved into its pockets, Steve trudged down North Capitol Street with his eyes downcast, prolonging his return to his dark and impersonal apartment and the panic attack that would inevitably follow. Dusk had already fallen and downtown, the city’s nightlife was beginning to ramp up; restaurants were packed with families visiting the historic city and cheerful groups of friends pulled one another into the bars and nightclubs, while couples walked arm-in-arm and took in the glimmering lights that illuminated the city’s imposing monuments. It wasn’t until Steve walked past a bookstore and caught sight of (Y/N)’s debut novel, For Queen and Country, proudly displayed in the window that he felt his mind beginning to clear and a small smile tug on his lips. In that instant, Steve was engulfed by an overwhelming need to see his girlfriend and he continued walking down the street at an increased pace, spurred on by the sunshine that might succeed in breaking through the bleak isolation he found himself consumed by.

Steve forced himself out of his musings just as the door swung open to reveal (Y/N); he was pleased to see that she was dressed for a comfortable night in, with a well-loved Lauryn Hill concert t-shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants, but it was evident by the white strip adhered to her nose and the hair towel balanced on her head that he’d interrupted her evening. “Steve!” (Y/N), unaware of the guilt he was experiencing for interrupting her relaxing evening, smiled broadly and opened her door wider. “I’ve really got to stop listening to Sam; that lying Birdbrain told me you guys wouldn’t be back from Argentina until tomorrow.���

“The mission wrapped up a lot quicker than we’d initially anticipated, so Sam’s off the hook fir lying this time,” Steve replied with a small smile as he shoved his fidgeting hands into his pockets. “I, um, I’m really sorry that I didn’t call or text you before coming over, but I was on my way home and I…anyway, I can leave if I’m intruding-”

“Don’t be silly, you’re not intruding!” Standing the side, (Y/N) allowed him to step through the doorway and closed the door before turning to give him a sheepish smile. “After spending all day going over my book’s first draft with Greg, I treated myself to a bubble bath and I may or may not have fallen asleep in the tub; I woke up in lukewarm water and my fingers were all pruney, but it was a damn good nap.”

“You’ve been working hard on your novel, sunshine; if anyone deserves a little rest and relaxation, it’s you.” Steve slipped off his sneakers and neatly placed them near the entryway table, straightening and chuckling when his girlfriend launched herself into his arms and nuzzled her face against his chest. “Did you miss me?”

(Y/N) nodded and tightened her arms around his waist. “I always miss you whenever you’re away on a mission, sweetheart.”

Steve’s heart melted and before he knew it, one of his arms was holding her close while his hand was guiding her face upwards so that his lips could meet hers; their kiss was slow yet passionate, with each of them doing all they could to savor their rare moment of peace, but his initial reason for visiting the historical-fiction novelist made its presence known in his mind and saw him give her one last kiss before pulling away with a forced smile. “Me too, baby. I just…I really needed to see you.”

(Y/N)’s head tilted to the side as her (Y/E/C) eyes studied him but to his surprise and overwhelming gratitude, she didn’t ask him what was wrong or if he was all right. Instead, she took both of his hands in hers and playfully swung their arms while giving him a coy smile. “I was about to try my luck at cooking dinner and since my culinary skills aren’t exactly up to par, I could really use the assistance of a big, strong Avenger. Do you know if any of them are brave enough to accept this dangerous mission?”

“I think I’m up for the challenge, ma’am,” Steve impishly replied and his overstated authoritative tone made (Y/N) giggle as she led him into the kitchen to prepare dinner. “Can I, um, ask what’s on your nose?”

“Oh, it’s for unclogging oil and dead skin cells from pores! It’s a little gross to remove but at the same time, kind of satisfying. Did you want to try one out for yourself?”

“…Sure, why not?”

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While helping his girlfriend cook dinner wasn’t quite as dangerous of a task as she’d made it out to be, Steve certainly had his hands full with making sure she didn’t over-season or burn anything in her eagerness to prove her minimal culinary skills; most importantly, however, cooking alongside (Y/N) helped to take his mind off the incapacitating loneliness that drove him to her doorstep in the first place. They sat at the dining room table to enjoy their chicken parmigiana with angel hair pasta and broccoli and (Y/N) even brought out a pricier bottle of red wine to enjoy with their food, a gift she claimed was sent by Tony and Pepper to congratulate her for winning the Goodreads Choice Award for Best Historical Fiction. Steve listened to (Y/N) talk about the last-minute touches being placed on what would soon be her second published novel with rapt attention, voicing his amazement when she revealed which of her favorite authors would be joining her at an upcoming writing convention and chuckling as she told him about the playful argument she’d gotten into with her publisher about certain spelling choices in her draft.

After they finished their meal, they cleaned up the sizable mess they’d made in the kitchen, with Steve washing the dirty dishes and (Y/N) drying and putting them away; they fell into a comfortable silence while they worked, and he found himself focusing on her soft humming as he deliberated over whether or not to open up to her about the complex emotions he was fighting to control. He loved his girlfriend with all his heart, but it was because of his love for her that he hesitated to fully open up and it didn’t take a genius to figure out why: he was not only afraid that he’d hurt her feelings if he told her that he still struggled to acclimate to the twenty-first century, but he was also afraid that the truth would only serve to drive her away. The memory-wiping device from that Will Smith alien movie Tony made me watch could solve all of my problems in the blink of an eye, he sullenly thought with a sideways glance at a blissfully unaware (Y/N) putting away their dishes, you can’t miss something that you don’t have any memories of.

With the kitchen scrubbed clean and the comforting sound of a light rainfall outside echoing throughout the cozy home, Steve and (Y/N) took to the couch to watch some television. The historical-fiction novelist dissolved into a fit of giggles after applying a cleansing strip to Steve’s nose and he happily indulged her by posing for the selfie she all but begged for his permission to take. After she took several pictures and disposed of their cleansing strips, he pulled her into his arms and soundly kissed her, finding that the dark cloud that hung over him was slowly but surely dispersing the longer she kissed him back.

“Do you feel like watching a movie?” (Y/N) breathlessly asked after they’d finally separated for air. A knowing smile was beginning to spread across her face as she realized they’d moved positions during their impromptu make-out session; the historical-fiction novelist was lying flat on her back while he held himself above her and as he deviously grinned down at her, she twirled her fingers around his sweatshirt’s drawstrings and shrugged offhandedly. “Not that I have any problem with continuing our current activities, of course-”

“Neither do I.”

His girlfriend’s smirk widened at his hasty reply. “But TCM’s been airing a really good screwball comedy marathon all day, and I was thinking that we could give it a watch. I guarantee that my world-famous Milk Duds-and-popcorn concoction pairs excellently with a glass of top shelf red wine and 1935’s Top Hat, so how ‘bout it?”

Steve’s smile instantly dropped at her otherwise innocuous statement. His lungs began to restrict, his vision blurred and it was as though someone had suddenly flipped a switch inside of his hippocampus; all at once, jarring flashes of cloudy memories flooded his mind and overtook his vision.

Bucky dragging Steve along on another double date and insisting that this one would be different than the other failed dates he’d arranged…his throat constricting as his date scowled at the sight of him…sitting in a darkened theater beside the highly displeased woman and throwing his best friend an envious look as he smoothly draped an arm over his smitten date’s shoulders…trying his damndest to enjoy the hit Astaire & Rogers musical-comedy so that his night wouldn’t be so miserable…

“Sweetheart? Are you okay?”

Fists tightening in anger when he saw a furious-looking man dragging his date up the aisle while she begged him to calm down…staggering to his feet in the alleyway behind the theater and throwing another punch at the laughing man, only for him to easily dodge and shove him against the nearby dumpster…fighting to catch his breath as he crumpled to the grimy ground and panicking when he recognized the tell-tale signs of an oncoming asthma attack…frantically grabbing at his pockets in search of his asthma cigarettes, fully conscious of Bucky’s shouting and his date’s frightened scream but unable to stop the black dots from invading his vision…

“You’re having a panic attack, Steve, so I need you to take a deep breath. Can you do that for me? C’mon, sweetheart, just breathe.”

Bucky’s hand colliding with his bruised cheek and stunning him back to consciousness long enough for his best friend to practically shove a lit asthma cigarette between his lips…inhaling the smoke and clutching his ribs as his body was wracked with a violent coughing fit…calling out for his mother the moment he regained his breath, only to break down into heaving sobs when he remembered that she’d been gone for nearly six months…

“Steve, look at me.” The sudden feel of his fingers pressed against a soft warmth finally forced Steve’s eyes open; although he was crouched in the corner of his girlfriend’s living room instead of a dingy alleyway behind Bay Ridge’s Alpine Cinema, his chest was still heaving under the strain of regaining his breath and his entire body was trembling. He focused on the blurry figure and realized in a flash of fear that it was (Y/N) kneeling on the floor before him, looking calm and composed as she held his hand against the side of her neck and gently spoke to him. “Take a deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth, like this.” The historical-fiction novelist completed the breathing exercise and nodded in approval when he shakily copied her. “That’s it, you’re doing so well, sweetheart. What are three things you can see?”

“You,” Steve automatically replied, making his girlfriend smile as his eyes darted around in search of two more items. “Sam’s bowl of wine corks…the lamp that you found at that estate sale a couple of weeks ago.”

“Good, good, but don’t forget to keep on breathing. What’re three things you can hear?”

He took another deep breath and released it before answering. “The rain falling on the rooftop above us…the refrigerator’s ice-maker refilling itself…the ticking of the clock in the entryway.”

(Y/N)’s eyes searched his and he spotted the flicker of trepidation that briefly flashed across them while she studied his features. “You’re doing such a good job, sweetheart. Now, can you touch three things for me and tell me what you feel?”

“Y-Yeah…” Steve swallowed thickly, his stiff fingers slowly flexing against the skin of his girlfriend’s neck as he focused on all he could feel. “Your pulse. It’s strong and steady. I can feel the warmth of the blood flowing through your veins.” Emboldened by her encouraging nod, he brought his other hand up to rest flat against his chest and stretched out his fingers along the material of his sweatshirt. “My sweatshirt’s soft, and my fingers catch on its embroidered logo…” He lowered his hand to touch the living room’s hardwood floor and winced at the unpleasant sensation. “The floor’s cold. All I can think about is the moment I crashed the Valkyrie into the ice.”

The historical-fiction novelist raised her arms but suddenly halted her movements. “Are you up for a hug right now?” Instead of answering, Steve wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her into a tight embrace; he buried his face in her neck and squeezed his eyes shut as her arms draped around his shoulders, savoring the weight of her warm body pressed against his and practically preening when her fingers rhythmically carded through his hair. “You can talk to me, Steve. Whatever it is you have to get off your chest, I’ll listen.” He could feel her press a kiss onto his hair. “And if you want to just sit here and enjoy the silence, then I’ll be more than happy to oblige you. I…I don’t want you to be afraid of letting me in; you deserve to feel safe enough to express yourself, sweetheart, no matter what.”

Steve didn’t know how long they sat there in silence before he rested his chin on her shoulder and stared unseeingly at her cozy living room as he finally found his voice. “The first thing that people told me after coming out of the ice was how lucky I was. They told me that surviving the crash and the ice was a blessing in disguise and that I’d have a shot at living a better life – and they were all so damn pleased with themselves as they were saying it, too, like they could claim that they did their one good deed for the day by convincing Captain America that he was better off in the 21st century – and none of ‘em could understand why I wasn’t as happy as the rest of the world was. Fury arranged for me to see a therapist, but I stopped going after the first appointment because I could see that it’d be more of the same ‘be grateful for what you’ve been given’ shit; there was no one I felt that I could talk to, and then after Loki and the Battle of New York happened…well, most everyone stopped trying to get to know me after that. The lack of any genuine companionship meant it was easier for me to hide and even numb my feelings, but when I found myself bonding with you and Nat and Sam, I…I started to become afraid of driving you all away.”

Steve pulled back far enough to meet (Y/N)’s eyes, only realizing he’d started to cry when her hands delicately cradled his face and her thumbs brushed his drying tear tracks away. “Were you afraid of how we’d react if you admitted that you still think about your old life?” There was no hint of judgement in her expression or hostility in her eyes, only patience and consideration, and Steve found himself silently appreciating his girlfriend’s kindhearted nature as he nodded. “Sweetheart, I want you to listen to me very carefully: depriving yourself of emotions is to deprive yourself of humanity. You’re human, Steve, and you’re allowed to feel however you feel. The people who love you love you for who you are and while I can’t speak for Sam or Nat, I want you to know that I’ll never, ever ask you to repress your emotions for my sake.”

“(Y/N)…” Steve softly started as one of his hands moved to caress her cheek. “No matter what, I’m always gonna have these memories of my life without you in my head. I have no way of knowing when or even if I’ll be settled into my new life. Doesn’t that…doesn’t that bother you?”

His girlfriend smiled patiently and shook her head before countering his question with one of her own. “If our roles were reversed and I was the one who’d come out of the ice instead, would you still love and accept me for who I am?”

“Of course I would, sunshine,” Steve replied with conviction.

“Then believe me when I say that I’ll always love and accept you, sweetheart, no matter what.” With tears beginning to well in her own eyes, (Y/N) leaned forward and pressed a kiss onto his forehead. “Please, please believe me.”

Steve’s heart nearly broke at the desperation that laced her plea and he hurriedly nodded. “I believe you, baby.” He gently coaxed her to look up and into his eyes; the unabashed love that he saw emanating from her tear-filled eyes melted something deep within him, encouraging him to rest his forehead against hers and brush the pad of his thumb along her flushed cheek. “I believe you.” They stayed there for an undetermined amount of time, with their arms wrapped around one another and their eyes closed while they relished the warmth of one another’s embrace and listened to the steady patter of rain outside. When Steve felt his heartbeat slow to its usual pace and his limbs stop their trembling, he trailed his hand down from his girlfriend’s cheek to rest against her chest, in the space directly over her heart; he wasn’t sure why, but the steady beating of her heart against his palm was soothing to him. “Thank you for helping me through all of that; if I’d gone through it alone, I’d still be spiraling right about now.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, about how often do you go through a panic attack?”

Opening his eyes, Steve considered her question for several moments as he took in the consideration that was written across her face. “A couple of times a month,” He replied with a wistful smile. “They started right after I came out of the ice, but they’ve been happening a little more frequently lately.”

(Y/N) offered him a sympathetic smile. “You know, I may not be a Certified Kick-Ass Counselor like Sam is but if I learned anything from working with him down at the VA, it’s that acknowledging your feelings can be a great first step towards healing.” He hummed thoughtfully and took in her words as her fingers smoothed down his rumpled hair. “When you start to feel another panic attack coming on, you can always give me a call and I’ll do whatever I can to help you through it, okay? You don’t have to go through this alone.”

“I’m not sure how it’ll live up to this…” Steve’s arms wound back around the historical-fiction novelist’s waist and pulled her in close with a content smile on his face. “But I promise you I will.” The familiar jingle of their local ten o’clock news sounded throughout the living room, causing him to give his girlfriend an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, we’re probably missing that screwball comedy marathon you wanted to watch, aren’t we?”

“It’s okay, I’ll just head down to Barnes & Noble one of these days and buy the Blu-Rays. Besides, I think that now’s the perfect time to introduce you to one of favorite comfort movies, but only if you’re up for it.”

Steve, touched by the consideration she was continuously showing for him and his mental health, swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat and pressed a chaste kiss onto her lips, pulling back after a moment with a playful grin. “I’m up for anything, so long as it’s with my best girl…and her world-famous Milk Duds-and-popcorn concoction, of course.”

“Oh, of course,” (Y/N) readily agreed as she fought the smirk of amusement that was threatening to spread across her face; after extricating herself from his embrace, she hopped to her feet and offered him her hand, lacing her fingers around his once he stood and leading him into the kitchen as she continued. “We’ll make my not-so-secret recipe, pop open another bottle of pricey wine, and then we’ll be all set to watch 1978’s Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band!”

“That’s the Beatles, right? So, does that mean the movie’s about the album?”

“…You’ll see.”

Needless to say, Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band was one of the strangest movies Steve had ever seen, but it was also one of the most entertaining movie-watching experiences he’d ever had; he chuckled at all of the corny yet earnest moments, watched in admiration as his girlfriend sang along to each and every one of the Beatles songs that played and even caught himself tearing up at the few emotional moments, all while indulging in some delicious popcorn and wine. Steve’s arms were holding (Y/N) close while they lounged across the couch and it was then, as the historical-fiction novelist in his arms sang her heart out to the film’s absurd yet catchy version of ‘Get Back,’ that he realized he felt more grounded in reality than he’d felt in a long, long time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three days later, Steve was returning to his room in the Avengers Facility after a long intelligence briefing with the rest of the team when he spotted a box sitting in front of his suite’s locked door. I don’t remember ordering anything online, he thought to himself as he cautiously picked up the box and brought it inside; their mail was regularly scanned and checked for explosives and biological weapons upon arrival and while Steve was fond of bidding on used vinyl records on Ebay, he hadn’t logged into his account since well before his mission in Argentina.

“Please don’t be another ‘Over The Hill’ shirt from Tony,” He sighed under his breath, setting the package down onto his bed and retrieving his pocket knife from his dresser drawer.

Steve carefully sliced through the packing tape and pushed open the cardboard flaps, his head tilting to the side when his eyes landed on a misshapen bundle of bubble wrap inside. His interest piqued, he unfurled the piece of bubble wrap and his brows rose in surprise when a large stuffed black and white cow tumbled out onto his comforter; a small card was attached to the sky-blue bow around the stuffed animal’s neck, and he wasted no time in detaching it and reading its brief contents.

Sweetheart,

Meet Buttercup the Cow! I did a little research and found out that weighted stuffed animals can help reduce feelings of anxiety and even ground someone who’s experiencing a panic attack; whenever you begin to feel yourself spiraling or getting lost in your memories, hold Buttercup and imagine that I’m right there with you, giving you the biggest hug imaginable.

With all my love,

Your Sunshine

Steve’s eyes prickled with unshed tears as he placed the heartfelt note down on his dresser, right beside the framed sketch he’d drawn of his beautiful girlfriend long before they began to date. He picked up the stuffed cow and tested its weight in his hands before hugging it tight to his chest; he could already feel his shoulders relaxing and when he nuzzled his cheek against the soft fabric, he realized that the clever historical-fiction novelist had sprayed some of her perfume – Design by Paul Sebastian – onto the stuffed cow. Breathing in the familiar notes of tuberose and jasmine, Steve briefly closed his eyes as he smiled to himself and thought about how much he loved his girlfriend and her kind heart.

A brilliant idea suddenly came to Steve’s mind and after setting Buttercup down on his pillow, he pulled a jacket on, tucked his wallet into his back pocket and scooped up his motorcycle’s keys, hurrying out of his suite and down the hall to the common room; Sam was in the middle of making a sandwich while Wanda and Vision sat together on the sofa debating their favorite sitcoms, the counselor looking up from his half-made meal and flashing him a welcoming smile. “Hey, man, we’re gonna do a little team bonding and watch Modern Family while we eat lunch; you want a sandwich or a wrap?”

“Thanks for the offer, Sam, but I’ve gotta go run an errand,” Steve replied with an apologetic look and twirled his keys around his finger. “Do you happen to know where the nearest Barnes & Noble is?”

“Um, I think there’s one up in Kingston…?”

“1200 Ulster Avenue.” They both looked over at their android teammate as he nonchalantly continued. “According to all available data, the store sees low to moderate business around this time, and the traffic appears to be light.”

An impressed Steve gave him an appreciative nod. “Thanks, Vis.”

Their exchange caught Wanda’s attention, causing her to look up from her box set of DVD’s and arch a curious brow. “You usually detest going out on errands. Is everything all right?”

“Yep, I’ve just got some Blu-Rays I need to buy.” He flashed his befuddled teammates a grin as he brusquely headed out of the common room. “I’ll see you guys later!”

As he jogged down the steps and crossed their private parking lot towards his motorcycle, the cell phone in his pocket chimed; he swung his leg over and sat as he pulled his phone out to check his text messages, chuckling to himself after reading his friend’s brief message.

Sam: If you show up at Booksmart’s doorstep with a box set of old Cary Grant flicks, she just might ask you to marry her on the spot 😂

Glancing up towards the floor-to-ceiling window in the common room and spotting an amused Sam watching him, Steve grinned and gave the counselor a teasing salute before revving up the engine and taking off. I can’t think of a better outcome than that, he thought to himself as he sped down the road, a truly happy smile spreading across her face at the mental image of someday marrying the love of his life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: And there we have it! I promise, the next one-shot will be a little happier and although I haven't decided which movie/show I wanna tackle next, I'm sure that little series will be happier too! Thank you all so much for reading and commenting! I’ve created a Spotify playlist inspired by this series, and I’ll be updating it every time I upload a new chapter. Enjoy!

Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ziGMhEsAw833GQ9eV44nR?si=6dfead09c76848d5 

Stumblin’ In Book VII: “Superhero Snapshots” Masterlist 

Stumblin’ In Book II: “Age of Ultron” Masterlist

Tagging:  @mrs-obrien​​​​​ @lahoete​​​​​ @awkward117 @cminr @natdrunk​​​​ @momc95​​​​​ @savedbystyle​​​​​ @miraculouscloud @awkwardnesshabitat​​​​​ @marinettepotterandplagg​​​​​ @mangosandmimosas @supersouthy @benakenalove​​​​​ @brooke0297​​​​​ @hufflepeople​​​​​ @becausewelie​​​​​ @outoftheregular​​​​​​ @junipermurdock​​​​​ @ladydmalfoy @mads-weasley​​​​​ @username23345@crist1216​​​​​ @capswife​​​​​ @lilmschild​​​​​ @avngrsinitiative @crowleysqueenofhell​​​​​ @y-napotat​​​ @mary1raven​​​​​ ​​​​​@groovy-lady @ljej95 @innersublimefury @prettysbliss

[ikilledyvette]

THINGS I'D LOVE TO SEE IN SEASON 8 of 9-1-1

(in no particular order)

More Hen & Buck scenes, with or without tequila. (One of my favorite things about S6 was all the Hen and Buck time.)

Literally any kind of happy storyline for Maddie where she doesn't have to cry. (Let that poor woman breathe! JLH has been crying for literal decades now!)

Buck and Tommy continue their sweet, funny, and actually interesting romantic relationship. They can fight or have problems, sure, but not stupid bullshit problems created for The Drama. If they absolutely must break up, it's not because one or both of them have spontaneously turned into assholes. THERE WILL BE NO INFIDELITY, GODDAMNIT.

Seriously, though, Buck/Tommy are so fucking adorable, so ideally for me ... no breakup at all, please.

Zero romance for Eddie. Instead, Eddie goes back to therapy (with Frank, grief support group, etc.) and then fixes things with Christopher when Christopher comes back. (WHEN, I say, because the alternative is far too bleak.) Eddie can have romance again in S9, after he's doing better, and if the writers ever manage to give him a canonical love interest that he actually seems interested in. (TBH, I'd give someone's LEFT HAND to see Aromantic Eddie, but even for a dream list, that seems ... unlikely.)

One episode dedicated to Team Shenanigans and Hijinks. Alternatively, someone (probably Eddie) says the q-word again.

Buck having a delayed emotional breakdown about one of the following traumas: getting his leg crushed by a firetruck, surviving a tsunami, seeing Eddie get shot right in front of him, being a savior baby/lousy parents are still lousy, etc.

Someone in the 118 specifically chooses NOT to forgive their shitty parents, and everyone else on the team supports that decision. My personal favorites here are Chim and Buck, but honestly, I would take anyone. (Tommy, too, and I suspect he's the most likely candidate.)

Eddie is in full Passive Aggressive Sass Mode whenever dealing with Gerard. I want the same sort of bitchy commentary he made while he was taken hostage in that ambulance.

Let Eddie and Maddie actually have a scene together! They have a frankly weird amount in common for characters who basically never interact! (Alternatively, let Eddie and Linda's friendship from S5 continue! They can text each other recipes or something!)

More Radiohead and/or surreal nightmare imagery because that scene from "Chimney Begins" still haunts me in the best of ways.

The reappearance of any or all of the following characters (with the caveat that they are NOT allowed to die): Eli, Carla, Albert, Frank, Ruth from the gas station, and—of course—Karen. Always more Karen.

[aloneinthehellfire]

Chapter Fifteen: Sattler's Quarry

Gates Of Hell [Masterlist]

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: mentions of death, virus, mentions of past trauma, thalassophobia (deep fear of water)

[A/N: this chapter is dedicated to the one and only @sattlersquarry who has literally been supporting this series since day one!!! I honestly don't know where this fic would be without your constant support so, in honour, here's a chapter filled with the steve x reader moments we deserve (and maybe a little angst, but I can't help myself)

I would also like to take the moment to thank everyone for their patience, I've been through two rounds of sickness and it really took a lot out of me but I'm okay, I'm back, and I'm really excited to share this chapter with you all! I hope everyone enjoys!]

Sattler's Quarry

You were living on borrowed time.

It wasn’t news to you, in fact it’s all you’ve been thinking about since the day the gate exploded, leaving you and Steve stranded in a foreign world shaped like your home. The thought of it creeps in whenever you’re still, imagining how horrible it would be if it happened without warning.

And then those terrifying images play out like a slide-show. You turning, attacking, regretting. You hate that you’re imagining all the ways you could possible turn on the boy you cared about, but you can’t help it. This virus did everything it could to make you feel like a monster.

Steve can tell your symptoms are getting worse. You’re trying your best to hide them, force them away, but every so often you’ll slip up and expose the intensity of it, snapping at him or stumbling to a stop to blink away the black spots in your vision. He could just go on, find the gate himself and escape before it was too late. But he wasn’t leaving you down here.

After Max’s radio message this morning, you had both immediately set off, determined for this to be the last trip across the Upside Down forever. You just hoped you had decrypted the pattern correctly and weren’t just leading you both out here for nothing. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Once your soft footsteps turn to crunches above the gravel, you know you’ve arrived.

Sattler’s Quarry was located on the edge of town, buried behind a thick expanse of woods behind the lab. It wasn’t a particularly unpopular place, but since it was owned land people generally tried to stay away from it. That was until Will Byers’ body was found just before he miraculously showed up alive a week later, making it a honeypot for insensitive teens. Since so many kids were visiting, the owner, Frank, decided it best to just drain the quarry to avoid anymore mishaps with government cover-ups and reckless teens alike.

While it didn’t make the cut for the ‘bodies of water’ criteria, you figured it should count for its past.

“Um, so where is this gate meant to be if there’s no water?” Steve questions, squinting towards his surroundings. Somehow everything was darker around the quarry, making it near impossible to spot anything dangerous. And there was always something dangerous.

“They said it always appears at the heart.” You reply, keeping your focus on the ground so you don’t accidentally walk off a cliff in an anti-climactic end to your life.

“What kind of cryptic bullshit is that?”

“I think they just mean the middle.” You gently nudge his arm, spotting the edge of the quarry and he nods, sighing.

“Okay… let’s find the middle.”

You lead him to the edge, focused on your footing to ensure it was solid ground. Everything seemed normal until a crackle of lightning above you shed a spotlight, glinting below. You both freeze, staring down.

“Holy shit.” Steve breathes, and you can only nod in agreement.

You had never seen the quarry so full with water even before they drained it, but there it was, rising up to what would be half full. You can just spot the smaller rock ledge you and Robin would sit at during the summer, imagining the quarry could have been a swimming spot if it weren’t so small. Now you didn’t really have to imagine.

“I didn’t even know the Upside Down had natural water.” You say, feeling a sudden pang of fear. “Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“When was the last time you drank water?”

“Uh…” He frowns at first, thinking it through. And then he widens his eyes, staring back at you.

Neither of you have had food or water for three weeks. And worse yet, neither of you had noticed.

“How is that possible?” Steve questions and you shake your head. “I don’t even… are you hungry?”

“No.” You let out a breath, looking around you. “How could we have forgotten something like that?”

“Been too busy fighting and running.” Steve shrugs and you tighten your lips. “Come on, we’ll freak out about this later, let’s get a closer look at this water.”

You point out the ledge you had spotted earlier and soon enough, you had both quickly descended down until you were both peering over the edge, close enough to the water to see your reflections shining back at you.

“The water seems pretty clear.” Steve nods, hands on his hips as he looks across the massive body of water.

You frown. “How can you tell? Everything’s so dark down here.”

“Yeah I can’t see shit, I was lying.” Steve peers back down at it, crouching and running his hand through the water. It was strange, knowing now that he hadn’t touched water in weeks and yet, he still remained completely satisfied. “Dustin said the gate should glow red when it opens… do you think we’ll be able to see it from up here?”

“I don’t know.” You say, shifting on your feet. Steve looks up at you, noting your uneasy nature.

“Hey, they’ll let us know when the gate opens on their radar thingy.” He assures, standing back up.

“That’s not…” You glance back at the water before turning around, opting to face anywhere but there. “I don’t like water.”

“You don’t like water?” Steve repeats and you nod, thinning your lips. “Wait, like, you’re scared of it?”

“Not the water specifically. Just like...” You explain, wafting your hand through the air. “The stuff in the water.”

“Like what?” He asks, raising an eyebrow and you look shocked. “What? I’ve been swimming all my life, I have no idea what you’re on about.”

Your mouth gapes, feeling exasperated as you look between him and the water. “There’s- it could… Scary fish.”

“Scary fish?” He tries to hide his smirk and you bat his arm.“It’s the quarry, okay? Nothing was even in here before it got drained or some shit, nothing is gonna be here now, okay? Can you swim?”

“Yeah, I can swim.” You nod, looking down with a shudder. “But it’s much nicer in a pool with ceramic tiles staring back at me. Not whatever endless void of death I’m looking at right now.”

“That’s the positive spirit.” He chuckles and you grimace. “Okay, okay, look, I’m not asking you to jump in there alone, okay? We’ll do it together.”

When silence washes over, you turn to see him holding out his pinkie. You smirk, looping your own around it.

“Thought you said this was childish.”

“It grew on me.” He shrugs, smiling down at you. When he realises he’s just staring, he clears his throat, stepping back. “So, uh… what now?”

“We wait, I guess.” You say, lowering yourself onto a smaller ledge etched into the rocky surface, digging your elbows into your knees as you lean forward with your head in your hands, trying not to think about what could be lurking in the deep.

Steve joins you after a moment, his knee brushing against yours as he stretches out. He thinks how strange it was you were both so comfortable with contact that it was simply second-nature, your arm pressed against his to the point he could feel your warmth even through the thick fabric of your jackets. When the apocalypse started, neither of you could sit so close, the space between you speaking volumes.

“Do you think the military have it sorted?”

Steve’s question was a surprise, making you straighten up to meet his eyes inquisitively.

“I mean, it’s been three weeks. They must have done something.” He theorises and you shrug, not giving it much thought.

“Maybe.” You say, pursing your lips. “They didn’t have much luck before but, like you said, it’s been three weeks. The worst of it would probably mean they move us out of Hawkins, maybe to California or something.”

Something sparked hope then in Steve’s chest. Us. Not ‘them’, or ‘you’, us. Steve was always afraid to speculate about the future after the Upside Down, fully aware of the inevitable possibility you won’t have one. But there you were, including yourself in the narrative like it was meant to be.

You twist your face when you noticing him smiling, making you laugh. “You’re making that face again.”

“I can’t help it.” He chuckles and you smile back at him, nudging his shoulder playfully. “You wanna hear something funny?”

“I can’t deal with another one of your ‘knock, knock’ jokes right now.” You groan and he laughs, shaking his head.

“No, it’s not that.” He scrunches his face in thought, letting his eyes drift to the water then back to you, studying you like it was his last moment he ever could. “I, uh… do you remember anything about middle school?”

You raise your eyebrow, smirking. “Uh… a little, I guess. Why, do you?”

“It’s probably the only thing I can remember.” He sighs, leaning back until the rock edge dug into shoulder. “It was the last time I felt like a kid.”

“What’s so funny about it?” You remind him and he clicks his tongue, nodding.

“I, um…” Steve looks nervous, staring at his shoes. It made your stomach flutter, feel giddy. “I actually had the biggest crush on this girl back then. I… I don’t think I hid it that well either.”

You slowly nod, looking at your hands. “Nancy?”

“No.” He says and you back to him, frowning. “It… it was you.”

Your eyes widen. “What?”

“I- I thought you knew.” He laughs and you shake your head, looking bewildered. “Literally everyone else did. Even Robin was teasing me about it.”

“You throw so many parties that the school practically lives at your house, you’re always ranting about getting a basketball scholarship, and weirdly enough I am fully aware of the crush you had in middle school that you completely ruined but it’s so mind-blowing I can’t even repeat it.”

His mind is taken back to his very first official meeting with Robin, the way she had rambled at him the entire car ride as he drove around searching for you. She knew so much about him and, since you were close, he figured you would have known all about his middle school crush too. How wrong he was.

“I didn’t know.” You say, smiling in disbelief. “Seriously? Me?”

“Yeah.” He laughs nervously, running a hand through his hair. “I know we didn’t really hang out that much, but whenever you were around… I don’t know, you just seemed so… cool. And fun. You would always make the best jokes, you never let anyone tell you what to do. You were so different from my other friends, I just… I just had a massive crush on you.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You ask, your wide eyes staring up at him, waiting for an answer.

“I…” He lets out a breath, shrugging. “I don’t know. Maybe I figured you wouldn’t want to be with a guy like me. I mean, the people you were friends with were nothing like me. And we never really saw eachother that much… I just ran out of time.”

“Ran out of time?”

“Well, you know.” He says, smirking. “The whole sworn enemies thing we had going on for some reason.”

Steve meant it as a joke, but your breath hitches and you shift in your spot, eyes darting away from him in a flash of hurt.

“Wait, no, I didn’t mean-” He tries, but you shake your head.

“It’s okay.” You dismiss, leaning forward. It wasn’t okay, though. It was a subject you’ve been avoiding ever since you found out Steve lost a lot of his childhood memories to deliberate punches and infuriating concussions.

But maybe you needed to stop avoiding the truth. The secret was only keeping a barrier between you, one you had cherished a long time ago but… everything was different now. It was time.

“I know you don’t remember.” You say quietly, watching how the red sky reflects against the water, making it crimson in its wake. “And that’s okay. I mean, it was a long time ago, but… but part of me wishes you did.”

Because I hate to be the one to remind you, you thought, knowing that once Steve caught a glimpse of the person he was in the past, it would eat him up inside.

“Do you remember Dan Shelter?” You ask, looking up at him. He frowns in confusion, unsure where this was heading, but he nods regardless. “The summer before freshman year, he asked me out on a date, wanted to take me to a movie or something. And I said yes.”

Steve watches how you keep your fingers busy, mindlessly twisting around a loose thread at the bottom of the jacket you were wearing, avoiding his eyes completely. He couldn’t remember a single detail of what you were talking about and yet he knows he and Dan would hang out almost all the time in the beginning years of high school.

“What happened?” He asks, feeling like he was holding his breath for far too long, afraid of the ending.

“Nothing.” You shrug, finally looking at him. “He stood me up. Part of me figured he would. He didn’t really seem that into it when he asked, I was just… I was so happy for a minute knowing someone had picked me, you know? The weird police girl. But I waited outside the theatre for an hour that day until my dad eventually picked me up and took me home.”

“I don’t…”

“I know.” You nod, sending him a reassuring smile. “But, I, um… I did see him again. At the arcade. I was there with Robin, actually. Yeah, we, uh, we managed to escape our parents for the day and just spent all our money playing stupid games. It was fun. And then I spot Dan trying to beat some high score and I felt so embarrassed at first. But then I thought, why the hell am I the one embarrassed? He was the jerk, not me.”

“So I went over.” You continue, returning to fiddle with the hem of your jacket. “I asked him up front, why didn’t he show up for our date? But, as it turns out, he wasn’t alone. Tommy and some others showed up, teasing, asking him if I was telling the truth. And he just… he laughed. Told me I was ‘freaky’, that I had been stalking him.”

“Why would he do that?” Steve shakes his head and you tighten your lips.

“Because that’s how guys like that became likeable.” You say bitterly, “It only got worse after that. They all started calling me names, laughing in my face. Robin told me to leave, and I should’ve, but I wasn’t going to stand there and take it. I told Dan he was a liar, that he wishes a girl would care enough to stalk him. And then someone else stepped forward.”

You take a deep breath, meeting Steve’s eyes. “He said it was all true. And that I… I had done it to him. That I was some crazy stalker obsessed with boys to the point where I had tried to throw myself at him. And even though they were false accusations, obviously everybody believed him over me.”

“Who…” He asks before he notices how your face twists, turning away from him once again. His stomach churns.

“You said that.” You say quietly, and his heart sinks. He ruined your life, and it wasn’t even an interaction he bothered to remember. “I didn’t even know why, either. I just remember after that, Tommy and Carol starting spreading the rumours, even attaching a whole story to it about us at Lover’s Lake and me going all crazy because you didn’t like me back or some shit. Everyone started calling it-”

“The date.” Steve finishes and you whip your head toward him, eyebrows furrowed. Nancy had told him all he needed to know, and he had chosen not to believe it could be true. But it was, and he hated himself for it.

“Yeah.” You nod, biting your lip. “I… I didn’t really make many friends after that. ‘The date’. They all assumed I was trying to use them to get to boys, that I was some kind of freak. After a while I just gave up trying to convince anyone any different. I already had enough to deal with, I just…. I stopped caring.”

“I can’t believe I forgot about that.” Steve says and you start to shake your head.

“No, you’ve- you’ve been through a lot, I don’t-”

“It doesn’t change what I did.” He interrupts, looking at you with determination. “Back then, I- I was so obsessed with everyone liking me, with fitting in with, god, Tommy and Dan… I would say literally anything to make me their friend. I did say literally anything.”

You watch as Steve’s face scrunches in disgust, burying it in his hands and mumbling into them. “I can’t believe I did that.”

“It was a long time ago, now.” You try and he runs his hands through his hair, straightening back up.

“I am so so sorry, Y/n.” He says with such conviction you knew it was true. You just never thought you’d hear those words ever leave King Steve’s lips. And you were partially right. Because the boy sat beside you, holding your hand and begging for your forgiveness, wasn’t King Steve anymore.

“I forgive you.” You give him a small smile, squeezing his hand.

“Really?” He frowns. Something heavy in his chest was lifting. Three small words that held heavy significance were giving him a peace he was unfamiliar with. After last year, he had assumed he was on the path to forgiveness for his old self, knowing he would have years to redeem. He figured as long as he proved himself, he wouldn’t need to hear those little words. But he did. He really did.

“Steve.” You raise your eyebrow, a smirk playing on your lips. “I literally just made out with you in a cheap motel bathroom yesterday.”

A smile stretches onto his face, a rouge tint hitting his cheeks. “You mean you don’t do that with all the boys you’re stuck in the Upside Down with?”

“Only the ones I’ve forgiven.” You shrug and he dramatically holds his hand to his heart, making you laugh.

After a moment, he wraps his arm around you and pulls you closer, resting his head against yours as you smile against his touch.

“Thank you. For forgiving me.” He mumbles into your hair and you pull away, looking up at him with such adoration, he felt the tips of his ears turn pink under your gaze.

Your hand reaches up to brush your fingers against his cheek, holding your breath. He brings himself closer and your eyes flutter shut, feeling his lips brush against yours until you commit fully, your hands slipping around his neck like he would slip away.

The kiss wasn’t the same as it was the first time. There wasn’t any hesitation or urgency. It was just simply sweet, all of your senses consumed by Steve and Steve only. His heart found its rhythm with yours, everything else washing away into a stream of his happiness.

And, when you pull away, he’s still chasing your lips, eyes closed and cheeks red. It was the second time he has ever kissed you, and he already craved a million more.

“Steve?”

“Yeah.”

“Look.”

He opens his eyes to find your worried ones staring back, tilting your head to the water. He turns his gaze over to the quarry, his eyebrows furrowing.

A red glow was starting to blare through, casting the quarry in a scarlet hue. It was beaming from the middle, just as you said it would, like a living, breathing heart.

You both slowly stand, moving closer to the edge with heavy chests. This was finally it. This was the escape.

“Guys, the gate just showed.” Lucas’ voice blares out into the dark from the ground beside you. You reach down to grab the radio and hold it to your lips.

“We see it.”

“You have around 5 minutes to get through before it shuts off for good.”

“It’s all we need.” Steve nods, looking at you. “I’m gonna dive down a little, just enough to get a look and see if it’s big enough.”

He pulls off his jacket, knowing it would only weigh him down in the long run. Letting it fall beside him, he moves to the edge until he feels your hand on his arm, making him turn back to your worried gaze.

“Be careful.” You say and he smiles at you, giving you a smile salute before finally diving down in perfect form.

The water engulfs him like a warm blanket, shocking his senses as he prepared for the cold. But it didn’t feel any different from his swimming pool at home, his legs kicking out and driving him further down the quarry. He followed the red light, his eyes adjusting to the gate that lay at the bottom. It looked like some sort of thick membrane was blocking his view to the other side, but he took that as a positive. It meant nothing was bleeding out into the other side.

After about twenty seconds of you shifting on your feet, Steve resurfaced just a few metres away, presumably directly above the gate. Once he spotted where he had left you, he grins.

“We’re good.” He calls out, shaking water droplets from his hair and extending his arm as an invitation. “No pressure, but… it’s now or never.”

You nod, taking a deep breath. No pressure. You were just going to dive into this suspicious body of water in hopes of breaking through a gate that lay at the very bottom of the quarry. And you had limited time to do it. No pressure at all.

You dump your bag and your jacket, neither of which you would need on the surface. Hopper would surely be heading to Sattler’s Quarry now to take you both far away from here. Home.

As you ready yourself to jump, you look up to ensure you’d be swimming in the right direction when your eye catches something on the other side of the quarry, making you squint into the darkness. Your heart jumps.

The red glow from the gate was making the water a little clearer, making everything look scarily like blood. But that wasn’t really the terrifying part.

A dark shape was moving in the water.

And it was heading directly for Steve.

“Get out of the water.” You say, completely numb. He frowns at you, and finally your voice rises. “Steve, get out right now!”

Swivelling his head around, he’s confused at your outburst and trying to find what you were staring at. And then he sees it, something big. He wasn’t alone in the water.

“Shit.” He breathes out, immediately starting to swim towards you.

There is a big distance between you and where he started in the middle, your voice almost alien to yourself as you continuously cried out.

“Steve! Come on, just a little more!” You keep shouting, hoping your words would somehow bring him to you faster. It’s gaining on him, but he’s so close.

You’re reaching over the edge, arms held out ready to pull him out. You can almost brush your fingertips against his. Just a few more arm strokes towards you until the water would splash your face and he’d be in your arms-

The water shifts directly behind him.

And then he’s gone.

You’re just left alone, screaming into the darkness.

“STEVE!”

Chapter Sixteen: The Pattern ->

taglist: @toomanyfandomsimfanvergent . @sheisjoeschateau . @kthomps914 . @curled-hair-red-lips . @nix-rose . @palmtreesx3 . @kryztalglear . @sattlersquarry . @hey-barnes-stole-a-jeep . @sadslasher13 . @iliveonteaandbooks . @innercreationflower . @newyorkangelbaby .

[critter-genfic-events]

Hurt/Comfort Fic Recs!

This week, we have thirteen hurt/comfort fics recced! Some emotional hurt/comfort, some physical whump, and sometimes combinations of the two. Check them out under the cut, and as ever, comment or kudos if you like them!

those that crawl and flutter towards the sun by vietbluecoeur (vietbluefic) (6163,Not Rated) Warnings: Major Character Death, Very Mild Insect Imagery, Mortality and Discussions Thereof, Sad & Gentle Ending Pairings: Jester Lavorre & Essek Thelyss

Essek has always been warned not to touch the creatures, called the in’luthin, "insects" with a lifespan of three days, but what harm is there in just looking? And anyways, when has Essek ever been one to listen?

Reccer says: From the very first words, this fic has such a luxurious weight to it. Some of the Mighty Nein appear, but this is definitively a story between AroAce Essek and AroAce Jester as bittersweet as the tags imply, only less bitter and more longing, and definitely, definitely sweet.

Spit, elbow grease, and a whole lot of gold by Multifandom_damnation (2006,Teen) Warnings: None Pairings: Ashton Greymoore & Milo Krook

The Nobodies dump Ashton off on Milo's table, and Milo does his best to fix him

Reccer says: Milo voices all of my rage at Ashton's treatment wonderfully. The fic also does a great job of managing the actual process of fixing him, along with all of the emotions involved as well

Philia, Is That You? by Professor_Rye (2034,General) Warnings: None Pairings: Yasha & Mollymauk

Yasha gets hurt protecting Mollymauk from assholes, and the Mollymauk helps Yasha make sure she's actually okay

Reccer says: QPRs my beloved

Crowned Teeth (or, An Offering Revoked) by fruitzbat (130570,Mature) Warnings: Frank depictions of PTSD/galley slavery Pairings: Kingsley Tealeaf/Original Character

Kingsley is mutinied against and sold into slavery halfway across the world. He breaks out, finds out the mutiny was the inside job to end all inside jobs, and makes his survival everyone else's problem.

Reccer says: I really, really like the way that this series explores different kinds of hurt and trauma, and how those kinds of hurt affect people's relationships and self-image. The first and second fics in the series are the most direct about the subject, but the third has a lot about what it means to lose a parental figure and complicated grief/trauma response stuff that I found really refreshing. Characters are messy and non-linear in their healing, and do their best to take care of each other. There's a lot of...I don't know how to say this, but a very no-bullshit look at the concept of the power of love that is this through-thread through the stories. Anyway, I really like them.

Trust by silversky (403,General) Warnings: None Pairings: Caleb & Nott

Nott is sick and delirious, but thankfully there is someone there to make sure she's okay.

Reccer says: the fic is very soft and warm

Scar Tissue by Belphegor (0,Teen) Warnings: scars, canon-typical violence, reference to main character death (and resurrection) Pairings: Scanlan Shorthalt/Pike Trickfoot

Sometimes surviving means learning to live with the scars that killed you. Pike knows a lot about that. Scanlan is still learning. (a little comics set a bit post-Campaign 1.)

Reccer says: Author here - sorry, I usually don't shamelessly self-plug like that, but I set out to write and draw post-campaign 1 hurt/comfort dealing with Pike's and Scanlan's different resurrection-related traumas, and I poured my entire heart into it. (turns out making comics is hard but totally worth it.)

I've Held You in the Plan by CitizenMocha (4015,Teen) Warnings: None Pairings: Vex & Vax

After all is said and done with the Apogee Solstice and its aftermath, Vox Machina free Vax from the Malleus Key. The twins are reunited. Rest, reflection, and a revelation about what happens next ensue.

Reccer says: Vex's grief is palpable throughout the entire fic, even as--especially as, actually--she's reunited with Vax. It's a heartaching yet triumphant look at what might happen when the events of C3 are all said and done. There's so many little details woven in that serve to make it pack even more of a punch ("Vax Speed" does so many things to my heart) and the dynamic between all of Vox Machina is wonderful as well.

The Night is Starting to Ache by CitizenMocha (3872,General) Warnings: None Pairings: Gwendolyn De Rolo & Vax De Rolo & Percy De Rolo

Set after episode 76 of campaign 3. It's the middle of the night and Gwendolyn is afraid to sleep.

Reccer says: I loved this glimpse of an older Percy as a loving, indulgent father doing his best to comfort his child.

maybe then my breath could embody by lunarblazes (1331,Teen) Warnings: None Pairings: Caduceus & Calliope Clay

Calliope and Caduceus have a fun bonding moment about the fucked up shit that happens when you leave home

Reccer says: There's so many little details I love in this, it's perfectly in character, and I love their sibling not-quite-comforting each other dynamic

a garden in the stars by wanderingBasilisk (2264,General) Warnings: None Pairings: Caduceus & Fjord

Caduceus stays back on the Nein's spaceship while the others run errands on a space station. When Fjord gets overstimulated from the crowds there, Jester brings him back to the ship and to Cad, who knows just what his friend needs.

Reccer says: It's very atmospheric (the description of the garden on board the Nein Heroez is So Evocative) and the familiarity and care between Cad and Fjord is so lovely and sweet. The time they've spent together and the comfort of a well-worn routine is apparent throughout the whole fic and comes together in the sweetest way.

Canities Subita: An Exploration of Self-Image by oversteepedearlgrey (1760,Teen) Warnings: Choose not to warn Pairings: Percy & Vox Machina

Percy hates looking in the mirror. He keeps his hair short and out of his face. He can’t wear his glasses during haircuts, and he certainly can’t be the one cutting it. It takes a creek, a bear, and a panic attack to find out why.

Reccer says: Percy is wonderful for hurt comfort, but I love the way that this is handling something that is more emotionally distressing than physically painful.

A Pirate's Bounty of Gold Doubloons by bluegreenamber (1823,Mature) Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence Pairings: Kingsley & Yussa

Kingsley hadn't been expecting any company today, especially not a powerful (and injured) elven wizard seeking refuge.

Reccer says: It's a really fun pairing!

Miles to Go by Crewe (3621,Teen) Warnings: None Pairings:

After a grueling battle, Vox Machina is hours away from the nearest cleric racing to get an unconscious Keyleth to Pike before poison takes its toll. Scanlan is hiding an injury to keep attention on Keyleth. It’s maybe a little worse than he expected.

Reccer says: Lovely fic where everyone is perfectly in-character, and the humour and tension are balanced just right, as are the worry and deflection (on both sides). Special mention to the Scanlan & Grog and Vex & Scanlan pairings, those add just the necessary acid-sweet icing on the h/c cake!

This is one of our weekly communally-generated gen rec lists. Every week we announce a new theme and allow anyone to submit a fic recommendation. Please note that the summary and content notes are provided by the reccer, and may be different than what the author has provided. Please assume good intentions all around. <3

And hey, anyone includes you!

Next week, we'll be featuring Yasha!

Then, it'll be clothes, time skip/future fics, and pranks!

Any fics coming to mind?  Well, then use this form to submit!

If you're looking for some more, check out some fics written in the critter genfic bingo tag, or the older rec lists! Or you can request your own card and join in on the fun!

[alexbrunn]

I forgot to show you guys some more of my headcanons for looks. I only have Marcoh and Pav. But maybe if you're interested I'll do the others later.

But on the other hand, my body pictures are pretty clear and easy to see🤔🤔🤔

Pav is very handsome man. He seems designed to seduce everyone around him, but few can get past his obnoxious flirting and frank words. Pav has a sharp, sophisticated, almost smarmy appearance, despite his life. He is a few years older than Marcoh, however, he looks much more youthful, as if he is the youngest in the couple, with only fine lines around his eyes and nasolabial folds. He is very proud of his face, he tries not to let anyone take advantage of this beauty, and whoever damages it will be honored with a cruel death, and the Bremen lieutenant certainly knows what cruelty is. He has a sharp long nose, which does not spoil him in the least, but emphasizes his sarcastic character when you learn about not. If Marcoh has long eyelashes, Pav has incredible eyelashes to flap languidly when flirting. But his eyebrows are thin, sharp, and almost very often drawn down to the bridge of his nose. A smirk almost never leaves his face, and he often bites his thin lower lip when flirting. He has a cold and destructive look gray eyes it is he ruins the whole image of a romantic prince. With this look he rants to devour and sizzle, he is full of hatred, even when the situation is more than positive and he is doing well. He became a long time ago, it's all the consequences of his trauma and pain. Even though Marcoh is sometimes afraid to look Pav in the eye, he still does his best to make sure Pav doesn't feel pain, at least for a while around him.

What about Marcoh... In drawing him, I wanted to distance him as much as possible from the image of Jotaro that he was drawn from. After all, they are two different characters (and they don't look much alike, excluding the coldness and fighting with his fists). His appearance was based more on the sprite while fighting him. He's rather unassuming, and it's hardly a stretch to say he'd make the covers of fashion magazines cry for him. Despite living in one of the major cities in the Vatican, he looks more like a villager. He has a generally broader, more massive face, and his cheekbones, though still present, are less pronounced. His nose was broken several times in battle, so it now has a slight hump and drooping tip. Although he is only 31 years old, it is worth considering that people used to grow up earlier, plus Marcoh has been under a lot of stress in his life, which has also affected the wrinkles around his eyes and just below between his eye and nose. Perhaps the constant banging on the face was also an important factor. He has a wide chin and plump lips with a scar in the corner. Thick thick eyebrows and long eyelashes, as he has a lot of body hair in general. Marcoh expresses his emotions very badly and it's hard to see him smiling or crying, his face almost doesn't change from emotion to emotion, which makes him seem rude and angry, and with such dimensions the image becomes really frightening. But in his bright emerald eyes like a thick forest you can always see his sincere feelings. They shine in a special way when Marcoh is happy or when he is crazy about what is in front of him, with this look he looks at small creatures like frogs, mice, insects. However, when it comes to human interaction, he immediately tries to hide his gaze. Pav is terribly annoyed by this, because he wants to be looked at with admiration at all times, not looked away.

[clonerightsagenda]

Station 11 wrapup!

You all know I'm a stickler when it comes to adaptations. I just reread a whole bunch of books so I could nitpick their adaptations better. But Station 11 said fuck that. This is an adaptation. We're going to adapt.

Station 11 the book is about the power of art. Survival is insufficient! Art brings back joy in the apocalypse. The Prophet is there, yes, mostly as a generic post-apocalyptic predatory cult to move the plot along, and he's defeated after a moment of artistic connection. But the TV show says, hold up. Yes art can save us. It can allow us to speak to each other when we can't find the words. But it's not enough on its own. You can't keep telling the same story for 400 years and always have it land. You have to leave the wheel. You have to adapt. You have to ask yourself, what if it ends differently this time? If you don't - if you resist all change, if you can't handle going off course - you're going to wither and die. Frank unable to leave his house. The father dead on the sofa. Kirsten letting poison spread through her veins. Hamlet, who for four hundred years has been dead from the beginning. The finale music doesn't play at the end of the final episode of Station 11. It plays during the play, because that's the turning point, when this show's Hamlet holds a knife to Claudius's throat and doesn't stick it in. The play finally gets another ending.

It's not subtle about any of this. The metaphors, the narrative parallels, the masterfully done scene cuts, and the select quotes about Station 11 are all very blatant, but it clicks together well enough that it works and I don't care. When we get to the final episode and Miranda drops a tragic backstory that happens to connect to the problem at hand, I accept it because I'm not bought into this story as realism, I'm bought into it as a piece of well-constructed, very deliberate art.

Your art is your message. It's your last phone call. And maybe sometimes that last call saves an airport full of people. Maybe it condemns a plane full of passengers to die. Usually you don't know. Everyone's going to take it a different way. It might save someone. It might damn them. It might not do anything. Miranda starts Station 11 as her life collapses, burns it all down, and starts again, and then the world ends and two very different people find it and adapt it in two very different, disastrous ways. But you have to make it anyway. You have to talk to people even when they're not there. I don't want to live the wrong life and then die.

I love what the show did with Jeevan, turning a relatively minor character into an awkward millennial fumbling his way through the end of the world but genuinely wanting to do good. I loved the extra content we got from Miranda and the ways she touched people's lives even beyond her graphic novel. Clark's dark turn was unexpected but worked for the story. I'm still not sold on why everyone loved Arthur Leander, but I am constitutionally immune to movie stars. I liked that the show took the brief connection between Kirsten and the Prophet and turned it into two very lost people who remember damage and can't escape the stories they're telling themselves until someone else crashes into them and tells it a different way. Forget the generic Christofascist child bride cult. We've heard that before. Let's hear something else.

My one complaint is the child army thing got defused a bit mysteriously, but mostly it was tidy in the way a graphic novel is tidy. Every image is deliberate, every line counts. This is one of the rare instances where I think I actually like the adaptation better than the book, although it's very clear that they're doing different things. I probably should have saved this for last because now all the other TV shows are going to suffer for not being Station 11, but them's the breaks sometimes.

Highly recommend! Only if you can handle pandemic trauma though.

[yuikomorii]

After thinking more deeply about it, people shouldn’t get mad when seeing the majority shipping AyaYui because they are the most perfect for each other…not always in the good way. They are both obsessive weirdos that are unable to communicate properly and end up doing so much dumb shit that not only hurts them but also the ones around them.

Now I’m not saying they are the most problematic characters in the game, but they just are such menaces for whoever is connected to them. They be wondering why Yui wouldn’t make such a good couple with Subaru and Azusa but the reason is that they’re exactly too soft for her. They just want a kind and motherly girl but Yui keeps putting them in uncomfortable situations, doesn’t respect their boundaries and is unable to comprehend their introversion. Ik she was in a dangerous situation at first but that’s over after the second game, isn’t it? They started dating so if that’s what she truly wanted, she has to take responsibility for that and bring her brain to work.

Now about Mr. Yours Truly, he wasn’t irredeemably bad in the first game but he was such an asshole, let’s be frank. After the first game, Yui started treating him poorly or, again , not paying attention to whatever he was going through but I just couldn’t feel bad for him. They both fucked eachother up so bad but in an equal way so I can’t say any of them is better than the other, like some of their individual fans do. I’m not saying this about the Admin but some Yui and Ayato stans must actually hate the characters and only love their fanon version of them. Just because they forgive their abusers and are friendly doesn’t make them the kindest character anyone has ever seen. They did too many bad things to be considered the kindest and I’m not gonna follow the “they went insane” excuse because I really don’t care. All characters are insane and broken but not all of them did as much shit as they did.

I’m not justifying anything from that dick but e.g. when Karlheinz commits a genocide to make ghouls, he is said to have abused his powers and is evil but when Yui commits a genocide because her cute Ayato-kun 〜 died and kills all living things on both worlds, that’s seen as romantic? Like that’s extremely evil and selfish of her too. Or when others complain about the vampires being possessive and jealous, when Yui is the same person that stabbed Shu and threw him in the dungeon afterwards out of jealousy and she also paralysed Ayato then used him as her pleasure slave only because he drank blood from other chicks. Again, I’m not excusing them but she’s just as worse when triggered enough. All the fanwars are stupid when the game only has characters that wouldn’t be perceived as mentally sane or innocent angels in real life.

// Uuh… you kinda worded it a bit too harshly but I do get where you come from.

The thing is Yui, Ayato, Azusa, Subaru and Yuma are characters described by Rejet as either pure or kind-hearted, yet this doesn’t mean they necessarily have to be saints sent from above 24/7. Good people can react horribly under stress, pressure or shock. Yes, they can do wrong stuff and treat others badly as a result, but this doesn’t mean they have a bad soul. Trauma is not the same from person to person and everyone reacts to it differently. It can turn good people into monsters depending on the severity of the circumstances and some might never come back to their original nature. And, even if they do, this will not excuse their actions, but as long as they try to change for the better and take accountability, I believe they deserve a second chance.

Rejet makes Yui go mad in some endings and After stories to demonstrate that she is capable of doing something as awful as the Diaboys if an event hits her hard enough, just like it did to them. And, to be honest, that's realistic. Of course, not the story, but the fact that every person, no matter how strong, has a breaking point.

Speaking of the genocide committed by Yui, the reason why it’s considered romantic is not the deed itself, but the fact Yui created an Ayato ghoul after exterminating everything, only because she wanted to be killed by the man she loved. I think this was the only time Yui seriously used her brain, and the fact she was crazy when doing that, makes it hilarious.

As for the Yandere endings, Yui does that to Shu in MB, if I recall correctly but it was so unexpected because she really didn’t get any vibes throughout the route, therefore I guess it was just random writing. In Ayato’s route, the obsessive tendencies were obvious when she started looking through Ayato’s swimsuit magazines and tried measuring her boobs to the ones of those girls. I was pretty sure she would pull a possessive move on him later on, lol.

Truth be told, I don't mind that in fictional couples as long as they're both obsessed with each other and it's not one-sided. Besides, it’s funny how even Ruki called Yui “Ayato obsessed” in CL.

As a DL fan, I understand that no character is a total green flag because they all display toxic behavior in regular circumstances, no matter if intentional or not. Nonetheless, that shouldn’t stop us from loving them. Some people prefer the softer aspects of DL, while others prefer the darker, but keep in mind that those who prefer talking well about their favs don't want to be always reminded of all the bad things they did, especially if those characters regret them or weren't in the best mental state at the time.

[mylambandmartyr]

when you have the time and energy id be very interested to hear why you dislike the punisher (2017)......... because i also dislike it but can never put into words why or even point to a reason. its always "frank's vibes are off" or "the general vibes are off" or "its painfully unfunny" or "it just annoys me". if you have anything more specific or analytical id love to hear it

Where to even start…

Ok. I'm going to be focusing on just the first season where it’s at it’s "best" to be generous, because all of the most egregious issues get so much worse in the second season so it barely counts in my mind.

It’s got all of the trademark Marvel Problems. The cringe dialogue, the convoluted plots, the nationalist propaganda, the aggressive heterosexuality, sacrificing an interesting story in favor of an American-dream-Apple-pie-and-motherhood ass-plot… etc. etc…

I’ll split this up into a miscellaneous laundry list of complaints for structure, so this doesn’t end up turning into a rambling essay.

• Incoherent messaging/Bad politics

First off, It’s US military propaganda, but we all know that. That impacts its ability to tell an authentic, thoughtful story. Propaganda is always full of contradictions and exceptions to its own rules, which exacerbates problems that already riddle corporate media.

The most glaring problem I think most Marvel properties have is lack of a cohesive message and themes. Daredevil suffers from a similar issue, which is as much of a "too many cooks in the kitchen" problem (too many contradicting ideas) for what they wanted as it is with the producers being spineless hacks who were unable to decide what they wanted their story to be.

They wanted to have their cake and eat it too, in a lot of respects. They wanted to tell a story about trauma, vengeance and the brutality of war but they also wanted a All-American Badass Gun Guy to get young people interested in enlisting, so it constantly jettisons back and forth in tone and makes for shitty television.

• Stupid Plot

The conspiracy-thriller plot feels off-base for a Punisher story, and is jarring if you saw season 2 of Daredevil. It doesn’t even feel like it takes place in the same universe (none of it feels cohesive, which as stated is a running problem)

The series begins with Frank "finishing" his mission to eliminate everyone involved with the murders of his family and symbolically burning his Punisher vest. This is beyond stupid for a variety of reasons. From a continuity perspective, a storytelling perspective, a character motivation perspective… it just doesn’t make sense. This means the writers have to scramble to come up with a new conflict, which is absurd to me when they could’ve just… had him keep going.

• General Characterization

You’re entirely correct in that Frank’s character just feels off. Like I said earlier, going into the Punisher fresh off of Daredevil season 2 is jarring, even before I knew anything about the character from the comics. There’s a sense that there’s something missing with Frank’s motivations and it definitely has a lot to do with the aforementioned stupid Government conspiracy A-plot in season 1.

Imo, Jon Bernthal, despite everything, plays Frank pretty well considering the material he’s been given, but there’s still something off. @cabfarewell says that it’s because he plays him too much like a cop, which I think is true. There’s just air of… Bootlicker throughout the whole show that undercuts the fact that Frank, at his core, is a character who gets fucked over by his government, which is vaguely gestured at but never satisfyingly addressed.

• Sexism

It goes without saying that Marvel is dogshit at female characters and the Punisher is no exception.

It’s tragic because Karen Page, Dinah Madani, Sarah and Leo Lieberman (and to some extent Maria) all have potential but are woefully underutilized. It’s very clear that the writers are using stock archetypes as a crutch (Potential Love interest, "Virtuous" Cop, Mother, Daughter, Dead Wife etc…) and never expand on them more, because clearly they do not see them as people, but like I said, this is par for the course for Marvel, nobody’s surprised.

• The Liebermans

Then there’s my beloved Micro.

I adore Micro as a character for a variety of reasons and I think Ebon Moss-Bacharach plays him fantastically, BUT it has to be said that he embodies a lot of antisemitic stereotypes.

The narrative aggressively pushes the audience to view him as an unathletic, cowardly effete intellectual who’s reluctant to get his hands dirty. He’s scheming and not entirely trustworthy, he’s simultaneously hypersexual and impotent. Literally the only way they could’ve made it worse is if they made him a cheapskate with deep-seated mommy issues.

It’s kind of bizarre because there are things David does that directly contradict the stereotypes, he’s clearly very capable, and not a coward, but Frank and other characters insist that they’re true. It’s just bad writing.

They kind of half-ass a suggestion of a character arc, but it ultimately ends with a restoration of the status quo which MAKES NO SENSE for David as a character.

Sarah’s an even worse case, not even getting an arc and barely changing as a result.

Like I said earlier, Sarah is neglected by the narrative which makes a lot of the things she does not entirely make sense taking into account how a real person might respond in her situation. Sarah and her kids are more plot devices than people, which is disappointing, because I feel like giving her more character would have enriched the story a lot. She’s positioned as a mirror to Frank, being also recently widowed and coping poorly, and like most things in this show this is never addressed fully.

[capseycartwright]

Excited for this fic of yours? Feel like sharing a snippet with us?

this is the only encouragement i need to share a snippet so here u go

catholic trauma eddie my most beloved

“Did you like it? Being religious.”

No one had ever asked Eddie that before.

“Yeah,” the admission surprised him. “When I was a kid, I loved it. I liked the music, more than anything, I think, but the community too – I never felt lonely. Not until I was a teenager, at least.”

“What made you feel lonely when you were a teenager?”

“I – I grew up in Texas in the early 2000s, Frank,” Eddie gave his therapist a wry smile. “The rest of the world was starting to progress, and it felt like you were seeing gay people on television, and none of that was acceptable to the world I lived in. I remember being fourteen years old, and lying in bed, crying under the covers, and wondering what would happen if I ran away to somewhere like New York – where it felt like you were allowed to be anyone you wanted to be.”

The admission made something constrict in Eddie’s chest. Fourteen. That’s how old Christopher was now, and if Eddie thought his son was lying in bed, alone, crying himself to sleep because he was terrified of feelings he couldn’t explain because no one had ever taught him the right words to understand himself, Eddie would be heartbroken. He was heartbroken – for the kid he had been and the adult he’d grown up to be because of those long nights he’d spent curled under his duvet, crying out to a God who didn’t love him for help.

Frank passed him a tissue.

Oh –

Eddie was crying.

“Who would you have been, if you had run away to New York?”

It was a funny thought, really. Eddie didn’t regret staying in Texas, because he had ended up with Christopher, and nothing in him would ever regret being Christopher’s father, but he sometimes thought about it, who he might have been if he’d been able to run away like he’d dreamed of.

“I’d be freer,” Eddie settled on, thinking of a version of himself uninhibited by the church, the army, all of the things that had kept him from living a life true to the one his fourteen-year-old self was so afraid of living.

“And what do you think is stopping you from being free now?”

“I’m afraid,” Eddie huffed out. “I’m terrified, Frank. I have spent thirty-two years of my life playing pretend, being the kind of man that people expect me to be. If I have to admit to everyone that version of me has been a lie, I’m terrified of what they might think – I’m scared of what my son will think of me. I’m afraid he’ll believe I never loved his mom, and I loved her, I really did. I’m terrified that my parents will think I’m not an acceptable kind of parent to raise my son. I’m scared that my sisters won’t want to know me, and that my abuela won’t call me her favourite anymore, and that the church I grew up in will lock its doors and never let me in again.”

[peggyao3]

Relic - Pt. 12 "Ouroboros"

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: Third person POV, she/her AFAB FMC, explicit sexual content, smut, 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, plans within plans, implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced 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, teaching the universe about feminism, female rage, Frank Herbert would frown, No actually he would kneel in front of me, putting the science and the porn in sci-fi, angst with a happy ending

WORD COUNT: 3k

A/N: If Shai Hulud wants it, 18 is finally the final number of chapters for this fic 🥹

CW: Cannibalism, Implied Child Abuse, teenage Feyd's questionable sexual endeavors, mentions of self harm and suicidal thoughts

Reposted from my Ao3 💕| Masterlist | Relic Masterlist

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

← Previous Chapter, Next Chapter →

19 years ago

The large, cavernous walls of his uncle's office chamber tower over Feyd-Rautha who is barely six years old. A place for strategizing, for dining, for holding audiences, for killing those who prove to be incompetent and forfeit their lives. And currently— the place where the Baron lectures young Feyd-Rautha who possesses the sliest eyes that he has ever seen in the entire family line.

Vladimir Harkonnen has been droning about politics and spice trades for the past two hours and his darling nephew has surprised him with inquiries that are so very witty for a young boy. 

A general knocks unannounced with what he deems important news, unknowing that the Baron is currently teaching his heir apparent. The man shivers from the boy's sharp, icy stare. He shivers from how small the orphan from Lankiveil looks next to the gluttonous Baron of House Harkonnen and he shivers knowing that all of the rumors are true. 

Just when he involuntarily ponders on the physicality of it, a telling reflection in his gaze must have insulted the Baron. Vladimir's blade sinks into his belly through the gap between armor plates before he can even finish saluting. 

Young Feyd-Rautha absorbs the manslaughter with nonchalance, neither smile nor frown tugging on his pouty lips. His mind is still moldable. He came here for knowledge and power, he came here, it was his choice, or that's what he has hammered into his brain with tiny fists. He killed his mother for it, to be strong like Glossu, to be smart like the imposing man who had introduced himself as his dear uncle.

Right now, Feyd is glad for the distraction. The fresh corpse means a fresh meal for everyone in the room and he had already understood his uncle's lesson an hour ago. Now he is bored to death. Two servants are called from the shadows to cut the body open, their skinny, naked frames only slightly obscured by milky plastic dresses. They extract the hot organs soaked in steaming, black blood. Feyd's stomach no longer revolts at the sight.

Impatiently, Vladimir grabs the organs out of the women's slender hands before they can prepare the meal on a platter. These slaves are new, pulled straight from the pits because the Baron knows his dear Feyd is so well entertained by their frightened stares and shaking shoulders. His nephew giggles, a bright, boyish sound and the Baron giggles too, fatty jowls wobbling.

"Have some of the liver, dear nephew. You did well today."

Hand-feet scuttle across the chamber floor, lured out of its basket by the irresistible scent of blood. It pitter-patters over to the open corpse, delicate black fingers curling around the open rib cage and— A massive boot stomps it in the belly. The Baron then was still able to walk, a colossus that could have trampled a young whale from Lankiveil.

"This is not for you!"

Squeaking and gurgling, the creature scrambles back with lurching gait and cowers in its basket, shaky knee-elbows drawn up against its hide. Feyd doesn't flinch when Glugo chirps in pain, but he does slip a piece of bloody liver into his little pocket before he begins to eat what his uncle offers him from the tip of his ichor-dripping blade.

Later that day, Piter de Vries arrives, also unannounced, but his skinny belly remains without a blade wedged in it. For a while, little Feyd is no longer the most important thing in the room (which annoys and relieves him), so he leaves the adult men to their conversation and trails to the back of the room where an austere basket with a thin, single blanket stands in the shadows. Feyd crouches down, his little suit stretching over knobbly knees.

Glug, glug, glug.

Nebulous eyes blink at him wide and the creature's nose-mouth quivers, scenting the liver on him. When he is sure neither of the men are watching, he reaches into his slippery pocket and offers the meat to the hungry creature. Impossibly gentle and uncomfortably human hand-feet curl around the warm liver. 

Glug glug glug, as it pushes the meat into its mouth without chewing.

Feyd doesn't play with the creature. To play means to be weak and childish and if he got caught playing, he would be in serious trouble. Painful trouble. But he observes it often and shows no fear of its disfigured body.  Torso and abdomen are two bulbous shapes out of which eight, slender arm-legs grow, lithe but frail looking. Its entire body is covered in black, glossy skin that feels almost like rubber to the touch.

Glug, glug, glug.

Feyd silently mimics the sound, puckering his lips. Glugo shuffles in its basket which is a little too small for the creature who can't fit all of its arm-legs comfortably inside. Perhaps the most curious part of it are the tiny arm-arms that grow on either side of its misshaped pug face. The tiny arms with tiny hands are not for walking, they're for grabbing and exploring. Glugo reaches its tiny arm-arms out for Feyd-Rautha.

The boy offers his index finger, small and white. Glugo's hand is about the same size as a child's. Its inky fingers delicately wrap around little Feyd's hand, turning it up and down, pulling the individual fingers apart. 

"I don't have any more liver," Feyd whispers.

Suddenly, the Baron's voice drones. "Be a darling and summarize what we've just discussed, Feyd." Immediately, the boy stands like a whipcord, muscles tensed and hard as granite. He summarizes the conversation between his uncle and Piter to near perfection, which makes the mentat assassin smile a toothy rictus.

The Baron frowns. "I never dismissed you, yet you thought it appropriate to remove yourself."

"I heard everything, uncle! As I said, you had found a spy in the barracks who—"

"Piter, take him with you. Prove your creativity to me with the punishment."

"But I heard every word! Are you not impressed that I did while looking absent? Is that not a feat that will come in handy when I'm to attend banquets and gatherings?" Feyd's little hands are clenched into fists, clammy palms contained in a shell of rage.

"Always so eager for praise, aren't you, my dear nephew? I'll praise you more later. You'll be punished for feeding my pet, boy. Get out of my sight."

Hand-feet scuttle in a haste and the creature chortles and mewls in protest, one big foot-hand wrapping around Feyd's calf when he begins to move, then a second one clutches the back of his little suit jacket and a third one clamps over his shoulder. To the untrained eye, it might look as if it was trying to devour the young boy whose scent is laced with fury and fear.

Piter de Vries' blade slashes through Glugo's first hand-arm and the creature slumps to the ground with a hollow glug-glug-glug-glug! Its seven arm-legs and the stump writhe and curl into each other with pain.

"NO!" Feyd calls out, lunging at Piter who barely avoids the cunning dagger which has appeared in Feyd's hand.

The Baron laughs heartily, biting into a piece of haunch which has bloody grease rolling down his necks. "Punish him twice, my dear Piter, for not defending himself against my pet's attack. Meanwhile, I'll teach this abomination its place."

Feyd-Rautha's heart twists into despair and he rages against the mentat's spindly fingers that are screwed into his collar. He doesn't care for Piter's punishment, even though he loathes the man's guts. Little Feyd fears for Glugo and he would rather switch places with it and endure his uncle's rancor. It is so innocent, it only tried to help, to protect.

Tremor's shake the spider's aching limbs when it squirms in its basket, pearly eyes locked on Feyd-Rautha as the door rolls shut.

"Little half-blood demon," Piter cusses out the thrashing child whose blade fruitlessly cuts the air. It secretly hurts the mentat that he is not to punish the boy for trying to stab him. The Baron is ever so kind with his affection towards his shrewd advisor. "What shall I do with you now, hmm? I think I should scalp you, lest you grow any of these blonde, pretty curls back."

A few weeks later, Feyd-Rautha finds the disfigured Tleilaxu creature alone in the Baron's office. He was tasked to retrieve papers, but his plan is a different one. With quiet, childish resolve, he marches up to Glugo in its basket, milky eyes blinking open, its third eyelids following a little more slowly. The creature is shaking, weak. Its legs unfold with a crack of bones.

Glug glug glug?

"Ssshhh," Feyd appeases. "Do you know what this is, Glugo?" He asks, clutching his dagger in his little hand. 

An affirmative glug, glug, glug.

"I brought you liver." Glugo seems excited when it awkwardly raises itself on the five arm-legs that are left and totters over to him, obviously in pain still, or in pain again. It can barely hold its own weight.

Feyd doesn't conceal his intentions, blade ready in his small hand while he offers the liver.

Instead of taking the treat, Glugo's tiny face-hands gingerly curl around Feyd's raised fingers and one foot-hand settles trustfully on the crouching boy's knee. Glug, glug, glug, it sings. Glassy, white eyes blink slowly and the creature gently slurps the piece of meat out of Feyd's palm.

As soon as it has swallowed, Feyd's blade cuts through Glugo's neck and the creature breaks down with a grateful sigh, the lifeless hand-foot sliding off little Feyd's knee.

Feyd-Rautha doesn't cry, but he holds these gentle hands until they grow cold and he stares at the far wall, black within black of the furniture blending together while the stone in his gut grows heavy and bitter.

Glugo is free now, but he is so entirely alone.

Not even a month later, something stirs in a whirl of brilliant green bubbles and the awakened consciousness fills out a misshapen body. It presses its eight limbs against the glass confinement and the tubes that are fed into its flesh.

At first, it floats in a gentle dream of billowing waves, weightless, pain free.

But when the incubator slides open with a squall of amniotic fluid and the newly birthed creature falls on its knees, the physicality of its bodies defies all instincts. Its knees bend like elbows, its hands are feet and its muscles contort themselves with an aching groan, refusing to let it stand on two legs. 

Too many feet, too many nerves, too much phantom pain and it is so cold.

It doesn't even take a minute for the being to remember the little one's gentle hands and his kind blade and it weeps because it is alive and Feyd-Rautha isn't there.

The Tleilaxu know that a Ghola is capable of recovering the memories of its flesh. It is considered a science and an art form to find the matching triggers and play them just right, like God plucking the strings of an cellular instrument.

They don't know that the Baron's spider is their first creation to remember upon rebirth, traumatized to the core by being alive.

"I can help you," Feyd- Rautha sighs, his knees bent into a graceful crouch.

The little one has become taller, his voice raspy and uneven, but Glugo loves him no less.

Feyd brandishes his new blade of polished, white steel, offering it to the shivering heap of oily-black limbs in a blood-soaked basket.

If only someone did the same for him. He can throw himself against his swordmaster all he wants, or the guards, or the drugged slave warriors, but none of it is ever enough to deliver him from his pain.

Today, he had seen a glimpse of salvation for a while, when he snuck into the pleasure wing for the first time and picked out a female slave much older than himself. He had made her lie down on her front and then he had cut himself with his own birthday blade while fisting a hand around his cock. 

The woman had yowled and whimpered when he sank into the soft kind of sheathe he actually desired for the first time and he had enjoyed it, loved the raw power over another human being, how he could tear all kinds of sounds from her and how his snapping, flexing muscles turned into weapons. He could enjoy this rather than just endure it.

It's a pity that his uncle had made him kill the slave when the news reached him. Feyd had barely just pulled out and stuffed his sullied cock back into his pants when the Baron's guards came and collected him and it was then that he remembered he was no grown man, only a meager thirteen.

The Baron had punished him to the point of apathy, muscles turned into vessels of pain, but nothing could ever quench the spark that had ignited his growing, aging body.

Glugo shouldn't have tried to help him. It never learns.

Glug glug glug.

"I will help you," Feyd repeats with quiet, bitter resolve and reaches out his unarmed hand. "Come here." Glugo takes it gently, its palm now much smaller against his, oily black against frosted white. "I'll make him pay for this one day," Feyd swears solemnly and tightens his grip a fraction around the creature's slender finger-toes.

Shame drips hotly into his guts because if he really wanted to help, he would burn Glugo's corpse to ashes so it can never be hauled back to the Bene Tleilax and reanimated, retraumatized. Feyd is so selfish for betraying those innocent eyes like that, the frail body grafted out of parts that incessantly tries to take every hit for him.

The young na-Baron squeezes Glugo's fragile hand tightly and when he brings his blade to its neck to rightfully relieve it from its unnatural burden, half of him already dreams of having it back. Someone who doesn't want the worst for him. Someone who doesn't twist his belly with nausea upon sight.

Friend.

The word that he feels and grieves when its thumb strokes him softly and black blood weeps down his palm like hot tears is friend.

If he can't even protect Glugo from his uncle, how will he ever be able to protect his woman?!

Is what Feyd-Rautha thinks when he delivers the mercy kill with a seasoned grip on the blade, cradling the graftling's slick, cold head against his belly. The small face-hands that had once been able to grasp little Feyd's entire hand can now encompass only one finger.

The peace he delivers is fiercer this time, his full lips screwed into a tight line and his hands white knuckled with angry resolve. He will tell his woman about this when he sees her among the stars tonight. He might not find the right words, but he will tell her how he saved his friend from pain today and she will know that he is a good human despite his uncle's best efforts.

That was the twenty-fifth Glugo.

The twenty-sixth had slept in her bed last night.

His naive nephew still believes he has the Tleilaxu grafling rebuilt and reborn because he, Vladimir Harkonnen, takes pleasure in kicking and maiming it. The boy is so dense when he is sentimental. His repressed affection for the obscene little experiment is hard to watch, but Vladimir endures it.

Death and rebirth are a necessary cycle to keep the mill running.

Death — Punishment. Rebirth — A begrudging concession because Vladimir cannot stand it when the boy looks and acts like a puppet with no fire behind his anger. Like every man, Feyd-Rautha needs something to fight for, so he shall have his Tleilaxu toy back after a while. 

But as he grew broader and taller, his hands harder and his frame more wiry, the boy's needs grew hard and violent too and he became ever so difficult to please. He needed a different plaything than just a pathetic little friend.

So, the Baron had three beautifully obscene concubines designed and birthed for his nephew's desires. Sterile creatures who wouldn't complain if he maimed them, who would rake their talons through his ivory flesh to satiate his pathetic need for pain if he asked them.

But the boy grew older still and his desires matured, like someone or something had spun their starry web around him and spirited away the coats of armor he had mantled himself with.

And after that, no number of concubines could rouse him during those past two years.

The Baron has been missing the witty, little boy who had raged against the late Piter de Vries in his office chamber, who had snuck into the pleasure wing in an act of reckless adolescent rebellion.

So, what other choice did Vladimir have than to give his nephew the most dangerous gift yet? The "Relic", a Bene Gesserit witch now nests in his palace for his dear Feyd-Rautha's sake.

The mill must keep running. The Ouroboros must keep feeding its own tail into its maws.

Will she be another kind of Ouroboros, or the blade that cleaves the serpent in half?

Between the conception     And the creation     Between the emotion     And the response     Falls the Shadow                                     Life is very long      Between the desire     And the spasm     Between the potency     And the existence     Between the essence     And the descent     Falls the Shadow                                     For Thine is the Kingdom       For Thine is     Life is     For Thine is the       This is the way the world ends

- The Hollow Men by T.S. Eliot

A/N: I literally cried while proofreading this chapter 😔 If anything happens to Glugo, I'll kms 26 times 😩

FEYD TAG LIST:

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

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

@coastalcowgirl35, @esolean, @szapizzapanda, @tatertooted,@sunny747

@ughdontbeboring

[guusagi]

MCR Fanfic Rec/Review List #2

Welcome in!

I recently created a long mcr fanfic rec/review, that you can find here. This post is a continuation of that! Less introductory yapping in this one, I promise. I read a lot more fics since writing the initial rec/review list, and I just HAD to make another one. Please give all of these a chance! This took longer than I expected oops...

Ships: Frerard & Fun Ghoul/Party Poison, Gerard/Bob Bryar (yep).

AUs: Office Workers, Gardening Services, Ghost/Paranormal, Superheros/Radio Show Host, Murder Mystery, and more!

Without further ado these are my picks!

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The Science of Sleep by chimneythunder

Rating: Teens and Up (there is smut near the end) Pairing: Frerard & Frank/Party Poison Main POV: Frank AU: Modern World/Danger Days Status: Completed with 9 chapters and 93k words Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/883120 My Summary: Frank is living a boring office-job life, but one day he starts having reoccuring dreams about a certain apocalyptic California...Little does he know, they aren't really dreams after all! He also meets an artsy guy at a coffee shop that is somehow connected to all of this? Frank dreams start taking over his waking life...what is really going on here?! Personal Thoughts: This fanfic was really fun!! I was surprised with how unique the premise is here. Frank travels to the Danger Days world everytime he falls asleep, and reading about his journey from thinking it's a dream, to figuring out it was reality after all was super entertaining (this isnt a spoiler as a reader you know its real). I also love the portrayal of everyone in this story, especially Ray and Party Poison, they're just so fun and believable! I can't stress enough how original this story is, honestly a super fun take on the usual Danger Days AU! It also has excellent writing and pacing, can't beat that!

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Living for the knife by drunkonyou

Rating: Teens and Up (no smut) Pairing: Ferard Main POV: Frank AU: Superhero Frank x Radio Show Host Gerard Status: Completed, oneshot with 50k words Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41442144 My Summary: Frank is what you would call a superhero, after rescuing Gerard from being mugged by a mysterious man and saving his life, he almost quits being a superhero due to the trauma of that night. Inspired by his rescue, Gerard starts a radio show where he discusses what Frank is up to, and his listeners share their experiences, theories on what his secret identity is and...ultimately lots of false rumors as well. One day, Gerard recieves a weird listener on call who claims to know who this hero really is...and that he wants to come back for more. It looks like Frank is going to have to rescue Gerard once again! Personal Thoughts: This is a shorter fic, however it felt really long in the best way! I was super invested in the plot of the story, and Frank suffers SO much in this one, it's really sad actually. The relationship Gerard and him build is super cute, who doesn't love a classic rescuing scenario?! I don't have tons to say about this, but the atmosphere is super cool and film noir-esque! Radio show host Gerard is an excellent idea all things considered, please give this one a read!

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Shadowplay by findingsaturn

Rating: Explicit (smut near the end) Pairing: Frerard Main POV: Frank AU: Ghost/Witchcraft/Vampires & Murder Mystery Status: Completed with 27 chapters and 147k words Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20872241 My Summary: Frank lives in a small town, where magical occurences such as ghosts, ghouls, witches, vampires and the like are part of the norm. He works as a paranormal investigator alongside Ray. One day on a particularly brutal case, they are tasked to find out what happened. Little did he know, it would be the start of a huge conspiracy and a unique relationship! Personal Thoughts: Wow I can't use fancy enough words to describe how I feel after reading this fic. It's honestly in the top best-written ones that I've had the honor of reading so far. The intrigue and mystery is amazing, Frank's relationship with Gerard is just..so tragic yet beautiful, you really feel for the characters in this story. Everyone went through different tragedies in their lives. And the slowburn uuugh uuuuughh.. please give this one a read! It was also surprisingly scary, the atmosphere was real creepy and some of the later scenes are super TERRIFYING! Otherwise, I loved this one so much I'll read it again someday!

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The Best Part of My Day by pixie_revolver

Rating: Explicit (there is smut in the middle and end.) Pairing: Frerard Main POV: Frank AU: Office Workers! Status: Completed with 14 chapters and 63k words Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45339874 My Summary: Frank works at an office, and one day bumps into a person he had not seen before and spills coffee over himself!.. This person is also the most gorgeous person he had ever seen, and fell in love at first sight! We follow Frank's shenanigans as he tries to learn more about his crush, while also being teased relentlessly by his coworkers. Will he get the courage to learn more about Gerard..? Personal Thoughts: This fic was short but SO fun! I was entertained from chapter 1, it's honestly written in a really comedic way. I was laughing and giggling throughout the entire story. Frank is sooo down bad for Gerard, and Gerard is so oblivious about it! Their relationship blossoms in the most adorable way... I want to re-read this one if I'm ever feeling down. There's also a cute touch at almost every chapter where you see Frank texting various friends who keep teasing him about Gerard, this gives a lot of personality to the story! I usually don’t comment on the smut, but it’s really good not gonna lie. Otherwise it’s a very fluffy fic and one of my faves on this list!

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Tints of Rainbow Hue by turps

Rating: Mature (no smut) Pairings: Part 1 thru 2 is Frikey; Part 3 focuses on Gerard/Bob Main POV: Bob & Various AU: Gardening Services Gang! Status: Completed with 3 parts, total word count 65k. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/series/3399 My Summary: Ray owns a small gardening business, he travels around with Bob, and decides it's high time to hire someone new. They hire a younger Frank, who's very colorful and full of energy! They decide to work on the miskept and overgrown Way house, where two brothers live. Gerard seems to be ill and doesn't leave the house, while his little brother Mikey provides for both of them. This story follows along the relationships that blossom there! Personal Thoughts: This one is the only fanfic I'd recommend right now that includes Bob Bryar as one of the main characters. He's actually the main POV we usually follow throughout the story, especially in the 2nd fic. The characterization of Gerard's depression was hard to read, in the sense that it felt super real. I personally have not suffered with depression, but this felt more seriously written than most others who write him in that way. THE CUTENESS of Frank and Mikey though?! I read this fic originally cus I love me some Frikey, and Frank's pretty different from his usual punk aesthetic, he's actually quite the opposite! He's like, flowery colorful pastels if anything! It was a super refreshing take on him, though his personality mostly stays the same, he's super earnest and clumsy too. I never read fics with Bob due to obvious reasons, but I was actually cheering on this fictional version of him to allow himself to love Gerard. He's so gentle, yet firm with him, and super kind and it was lovely to read... Anyways before I gush and spoil everything, give this fic a chance!

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Lethal Attraction by desolationglow

Rating: Mature (obviously, there's smut here since Frank's ya know) Pairing: Frerard Main POV: Frank AU: Prostitute Frank x Billionaire Gerard Status: Ongoing with 41 chapters and 130k words Last update: 01/22/24 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40619025 My Summary: Set in the late 90s, Frank gets by living in Los Angeles by means of prostitution. His once best friend Gerard disappears after high school, and still misses him to this day. After a series of brutal murders, people are warned about a serial killer on the loose, and Gerard reappears into Frank's life once more. Gerard is now a successful billionaire, and invites Frank on a journey of revenge against those who wronged them. Yet, their relationship is turbulent to say the least... Personal Thoughts: SO TRIGGER WARNING... this fic includes homophobia on Gerard's part. It's set in the 90s so there's typical bigotry in this one. Also this is the idiots in love trope to an extreme! I still recommend this fic cus the story is super well-written, I couldn't put this one down! Gee's mean in this one, but you can't help but like him as a sort of anti-hero/villain. Frank's the poor dude being dragged around by him... I don't want to spoil cus there's quite a few fun plot twists in this one. Also it has not updated since January of this year, however I bumped into the author randomly on discord! Yep, it was a super funny coincidence. I don't want to say much to respect their privacy, but I will say that they have not abandoned this fic! So I definitely recommend it, please continue supporting them as there will be more eventually!

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If I Could Say the Things I Want to Say to You by I_am_but_a_holyman

Rating: Explicit (some implied smut) Pairing: Frerard Main POV: Frank AU: single Dad Frank and college dropout Gerard / Found Family Status: Completed with 25 chapters and 97k words Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46030816 My Summary: Frank has been a single father for a while now and has been struggling with finding a babysitter for his 10 year old non-binary child. One day, his friend Ray introduces him to Gerard, who babysits his own kids as well... it was definitely love at first sight! For who..? Well you'll find out soon enough! This story navigates the difficulties of being a single dad, as well as being a gender non-conforming child in an unaccepting world. Personal Thoughts: I loved this story so much omg!! Frank's kid is an original character for the story and they did not dissapoint! I loved that Frank is so supportive of his non-binary child, and protects them the best way they can. Gerard's just too cute in this one as well, he's also not completely cis and likes to wear more fem clothes, like the perfect rolemodel for Frank's kiddo! Overall a fluffy story, please give it a try!

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And that about wraps it up!! Thank you so much for reading!! I don't think I will make any more of these, but who knows?!

[butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway]

Did I ever tell yall about my mother's habit of sitting me down once a month to have a Serious Developmentally Appropriate and Relevant Conversation? They started when I was about 5, and continued until I was 17 (with some inconsistencies when the two of us were on the outs), and we talked about SO many things. We had the same conversations multiple times at different levels of depth, complexity, and nuance too, which was a really cool way for me to learn what it feels like for knowledge to be inherently cumulative in nature. I feel like that's part of what has made me as curious, as prone towards positive change over time, and as analytical as I typically am.

Anyway, these conversations were all about important life issues. Body health, drugs, sex, relationship dynamics and boundaries, the different ways people harm other people and what it could look like to react to that, racism, gender, war, death, sexuality, capitalism, surbival resource obtainment, sexism, ablism (although I don't know my mother called it this at the time), etc. My mom's general approach to "risky" information with me was essentially "you're going to find out eventually, whether I try to intervene in that or not. I'd rather your first awareness of these things come from me so it's easier for you to recognize when someone is selling you a load of bullshit." My mom and I have a lot of very different ideas of what it should look like to be a parent, but this was absolutely something I think she did right. She was frank and open, she never made me feel like a question or tooic or even certain words were dangerous or "wrong", and she was careful to scale her approach to the conversation in relation to my own emotional and psychological development. I still actually remember a lot of these conversations, tho of course some stand out better than others.

It took a while of me percolating on our conversation about war and intercommunal conflict before I asked her why people fight in wars if they're so awful for everyone involved. She explained a few different reasons, and things that might draw a person to this one or that one, while acknowledging opposing logic where she could.

Then she describes to me the draft. The act of a political entity compelling its own people to put their lives in harm's way for political interests or assets. She explained different ways the draft might work, and different kinds of people who might or might not get drafted. And then, she says,

"Not everyone obeys when they're called up." She watched me very carefully whenever she was using my reactions to gauge her next words. "In fact, several people in our family have refused to be drafted. Some because of their beliefs, some because of their circumstances. A lot of people do. It's called draft dodging."

See, my grandma was born in 1931. She spent most of her and her brothers' childhoods growing up in the place where her father's family had lived since about the 1500s, up in the Virginia Appalachians. But then Pearl Harbor was bombed, the USA joined world war 2, and a draft came up. It'd been calling up so many of the local men who simply. Did not come home. My grandma's parents knew that the family absolutely would not be okay without her father for any significant length of time, let alone forever. Her mother, Josephine, was visibly brown skinned and a first generation orphan immigrant who had already raised her own siblings by the time they'd eloped at 17. It wasn't that she wasn't capable, it was that she didn't have the bandwidth for any new traumas. They didn't trust that she could hold herself together for their kids and her siblings if she lost the one person who made her feel safe. (Ultimately her husband did die young, several decades before Josephine, but after all the children were grown and married. As expected, she did not take it well, and lived with my uncle for the rest of her life grieving)

So when his number came up, he dodged the draft. Sold everything the family had, packed them all into the car, and fled the state. (Apparently a Canadian radio jockey bought the family land back in the 90s and was incredibly frustrated that he couldn't convince the people in town to start calling it after his name instead of my family name lmao) My family was lucky. They had the resources to do this, and to arrange an exemption when they arrived in their new home. Not everyone manages that. And the alternatives can sometimes be a lot more impactful than "just" blowing up your entire life. Jail time, bodily harm, communal rejection, even death. It depends on your circumstances.

And yet people ALWAYS do it. They dodge the draft, or they go AWOL, or they find SOME way to stay out of the war machine. There will ALWAYS be people who choose and prioritize saving lives and denying a war more cannon fodder.

I think about this a lot when I hear about military, militia, or otherwise militarized organizational violence and human rights abuses. I think about the way humans tend to chafe at being denied their autonomy. How in intense hierarchies, people who are belittled by their higher-ups may often lash out at those they are above when they feel a compulsion to re-exert control. I think about the history of asymmetrical warfare, and what we know about what soldiers tend to do in those environments.

And at the end of the day, I think about how when these things happen, when they KEEP happening. Everyone has the choice to refuse. There have always been people who make that choice, even under the worst of consequences.

So what makes the difference between a person who refuses to supply the state with more power to exert violence with, and the person who complies?

[chronicowboy]

love you in my sleep | 4.2k

Eddie likes to think he's pretty good at bottling things up—he's not great at keeping them bottled up but—maybe it'd be more accurate to specify champagne bottles, specifically the type sprayed around on Formula One podiums. Or, well, soda canning things up might be the better term because, God, is he good at shaking those bad boys up until they explode. But going by the last explosion, Eddie thinks he has about two more years before his feelings for Buck come bursting out of him like champagne foam; light and fizzy and drenching.

Except he's in therapy now, and Frank had gently but stubbornly picked away at his brain until he'd unearthed two things: one that Eddie had been repressing longer than the trauma of war, and one that Eddie had been repressing like it was as apocalyptic as war.

Which is why he finds himself leaning against the corner of the hallway wall, chest still heaving with the lingering snap of a lightning bolt in his head, watching Buck sleep. It should take him back, maybe, to a week where everyone in their little family spent their time just watching Buck sleep. It might have under other circumstances—like if he'd ever managed to make himself look at Buck for more than a vanishing second of time. But now, the rise and fall of Buck's chest, the strong and harsh wheeze of his snores, the expressiveness of his face as his nose twitches—he's just asleep, he's alive, and Eddie loves him more than he can ever understand.

At least, he thinks as he takes a step toward the couch, this explosion won't be quite so catastrophic.

At most, that terrible and cruel voice that always has and probably always will sound a little like his parents says, you'll blow up this beautiful life you've built for you and your son.

It's too late for Eddie to stop it now though, body moving without his brain's input—his heart confident and in control as he kneels down at Buck's couch-side.

It's not an orbit Buck has that pulls him in, it's something more deeply unknowable to Eddie than that. It's no red string of fate reeling him in, no intervening hand from the universe pushing him forward, no fate that has them colliding like this over and over again. It's all them. It's Eddie and Buck and what Eddie hopes is their mutual desire to weave their ribs together until they're just one beating heart with room enough for Christopher. It's how itchy Eddie feels in his own skin sometimes and the way it had taken him almost five years to understand it's because he'd wanted to crawl into Buck's. It's the way Buck gets jittery and fidgety and scratches at his arms like he'd rather be in Eddie's skin too.

There's no divine intervention in what Eddie's about to do. It's all his choice—need and want and love.

Eddie reaches for Buck's face, faltering at the last moment so that his hand lands on Buck's shoulder instead. And, fuck, just the feel of him, warm like a furnace and so goddamn alive, even through a t-shirt makes Eddie want to burn up like Icarus.

"Buck," he whispers into the stillness of the night, shaking his shoulder lightly. Buck's brow furrows in his sleep, and his snores cease for an unintelligible grumbling that makes Eddie smile fondly to himself. "Buck, wake up."

Eddie remembers, a few weeks ago, Christopher laughing at a tiktok of a woman startling awake in her bed captioned why does every parent wake up like this before he'd promptly shoved it in Eddie's face and told him 'it's you!'. Now Buck's eyes snap open, already scanning the living room like he's looking for danger until they settle on Eddie—blue as a sky before a storm, and Eddie's calm in the eye of a hurricane—and he's Christopher's other dad.

(Part of him wonders if Christopher might have sent that video to Buck.)

"Eddie, hey," Buck rasps, gravelly voice panicked and rushed enough to have Eddie straining to make the words out. "What's wrong? Is Chris— Are you—"

"We're fine, Buck," Eddie soothes, squeezing his shoulder just to let Buck's warmth sink deeper into the bones of his hand. "Everything's fine, sorry."

"No, that's..." Buck sighs, eyes fluttering shut as he slumps back against the couch with a hand over his heart. "Fuck."

"Sorry," Eddie says again, biting his lip when Buck cracks a bleary eye open to glare at him. "I just..." And Eddie has imagined this moment what has to be a billion times since a gunshot wound and Lichtenberg scars and a bloody, broken heart in a cemetery, but he's never imagined it like this. Dark, quiet, morning breath fuzzy on their tongues, Eddie on his knees, Buck yawning into his fist, Christopher asleep just down the hall. But it feels perfect, feels like them. "I love you," he breathes, and it's instant the way the weight of the world slips off his shoulders like Sisyphus had finally managed to get the boulder up and over the mountain.

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